by Amber Foxx
There might be enough money for everyone. Kathy only showed the back room of the gallery to people Letitia sent. The photographer could get a fee for the referrals. Will might get something for his help with the parrot theft. Violet was famous, due to her presence in her owner’s blue self-portrait, but her recent death might not be well known. The hyacinth in the gallery was lending authenticity to Kathy’s claims of a partial reconciliation.
The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, but Zak didn’t fit into it. What could have dragged him in? Letitia?
Mae stood and stretched, walked around the yard until she felt she could concentrate again, then sat and picked up the crystals and the tobacco tin and closed her eyes. I need to see Will with Zak. See all of them together. See what happened at that party.
Her vision passed through the tunnel slowly and emerged in Zak’s kitchen. Will set a six-pack on the counter and yanked a beer from it. “Where is everybody? Let’s get this party rolling.”
Zak, standing with arms folded over his chest, glared at him. “It’s not a party. We need to talk and I need you with your head on straight.”
Will drank and tipped his head sideways. “Straight as it gets.”
“I’m serious. You could be in trouble. This kid who’s a seer had a dream about you.”
Will brought his head back to neutral, his eyebrows lifted.
Someone knocked on the back door. Zak turned to open it. “I’ll tell you later. So stay sober until we’re through.”
David entered with his infant daughter in a plastic carrier.
“You brought your baby?” Will exclaimed.
David sat at the table and lifted Star up to his chest, talking nonsense to her, then propped her in his lap so she could gaze with wide-eyed babbling delight at the other men. “Why not? She can’t talk yet.”
“Ha. Good one.” Will took a drink and offered David a beer. The potter shook his head.
“Where’s Shelli?” Zak asked. He went to a back window and looked out. “I told you I want all of you here.”
“She’s watching the booth. I thought of asking the people next to us to help out, but she’s such a good salesperson I’d rather have her handle it.” David smiled. “People like to buy from a pretty girl.”
“Is that baby a girl?” Will asked. His tone implied that Star was not pretty.
David took no notice, bending over her and smoothing her spiky hair. “Sure is. My little girl. Her name is Star.”
“Well ...” Will gulped his beer. “The name’s pretty. But she looks like you.”
David remained blissfully unaware of any insult to his child. “Looks like both of us. She's got the Pojoaque eyebrows.” He ran his finger along them, “And the Kewa nose.”
“Kewa? Oh. Santo Domingo. Wait—I thought you were from Acoma.”
“Mom’s from Kewa. Why do you think she has the gallery there?”
“Will doesn’t think much.” Zak took a bottle of iced tea from the refrigerator and opened it. “If he thinks at all.”
“I think,” Will said. “Like, I think David’s kid looks like David. Hey—Mirabal—who do you think Zak’s kids look like?”
Zak slammed his tea bottle onto the counter. “Are you drunk already?”
Will cackled. “Loosened up.”
David frowned, cuddling Star. “You’d better not drink too much. We’ve got decisions to make.”
Zak took his phone out and texted. “I’ve made the decision. What I need is to hear you all agree with me.” At the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway, he jerked his head and put his phone away. “Shit. I know Reno’s walking. Letitia wouldn’t drive up, would she?”
“She’s not stupid,” Will said.
Zak dashed into the living room, then back to the kitchen. “Melody's home early. Get out, now. Tell the others—damn—”
“What the hell?” Will asked. “I’d like to see Mel. What’s the big deal?”
Zak clenched his fists, and the cowboy pretended to be terrified, then scurried to the back door with a laugh. While David tucked Star into her carrier, Will paused with one foot out the door and asked Zak, “What about that kid’s dream?”
“You’re riding a bull and get sucked up its asshole and come out as shit.”
The two men stared at each other, then Will walked down the back steps in the dark, lighting a cigarette and muttering, “Talk about assholes.” He looked back. “Damn. I forgot my beer.”
A moment later David came up beside him, slow and calm, the handle of the baby carrier over his arm. Star began to babble. “Hush,” David whispered to her, then told Will, “Don’t worry. We’ll work everything out.”
Mae’s vision shifted through the tunnel again, bringing her back into the house. It was crowded and noisy. Will was sliding up and down the hallway in his socks in a drunken attempt at dancing, shouting along with the rap music that was playing. The vision blurred. He was on the porch, laughing with a group of other smokers. Another blur. Letitia was sending him out of the kitchen with a playful tap on his cheek, telling him to “sit down and forget about it.” Reno, Zak, and David stood in a tight cluster, talking. She joined them, and Will shrugged and stumbled to the living room, beer in hand.
He’d been too drunk to be part of the meeting.
Mae let the vision go and cleared her energy field with snow quartz, then set the crystals on the steps to rebalance in the sun again. The conflict between Will and Zak was so strong, why had Zak agreed to part of this? Had they needed him for something? What did he bring to the scheme that the others didn’t? David, Shelli, Reno, and Letitia had art connections. Will was Letitia’s lover. He had a devious mind and no qualms about theft. But Zak? What did he get out of this or put into it? Did they simply need a good leader?
No. He couldn’t lead Will. In fact, if there was any situation in which Zak lost his cool, it was one that involved the cowboy. He’d been so disgusted with Will, he hadn’t told him Ezra’s dream. That choice must haunt Zak now. Mae wished she hadn’t seen him make it, but it confirmed that Zak wasn’t in control of the group, though he might have tried to be.
Letitia wasn’t likely to be the leader, either. She had come across as impulsive and irresponsible, falling in love with a second rose cockatoo when she’d gone to buy food for the first. Reno and David both had cooler heads, and so did Shelli. Kathy, though, had the strongest motive for starting the plot. Did she even know Zak?
Mae went inside and called Melody with what little she’d learned about Zak. It wasn’t much more than Melody had already guessed. He had the party to cover up a meeting. Mae left out his failure to warn Will about Ezra’s dream, not wanting to bring up the reason.
Melody had the same reaction Mae had to the news about Will and Letitia. “I bet Zak’s after her to punish both of us.”
“I thought that at first, but Will doesn’t act like he suspects it. And if Zak knew Letitia was Will’s girlfriend, don’t you think he’d have told Montana?”
“Yeah.” Melody sighed. “So what is he up to? Can you try and find out through Will one more time?”
Mae put the tobacco tin back in the bag and stuffed it in the trash can. “No. I’m sorry. I’m done with Will.” She owed it to him as her client to honor what was left of his privacy. “I already saw too much of his business.”
“Then how can I find out?”
Mae’s temper frayed. She felt as if she’d been taking exams. Psychic work took mental effort, took more energy than Melody seemed to realize. “I don’t know. I need a break.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When Mae headed out in the evening to meet Melody for Art Hop, she still had no idea how to help her. Neither a bike ride nor a few hours of watching baseball had given her any moments of inspiration.
Lorilee Chino and the Cowboy Indians were playing at one of the galleries on Main. When Mae arrived, the doors were open, letting the country band’s music pour out to the street, the singer’s mellow alto crooning over gu
itars and drums, amplified too much for the size of the space. A small crowd had gathered at the counter where food and drink were being served, and a few people stood around the perimeter of the room, sipping from plastic cups and looking at the art.
Melody, clad in a bright blue dress and matching high heels, looked like she’d recovered from both her disappointment and her workout as she danced across the room, partnered by a white-haired man wearing a sequined necktie over his T-shirt. Relieved, Mae joined the group at the counter, got some lemonade, and watched the dancers. Chuck and Daphne Brady flowed with the effortless grace of life-long dance partners.
Is that me and Jamie in thirty years?
Misty left off twirling with a small blonde child to greet Mae. “Everybody’s talking about Reno leaving.” She grinned. “They miss the Rabbit.” Implying that no one, including Misty, missed Reno.
“Are you that over him?”
“I feel like Melody will when she’s lost a hundred and thirty pounds. Check out this art. Is this a cool exhibit or what?”
They explored the display. It included a collection of chaotic abstracts; a group of chairs strung with rope, lace, leather, and beads; and a series of paintings featuring smooth-skinned gray aliens crawling in and out of canyons in the desert. Bewildered, Mae said, “Maybe I’m missing something, but this is all just weird to me. Who would buy any of it? Sorry to bring up Reno, but he’s never had a show and his work is better than this.”
“No, it’s not.” Misty paused in front of the last alien scene. The creatures were putting a ladder into a crevice between rocks. “This is way cooler. I wouldn’t mind meeting these little guys for real. Take a ride with them. Then put ’em on my Harley.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. They’re creepy.” Misty’s tastes had to be affected by her feelings. “I can’t see why this stuff is in a gallery and Reno’s isn’t. What does he do with all his paintings?”
“He has his phone number in the Sierra County Artists’ directory. He meets people—well, he did while he lived here—and shows them his work by appointment.”
“When they’d never seen his art before except for that table in the café?”
“He used to charm people he waited on. There are all those Apache-themed images around here, and ooh, their waiter is this young, undiscovered Apache artist! He said tourists would eat that up.”
Mae imagined him timing his rare but radiant smile for the end of his pitch, winning tourists’ hearts. He could have done it if he had to, she supposed, but he struck her as too withdrawn to muster the effort. “Did he make money that way?”
“You know...” Misty tilted her head with a slight frown. “He used to tell me he didn’t and that the only stuff he could sell was small and cheap. But once he stopped inviting me in, it was a different story. Then he claimed he was so busy, he’d let his place go to hell—that it was even worse than mine.” She tossed her hair and breathed out a sound of contempt. “Which was more than a little unbelievable.”
Melody, her shoes in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other, joined them. “What are you two talking about?”
Misty answered. “Reno lying. Pretending he was painting all the time and selling his work.”
“Pretending?” Melody sipped her drink. “That’s the whole reason he moved here. He might have lied about how much he made from his art, but that’s all Reno cares about. Drawing and painting.”
Mae flashed back to her vision of the encounter in Rio Bravo. Reno lacked the personality and the drive to be much of a salesman, and he seemed discouraged about his abilities. He might not have struggled for success if he thought he would make enough money with Kathy’s scheme. But even if he hadn’t tried hard to sell his art, it had to have gone somewhere. He couldn’t have hoarded it all in his trailer, and there had to be a lot of it after two years as Florencia’s student. This was the kid whose father had tried to pay him to go out and play like a normal child, and instead Reno had kept on drawing, trying to copy the dollar.
Copy the dollar.
“Oh my god.” Mae grabbed the Chino sisters by the arms. “I just figured out the big secret.” They stared at her, then drew in closer as Mae released her grasp on them and spoke more softly. She trusted the loud music would keep the conversation private. “Reno’s been forging his teacher’s work. That’s why he didn’t have anything to show and didn’t let Misty in his place. He must have been shipping the paintings out to this gallery that has some of her early works. Her sister-in-law’s place. They say they don’t want to sell the family archive, and then they sell Reno’s fakes as if they’re reluctantly parting with some treasure.”
“Are you sure?” Melody asked. “Reno’s good, but could he really fool people?”
“He can paint like Orville, can’t he? I think he could imitate her style. He’s not copying any particular painting, and he’s passing it off as stuff she did when she was his age.”
Misty wrinkled her nose. “And that’s how he paid for my ring? I hope it’s still stuck in the Rabbit.”
Melody said, “I don’t see how they pulled Zak into it. He doesn’t have any art connections. And he’s Mister Clean.”
Mae took a guess. “That could be why they brought him in—as a middleman. They wouldn’t want a trail that led back to Reno. Zak could have done the shipping, or maybe he’d meet someone who’d take the paintings to the gallery. No one would ever suspect him.”
“Except his wife, because he’s such a bad liar.” Melody finished her lemonade in a gulp as if it were liquor. “He probably got dragged into it by that woman.”
“Maybe he got involved in it for Reno.”
Misty rolled her eyes. “Boring little weenie Reno getting Saint Zak to do something bad?”
Melody clenched her jaw. “Shit. Will could have blackmailed him into helping.” She glanced at Mae. “I’m not going to tell you what it is, but Zak’s done something he’s ashamed of—and it was because of me. Will’s not proud of it, either. They never talk about it. But if he threatened that he would tell ...”
Mae nodded, hoping her expression didn’t suggest that she knew what Zak had done.
“I hate to see Zak get in trouble,” Melody said. “He’s always been the one saving me. She gave a choked laugh. “I used to call him my guardian asshole.”
“His part in it might be over,” Mae said. “As far as I know, they’re still selling forgeries, but Reno wasn’t going to paint any more. After he found out his teacher was in hospice, something must have gotten to him.”
“I hope they stopped in time so they don’t get caught.”
“No kidding,” Misty said. “Even Reno doesn’t deserve that.”
Melody sounded nervous. “Maybe they’ll be okay if we don’t tell anybody.”
“Of course they will.” Misty hugged her. “We’re the only people that know.” She turned to Mae and squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks for figuring it out. Everything should be all right now, as long as it’s just between us.”
Stunned, Mae couldn’t respond. Did the sisters expect her to promise silence? They seemed to think she had agreed, but she didn’t yet know if she could she do it.
The song ended, and Lorilee reminded the audience, “My daughter Misty will be fire dancing on Broadway at eight.” A smile lit up her face. “And I have another beautiful and talented daughter here tonight. I hope she’ll come up and do a song with me. Melody?”
The talented daughter gaped at her mother and leaned on Mae for balance while she jammed her shoes on. “I haven’t sung in public for years. I’ll probably pee in my pants.”
“You’ll be great. Jamie told me what a good voice you have. He’d be so happy to know you’re using it.”
Misty added, “So would Zak. Even if he’d never say so.”
While Melody conferred with the band, Misty followed her and began shooting video.
Mae turned away from the crowd, pretending to be absorbed in the creepy aliens, taking a moment to think. It was d
isorienting that Melody was now on the same side as Jamie, wanting to protect Zak, though of course her switch made sense. Crazy as their marriage was, she loved him. Loved him so much she’d made an excuse for his part in a crime.
Could Will have blackmailed Zak into dealing in forged art? He had lived so honorably since his discharge, the truth about it might not hurt him as much as Melody imagined. Getting caught in the forgery scheme would be worse. It wasn’t an act of passion, and it wasn’t in defense of his marriage or Melody’s sobriety. It was for money. Someone, perhaps Letitia, might have tempted Zak, not forced him.
A gallery employee putting a sold sign next to one of the alien pictures distracted Mae from her thoughts. A tall, stooped man with a big moustache was shaking hands with a slender woman in a white dress. Both of them were beaming as he thanked her and told her how glad he was someone appreciated his imagery. The woman bubbled with questions about the meaning of his work and his sources of inspiration.
Mae suddenly grasped the depth of Reno’s betrayal. How would the mustachioed man feel if someone started forging his creepy critters? It wasn’t just the money from the sale that he would lose, but his vision would be stolen. Forgery would be a kind of spiritual trespass. And how would the buyer feel if someone sold her a fake in a few years, after she’d made this connection with the artist? No one was thinking about Florencia, or the people who bought the forgeries of her work. If Jamie knew what his friends had done, he might find it hard to continue defending them.
*****
When he got home after his Saturday night show, Jamie had the urge to call Mae and ask about Art Hop and about Melody, but instead he hand-fed Gasser a few kibbles, opened a beer and a bag of green chile pistachios, and sat at the kitchen table with his laptop. He hated typing, frustrated by the way he scrambled letters, but it was worth the hassle. Email wouldn’t wake her up. Or crowd her. Jamie was proud of how well he had coped with Mae’s need for space, though he still felt a pang of lonely anxiety at night. This was the longest he and Mae had been apart since they started dating. They’d seen each other daily when she’d had a job for a group of psychics in Santa Fe. Though she had stayed with Bernadette most nights, she and Jamie had gotten closer. It had felt like progress, rapid progress. Now everyone, from his parents to his friends to his therapist, told him that if she needed some space, he should let her have it.