And continue to commit fraud. Who knew the art world was so fraught with peril?
“My suggestion is to say you expected the artist to be here but that . . . she . . . was unavoidably detained. Avoid giving details about the artist other than to say how impressed you are by the quality of her paintings and that you hope to exhibit more in the future. If you must, say Jeff is her agent, but also among the missing. Comment on how reasonably priced the canvases are because the artist is new, which makes them an excellent buy for a collector who expects his investment to grow in value as the artist becomes more well-known.”
Zoe nodded slowly. “Okay, I guess I can manage that.”
Russ hitched one hip onto the corner of Zoe’s desk and crossed his arms across his chest. “I’m a bit surprised myself about your hesitancy in handling this since it was obvious from Fredrick’s statement that you are already familiar with art fraud. Just as it’s obvious from your expression then—and now—that you’ve been personally involved in some shady dealings in the past.”
“Oh, but I—”
Russ waved her to silence, a stern look on his face. “Since you didn’t have time for Jeff’s explanations, I doubt that you have time to discuss your past escapades with me now, either. Why don’t we save that talk for later and get you through this opening with the minimum of damage for now.”
“You’re right, Russ. I need to open the front doors in five minutes, so I’ll, we’ll, postpone all of the rest until later.” She put her hand on his arm, her gaze pleading for understanding. “It’s really not what you think.”
“Just keep in mind that works both ways, Zoe.” Russ squeezed her fingers and stood. “Let’s get this show on the road, young lady. And work on your smile, it’s a bit puny right now.”
A grateful smile spread across Zoe’s face.
Russ nodded. “Mmm, much better.”
Zoe straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. Time to face the public.
Jeff sat in the truck and stared blindly through the windshield. Misery clawed at his insides. He started when Dev opened the passenger door and climbed in.
“Mind if I come along for the ride?”
“What, did Zoe tell you to worm the truth out of me?”
“Nah. She’s busy reading that Barker dude the riot act.” Dev intentionally used one of Jeff’s favorite appellations. He waved Jeff on. “Drive, man. Let’s get out of here before we both change our minds and go back in there to beat the crap out of that ass-hat.”
Jeff hit the gas and headed for the cove he’d taken Zoe to last fall. No way could he go back to the motel and face Jen with the news that the shit had hit the fan and they were in big trouble. “Much as I’d love to do that, I have to admit he told the truth, although how he found out about Jen is a mystery.”
“And Jen is . . .?”
“My sister.” Jeff glanced over to get a quick take on Dev’s reaction.
“Your sister? I didn’t know you even had a sister. Let alone that she lived in that . . . dump . . . with you. As a matter of fact, I don’t think anyone in town knew it, either.”
“Yeah? Well, Barker knew. He must have wormed it out of Pennypacker. Probably when he was too hung-over to keep his mouth shut about it. Bastard.”
“Who? Pennypacker or Barker?”
“Both.” His anger fueled a fast and reckless ride, but Dev merely anchored himself with a foot on the dashboard and kept his mouth shut. Jeff edged off the road and parked behind some tangled undergrowth. He climbed out and followed an overgrown path toward the cove, kicking stones as he went. Dev followed, giving the other man space and time to work off his anger and frustration.
Eventually Jeff dropped down on a rock near the waterline and stared across the bay. Dev joined him and they silently contemplated the bright early summer day.
“You might as well tell me the whole deal, pal. The cat’s out of the bag now anyway.”
Jeff sighed. “Jen’s my sister. A couple of years ago we were in a car crash while I was driving. I didn’t have a scratch but it messed Jen up pretty badly.”
Jeff closed his eyes and sighed again at the memory. He picked up a stone and skipped it out over the water.
“Aw, damn. Man.” Dev squeezed Jeff’s shoulder.
“Yeah. The trauma surgeons paid a lot more attention to her shattered hip and a couple of fractured vertebrae than they did to her face. They just kinda sewed her up, so Jen needed a couple of operations by a plastic surgeon to . . . to . . . fix her up.” He looked at Dev, his misery as close to the surface as he’d ever allowed it to get in front of another person. “She was a beautiful girl. Before. She was happy and sweet and funny as hell. And I took that all away from her, just so I could save a few extra minutes. Now she can’t walk far without a leg brace and she won’t let anyone see her face. She’s been living like a hermit while I’ve tried to save up the money for her surgery.”
“Shit. You should have told me. We could have done something on the air to raise money for her.”
“No. Are you kidding? She’d kill me if I told anyone. Stubborn woman doesn’t want any ‘charity.’ Anyway, Jen paints and as you can see by what’s in the gallery, she’s good. Damn good. But she knew if she wanted to sell anything the owner of whatever gallery she applied to would want to meet her. And she wouldn’t do that.”
“So you figured if Zoe thought they were yours, she’d hang them in her gallery. And she did.”
Jeff nodded. “And on Black Friday last November we sold enough to pay for Jen’s first operation.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah. After Jen’s second operation we were going to come clean. Jen would meet Zoe at the gallery and explain the whole deal. Of course, we needed to sell more paintings to get enough for the next operation . . .” Jeff tossed the last stone over his shoulder. “I don’t know how to tell Jen our plan is toast now. She did so well after the first operation I know she really had her hopes up for the next one. Shit, I sure fucked things up royally.”
“Don’t give up hope yet. Zoe will understand once you explain things . . .”
Jeff scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
Dev shrugged. “I have to admit this mess has a lot in common with the trouble I got into with Amanda. Women really hate it when you lie to them, no matter how good the reason seems to us. If it weren’t for Zoe’s help, I might never have gotten a chance to make things right with Amanda.”
“That’s all well and good, but nobody’s gonna make things right with that Barker dude. I expect the police to come after me with an arrest warrant for art fraud as soon as he spills his guts to them.” He stood and brushed off his jeans. “Which means I’d better get back to the motel and brace Jen for what’s coming.”
“You do what you have to, pal. Meanwhile, I’m going to look into this Barker character and see what I can dig up. Drop me back at the gallery. I’ll check in with you later and tell you how bad the damage is.”
Chapter 21
She’d made it through. The Grand Opening was officially a thing of the past. It went amazingly well considering the dismal state of mind she was in.
Amanda gave Zoe a hug then left with Dev’s arm around her shoulders. Watching them walk away doubled the pain in Zoe’s heart. Yesterday she thought she would have that kind of connection with Jeff. Friends and lovers, the best of all possible relationships. Today her world was in ruins and the man she thought she could trust had kept secrets from her. Big, important secrets.
Zoe locked the front door and looked at her watch. Ten o’clock. No wonder she was exhausted. She’d planned to close at nine but two last-minute sales kept her busy. She was grateful for the sales but, since one of them was a painting by Jeff’s mystery woman, all of the deception she’d been able to ignore during the day came back full force. Sh
e dimmed the lights and headed to her office where Russ waited. She dreaded the talk they would have, but couldn’t see any way to avoid it.
She picked up the last open bottle of champagne, two glasses, and an untouched box of hors d’oeurves and went to face the music. Russ was at her desk using her computer. Zoe didn’t know or care what he searched for there. She gestured to the stairs. “Let’s go up to my apartment. I might as well confess to my crimes in comfort.”
“I’m not the police, Zoe, so don’t worry that anything we talk about will go any further. You know my history with Jeff so it’s obvious I’d like to help him out of this mess.”
Does that mean I can’t trust you either?
He shut down the computer and followed her up. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he commented as Zoe set the glasses and pastries on the bar.
Zoe looked around. Maybe coming up here wasn’t such a good idea. Everywhere she looked Jeff’s touches looked back at her. “Yeah, Jeff turned this into a beautiful home and studio. He’s very . . . talented.”
He’s also a deceitful, philandering prick. But hey, we all have our flaws, right?
She filled both glasses and sat at one end of the sofa. Russ sat at the other. “Before we get into anything . . . else, I want to thank you again for being here today. The gallery did a lot of business and I’m sure a great deal of it was due to your appearance and the buyers it drew.”
Jeff and his . . . friend? . . . lover? Ugh, should be very happy with their proceeds.
Russ shrugged gracefully. “You’re welcome. Glad I could help.”
Zoe rubbed her forehead and avoided his gaze. “I’m sorry you had to witness the whole . . . thing—she didn’t know what else to call it—with Fredrick Barker. I should have realized he’d do something to ruin the opening. He can’t bear the thought that I might actually succeed in making my dream a reality.”
“I’m not surprised. Fredrick has a reputation for less than honorable dealings with both artists and clients. So it goes without saying he’d be equally underhanded with his employees—and business partners.” He sipped his drink.
“You know Fredrick?” Zoe’s brows headed north.
“He and I had some business dealings years ago, when I was just getting started. He talked me into giving him a very large commission—since I was a young artist and relatively unknown at the time.”
“Yes, that sounds like Fredrick.”
“Yes. Well, I learned my lesson and steered clear of him after that, but the art community is a small world and news travels, particularly bad news. I’m curious how you came to be partners with Fredrick. Jeff told me you used to be his employee?”
Zoe picked up a pastry and nibbled on it. Anything to prolong getting down to the nitty-gritty of their talk. “Yes, I was his employee, but, no, he is not my partner—and never will be.” Brave words, considering the mess I’m in.
“You made it pretty clear that you’re not fond of him, so why on earth did you enter into this deal?”
“Because I was a fool.” She swallowed the remains of her champagne and took a deep breath. “My dream was to create an artist’s community—like Santa Fe, or Ashville—and provide a showcase for local artisans. I mentioned it to Fredrick once and he almost fell on the floor laughing.” Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the day and the scorn he’d heaped on her ideas. “Like an idiot I bet him I could succeed—as soon as I had enough seed money. A few weeks later he took me up on my bet, still laughing, of course, which made me even more determined to prove I could do it.”
Arched brows and a sad shake of his head was Russ’ only reaction.
Yeah, I bet you don’t think I can do it either. But I can, and somehow, I will, damn it.
“The deal was pretty simple, or so I thought at the time. He’d loan me fifty thousand dollars to get started and give me a year to pay him back. If I couldn’t, the gallery would revert to him and I would be bound to work for him for a year. Oh, yes, and one other tiny detail. The painting I’d done for my mother, that he’d been trying so hard to buy from me, would be forfeit as well.
“And you thought you could make fifty thousand dollars profit in only one year? With a brand-new gallery in an unknown town?” Russ’ tone indicated how unrealistic her logic had been.
“After checking a number of banks I realized no one was about to lend me any money until I proved myself, but I figured in ten months I’d have done well enough to get a business loan and pay Fredrick back his investment.”
“I understand your plan.” He tilted his head and pursed his lips. “Very risky, but doable.”
“It wasn’t until after I signed the papers, found the town, and bought the building, that Fredrick dropped his bomb on me.”
Russ steepled his fingers and nodded. “Oh, yes. The catch. I knew there had to be one. Tell me.”
Zoe dropped her head. This was the hard part. If Russ had even a slightly good opinion of her up until now, this is where she’d lose it. She rubbed her palms on her thighs. “During the time I was learning the ropes, after Fredrick saw that painting I’d done for my mom, he had me make copies of some paintings by well-known artists. Usually smaller, less-popular works. I would do these as a way to hone my talent, he told me. So, when a client brought in a painting for restoration or cleaning that Fredrick liked, he’d have me make a copy before we returned it.”
Zoe couldn’t sit still. She got up and began to pace. “A week after I bought this building, Fredrick took me out to dinner to ‘celebrate.’ Afterward, he took me to his townhouse to show me something. One of my copies hung in his study. At first I was flattered that he felt my work was good enough to hang in his home. Then he . . . kissed me. I tried to rebuff him gently, but he grabbed me and I slapped him. He was furious, then he began to laugh. He’d have me soon enough, he boasted, once the gallery belonged to him and I was his employee again. I told him that would never happen.” She remembered his smirk and the silky voice he used like it happened yesterday.
“Oh, it will happen, Zoe, my dear, unless you want to spend some time in prison for art forgery.” He nodded toward the painting. “That is not your copy, Zoe. That’s the real thing. Somehow you managed to switch your copy for the original and once Judge Abernathy finds out he’s been duped, he won’t rest until you’re behind bars. I will, of course, recover the original from a storage locker I’ve rented in your name, much to the judge’s everlasting gratitude.”
Zoe poured herself another glass of wine and gulped it down. Her hands shook and her knees suddenly felt weak. She collapsed onto the sofa. “I’ve been trying to figure a way out of this, but now that he knows Jeff didn’t paint those pictures, Fredrick has even more ammunition to keep me in line. The one person I thought I could trust turns out to be a liar and . . . and . . . a fraud.” She couldn’t stop the flood of tears. She dropped her head and sobbed into her hands.
Russ took a linen handkerchief from his back pocket and passed it to her. “That’s quite a tale, Zoe. Quite a tale.”
“It’s not a tale,” she gasped through her tears. “It’s the truth!”
“I wasn’t doubting your veracity, Zoe, merely agreeing that you’ve gotten yourself into a very difficult situation.” Russ took the glasses to the kitchen. “Do you have the makings for coffee or tea? I don’t think more wine would be helpful at this point.”
Zoe dried her eyes and blew her nose noisily. At Russ’ startled reaction, she scoffed, “Yes, I’m not a delicate flower. Despite appearances I work hard, I play hard, I eat a lot . . .”
And I love too easily and too deeply.
She pointed to a cabinet. “Coffee’s in there. Sorry, I don’t have any tea. Here, I’ll do it,” she said and stood.
He waved her back to her chair. “I can certainly make a pot of coffee. You just . . . relax.”
“Rel
ax! How can I relax? The man I love is living with another woman, my gallery won’t be mine in a few months, once the press gets a hold of the news that I’ve sold fraudulent art works, and I may go to jail myself for the same thing!”
Russ shot her a sympathetic glance then pointed to the mug on the counter. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Just sugar,” she answered miserably.
He set the steaming mug on the coffee table. “Dear, you’re a mess. Go wash your face. When you come back we’ll figure out how to deal with this.”
After he dropped Dev off at the gallery, Jeff drove home. He parked George’s truck and went into the office. “George? Are you back there?”
“Wha? Who’s there?” The sound of the recliner’s footrest collapsing was followed by ice clinking against glass.
“It’s me. Jeff. I need to talk to you for a minute.”
“Well, come on back then.” The footrest re-engaged.
Jeff ducked under the counter and entered George’s room. Newspapers were scattered around the recliner and the table next to it held a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam and a cloudy glass. The television was tuned to a baseball game with the sound turned off. George was bleary-eyed. He’d been sleeping. Passed out, more likely.
“Don’t tell me that old biddy in Number Four plugged up her toilet again.” George squinted at him.
“No. Nothing like that, George. I just need to ask you a question.”
“Oh, okay.” George patted his shirt pockets looking for his glasses, which promptly slid down from his balding forehead with the motion. Vision restored, he picked up the bottle and poured himself a shot. “What do you need?”
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