Tom reached over and pulled her hand from her face, grasping her fingers in his. The warmth of his palm, and the idea that he was attuned to her, scared the starch out of her. Jonathan’s smirk told her he figured out what was going on and she was in for it when they were alone.
“Composition was off? Explain.” Tom bent to closer inspect the photographs.
“This person accented the Captain’s Perch on the house, almost like it was in a spotlight. But the thing I noticed when we were there today was the overall cohesion of the whole property, the blooming flowers, the flagpole, all the lines from the perch to the wraparound porch, the old car by the garage and your grandmother hugging a great-grandchild on the front porch. I saw it as a whole, not bisecting one section.”
“Sounds like you should paint it,” Tom mused.
I would if I could.
Could she?
She bit her lip and looked at Jonathan. The sympathy in his gaze choked her.
She slipped her hand away from Tom’s and rose, going to the other side of the room to her paintings. Jonathan’s eyes tracked her, gauging her intent. “There are some great paintings here,cher.You want to sell them? Put them in your gallery collection?” His question was bland and nonjudgmental, but she felt the lack of inventory for her show like a scalding on her muse.
“No. Yes. Maybe.” She bit her lip. She shouldn’t want to hang onto anything from her time here, let alone let it represent her out in the world—at least that’s what she would have told herself a week ago. Now she didn’t know.
“Police report?”
Jonathan cleared his throat. “I’ve been trying to avoid that. Don’t want the publicity and a police report will be public record. Summer’s paintings typically sell for anywhere from $10,000 to $25,000. Her corporate/residential murals are more. Knockoffs, left in circulation, could significantly affect the sale market for her paintings and cause a decline in the demand for her original work. Why would you invest that kind of money in her work if you can’t be sure you got a true Summer LeFey?”
Tom nodded. “Understood.”
Summer shivered. “When did you pick out the main street painting?”
Tom rose and studied his grandmother’s house again. “About nine months ago, Walter asked me to pick one. All the ones in here were too small for that wall space. I’d done some work on the windows in the attic a couple months before that and noted the large ones then.” He frowned. “That one of my grandmother’s house wasn’t among them. I looked at them, would have noted it. Which means the stack was added to since I picked out the main street painting.”
Summer wrapped her fingers around the back of the rocking chair. “When was the last time my grandfather was in the house?”
Tom walked the room, pausing at each of the other paintings. “Over a year ago. Maybe he would have known they weren’t yours, but he didn’t go into the attic. In fact, he didn’t go upstairs at all. I had to lift him from his wheelchair to get him up on the porch thru the front door. The stairs were too much.”
Jonathan stacked the fakes and leaned them against the wall. “Question here is why. What is the point of dumping fake paintings in your grandfather’s attic and what connection do they have to the ones that appeared in Florida?”
Summer bit her lip, her raw emotions barely under control. Since her muse had disappeared, maybe she could hire this person to ghost paint for her since the style was so close to her own. Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat.
“Is it possible your grandfather or some family member could paint like this and had access to the house?”
“No, no, and no,” she answered.
“Then why?” Jonathan asked.
“We won’t know until we find whoever it is.” Tom moved a painting to study the back.
Another thought occurred to her. “Were any of the ones that were given away from these stacks not mine? Just because this room has no fakes stored with my originals doesn’t mean there weren’t forgeries mixed in. But still we’re back to why.” She stared at Tom, waiting for his thoughts.
Tom came to her side and ran a hand over her shoulder. “Now there’s the question. Money is the usual motive.”
Jonathan rubbed his chin. “This particular gallery works on commission, though. She doesn’t buy our paintings outright. We pay a fee plus a percentage. Why ship them there and not expect payment?”
Tom shrugged. “Are they all like that?”
“No,” Jonathan answered.
Tom looked at Summer. “Well, could also be to destroy your reputation? To gain some thrill knowing people thought of them as yours? You need to report the forgeries and change the locks on the house at the very least. And we need to consider who around here it could be.”
“So, we’ve reported them. To you,” Jonathan said.
She shook her head. “Why around here? I haven’t lived here in years.”
Tom dropped his hand and stared out the window for a moment, thinking. “Who else is going to take the time to come to Echo Falls and plant forged paintings in the attic? Most people probably don’t even know you’re from here, let alone about your grandfather’s house. My gut says someone from outside town is too far out of the realm of possibility.”
Jonathan was nodding before Tom finished speaking. “He’s right, Summer. We need to stop this. What are the parameters of a crime like this?”
Tom pondered the questions for a moment before answering. “I’ll have to talk to the prosecutor about what constitutes criminal fraud. Selling them for profit isn’t a component of this yet, that we know of, so I don’t know where that leaves us. Other bottom line is someone has been in the house and maybe even has stolen a key.”
“Then we are prepared to press charges,” Jonathan said.
Summer groaned.
Jonathan shrugged. “We don’t have a choice, Summer. And this would appear to be the source, although we won’t know until we can figure out what the connection is to Florida.”
Summer looked from Tom to Jonathan. “If you’re both sure that’s what needs to be done, then let’s do it.”
“I’ll talk to the chief, but considering the one displayed at the nursing home is a fake, I think we should start by checking every painting here in town,” Tom said.
“How many are there?” Jonathan asked.
Tom mused for a moment. “I’m not quite sure. Bret has three, my mother has one, Clem has two. I have two taken from this supply. Marla Spooner at the Realty has one in her office. I think that’s all. I delivered most of them, but with Walter sometimes I never knew what he did.”
“I checked Clem’s when we were there for lunch. I’m pretty sure they are mine.” Summer yawned, the long hours in the sun, the big meal, and all the stress finally catching up with her. “Where are you staying, Jonathan?”
“I checked in at the Holiday Inn at the edge of town.” He glanced at his watch. “I should have a report from the private detective in the morning. He’s tracking the other paintings sold from the gallery.”
“I better be going,” Tom said. “Don’t forget tomorrow night.”
“I won’t.” Summer turned to the door. “Let me walk you out.”
Jonathan, bless his hide, was tactful enough to stay upstairs while she walked Tom to the door.
“I’ll call you tomorrow after I talk to the chief.” He paused with his hand on the knob, shook himself, then opened the door.
She touched his arm. “Thanks for baseball and dinner.”
He had that look in his eye again, that smoldering, you’re-mine possessive look that made her muscles melt. “Dress up tomorrow night.”
He left her there at the door. She watched him walk to his truck, back out of the driveway, flash his lights at her, and drive off.
She slammed the door a little too late for effect. Why hadn’t he kissed her?
She heard Jonathan’s steps coming down the stairs. She refused to turn and show him how perturbed she was, how hot, bothered, and
desperate she’d become in the span of a week for a man she shouldn’t be kissing, couldn’t take home with her, couldn’t keep, and couldn’t imagine why in more practical moments she wanted to. He was married to Echo Falls, and she wasn’t. Difficult difference to get past.
“Date tomorrow night?” Jonathan’s lightly teasing comment emptied the tension from her body.
She gave him a bland stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His laughter said he’d already figured out what was going on, and her answer confirmed his guess. Damn him for his perceptiveness.
££££££
Tom parked his truck in the crowded Clem’s parking lot and made his way to the door to meet Bret and Meg. Place was crowded for a Wednesday morning, but God, he could use coffee.
He couldn’t sleep last night, something that didn’t happen to him often. He’d finally given up any attempt and strummed his guitar until the sun rose, messing with different songs and wondering about Summer’s paintings and how to track the person responsible for the forgery. Hence, his bad mood by the time he got to Clem’s. He managed only a cursory greeting to those he knew and had no sense of humor when Meg started on him before he’d even sat down.
“When’s the wedding?” She managed to keep a straight face, but the innocent expression was over the top.
He slid into the booth and flagged down Myrna for coffee. “May I remind you who supported your quest to marry blockhead there.”
Bret set his coffee mug down. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed, did we? Or alone? That must be the problem.”
Tom glared at the two of them.
Meg snickered, then reached for her husband’s hand. “I married you because you can hold your own with my brothers.”
“I know.” Bret squeezed her fingers, staring Tom down.
Myrna flew up to the table. “What’ll ya have, Tom?”
“French toast, two eggs over easy, bacon, and hash browns.”
“Done.” She tore away, off to another table, another customer.
Tom watched her work her way around the tables and let his mind wander.
Maybe he should cancel their date, ignore all this foolishness making his chest tight—the insane compulsion to see Summer, hold her, be a part of whatever she had to offer. The idea was out of left field, and a foul ball to boot.
He was rooted in Echo Falls, and he liked it here. The time he’d spent away at college had cemented the bond with his hometown, and getting involved with her was like stabbing the connection just to feel the prick. He wasn’t a glutton for pain or punishment, so why do that?
I want to kiss her. Have to kiss her. Need to kiss her.
Hell. He gulped several swallows of coffee. “Tom,” Bret drawled.
He looked up. “What?”
“Meg asked you a question. Man, you are preoccupied.”
Bret had dropped the teasing tone, which made Tom paste an easy smile on his face. He didn’t have enough clarity to talk this through with them, and had no desire to spill his guts until Meg gave him no choice.
“My gut and my head are talking to me and they don’t agree. It’s giving me a headache,” Tom admitted. “Don’t worry about it. Something I need to work out. What did you ask me, Meg?”
“Is Summer planning on staying here, living in Walter’s house like the will asks her to?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
Meg sighed. “Then Walter’s house…”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Tom leaned back in the booth and rubbed his eyes. Myrna chose that moment to put food on the table in front of each of them, slip the check on the table, refill coffee, and bustle off. He turned to watch her, contemplated asking her what energy pill she was taking, and spotted his father with his back to their table, his head next to a sunny blonde, not his mother.
What the heck? His father never went to restaurants with women, even clients, without his mother. It had been a personal code of his for a long time.
“Meg, isn’t that Dad over there?” Tom turned to look at his sister.
She glanced the direction he had, and her eyes widened. “Who is that with him?”
Bret leaned over to look. “Mattie Standish. I saw her come in. I didn’t see your Dad come in though.”
Meg’s confusion mirrored Tom’s. “What are they doing?”
He turned to look again. “I don’t know. Business meeting?” It would be a first. He always did business at the office.
“Maybe we should go say hello.” Meg slid to the edge of the booth.
Bret grabbed her arm. “Maybe we wait on that. Let him make the first move.”
Tom frowned, his mood plummeting. “Bret’s right. If it is a business meeting, we don’t want to interrupt.”
Business, my Justin boots.
No need for them to be sitting so close together, and Rick had said his father wasn’t taking clients. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a client, but why hadn’t he acknowledged them when he came in? Had he seen them? Did Mom know he was here?
His appetite gone, Tom pushed his plate away. Meg did the same. Bret kept on eating, steadily cleaning his plate.
“Do you know if Grandma and Chad talked to them?” Tom forced himself to not look again.
Meg nodded. “Both said nothing was wrong. Wondered why we were concerned.” She made a face. “You working today?”
“Half-day. Had some comp time the chief made me take.” He sipped his coffee.
“Bret’s working swing today. You want to come over and help me strip wallpaper?” Meg’s smile was forced, controlled.
Tom twirled his coffee mug. “Uh…no. I have a date.”
The spark came back into Meg’s eyes. “A date? With Summer?”
Tom gave an exaggerated, dramatic sigh. “If you must know…”
“I knew it,” Meg crowed.
“It’s not a big deal. It’s a date. You know the concept.” Tom snapped his fingers. “Wait. No you don’t. You two never had a real date before you got married.”
He expected a rise out of Bret to divert Meg, but he didn’t get it. Bret gave him a smug grin instead. “We did have a date. The pumpkin patch where I planned to propose, only I delivered a baby instead, if you’ll recall.”
Tom tapped his lips with his finger, stifling a grin. “Oh yeah.”
Bret nodded. “Yeah, Benjamin. And I didn’t wake up alone this morning, so dates or not, I’m still a winner.”
Meg lightly elbowed her husband. “Where are you taking her?”
His sister was determined to live vicariously through him.
Tom toyed with not telling her, but then saw her glance toward their father again, and he couldn’t help it. She needed something else to think about. “The gazebo in the park for a picnic.”
“What kind of picnic?”
He’d thought about the details long and hard during a night of trying to convince himself to cancel and failing. “Finger food, stuff I can get from Sal’s. Wine.” No way was he going to admit he’d also spent hours filling his iPod with old time favorites to dance to.
“You should go for beer. Drop over to the brewery and get some Canyon Babe or Sunset Ale,” Bret said, weighing in. “Wine is highly over-rated, to my taste.”
“I agree, but not for that reason. You’re not a wine guy. Give her a taste of what you like.” Meg said.
Hmm. Dr. Pepper or coffee probably wouldn’t do the trick. Not that he was opposed to drinking alcohol, he just didn’t very often.
She sighed. “It’s a full moon tomorrow night, and it’s supposed to be a tad cooler. Ought to be perfect. So romantic.”
Tom gave Bret a prodding look, but Bret had already picked up the cue. Smart man.
“How about you and I get all dressed up and drive to Conrad to that new steakhouse, then go to the civic theatre there for their summer play? I heard they are doingYou Can’t Take It With You.” Bret dropped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his side. “We can pull over and n
eck on the way home,” he whispered in her ear loud enough for Tom to hear.
Meg blushed, totally charming both men at the table. “I’d like that.”
Good. She’d be distracted by her own date with little time to worry about their father’s mystery meeting or tease him more about Summer.
She pointed that hated schoolteacher finger at him. “I want details afterward. Don’t even think about avoiding me.”
Man.
Bret grabbed the check. “Our treat.”
“Fine. I buy next time.” Tom didn’t bother to answer Meg. There wasn’t a point. She’d win. She could always guess her Christmas presents. She always got her way. She loved like no other sister on earth.
“Dad’s gone.” Meg bit her lip.
Both Tom and Bret turned to look. Sure enough, both Mattie and their Dad had left. No way he hadn’t seen the three of them, smack dab in the line of sight with the door. That meant he’d avoided them. Why?
££££££
Afternoon was ticking away. Summer tossed a pair of silk Capri pants on the bed, discarding the bright red as too vivacious and forward for a first date. They joined four other items. She really should have gone shopping. She had no plans for going on a date when she’d packed for the funeral. Hence, there wasn’t anything in her bags that would qualify as dressed up except her black sheath. She pulled the last three items from the bottom of the bag. Shorts and shirts, one with paint on it. Nope, she was in trouble.
“Cher, you really shouldn’t chew your lips. It makes them swell.” Jonathan stood in the door holding a zippered garment bag.
“What have you been doing since last night?” She selected a few hangers from the closet and bent to pick up the clothes from the floor.
“Talked to my private detective. Called my mother.”
Summer sank to the bed, hangers and the clothes clutched in her arms. “You called your mother?”
“Yeah, you needed a date outfit. Figured something from her spring line. She air expressed an outfit. I figured you didn’t have anything.”
Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 52