GALLERY CAT CAPER, THE

by Patricia Fry

  "Yeah, those that weren't damaged."

  "What?"

  "You know that call Peter got last night?"

  Savannah nodded.

  "Well, someone had thrown an open bucket of paint through the front window at the gallery and damaged all the art in that area. It affected a total of seven paintings."

  "I heard about that," the server said, as he approached their table. "That's Peter Whitcomb's gallery, right? Some people were in here talking about it early this morning. Do they know who did it?"

  Michael looked up at the server and shook his head. "What were they saying?" he asked.

  "Oh, just that someone threw a paint bucket through the window." He hesitated and added, "They were kinda laughing about it like it was a joke or prank."

  "Do you think these people had something to do with it?" Michael asked.

  "Heck, I wondered that myself, the way they were talking."

  "Do you know who they were?" Savannah asked.

  The young man looked down and shook his head slowly. "Not really. I've seen them around the beach, though. They don't eat here often. One of them seems to come into some money every once in a while and he brings a few buddies in for breakfast. He was flashing a hundred-dollar bill this morning. I had trouble giving him change that early in the day."

  Savannah was keenly interested now. "Uh, Tad," she said, reading from his name tag, "can you tell us what the people looked like?"

  "Yeah, your typical homeless beach-bum type. The one with the money had brown hair and a beard. He wore a baseball cap with some sort of animal on it. I think it advertised a company with an animal's name."

  "Like John Deere?" Michael asked.

  "Yes, but it wasn't a deer, it was a smaller animal." He shook his head. "Gosh, I don't remember what it was. The hat was pretty dirty."

  "Is there anything else you can remember about this guy?" Savannah asked.

  Tad thought and then he said, "A tattoo. He had a stupid-looking face smoking a pipe tattooed on his hand."

  "Smoking a pipe?" Michael asked.

  "Yeah, with big cheeks and wearing a sailor's cap."

  "Popeye," Savannah said.

  Tad nodded. "Yeah, I guess." He looked around the café and said, "Hey, what can I get you folks to eat this morning?"

  After they'd placed their order, Savannah leaned toward Michael and spoke quietly, "It sounds like someone paid that guy to damage Peter's paintings. But who?"

  Michael took a sip of coffee. "Someone who's jealous, probably. Peter said nothing like this had ever happened to him before he started selling for the big dollars and exhibiting in the most prestigious shows."

  "But not every artist has enemies," Gladys said, while feeding Lily pears from a jar with her baby spoon. "Why Peter?" she asked.

  "Presumably because he's hanging around with the wrong people," Savannah said, as if deep in thought.

  She looked across the table at Michael and glanced at her mother. Both of them stared back. She explained, "Well, Michael, isn't that pretty much what Rochelle said last night? And Blake said the same thing. He should be wary of the people closest to him, like Dawna, Kara, and…"

  "Yes, I guess so," he said, "but Dawna showed up at the gallery before the glass company arrived to replace the window this morning, and she seemed genuinely upset by the scene there. She cried and tried to console Peter. I think she's the one who needed consoling. She was more upset than he was."

  "What about Kara?"

  "Didn't see her this morning."

  "So did he open today?"

  "Sure did," Michael said. "He had a large throw rug delivered and, after the cleaning service left, he put the new rug over the paint stains, replaced the damaged paintings with fresh prints, and opened the gallery."

  "Did he tell Rochelle what happened?"

  "Yes, he called her. Know what she said?"

  Savannah grinned. "Well, she's too classy to say, 'I told you so.'"

  "You got that right," Michael agreed. "No. She asked, 'what color?' Peter wasn't sure what she meant. When he questioned her, she said, 'What color paint was it?'"

  "Really? I wonder why."

  "She said she visualized red, and he told her it was red. Know what she said then?"

  "No, what?" both women asked.

  "'That's not a spiritual color.' She explained that red signifies power and physical need for earthly possessions, or something like that."

  Savannah scoffed. "Well, it wasn't a spiritual action, that's for sure." She then asked, "How's Peter?"

  "Oh, he's okay, I guess. Seems like he's been beaten down a little. But he perked up when he talked about Rochelle and last evening. I think he's smitten."

  "As he should be," Savannah said. "She's genuine. I like her."

  "And you don't like the other women he has brought around to meet us?"

  "Well, Dawna's a little…difficult to read."

  "You think so?" he asked.

  "Yeah. She's nice enough, I guess, only there's something…not quite authentic about her. I'm not sure if it's her personality or whatever drives her, maybe. Something is not coming across to me as sincere."

  Michael cringed a little. "Savannah, where do you get this stuff?"

  "Listening to my inner voice, that's all, hon," she said, smiling demurely.

  He shook his head. "Well, you've always had a pretty good sense about people and their motives…like your cat does." He looked at her for a moment, then said, "Maybe you should tell Peter about your impressions."

  "Okay, I guess. But it's all rather vague in my mind—probably too ambiguous for him to embrace."

  "Vannie, I never heard you talk like that before," Gladys scolded. "Have you been following some sort of cult?"

  Savannah laughed. "No, it's probably my association with Iris. She's kind of metaphysical. It's rubbing off, I guess."

  Gladys shook her head. "Well, it sounds foreign coming from you. You've always been my grounded, down-to-earth daughter. Brianna was more into the woo-woo stuff. Sure never thought I'd hear you talk like that. It's all blibber-blabber to me."

  After breakfast, Michael asked, "What do you ladies have planned for today?"

  "I thought I'd take Mom to see Peter's gallery," Savannah said.

  Gladys smiled. "Oh, I'd like that. Is it far?"

  Michael motioned with one hand. "Just down the street." He stretched in his chair and said, "I think I'll go on home and maybe take a nap." He winked. "I'm behind on my newspaper-reading, too."

  "Okay, hon," Savannah said, standing and lifting Lily from the high chair. "We'll see you later, then."

  "When are Iris and Craig coming?" he asked, before leaving.

  "Sometime this afternoon—whenever Craig's meetings are over in Vegas."

  "Good," he said. Once Savannah had Lily strapped into the stroller, Michael leaned in and kissed her. "'Bye." He waved before stepping away. "Have fun."

  "Oh, I love that jewelry," Gladys said, stopping in front of a curio shop on their way to the gallery. "Let's go in and look at it. I want to pick up some little gifts for friends."

  "Sure. Good idea. I want to get something for Auntie, too, since she and Max couldn't join us. Also Colbi and Damon, Helena…" She let out a sigh. "Yup, I guess I have some serious shopping to do."

  ****

  Over an hour later, after browsing through several shops, Savannah and Gladys walked into Peter's gallery wheeling Lily in the stroller. "Hello," Dawna greeted cheerfully.

  "Hi Dawna. This is my mother, Gladys Jordan. She wanted to see Peter's gallery."

  "Hello," she said. "Welcome. Please look around and let me know if you have any questions."

  "I have one," Savannah said. "I saw a painting in here on my first visit. I think I want to buy it. I see it's not where it was. It's the one that looks like the Big Sur area."

  "Oh yes," Dawna said. "I know the one you mean. It is Big Sur, actually. Let's see, I think it's in the first alcove. Come with me," she invited.

&
nbsp; "Just look around, Mom," Savannah said. "I'll be right back."

  "Is this it?" Dawna asked, pointing. "Let's see, it's called, Point of Discovery."

  "Oh, you gave me goose bumps," Savannah said. "That's pretty close to the spot where I made an important discovery in my life—I was at a crossroads." Savannah stared into the painting. After a few moments, she realized Dawna was speaking to her, and she turned to face her. "I'm sorry," she said. She blinked and shook her head a little. "Gosh, that painting really grabbed me and pulled me in."

  Dawna laughed out loud. "I know how that can happen," she said.

  Savannah gazed at the woman for a moment. That's the first time I've seen her laugh. She's usually so uptight. "So it isn't just me?" she asked, feeling a little embarrassed.

  "No," Dawna said, putting her hand on Savannah's arm. "It doesn't happen often, but there are people who…well, who just relate to certain pieces of art." She looked melancholy for a moment and spoke almost under her breath. "Peter's art has that quality. I just wish I could attain it in my work."

  "Oh, so are you painting again?" Savannah asked. "You said you used to paint."

  Dawna looked up at Savannah, her eyes wide. She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, no. Not really." When Savannah looked confused, she said, "My contribution to the art world is through Peter—promoting his work. That's my passion."

  Savannah peered at Dawna for a moment and then looked at the painting again. "How much is it?" she asked, quietly.

  Dawna became contemplative. "It's one of his early works. I think he was still discovering himself. It was at the beginning of his transition to the style he has adopted. It's marked $300. These earlier works don't carry the prices the more recent ones do."

  "Sold," Savannah said, smiling. "Can I pick it up later when we have the car out? It's a little large for us to manage after all the shopping Mom and I did this morning."

  "Sure." Dawna said. She then asked, "What did you buy?"

  "Gosh," Savannah said, waving her hand in the air in front of her, "jewelry, a little see-through box for my beach glass, a darling evening bag, a tote bag…Mom picked up a couple of gifts for friends. Oh, and I got an adorable replica of one of our cats—a little figurine."

  Dawna continued to stare at Savannah. She looked at her watch and said, "Kara will be here in a few minutes. Would you like to have a mocha with me down at the coffee house? I'm ready for a break."

  Savannah glanced at her watch. Just then they heard, "Vannie? Oh, there you are," Gladys said, as she spotted her daughter in the alcove.

  "Mom, look at my painting. I just bought it," Savannah said, pointing to it.

  "Oh, that's nice, honey," Gladys said. "I like beach scenes and ocean scenes. He does some beautiful work, doesn't he? I just bought some note cards from the other girl."

  "Oh, is Kara here?" Dawna asked, walking out of the alcove and back to the main gallery. Savannah and Gladys followed.

  "Vannie, the baby's getting tired. We should take her back to the house."

  "Uh, okay, Mom. Dawna and I are going to have coffee, if you don't mind."

  "No, not at all."

  "Can you find it on your own?"

  "Sure; all I have to do is stay on the street where all the houses face the ocean," she said, as she pushed the stroller toward the exit. Savannah followed Gladys and Lily out onto the sidewalk. "I have my cell if I need GPS help from Michael," Gladys said. "We'll be fine. You go drink your coffee."

  Savannah knelt and kissed Lily's forehead. "Have a good nappy, sweetheart," she said. Lily rubbed one eye with her hand and then excitedly patted the stuffed chenille cat that sat in her stroller tray. Savannah stood and watched Gladys and the stroller disappear into a small crowd of people on the sidewalk and then she stepped back inside the gallery. She found a chair and sat while texting Michael that her mom was on her way back with Lily and that she would be along shortly, after having coffee with Dawna. When she looked up from her phone, she saw Kara appear from the back area.

  "Hi Savannah. How are you today?" she asked.

  "Great," she said. "Just waiting for Dawna."

  "Oh, she's in the office. Go on back and let her know you're here."

  "She knows I'm here. But, yeah, I'll let her know I'm ready," she said, taking long strides toward the back office. Suddenly, Savannah heard an angry voice. "You owe me, lady, and you'd better pay up or I'll go to the…"

  "You'll get your money. Don't worry. Just get the hell out of here. I'll meet you this afternoon, like I said."

  Savannah stopped in her tracks. That's Dawna. Who's she talking to? Sounds like he's awfully angry. Gads, what should I do? While Savannah tried to decide whether to walk in on the conversation or leave, Dawna emerged from the back room. They heard a door slam behind her. Dawna winced, but seemed to recover quickly when she saw Savannah. She took her by the arm and asked, "Are you ready?"

  "Uh, yes," Savannah said. She glanced behind Dawna. "Is everything all right?"

  "Oh sure. Just my landlord trying to collect the rent. He wants it on the twentieth no matter what. I just haven't been to the bank, that's all. No problem," she said, speaking faster than Savannah had heard her speak before.

  Dawna led Savannah back into the main gallery. She pulled her purse out of a closet and said to Kara, "I'll be gone for a little while. Will you be okay until I get back?"

  "Sure. Take your time."

  Dawna turned to leave and then looked back at Kara as if she wanted to say something more. Instead, she continued through the door, Savannah following behind her. Once out on the street, Dawna scowled. "She's practically worthless around here. I don't know why Peter keeps her on." She glanced at Savannah, "Or maybe I do," she said, a look of disgust on her face.

  "She seems pretty devoted to Peter's work," Savannah said.

  Dawna looked at Savannah. "All an act," she said. "She's acting!" She motioned to the left. "Here, they have excellent designer coffee in here and some nice goodies. Peter and I get the baklava when they have it."

  "Sounds good," Savannah said.

  Once Dawna had received a baklava and her iced-blended mocha with whipped cream and Savannah had her chai, they found a table on a charming outside patio. Dawna remarked, "You can't see the ocean from here, but it has a nice atmosphere and it's quiet."

  "It's lovely," Savannah said, glancing around at the array of large pots filled with flowering plants. "They can sure grow a lot of things along the coast down here that we can't grow."

  "Whole different climate, isn't it?" Dawna said.

  "Yes, and a whole different atmosphere," Savannah said. "It's so casual and fun here. I could get used to this life real fast." She looked at Dawna. "Have you always lived here?"

  Dawna took a sip of her mocha and set the glass down. "No. I came here from New York City. I'm a Midwest native; moved to New York to start a career in art when I was in my early thirties. I managed a couple of galleries there over the years. Eventually I met Peter and, well, you know the rest of the story. I've been working with him for nearly seven years, now."

  Savannah looked at her for a moment. "This is your career, isn't it, Dawna?"

  The woman looked confused. "Huh?"

  "You take this job very seriously—you seem to work awfully hard."

  "Well, someone has to," she said, chuckling. "You've been keeping Peter busy." She studied Savannah and added, "He's gone a lot. So, yes, I have a lot of responsibility." She looked down at her coffee, stirring the whipped cream into it. "He pays me well, too. I have everything I could want in this job. Yes, it's my career."

  "Then why…" Savannah started.

  "What?" Dawna asked, frowning.

  Savannah waved her hand, "Oh, never mind. None of my business."

  "No, really. It's okay. Ask."

  "Well, I was just wondering why you seem sad."

  Dawna looked at Savannah. She took a deep breath and started to respond. Then she slumped a little and said, "You're quite astute, there." She stirr
ed her coffee some more. "Yeah, I'm not totally happy. Not yet, anyway. Like most people, I had expectations that weren't met." She looked around the patio. "Maybe they never will be." She sat with her thoughts for a moment and then said, "Savannah, I…"

  Savannah watched as Dawna tried desperately to hold back her emotions, but tears welled in her eyes. "I'm sorry," Savannah said, reaching across the table for her hand. "I didn't mean…"

  Dawna shook her head. "Not your fault. I've just been so emotional lately. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that…" she lowered her head and began to sob softly.

  "What is it?" Savannah asked, quietly.

  Dawna struggled to gain control. Finally, she said, "I don't know. Just pressure, I guess."

  "Dawna," Savannah asked, "what is it that you're missing—that you need or want in your life? You aren't doing what so many women do and stuffing your own desires in order to pursue what you think is your path, are you? You don't seem to be that type of woman. You're accomplished; strong."

  "Stuffing my desire to pursue my path…" Dawna repeated. "God, Savannah, is that what I'm doing?"

  "I don't know, is it? Is there something else you would rather be doing with your life?" When Dawna didn't respond, Savannah leaned toward her and said, "Some of us take the wrong road and can't understand why it doesn't work. I had a friend in veterinary school who hated everything about veterinary science."

  "But she went to school to become a veterinarian?"

  "Yes, and she failed courses, struggled horribly with the classes, complained about the teachers. There was nothing about it that she enjoyed."

  Dawna blotted at her eyes. "So why did she stay?"

  "For a couple of reasons. One was because she had made the commitment. She couldn't stand the idea of admitting she may have been wrong in her decision. And she kept going because she expected to enjoy being a veterinarian. She loved animals, after all. It didn't occur to her that the very studies she disliked would become her life as a veterinarian."

  "So what did she do? Did she become a vet, anyway?"

  "She graduated, practically at the bottom of the class, but she never practiced. She happened to find her path quite by accident. Luckily, she opened up enough to recognize that it was her path. She met another woman who had recently started a nonprofit for pets left behind when their owners died or became too ill to care for them. She got involved. She's now the director of the organization and is happier than I've ever seen her. We communicate occasionally by email."