Joe Criminal. Somehow, I had the feeling Sheriff Bennett owned the complete Dragnet DVD set somewhere on a bookshelf. As the officer let himself out, Ryan watched him from the window.
Clarence cocked his head in expectation, “Gabby, what did you think of our little bookstore?”
“It was wonderful. Tim took a lot of time showing me around. Now I know all about running a bookstore.”
Clarence seemed happy at the news. “I’m glad he did. Fair warning—Tim’s broken many a heart around Henry Park.”
Mitch scratched his head. “I thought he and Darla lived together.”
Ryan let out a little laugh. “That never stopped him before.”
“Oh my, poor Darla.” He had indeed been flirting with me my first night back in Henry Park. I wondered if it gave him a sense of power, flitting from one woman to the next. “I’ll be on the lookout for his wily ways.”
Mitch stepped forward, his hands still in the pockets of his black cargo shorts. “Uh, Clarence, I was wondering if you might know anyone I could call on to ask about a job.”
Clarence paused and stroked his chin. “I don’t know of anyone looking, but I’d be happy to give you a list of people around here to contact. Who knows? You might come up with something.”
“That would be great. My sister may look like a nice person, but she’s a real drill sergeant when it comes to bringing home the bacon.”
A look of admiration crossed Ryan’s features. “I can come up with a list as well.” Just then his phone buzzed in his pocket. After checking the text, he announced, “I think I’m going to take a drive. Maybe I’ll spot a burglar.”
“I don’t think they wear black masks and striped shirts like in the old movies, son.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ryan picked up his keys from a dark-green glass bowl near the door. “I’ll be back in about a half hour.” Ryan left abruptly.
“Is he upset about something?” I asked.
“I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s usually a charming fellow. Something has him tensed up. That’s for sure.”
Mitch leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I guess I’m done here. Let me know if you get any ideas, Clarence. I’ve got to make a call. Making plans for a big night.”
“Plans? Already?” Clarence asked.
“Met a girl. A beautiful, sexy girl.” Mitch slammed out the screen door whistling a happy little tune.
“Oh, to be young again.” Clarence chuckled.
Chapter 7
That evening, after working on the book for several hours, Clarence announced he was heading to bed early with a headache. Still feeling a little motivated, I decided to work on a few sketches alone in his office. He needed a total of ten illustrations for the book, which I would then turn into color with soft pastels.
The moonlight on the lake created a glow that filled the windows of the study, but most of my attention was on the drawing in front of me. I was thankful that the visions seemed to be quiet tonight. Clarence’s story was a simple one of three children who wandered off into the woods to find a lost dog. I had the image of the dog approved and had worked on several positions for him, working on the continuity between pictures. The three children were another matter, though. I needed a twelve-year-old boy, his little brother, and a sister somewhere around six years old. He liked my dog, which coincidentally resembled Luigi, but so far, everything I came up with on the kids was close but not quite right. Clarence assured me my work was very good but just needed a little tweaking to resemble past books.
Ryan’s car lights glared through the window as he pulled into the driveway. I wasn’t sure if he lived here or simply haunted the halls with his bad attitude. The fact he was returning this late at night made me think he was living here. The car door opened, and I heard U2 on the stereo. Ryan’s footsteps were slow as he mounted the stairs. Hoping he’d go straight to bed, I scrunched down in my seat. No such luck.
“You work too late,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe. His face was flushed, and his shirttail hung out on one side.
“You stay out too late,” I answered. “Did you find any bad guys? Are they tied up in your car?”
“No,” he said, coming in and throwing himself on his father’s leather sofa. “In a perfect world, I would have caught our friendly neighborhood burglars and turned them into old Officer Keith at the station. I was expecting the mayor to give me the key to the city tomorrow.”
“I’ll be sure to wear something nice to the ceremony.” His glance roamed over me from top to bottom.
“That would be great.” His eyes widened, and he smiled like a homeless man waiting for a free turkey dinner.
I was getting uncomfortable and tried to change the subject. “How did you know I was in here?”
“The light was on. Someone is always working in here at night. I assumed you were my dad,” he said.
“Have you, by chance, been having a few cocktails this evening, Mr. Bradford?”
“Shhh, I was undercover. I went to the bar to see if anyone was talking about their latest heist in Lake Henry,” he whispered.
“Trying to catch the cat burglars.”
“Precisely,” he slurred. “This may shock you. I don’t usually drink, but I was trying to fit in. Had to meet a guy on business, but I was also surveying the crowd. I could have been elbow to elbow with the low-down, dirty scoundrels responsible for the crime wave here in Henry Park,” he said raising a hand in the air and then falling off the couch onto the wood floor. “It may also shock you to know I’m not much of a drinker. Your brother was there too, of course, though I don’t think he was there to fight crime.”
I already knew my brother must have been out with his new love interest. Mitch would tell me all about it tomorrow. I hadn’t had a decent date in two years. He, on the other hand, could find someone in two days. It just wasn’t fair.
“You know, you’re different,” Ryan blurted out. In my thoughts of Mitch I hadn’t been aware of Ryan’s slow, appreciative appraisal, but he had been staring at me this whole time. “Not like Darla. Now she’s a mean one. Yessirree. Mean girl.”
“She can’t be that bad.”
“Are you kidding? When Timbo threatened to leave her, and this may shock you too … I was afraid for the guy. Who knows what the woman in black could do?” He put his hand on his heart. “Beware of her. I’m warning you. Darla, Darla, Darla …” He clucked his tongue and wagged his head from side to side.
I set my work down and tried to help him up off the floor as he continued repeating Darla’s name.
“Let me help you get to bed,” I said, taking him by the elbow.
“I’m shocked. I barely know you. Is this how you city girls operate?” Ryan gave me a wide grin. “I love the city.”
“Sure. Now, which one is your room?” We struggled up the stairs to the second floor.
“Last door on the left.” I helped him down the hall, and when we opened the door, I was surprised to be greeted not by a cozy bedroom but by another flight of stairs to an attic room.
“Can you make it up the stairs?” I asked.
He pulled me around into his arms. “Yes. Hey, wait, aren’t you going with me?” he asked, lowering his face to mine.
“No, I think I’ve gone far enough with you.”
“No, not far enough,” he leaned down and tenderly brushed his lips on mine and then proceeded into a full kiss, covering my mouth with his. Operating on instinct, I kissed him back but then thought better of it. Bad idea. He was drunk and vulnerable. If I let the chemistry we had between us keep happening, he would sober up eventually, and somehow our hookup would be my fault. I pulled away from him, and he opened his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he whispered in my ear.
“Not a thing,” I answered pushing him in the door. “Good-night. See you tomorrow.” His look of confusion was priceless. He couldn’t believe I was heading down those stairs without him. As long as it had been since
I felt anything for a man, and as long as it had been since a man held me like Ryan just had, I couldn’t believe it either. He was pretty hard to resist, but I was here to work. Nothing more.
The next morning I woke to a quiet house. Mitch was out, and I had to figure he’d tracked down a job. I welcomed the peace after all that had happened the night before. Even though it was almost noon, I fumbled putting some coffee on while Luigi did his business outside. I was just dragging him through the sliding door off the back deck when the doorbell rang. I pushed the stray tendrils of brown hair out of my face and put my eye up to the peephole while Luigi barked loud enough to raise the dead. Ryan Bradford was standing on the other side of my door glancing at his watch. He wore a blue blazer over his signature plaid shirt. Did he have casual plaid and business plaid? Was that how his closet was set up? Plaid, plaid, and more plaid? What a way to start the day.
Grabbing Luigi by the collar, I opened the door. His eyes roamed over my pink pajamas and then to Luigi, who was still trying to decide whether he was friend or foe.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No. I was up. Working with your father is turning me into a late sleeper.”
“And who’s this?” Ryan grinned at Luigi, who gave his most lovable look back.
“Mitch’s dog, Luigi.” I stroked Luigi’s head. “Our security system.”
Ryan stood there, and I realized he was waiting for me to ask him in.
“I’m just making coffee. Would you like some?”
“No thanks, but I do need to talk to you about something.” I opened the door for him, and he stepped past me. He cast a quick inspection around our quiet little house, now filled with midday light. Mitch had left a bag of chips on the couch, along with a pair of socks under the coffee table.
“Where’s Mitch? Still sleeping?”
“Believe it or not, I think he’s at work.” Even with the dirty socks under the table, I felt pride in saying that.
Ryan settled at the table. He folded his hands as if about to start a prayer. “My father is … very pleased with your work.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Dad worked with the same illustrator for twenty years. The guy eventually moved just down the road from us.”
“Did you know him well?”
“Sam was part of the family. It was years before I figured out we weren’t related.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Right, so the thing is, with your contribution we feel like we’re back on track. As you are working on the first set of illustrations for this book, my dad has been sneaking a little time on the next one. We’d like to keep the assembly line going. Now that we’re not tied down to a publisher, we can put out as many books in a year as the two of you can produce.”
“Great.”
“My father would like for you to consider committing to us long-term.”
Even though Clarence had mentioned working together on several books, Ryan speaking of it came as a surprise. “Would this include an increase in compensation?”
Ryan smiled. “A slight one.”
Of course, it would only be slight. I was glad to have been offered the job with Maybelline. At least now I could make a living wage.
“Uh, and also, I would like to apologize for my behavior. It wasn’t at all appropriate.” He was blushing. I had to guess he remembered quite a bit about our unsuccessful trip to the bedroom. His embarrassment was leaking out of every pore.
“I’ll say. No harm done. You were just drunk.”
“As I said, it was highly inappropriate of me. It’s just you are … very attractive, and I …”
“Was drunk. Like I said, no harm was done … and thank you for the compliment.”
He blushed again and cleared his throat.
He would do anything for his dad, and what had happened between us was bothering him. I admired that. I thought about Mitch and me. Even though we had lived apart for years, now that we were together and trying to make a new life in a new place, I felt the same way. We always had the figure of our uber-successful mother towering over us. Now it was just us, the underachievers, and I felt the need to stick to him and help him find his way in life.
I couldn’t judge Ryan. It was a little peculiar he had spent last night trying to catch burglars, and I wasn’t quite sure I believed him, but who was I to judge? He was playing cop, and I was playing guidance counselor to get my brother off the couch.
Chapter 8
That evening I observed a class in Maybelline’s art school. I sat in a wobbly red plastic chair, watching students with stark-white virginal canvasses as they listened to instruction. There were only about eight people in the class, but the wooden trifold easels took up so much room it looked like the room was full. Near the wall sat a young artist in a wheelchair with another woman who appeared to be an older sister or maybe an attendant.
The woman’s mobility was clearly limited, and she relied on a tablet with various black wires coming out the back that resembled the crazy legs of a freshly smashed spider. It was all very unusual to me, but I seemed to be the only one in the room who noticed. The woman had a long braid that cascaded down her back. Her attendant’s hair was the same sandy-brown color, but she wore it in a much more functional cut that fell to just above her shoulders. She also wore a thick line of eyeliner around both eyes and had large bangle earrings peeking out of the folds of her hair.
An African American man in a sweater vest and a bow tie peered at us over a pair of bifocals perched on his nose. He did a simple explanation of how to paint an outdoor scene, creating trees first and then expanding a rural scene around them. As he added paint to the canvas, he spoke about an element of art I didn’t expect to hear in such a basic class.
“We need to have a focus in our painting. Something you can build everything else around. Focus is always the most important thing to help you fill in details.” He began painting a greenish background and then eventually added in a brown stripe of a tree. Soft music pulsed through a set of speakers. The gentle sound seemed to promote creativity among the students, who were busy emulating his strokes. His trees were graceful and full. Some of the trees on the canvasses shared his elegant line while others resembled clumsy sticks. During a break, the teacher came over, looking pleased to see me. He drew closer and closed his arms over his sweater vest. Upon close inspection, I judged him to be in his late fifties.
“So glad you came to observe. I’m Marcus. I hear you’re thinking about joining our little art school. What kind of art do you primarily do?”
“I’m here doing illustration work for Clarence Bradford, but I have experience in many mediums including oil.”
He tapped his temple with his knuckles. “Oh yes, that’s right. How is it working for Clarence?’
“It’s great. Unfortunately, it doesn’t pay quite enough.”
“Tell me about it. I worked for thirty years as an engineer and then decided my art spoke to me, so I retired. What I didn’t know was that my retirement income wouldn’t be enough to supplement the cost of listening to it.”
I knew all about the hidden charges of trying to exhibit work. Whether it was renting space in a gallery or having a painting framed, being an artist involved a lot more expenses than people realized.
“I love being back in Henry Park. When I came to pay a visit to your gallery, Maybelline grabbed me.”
“Did you even get in the door?”
“Actually, no, she came out on the sidewalk.”
Marcus chuckled. “That’s our Maybelline. We laugh, but if it hadn’t been for her and her husband, Keith, this place never would have existed.”
I nodded. “You’re a good teacher. I’ve never actually taught an art class before.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll answer any questions you have, and Maybelline will stay with you for the first couple of classes.”
“That’s a relief. I just thought Maybelline was going to stick me up
there.”
“Not until the second week.” He grinned. “Would you like to see some of our students’ work?” Marcus asked.
“Sure.” I followed Marcus to a canvas that held a scene almost identical to the one he had painted up front.
“This is Nancy Farnham. She uses her art to deal with the stress of governing Henry Park. She is our honorable mayor.”
Nancy reached out and gave me a campaign-style handshake. “I get so much relaxation from painting. Sometimes dealing with all the trivialities of government can be extremely stressful. In the summer I have to deal with the tourists, but the rest of the year I have to put up with …” The mayor stopped talking as another woman entered the room. She wore purple from head to foot, except for the fire-engine red hair that was tightly curled around her head. She had several oversized bags that bumped Nancy as she walked by to settle into the easel next to her. Nancy’s lips thinned.
“Sorry I’m late. I’ve been binge watching, and I just couldn’t tear myself away.” She glanced at Nancy’s painting. “Oh my, that’s interesting. Well, I’m sure it will improve with more practice. By the way, did you get my letter requesting new light bulbs in the streetlights on our street? Can’t have Aspen Street dull, now can we?” The woman continued chattering in a way that made it unnecessary for anyone else to respond.
Nancy leaned over to Marcus and me, ignoring the new arrival. “In a way, art is another form of meditation for me. Sometimes it’s good to shut the world out.”
Marcus patted Nancy on the back. “Beautifully put.”
We moved over to another canvas. The artist was a young woman with tattoo sleeves covering both arms. She was painting the same scene but with a different eye. Where the mayor’s view was calming, her woods were dark and foreboding. It reminded me of the woods outside of Clarence’s house at night.
“This is interesting,” I said.
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