Mark hesitated as he walked past us, he gave Madelyn a lecherous look and reached a hand out toward her as he said, “As always, a pleasure you little freak.” I grabbed his wrist before he could touch her cheek as she recoiled back.
He tried to yank his hand away but was a little surprised when I simply tightened my grip, and he winced in pain as I said, “Hands off her. Do I make myself clear?”
He yanked again, and I just tightened my grip, digging my fingertips into his tendons causing him to stumble to one knee in pain. I crouched to meet his eyes.“Do I make myself clear, Mark? Or do I need to bring you in for trespass, and disturbing the peace?”
He just nodded, his other hand on mine, trying to pry my fingers off his wrist. I let go, and he fell back on his butt then scrambled to his feet, stood to his full height in an attempt to intimidate and save face. He looked back at Johnny who joined us at the door, “Uncle Bradley is going to hear about this. I got you a job with him, and this is how you repay me?”
Johnny just pointed at the beat up Toyota Corolla in the drive. Then Madelyn called out from behind me, “He has a job, washing dishes, he doesn't need you.”
The man refused to look at us as he held up a middle finger as he walked to his car and got in, then peeled out into the night. I caught motion in my peripheral vision and saw Sparkplug relax into his porch swing and lean a shotgun against the outer wall. The old man had our backs.
Then Madelyn was slapping her brother's chest rapidly and repeatedly as she asked incredulously, “Uncle Bradley? Mark's uncle owns the scrapyard? Johnny! We moved here to get away from them. What were you thinking?”
He looked like a beaten dog as he looked down and stepped past us to the stairs, he mumbled, “Just drop it, Mads.”
And that's how a night that started out so well ended. She gave me an apologetic look and said, “I have to talk to him.”
I nodded in understanding as she started up the stairs, and I said, “I understand, see you tomorrow night. I have something to do in the morning.”
I looked up at her, and she stopped on the steps, turned back to look at me for a moment, then ran back down into my arms and gave me a kiss that made me go weak at the knees as she knotted her fingers in my hair to pull me harder into the kiss. Then she was gone. Scurrying up the stairs like a blue haired streak.
I stood there until she shut the upper door then I spun in place and giggled, only to come crashing back into reality when Sparkplug called over, “You're such a girl.”
I snorted and muttered, “Shut up.” Then went to retrieve my uniform to go home.
Chapter 9 – Missy Hannigan
The following morning, it felt so odd heading somewhere other than Maddie's on my time off. I had gotten so used to spending time with her. I stretched and did some exercises to keep myself limber then got ready for the day. I had to stop by the Downtown Gallery.
I picked up the bundle on the counter with reverence as I headed out. It was going to be a chilly and windy day, with a chance of rain. I snorted. It was Seattle, there is always a chance of rain. So I put on a light jacket then grinned as I put on a scarf I bought from Maddie's cart the other day because she said the pale green dyes in it reminded her of my eyes. I'm such a sap.
I almost got a look in that damn mysterious sketchpad she was drawing in, as she watched the people in the market, but the imp caught me and closed it quickly. As I was on duty and needed to remain as professional as possible out in public, I stuck my tongue out at her as I resumed my patrol. Her self-satisfied, pursed-lipped grin, melted me as I walked off.
I glanced across the room to make sure the gun safe was locked, snagged my keys from the peg at the door, and headed out to my truck.
I hit a drive-thru for coffee and made my way downtown. I was lucky enough to find a parking spot in the little lot on the side of the gallery that was reserved for patrons. I checked my notes I wrote down from my conversation with Crystal. Ok, I just needed to talk to the curator here, a Missy Hannigan.
I flipped my notepad closed and almost snorted at myself. I had gotten so used to writing things in it for work, that I did the same for personal things instead of just jotting the notes on my cell.
I hopped out of Courtney and ran my fingers along the sleek lines of her glossy black body as I walked toward the doors of the Gallery. I grinned to myself, my truck sure was sexy.
I stepped inside the gallery and straightened up a little. The place certainly was upscale. It had the feel of a museum to me, the way they displayed all of the amazing art like it was on exhibit. Well, I guess it was on exhibit in a way. I squinted at a god awful mess of a painting that made no sense to me beside the entry. So maybe it wasn't all amazing art.
My eyes bulged at the hundred thousand dollar price tag on the plaque below it. Ok, so maybe for some people it was amazing. Maybe I wasn't cultured enough to get it.
A voice beside me startled me. “What do you think?”
I glanced over at a perky looking middle-aged blonde woman who was entirely too short and entirely too cute. She was in a professional looking skirt suit and the glasses she wore just compounded the cuteness that someone with silvering hair shouldn't possess.
I shrugged and said in embarrassment, “I'm the wrong person to ask, art is subjective, and I'm not very cultured.”
The woman smiled and nudged her chin at the piece. “Be that as it may, different pieces of art speak to different people. And we're all people unless of course, we're androids... oh, I'd so make an awesome Android. I'd be all...” She trailed off and looked at me sheepishly. “Sorry, I'm easily sidetracked.” Her smile was brilliantly contagious, and I found myself smiling back at the oddly random woman.
I looked back at the random mess on the wall and squinted my eyes, not wanting to insult the work or embarrass myself. I said, “I like art to look like something I guess, something I can relate to and place myself in the picture to imagine the artist's frame of mind and emotions, as they've created something that can move someone just by laying eyes on it.”
Her face softened a bit at that as she nodded and I lifted one shoulder in apology. “I don't get abstract. It always looks like junk or a random mess to me.” I nudged my chin toward the painting, “This looks like something a three-year-old would do.” Then I added quickly, one eye squinted, “Sorry.”
She giggled. Not laughed or chuckled, but giggled. It was like someone was tickling a kitten. I was grinning again, and feeling self-conscious as the other patrons in the gallery were looking back at us. Then she said, “Close. She's four. It's my daughter, Valla's, she insisted we sell it in our gallery. You can't say no to cute, so we put an astronomical price on it so people would know we weren't serious.”
Then she spoke behind her hand with a smirk, “Some pretentious rich guy actually tried buying it once. Explaining to us the brilliance of the dichotomy of the artist's angst, using the riot of color to depict the chaos of life, against the bright message of hope they were trying to offer like an undercurrent of emotion.”
She gave me a toothy grin as she added, “I told him, 'Nope, it's a giraffe sitting on a marshmallow.'”
I had to cover my mouth to stop a snort and hide my smile. That was sort of hilarious to me. And cute that she put her daughter's work on display. Like the ultimate artwork taped to the refrigerator. I dropped my hand, unable to hide the smile and said, “And what a fine giraffe it is.”
We shared a chuckle, and I offered a hand. “I take it you are the curator? Missy Hannigan? Crystal set up a meeting for me.”
She shook my hand. “Nope, Victoria Davenport-Jacobs at your service. I own the gallery, Missy is over there with a patron, she'll be done in a minute. You must be Miss O'Brien, I can show you to her office if you like.”
I nodded. “Dani, please. That would be great. And it is nice to meet you, Victoria.”
She shook her head. “My friends call me Vicki. And we bonded over the discussion of my daughter's art. We're friends now.”
>
I inclined my head at her. She was random and hyper, and I found myself liking her whether I intended to or not. And there was something in her crystal blue eyes that screamed of an intelligence I've never witnessed before. And those eyes were studying me, cataloging and assessing me like a detective would. I had a feeling she knew more about me from that cursory look than most of the people I've known for years.
Some of the art we passed as she led me up the sweeping stairs, put my faith back in the art world. Some of it was amazing. I hesitated at one and just had to look at it. It was abstract, and as I said, I wasn't into abstract because I didn't understand it.
But this one captured my attention, I looked at the plaque, forty-two thousand dollars, it was painted by a Robin Hartford. It was a thick tar-like swoosh on the canvas, and it had explosions of yellow that punctuated it and increased in density and brightness as it all seemed to puddle gracefully at the bottom of the canvas.
I smiled at it. It... felt... happy.
She saw my distraction and smiled. “I thought you didn't like abstract. What do you think? Robin is an amazing artist and person. She's the world's premiere blind painter.”
Blind? It was so evocative. I said, “It sort of invokes the feeling of an ocean of buttercups in the light of a sun-drenched field. This is the first time I saw abstract art that spoke to me.”
She nodded with a smile. “Very intuitive.” She pointed at the name of the piece by the price, 'Sunflowers.' She nudged her head up the stairs, and I followed her to an office on the second floor to the right. “This is her office, she won't be but a few minutes.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Vicky, I know where to go if I need any zoo animal art now.”
This got her beaming that infectious smile at me again. “My pleasure, have a super awesome day, Dani.”
I stepped into the office, it was huge, bigger than the captain's at the station, and very luxurious with rich tones and gorgeous furniture. There seemed to be an informal seating area in front of the large desk that looked to be a place for the curator to chat with people to put them at ease in this intimidating space.
I sat in one of the plush chairs and set my bundle on the low coffee table the chairs were arranged around. I poured some water from the pitcher into one of the leaded glasses and took a sip as I looked around. One wall was all glass with drapes pulled aside to reveal the gallery below. I knew the other side was mirrored from my cursory look from the gallery entry.
I stood and walked over to the window to look down at the people milling about the artwork. It was a different world than the one I lived in, as everyone was dressed in clothing that cost at least a month's salary for me.
I glanced back at the door when a taller blonde woman stepped into the room. She was in a similar business skirt suit as Vicky's, this one was a sleek black with a stark white blouse beneath a black waist length suit-coat. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and it was streaked with strands of silver even more so than Vicky's was.
For some reason I sort of admired both women for not trying to hide it away and dye their hair, they both wore it well, and it was sort of sexy too. I had no doubt this woman was one of the popular girls in school. She had that air about her.
But she also had this counterpoint that screamed at you not to take what you saw at face value, that she was her own woman. It was the pink and white sneakers she wore with white ankle socks that just threw you for a loop. They contradicted the professional and poised look and attitude that just rolled off the woman.
She glanced at me and straightened the hem of her suit-coat and lifted her chin. Crystal had warned me about how Missy was, and to prepare myself for the verbal attack, but the woman spoke in a calm, professional tone as she held a hand out as she stepped up to me, “Hello, you must be Miss O'Brien, Crystal said to expect you. I'm Missy Hannigan, the curator. Welcome to the Downtown Gallery.”
I shook, caught off guard since I was prepping for a much different introduction than this over the top professional greeting. “Umm.. yes, please call me Danielle.”
She inclined her head in capitulation as she released my hand after a hearty shake. I half thought she'd be one of those to shake with a limp hand that always made me feel weird. No, I got the distinct impression that this woman was sure of herself in many ways.
Then she motioned toward the seating area. She started to speak before we sat, starting in a sarcastic tone, “When she called, that...” She paused and then all the sarcasm was replaced by the mask of professionalism that I knew for sure was a mask now. That momentary glimpse into the wonderfully sarcastic woman who would wear sneakers with a suit had sealed that in my opinion. “When Crystal contacted me to call in one of the markers I owe her, she didn't say what this meeting was about.”
I smirked and asked with a touch of sarcasm in my voice, “Is there anyone who doesn't owe that woman a marker? Now I owe her another.”
She chuckled and seemed to loosen up a bit seeing my humor. “The dual eye colored freak has the city under her thumb.” Ah, there's the real Missy Hannigan, the one Crystal told me about. The one who hides behind snark and political incorrectness like a shield to stop people from getting close. To my chagrin, I found her funny too.
I reached hesitantly to my bundle and said, “I wanted you to look at something for me.”
She exhaled in disappointment. “Please tell me you didn't go into debt with her just to peddle your work. We have channels for that. Everyone thinks they are good, let our scouts determine that.”
I felt sort of small. Did people bring their own art here all the time hoping to consign it here? But this wasn't mine, and I knew Maddie would never think hers was good enough for someone like Missy to see.
I said as I rolled out the fabric, “Well, no... it's my girlfriend... well not my girlfriend but a friend, who is a girl. She is amazing, and she doesn't even know... I mean...” I was babbling, and I felt embarrassed for some reason.
She apparently wasn't listening to me. The moment I unrolled the mural she was on her feet, eyes wide as she moved in front of it, almost knocking me over. She was muttering to herself, “This isn't canvas... that's... it isn't watercolor, what is this? Fabric dye?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but apparently, she wasn't talking to me as she stepped over to her desk and reached over to hit a button on the phone, “Vicky? Get your hyper ass in here.”
What followed was an almost surrealistic experience for me as the two woman looked over Madelyn's work. They were speaking in all kinds of art terms that were over my head as they deemed to dissect what they were looking at. They'd ask me questions that I couldn't answer. My only helpful input was, “It's pretty, and it filled me with wonder just looking at it.”
I guess that wasn't too stupid of a thing to say because they had smiled and nodded at me like I had said something insightful. More than once they both offered to take it off my hands for a shocking sum. It would have been enough to take care of Mads and Johnny for a few months.
I had refused saying, “She was going to cut it up for scraps, but Madelyn gave it to me as a gift. It's from her, and I would never sell it.”
Vicky looked almost as if I had slapped her when I said that, “She what!? She was going to cut it up for scraps? Tell me she doesn't destroy her art.”
I shrugged. “I was saddened about it too, but she has dozens, and she cuts them up to re-dye and make clothing accessories out of.”
Missy had gone pale and looked as if she were going to be sick the way she swallowed heavily at that. Then she asked the air in a faraway voice, “Dozens?”
I nodded and offered, “And she is always sketching in a book, she won’t let me look, but I'm sure it is amazing.”
The meeting ended with Missy asking, “Do you mind if I hang on to this for a bit, I'll be sure to get it back to you.” I hesitated. It was a gift from Madelyn. I nodded, and they got my information and walked me to the door.
We said our goodbye
s, and I felt odd leaving the mural behind, but hopeful they would contact my girl... I mean Mads.
I smiled and made the decision to ask the beguiling woman out formally later that night, no more being a coward. I hopped into Courtney in a nervously good mood and headed toward her place, I had some wheels to finish.
Chapter 10 – Arrest
When Johnny and I arrived home I grinned at seeing Mr. L and Dani by the fire pit, griping at each other as they were pounding straps onto one of the wagon wheels, smoke wafting up, the straps must have been hot.
We unloaded the cart then went out to join them. I chuckled as they were diving back from a plume of hot steam as they were dousing the wheel in water. Mr. Laurey squawked, “Watch it, woman! Give a man some warning.”
I narrowed my eyes at how spryly Mr. L had moved out of the way.
She sniped back, “I told you I was pouring. That's what the 1-2-3 was you old coot.” They were both grinning as they sniped.
I cleared my throat, and the two turned toward us with guilty looks on their faces like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. By the hobgoblin of freedom, it looked too cute on Danielle's face. She said, “Umm... hi.”
Then she grinned like a loon and pointed at the other wheel leaning against a tree in the yard. “Round.”
I couldn't hold it. My smile bloomed on my face. I would never live that down, would I? I almost skipped over the wheel and looked at it in wonder. I mean, it didn't look any different than any other wagon wheel except for some singe marks on the rim, but that was the point. They had done it, and it made me giddy. My cart would be whole again. Then maybe I could work on the other incidental damage it took and paint it all.
They rolled the other wheel over, and she warned, “Don't touch this one, it is still hot.”
I smirked when I silently added to myself, “Just like her.”
She cocked her head at my smirk, and I giggled then gave her a hug. “Thank you so much for this, you are a lifesaver, Dani.”
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