by Amy Saunders
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Meg set her hands on her hips, “buy what you like. Not what someone tells you to, or what’s faddish, or what you think might be a good investment. Buy what you love and you won’t regret it.”
“Good advice,” Bennett said.
“That’s what my aunt told me before we started, and she was right. Neither of us is sorry about what we’ve acquired. Now you mentioned something about that Simone, didn’t you? Follow me.” Meg drew an invisible arc with her arm and Bennett and Belinda trailed behind her up the stairs to the private rooms. She pushed open a door and stood aside for them to enter. “There you have it. In all its glory.”
Bennett followed her eye line to a large canvas hanging over a wood sleigh bed. Belinda’s head whipped in his direction, and she stared at him wide-eyed. That was the same painting on the beach, just larger. So they’d been searching for a painting with more than one copy. That made things infinitely more complicated.
“This is a guest room,” Meg was saying as the two of them digested this twist in events. “I really wanted this somewhere more visible, but Simon and I couldn’t agree, so we put it in here instead. Someday I’ll convince him it’s his idea to put it in the living room.” She winked at Belinda, who smiled in understanding. Bennett wasn’t sure what that meant, so he got back to the matter at hand.
“Do you know if Simone painted multiples of this same subject?” Bennett pointed at the painting, the oranges and greens popping nicely against the cream walls.
Meg scratched her forearm absently. “You know, I can’t say for sure. But when we bought it, and that was a long time ago now, I was under the impression this was the only one. I could be wrong, or that may have changed. If you like this scene, Simone gravitates to subjects like this. I’d start perusing the local galleries.”
“Do you mind if I…?” Belinda held up her phone. “Just to remember what it looks like for design’s sake.”
“Oh, sure. Go ahead.”
Belinda went to take a photo, but Bennett held out his hand, arching an eyebrow to communicate she should let him do it. Depending on how things went, he wanted a good quality shot of this.
Belinda handed it over dramatically. “I defer to your expertise.”
“Are you a photographer?” Meg said to Bennett with interest.
“Yes,” Belinda said at the same time Bennett said, “Amateur.” Belinda then added, after a pointed glance at him, “For now. We’re assembling a collage of his ocean and beach shots for above my mantle.”
Meg looked even more interested after that. “Well, I’d love to see it when you’re finished.”
“I’ll call you as soon as it’s done. We’ll do lunch.” Belinda smiled, pleased with herself.
They stepped to the side to let Bennett take his shots, whispering while he concentrated on taking close-ups that didn’t completely blur out. When he was done and could pay attention to them again, Belinda grinned back at him. “See. Expertise.”
Meg insisted on a tour of the rest of the house, which also proved to be a bit of an art lesson. When she said they bought what they liked, she meant regardless of era, media, or locale. They even had modern metal sculptures in the garden, which is something he hadn’t really considered before. He could tell Belinda was intrigued by that notion, too.
When they finally got out to the car (Meg liked to chat), they discussed what they liked about how Meg and Simon had arranged their collection, or part of it, instead of the beach painting or murder.
“I think we should write this down,” Belinda said, her eyes darting around the scenery as they retreated back down the driveway through the gate. “You know, just for future reference, er, for later. Not now. I really want a sculpture in my garden.”
Belinda flushed and seemed a little flustered by what she’d just said. Like she’d implied they had a future. And apparently one that included art. “I agree. I think we should.”
“You do?” She batted her fawn eyes, which had always been too much for him to resist.
“I do. We’ll do that. And then it’s time to find out what we’re really dealing with here.”
“Back to see Angie? We need to know if Simone had copies.”
Bennett smiled proudly. “Back to see Angie.”
Chapter 8
Belinda felt all tingly on their way back to the art museum to talk to Angie Chen again. In her excitement, she’d accidentally said she thought one day they would be collecting art. Together. As a couple. Once it was out of her mouth, she started babbling to cover it up, which never worked. But then Bennett had agreed he thought writing things down was a good idea, and Bennett didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He couldn’t have missed her meaning, he was too sharp. So if he’d agreed…she supposed that meant he thought they might be collecting art together one day, too.
So she decided to revel in that knowledge and was incredibly glad they’d gone to see Meg. Besides the fact that she might be able to get Meg interested in Bennett’s photography. Belinda was about to bring up something she’d liked at the auction house when Bennett’s cell rang. He put it on speaker phone as they swung around curves heading back to town, avoiding cars pulling into scenic lookouts on the side of the road.
“Do you know of an express scuba class?” Jonas’ voice, disguised by the phone static, filled up her car.
“I believe you need a certain amount of hours to get certified,” Bennett said.
Jonas sighed dramatically. “Tell me about it! It would have to be scuba diving.”
“What would have to be scuba diving?”
“Ardith’s life obsession. She asked me to go diving.”
Belinda grinned at Bennett, who gave her a warning glance not to dare make a peep. “If you don’t know how to dive…” Bennett said.
“Actually,” Jonas drew out, “she thinks I can.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what I told her.”
“You told her you can dive when you can’t?” Belinda said before she realized she wasn’t supposed to be a part of the conversation. Whoops.
“Belinda?”
“Yes,” she said sheepishly.
There was a pause before Jonas said, “Do you know of any express scuba classes?”
Bennett rolled his eyes. “They don’t exist. Just accept it.”
“So why did you tell her you can dive?” Belinda repeated.
“She asked me out, so I wasn’t about to say no.”
“You didn’t have to say no; just that you can’t dive.”
“Belinda, you’re talking to Jonas.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means using logic is pointless.”
“You realize I can still hear you,” Jonas said.
“So the coffee date went well?” Belinda made a mental note to call Ardith later and get all the dirt.
“The coffee date went very well.” Jonas sounded pleased under the conservative response, and Belinda clapped. He laughed on the other end. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Don’t buy us a salad spinner just yet.”
“I’ll restrain myself. Promise.”
“So what’s happening with the painting? Any news for me?”
Bennett, with a few interruptions and digressions from Belinda, gave what was supposed to be the short form of what they’d learned. Instead, they ended up sitting in the parking lot of the museum to finish. “So what we’ve got is probably a copy?” Jonas summed up. “And therefore going to be tougher to trace.”
“Looks that way,” Bennett said. “But we’re hoping to find out for sure from Simone’s assistant right now.”
“Please, do. Then let me know what we’re dealing with.” Jonas ended the call, muttering something about meeting some fool at a park before hanging up.
Belinda threw open her door. “Round two.”
Fortunately, Angie was still there and available to talk. Unfortunately, she claimed Simone never made any copies of that subject, sounding disconcerted th
rough the whole conversation.
“Could you back this up with some sort of proof?” Belinda said, walking closer to the wood desk Angie stood behind. The notebook holding the paper with the list of names had disappeared.
Angie’s brown eyes shifted from one to the other. “Why does it matter?” She sounded suspicious, but at the same time, Belinda thought, seemed suspicious herself. If that was possible. Especially after her behavior earlier.
Belinda hesitated, glancing at Bennett to back her up. She’d messed up with that one. “We’re not authorized to give specifics,” Bennett said, “but this information could be important to an investigation.” Belinda repeated what he said in her head for future reference. That was a good line.
“You’re police?” Angie said with alarm.
“No,” Belinda said quickly. “We’re…working for a private client.” Namely ourselves, Belinda thought. “Like my partner just said, we can’t give you specifics. We just want to know for certain Simone doesn’t have any copies of this painting available. Is it possible she painted one that was never for sale in the first place? A model, perhaps, for the finished piece?”
Bennett kept a perfectly straight face, though Belinda knew she’d hear about the private client line soon enough.
Angie crashed into the leather office chair. “You’re a friend of Simone’s. You know she’s not really like Monet with his lilies. She paints a variety. I will double check with Simone, but I’m positive that painting was a one and only.”
Belinda thought fast. Maybe she was taking the wrong route to get to the heart of what they needed to know. “How about people who paint in Simone’s style? Are there any copycats?”
“Disciples?” Angie nodded. “A few.”
“Like yourself?” Belinda said.
Angie laughed, then straightened her expression when they both looked at her in surprise. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Simone’s work. But I’m not really a follower. Come see what I mean.” She motioned with a hand for them to follow her, leading them out through the back door of the museum and into the yard, around sculptures dotting the grass. She finally stopped in front of a metal sculpture of…something. Belinda glanced at Bennett for help, but he shrugged a shoulder, just as unsure. Apparently this would not be their first purchase as art collectors.
“This is my latest exhibition.” Angie held out her hands proudly, her face glowing in the hot afternoon sun. “It’s part of the museum’s young artists’ exhibit going on all summer.”
“You don’t paint,” Belinda said, tilting her head, hoping a fresh angle might help her pin down what the sculpture was supposed to be. It didn’t help.
“No, I do. I mean, I used to more. But when I got into college, I expanded my horizons and discovered modern sculpture.”
Bennett bent over a small, rectangular sign on a black post by the sculpture. “If you’re not a Simone disciple, who is?”
Angie rolled her eyes toward the sky, thinking about his question for a moment. “There’s a few people who really emulate her in their own work, but I can think of one off the top of my head. Shelby Lachappelle. Her family has a summer home here.”
“She’s not even in college yet,” Belinda said. But she agreed with Angie, based on the paintings she saw at the Lachappelle home.
“You wouldn’t know the way she paints, though she doesn’t have much of a style yet. Personally, I think she paints what her mom wants her to paint. I saw some of Shelby’s sketches she did at the Louvre…she’s got skills. I have no idea why she took a class here this summer. She’s way too advanced for it.”
“They have classes right now?” Bennett finished his study of the sculpture sign and came closer to Belinda, digging his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah. Are you an artist?”
“He’s a photographer,” Belinda said before Bennett could downplay it.
“Amateur,” he added, slipping her a look.
“You should check out our photography courses.” Angie moved them back inside the museum to the receptionist’s desk, opening drawers until she found what she wanted. She handed a brochure to Bennett. “Depending on what you’re into, there’s an excellent landscape photography course coming up. You should sign up.”
“Thanks,” Bennett said, his voice hiding the interest Belinda could see simmering in his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
Belinda took his arm. “Thanks for your help. Again.”
“No problem. Hope you find what you’re looking for.” Angie was in less of a hurry to get rid of them this time, so maybe that phone call from earlier was something unrelated, though Belinda didn’t think so. There was still that list with Kevin Pratt’s name on it, along with Shelby’s, and Angie had just named her.
They left, Bennett glancing back from the car. “That was interesting.”
Belinda crawled in and shut the door. “I know! Did you see how Angie acted when I asked about the possibility of a copy?”
“Actually, I was thinking about you saying we’re working for a private client.”
She knew he’d bring that up, but honestly. “Well, it worked.”
“True.” Bennett straightened out a bent corner of the brochure. “But she did act like she might already know about this.”
“That’s kind of what I thought. It was like…like she was asking to try and find out how we knew. Plus, she was quick to throw out the disciple idea, and even quicker to point out Shelby, which is weird.” Maybe Angie wasn’t as eager to oust them because she’d decided to cast suspicion on someone else, which meant Angie thought there was a need to cast suspicion. Which was suspicious.
Bennett nodded along with her statement. “She didn’t accuse anyone of forgery per se, but it was kind of hanging there in the air, waiting for us to jump to that conclusion.” Bennett looked up from the brochure. “None of this answers the bigger question, though. How does this painting–real or fake–connect to our beach victim?”
“I don’t know, but if Kevin Pratt was on a list with Shelby Lachappelle at the art museum, there’s a chance that has something to do with it.” Belinda smiled. “Then there’s Adrian Leon at the auction house. He might know more about copies on the market. And it’s a good excuse to just happen to be there to bid on that vase I saw.”
Bennett flipped through the museum brochure describing the different art courses. She knew he would love to do that, but also knew he didn’t have the money right now, and wondered if she could get away with giving it to him as a present. She’d managed to do that with other things recently, like the kayak and new clothes for parties and events they’d been invited to. But she knew he gave in with reluctance and would draw the line eventually. A class would probably be that “eventually,” though she was still tempted to try.
Bennett slowly shifted his eyes to meet hers and she blinked, realizing she’d been staring aimlessly at the brochure, but not seeing it. He closed it. “No.”
“You didn’t even see the vase.”
Bennett tilted his head in her direction in a you-know-what-I-mean gesture. “You’re not paying for me to take this course. I’ll do something like that when I have the money.”
“I wasn’t–”
“Yes, you were.” Bennett placed his hand on her back. “I know you’re trying to do all this because you feel bad. But you don’t have to. I’m fine. We’re fine. You don’t owe me anything.”
Belinda pulled his hand around to her lap, fitting her hand in his. “Yes, I do,” she said quietly.
“Do you think I still act resentful?”
“No! No, you’re perfectly non-resentful. I just…I can’t quite let go of trying to make it up to you, even though I know no amount of money will do that. It’s just…what else can I do?”
Bennett kissed her gently. “I accept lip service.”
Belinda laughed. “Oh, pooky.”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“No cutesy names. I already told you.”
“You’
re welcome to call me something cutesy if it makes you feel better.”
“It won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I like your name. I want to call you by your name.”
“Well, I like your name too, but lots of people call you by your name.”
“Lots?”
“Everyone. It doesn’t sound very…personal. Special.”
“And you think ‘pooky’ sounds personal and special?” Bennett wore his incredulous face, his face scrunched up and eyebrows arched.
Unfortunately, he made a good point, and she couldn’t reply to that, but by not replying she was replying…and agreeing. Belinda wrinkled up her nose in disgust, which only made Bennett happier. “I still say I need something that distinguishes what I call you from what the average street peddler calls you.”
“How many average street peddlers do we have in Portside exactly?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. And I am not changing my mind. Just use my name.”
She knew this particular battle was lost, but that hardly meant she was defeated. “Then I’ll just personalize your name some other way.” She narrowed her eyes coyly and lowered her voice, going as breathy as possible as she said, “Bennett.”
“That’s it.” Bennett faced forward, adjusting his seat in front of the wheel. “I’m taking you home.”
“With that sexy voice I just used, I should hope so.”
Bennett shook his head, a smile in the corner of his lips. His attention turned to their side as Angie came out of the museum with her wallet and keys in one hand and her smartphone in the other, jabbing the screen with a thumb, her face stern. “She’s probably texting,” Belinda said.
Angie got in her beat up gray coupe and flew out of the pebble parking lot. Bennett backed out and spun around into the road after her. Angie was a sporadic driver and Bennett had trouble keeping sight of her, while maintaining a safe distance. Belinda gripped the roof handle as they wheeled around a corner.