“Did you clean out the coffeemaker?” Amyra asked after Nicole returned from an early lunch break and bank errand.
“Not yet.” Nicole set the cash bag in the locked drawer where she’d been told to keep it, then looked at her watch. It was about twenty minutes before Amyra had scheduled herself to leave. As far as Nicole was concerned, it wouldn’t be a minute too soon. “I figured I could clean it at closing.”
“Well, it really should be done by now,” Amyra said. “The kitchenette needs a wipe down too. And we usually clean out the fridge on Sundays. Just like I wrote on your list. You didn’t lose that, did you?”
“No, of course not.” Nicole knew it was time to bite her tongue. She wanted to point out that Amyra had kept her occupied all morning long with mindless chores, many of which felt like busywork, such as dusting the already clean picture frames. As a result, there’d been no time to see to the coffeemaker. “So the maintenance people don’t clean the kitchen?” she asked Amyra.
“Certainly they clean the floors, empty the trash, and give the countertops a sloppy wipe down. But that’s about it. They never touch the fridge.”
“Right. Well, I’ll take care of all that before I close tonight.”
“Do you need me to walk you through that again—closing?” Amyra sounded like a grumpy kindergarten teacher. Nicole had probably asked too many questions during her lessons on setting alarms and securing the building. But with all this valuable art, why risk it?
“No, I’m fine,” she said. “And I have my notes and your cell phone number if I need it.” She patted the little notebook in her pants pocket. If she lost that, she would be lost.
“It’s not that complicated.” Amyra gave a weary sigh. “Nothing like the gallery I worked at in Manhattan. That place was locked tighter than Fort Knox.”
“You worked in Manhattan?”
Amyra confirmed this in a bored way, as if Nicole should already know her entire personal history. Amyra glanced to the front of the store, currently empty of visitors. “I could just leave. It’s always quiet this time of day. Folks are probably having a snooze after a boozy lunch.” She chuckled. “It won’t pick up again until after five. Even then it’s never really busy.”
Nicole stared at the sales counter, trying to remember the details of ringing up and writing up a sale. “I sort of hope no one wants to actually buy art. I mean, I’m okay with selling small things, but I might get rattled if it was a large purchase.”
“I don’t think you need to be worried. Our primary clientele is somewhat predictable. We know when someone is interested in something and when they’re close to buying. I haven’t seen anything on the horizon this week.” Amyra frowned. “If I thought there was a large sale pending, I’d stick around.”
Nicole remembered the commission. It was probably a nice perk. Not that she needed to be concerned about that.
“But you might sell something small. That would be good practice.” Amyra toyed with her necklace. “Tomorrow will be slow. Mondays are the worst. Don’t expect to rack up any sales tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Nicole was hoping Amyra was going to leave now. Instead, she leaned against the counter, folding her arms in front of her with a slightly interested expression.
“So how do you know Vivian?” Amyra asked, her thin dark brows arched.
Nicole suspected Amyra was simply killing time until one o’clock. But she explained how Vivian and her mom were old friends, even telling her about how the families had vacationed together.
Amyra frowned. “So you know Alex and Ryan?”
She shrugged. “Well, I used to know them. It’s been a while. Alex and I were just getting reacquainted this morning.”
“That Alex.” Amyra scowled. “He’s a piece of work.”
“You don’t like him?” Nicole tried to sound nonchalant.
“Not much.” She seemed to reconsider this. “Although he is back on the market . . . I suppose he’d be a good catch.”
“His divorce isn’t even final yet.”
“Who pays attention to insignificant details like that?” Amyra went around to the other side of the counter to get her purse. When she stood, her brow was creased as if she was deep in thought. “The Grahams are quite wealthy.” She narrowed her eyes as she studied Nicole. “Of course, you already knew that.”
Nicole simply nodded, uncomfortable with the insinuation.
“But then I assume your family is wealthy too.” Amyra fished through her purse.
“Then you assume wrong.” Nicole slipped her hands into her pants pockets.
“Really? Are you saying the Grahams were friends with people without money?”
“Well, it’s not like we were destitute.”
“Then I’m surprised you were never interested in the Graham boys.” Amyra peered curiously at her. “Or maybe you are.”
“No, I am not,” she said firmly. “I recently got out of a dead-end romance. Believe me, I’m not ready to start a new one.” That was mostly true. Her interest in Alex had been piqued this morning, though. At the least, she was curious.
“Well, if you were looking for a relationship with potential, you couldn’t go too wrong with either of the Graham brothers—at least when it comes to their bank accounts. Some women are willing to sacrifice certain things for financial security.”
Nicole suppressed the urge to tell Amyra what she really thought. “I was always under the impression that Robert and Vivian expected their sons to make their own way in the world. At least that’s what I used to hear as a child. It seemed a good policy to me.”
“Their own way? Well, maybe, but with a little help from the family fortune.” Amyra extracted her car keys from her purse. “Someday their parents will die, you know. What happens to the family fortune then?”
Nicole bristled. Was this woman as coldhearted as she appeared? Why? It almost sounded as if she despised the Grahams. Yet she’d remained in their employ. It made no sense. Even so, Nicole wasn’t sure she wanted to get to the bottom of it.
“A girl could do worse.” Amyra closed her purse with a snap. “But if I were choosing between the brothers, I’d definitely go for Ryan.”
“I think someone mentioned that you and Ryan used to date—” Nicole immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut. This conversation needed to end. Wasn’t it one o’clock yet?
Amyra gave a half shrug. “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. Not that I wouldn’t give him another shot, if he was game. But the truth is I outgrew the boy. Of course, that was a few years ago. He might’ve matured some since then.” She jingled her car keys. “I’m outta here, Nicole. Good luck closing tonight. And being on your own tomorrow.” Her smile looked catty. “You have my number. But don’t call me unless there’s an emergency.”
“Right.” Nicole assured Amyra that she’d be fine as she walked her through the back room. She waved goodbye, grateful to have her gone. It wasn’t until she was locking the back door that she realized Amyra had forgotten to return the borrowed silk-screen scarf and beads to the display case. Nicole considered running after her. She could offer to put them back, but that would probably lead to even more animosity. Who needed that?
Hopefully Amyra would realize her mistake and bring them back when she returned to work on Wednesday. If not, well, Nicole would have to remind her.
As Nicole returned to the gallery, she noticed that it wasn’t even one o’clock. Amyra had left twenty minutes early. So much for setting a good example.
Since the gallery was mostly vacant, Nicole decided to attack the kitchenette in the back room. It really was a bit on the grimy side. It probably hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in months. She was just finishing up the fridge when she heard the buzzer signaling that someone had entered the gallery. She quickly washed her hands, smoothed her hair, and hurried out.
“Hey.” Alex gave her a friendly grin as he approached. “I was just dropping some papers at the office and thought I’d pop in to see how you’re doing. Everything okay?”
She returned his smile. “Yeah. Pretty good. I was just cleaning the kitchenette.”
“So . . .” He lowered his voice. “Amyra hasn’t scared you too much?”
She chuckled, explaining that Amyra had left for the day.
“That’s good. Anyway, I know the gallery closes at seven and I wasn’t sure if you had any dinner plans, but I was going to stop by the seafood place on my way home later to pick up something for dinner. I thought you might like to join me. I’m not the greatest cook, but I know how to grill. And I’ve been hankering for some homemade food. You in?”
“That sounds wonderful. Is there something I can pick up?”
“No, I’ll have it covered.” He winked. “Just so you know, I’m following orders. Mom told me to show you some Southern hospitality.”
“That’s very nice. I appreciate it.”
“See you later then.”
After he left, Nicole wondered if this counted as a date. She didn’t think so, and it wasn’t like she wanted it to be—although she would’ve felt differently about that ten years ago.
The afternoon continued at a snail’s pace. There were several groups of touristy lookers and a woman who purchased a beaded bracelet, but no serious buyers. Nicole wondered how the gallery managed to stay in business if it was always this slow. And this was a Sunday in June. She’d heard of rich people creating money-losing businesses for tax shelters, but she didn’t think Vivian would do that. Would she?
Nicole had just gotten comfortable in one of the armchairs when she heard the buzzer. She stood, smoothing down her blouse and rearranging her scarf and beads. She had to admit they lent some style to her “waitress” outfit. She ambled to the front of the building, warmly greeting the young couple and inviting them to look around at their leisure. Judging by their casual attire, she suspected they were tourists probably doing a gallery hop along the waterfront. Amyra had called people like this “lookie-lous.”
Since it was past six now, Nicole didn’t care that they weren’t serious buyers. Let them look until closing if they liked. She just wanted to go home and call it a day. It wasn’t that she’d been working so hard, although she’d completed a meticulous cleanup of the kitchenette as well as the neglected employee bathroom. She’d even done some organizing of the art packaging supplies. So it wasn’t that she was tired—just bored. She wondered how she’d survive a whole summer like this.
As she wandered back to the counter, she considered setting up a painting area in the back room. It was certainly big enough, if she rearranged it a bit. She didn’t think Vivian would mind. Hadn’t she actually suggested this? And Nicole would be careful not to let it interfere with serving customers.
“Is this a local artist?” the young woman asked loudly.
Nicole went to see what they were looking at, hoping she could remember some of the plethora of information that Amyra had tossed at her this morning. To her relief they were looking at a Turner seascape. “Yes, he is local,” she informed them as she stepped up to gaze at the oversized oil. “Collin Turner is an engineer who retired to Tybee Island about ten years ago in order to paint full-time. He often uses the local area for his subject matter.”
The girl elbowed her guy friend. “I thought that was our lighthouse.” She pointed to the small red and white striped structure in the background.
“Never said it wasn’t,” he responded. “Do you really like it?”
“I love it. It would be perfect on the west wall in the great room. Can’t you just see it there?”
He rubbed his chin as he studied it. “Yeah, it’d be nice.”
Nicole was flabbergasted. These “kids” didn’t look much older than her high school students. Their raggedy jeans and faded T-shirts didn’t exactly suggest deep pockets, and the price of this painting was staggering. It would take several months of her yearly teacher’s salary to purchase it. And only if she didn’t eat and lived under a bridge.
Nicole attempted a poker face, which was never her strong suit. It was possible these two were just playing with her. Maybe they were vacationing with their parents and bored enough to pull pranks on unsuspecting shopkeepers. She decided to simply play along. It would pass time and be good practice for when a real purchaser came in. Using her expertise in art, she politely discussed things like light and shadows and use of color, sharing why she thought the seascape truly was special.
“Are you an artist?” The girl eyed her with interest.
“I have an art degree, and I paint a little,” she confessed. “But nothing of the caliber of Collin Turner. He’s very talented. And he’s actually one of my favorite artists in this gallery.” She sighed. That was absolutely true. “I haven’t seen many seascapes as nice as his work.”
“Well, I love it,” the girl declared again. “And I want it.”
The guy shrugged. “Okay.”
Nicole tried to conceal her shock, still unconvinced this couple was legit. “Did you want to take it with you or have it delivered?” She knew that was one of the questions she was supposed to ask but felt like she’d gotten the order wrong.
“It won’t fit in our little car,” the girl told her. “Do you mind delivering it?”
“Not at all.” Nicole felt relieved as she remembered something important. Unless the customers were personally known to the gallery, if it was a large purchase, the sales staff wasn’t supposed to let them remove the art from the gallery. Just in case their form of payment wasn’t solid.
“I’m so excited,” the girl said. “I can’t wait for it to come. When will you deliver it?”
Nicole thought for a moment. She was here by herself on Monday. Tuesday they were closed. “I think we could get it to you by Wednesday. Will that work?”
The girl looked disappointed. “I really wanted it sooner than that.”
“It’s okay,” the guy told her.
“But Ben and Alice get here later tonight. Wouldn’t you love to have it on the wall when they arrive? How cool would that be? Especially since the place is still so stark.”
He paused. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He pulled out his phone. “How about I see if Garth is around? Maybe he could pick it up for us.”
“Yes.” She hugged him. “Perfect.”
Feeling uneasy as she listened to the guy phone his buddy, Nicole led them up to the customer service counter.
“Garth is fine with that,” he announced as Nicole got out the receipt book. She carefully wrote out the details of the purchase like she’d been shown, taking down all their information until there wasn’t a blank line left.
“And how would you like to pay for this?” She braced herself in case they planned to pull the plug and run out laughing, which would probably be a relief. The idea of sending this expensive painting with these kids was truly disturbing. She studied the girl. Okay, maybe she wasn’t a kid, but she looked younger than Nicole.
“Put it on this.” The guy presented a debit card from a major bank.
Nicole tried to remember the steps in running a debit card. Fortunately, she still had her notebook. “Sorry to take so long,” she said as she skimmed over her scribbles. “This is actually my first day here and I want to do this right.” She ran the card, and as far as she could see, it went through. Even so, she felt uncertain. What if the card was stolen? Although the name matched the name in the receipt book.
She feigned a perplexed look. “I’m sorry. It looks like I need to take this to the back room to run. You know how computers can be. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” the guy told her. “Garth won’t be here for a few minutes anyway.”
“We’ll just look around some more,” the girl added.
Nicole rushed to the back room and, pulling out her phone, called Amyra’s number. It rang several times, then went to voice mail. She left a quick message, asking Amyra to call back. Then she returned to the counter.
“All set?” the guy asked.
“I guess so.” She gave a quick nod. “Except, oh, I forgot. I do need to see your ID. To verify your debit card.” No one had told her to do this, but she remembered times when she’d been asked to produce ID for a purchase. He presented his driver’s license, and to her relief, it matched the debit card, as well as the name and address in Tybee Island that she’d written down. This couple had to be legit.
“Okay then.” She stapled the computer receipt to their copy of the handwritten one. “We close at seven. Will your friend be here by then?” Hoping it was impossible, she glanced at her watch. “That’s less than twenty minutes.”
“He’s actually in town right now,” he assured her. “Should be here any minute.”
“Well then, I’ll take the painting down and get it wrapped up.”
Nicole honestly didn’t know what more she could do. She didn’t want to risk this sale. As she carried the bulky painting to the back room, she reminded herself that simply because people looked youngish or wore torn jeans didn’t mean they were impoverished. For all she knew, these two were celebrities with millions in the bank. Since she never paid much attention to pop culture—and wouldn’t be able to identify a Kardashian to save her life—she shouldn’t judge. She ran the young couple’s names around in her head. Finley and Camille Stratton. No bells went off. If they were rich and famous, she didn’t know it.
She had just finished taping the large brown paper package when she heard the girl call out that their friend had arrived. Nicole struggled to pick up the well-padded package. Thanks to years of preparing students’ pieces for various art shows, she was an expert at packing. Sales . . . not so much.
Finley stuck his head in the storeroom. “Want me to carry that out?”
“Sure.” She stepped back, watching with trepidation as he picked up the large piece. “Let me help,” she offered as she reached for a corner, helping to guide it out. The friend was already in the gallery and took over for her. With her phone still in her pocket, she wondered if she could snap some pictures. Something to identify this youthful trio—just in case.
“Thanks!” Finley shook her hand after the painting was loaded into the back of a red pickup. Nicole stared at the license plate, willing herself to remember it.
“Yeah, thanks.” Camille grinned. “It’ll have a good home.”
Nicole attempted a confident smile. “I’m sure it will. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Stratton.” She slipped out her phone as the young couple climbed into a small, unimpressive hybrid car. She smiled and waved, pretending to read something on her phone but actually snapping photos of both vehicles’ rear ends. She hoped she hadn’t just made a horrible mistake.