“You what?”
Lindsay faced her aunts resolutely. “I went to Brendan’s apartment. I wanted to get some answers.”
“And did you?” Ophelia’s disapproval rang in her tone.
“Yes.” More than she’d wanted.
Amelia put her arm around Lindsay’s shoulders. “Well, what did the scoundrel have to say for himself?”
“Not much, Melia.” She’d be darned if she was going to tell them she went into the apartment without him there. Why give them yet another opportunity to tell her how crazy she was?
“Was this—this imposter telling the truth about anything?”
“Actually, Phelia, yes. He really is an artist. A painter.”
“Hmpfh!” Cecelia snorted, a most uncharacteristic sound for her. “I’ll bet.”
“No, really.” For some reason, she didn’t want the aunts to think Brendan had lied on every count. “What I saw was exceptional.” She smiled—amazing she could do so about anything that had to do with Brendan. “Even his signature on the paintings was beautiful.”
“I assume it was his name?”
“I think so, though it’s his last name. HawkEye, with the e capitalized.”
“What did you say?”
Why was Amelia looking at her like that? “I said he signs his paintings HawkEye, with the e—”
“For heaven’s sake, Amelia, what possible diff—” Ophelia began, but her triplet cut her off.
“Good heavens, Lindsay. You don’t mean he’s HawkEye? Not the HawkEye??”
Lindsay hesitated, blinking. There was a “the HawkEye”?
“Are you telling me you’ve never heard of HawkEye?” Amelia looked like she’d swallowed a toad. “You’re the art-aware one in the family, for heaven’s sake!”
“Amelia, would you be so kind as to dispense with the histrionics and explain yourself?” Ophelia was a bit fed up.
Amelia waved her hands at them. “Do you recall when I invited you all to the fund raiser for the children’s hospital? The one cosponsored by the university a few months ago?”
“Who could forget? The food was substandard, at best.”
Amelia shot Cecelia a quelling look and went on. “Lindsay, you couldn’t come because you were out of town. But you two were there.” She pointed to her sisters. “Don’t you remember the art exhibit? They were featuring the work of a much-acclaimed artist who lives in the area.”
Cecelia nodded. “Oh, yes. Those! They were wonderful! All depictions of children at play, and they were simply stunning. I could have sworn the figures were going to step right off the canvas.”
“Yes, I recall it now—” Ophelia’s eyes widened. “The artist was this HawkEye?”
Amelia clapped her hands. “Yes! I remember because he had a Scripture reference beneath his name, and one of the philosophy professors made an inane remark about faith in God being passé.” She grimaced. “I wanted to upend my tea on his head.”
“The verse”—Lindsay took her aunt’s hand—“was it from James?”
“Yes. Chapter one, verses seventeen and eighteen, I believe. I looked it up when I got home that night. It was the section about every good thing coming from God, and that we are his children and his choice possessions.” She smiled. “Rather appropriate, I thought.”
“Lindsay, what were the subjects of your friend’s paintings?”
Lindsay stared at Cecelia. Her friend? What happened to “the scoundrel”? “Children. And animals.”
Amelia clapped her hands. “He has to be the same artist, don’t you think? There can’t be two with the same name in the Seattle area.”
“I would think that highly unlikely,” Ophelia said. “Do you two remember the prices on those paintings?”
“Quite clearly,” Cecelia said. “I wanted one so badly I could almost taste it, but Roger would have shot me if I’d paid seven thousand dollars on a painting.”
Lindsay felt her mouth drop open. “How much?”
“Oh, that was one of the bargains. There were a couple of large paintings of children playing in a field of flowers that went for three times that.”
Ophelia stirred her tea. “Am I remembering correctly that the entire proceeds from the sale of his works were going to the children’s hospital?”
Amelia nodded. “Yes, he didn’t want any money at all. It was really quite remarkable.”
The Three Aunts turned to scrutinize Lindsay in silence.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”
“Well, my dear, it’s quite improbable—”
“To say the least—”
“That an artist of such skill—”
“—and craftsmanship—”
“—and what would seem to be devotion to God—”
“Well,” Phelia finished for The Three, “don’t you see? It’s just not likely such a man would be a common masher.”
Lindsay lifted her chin. “Then perhaps he’s an uncommon one.”
“There’s no need to be defensive.” Ophelia’s tone was the same as it had been when Lindsay was a child and said something unkind. “All we’re saying is that the man must have a reason for what he did. And you really should give him the opportunity to explain himself.”
“I tried that.”
“Well, then, what did he say?”
Oops. Caught. “Ummmm, he wasn’t home. But I saw something . . .” She looked away. “Something that convinced me I shouldn’t see him again.”
The Three waited, expectant.
“There was a painting.”
Cecelia lifted her face to the ceiling. “Oh. Well. That explains it.”
Lindsay pulled a face at her. “It was of me. And there was one of Doofus, too.”
A mix of confusion and concern swiftly replaced the disdain on her aunts’ faces.
“I confess, that does seem odd,” Phelia said.
“It felt odd. And . . . invasive, somehow. And it means he’s been watching me. For a long time.”
“But Lindsay, it just doesn’t make sense.” Amelia’s logic was hard at work. “He’s well known and respected in the art world. And his philanthropy is well documented.”
Ophelia nodded. “I’m afraid she’s right, my dear. Perhaps we should go with you to talk to him.”
“No!” Lindsay took a breath, trying to soften her horrified response. “Really. I’ll think over what you’ve said. And I’ll pray about it. I promise. If it seems right, I’ll talk with him.”
Thankfully, this seemed to satisfy them and they let the issue drop. She knew once they let it go, they most likely wouldn’t give it another moment’s thought.
If only she could do the same.