Chapter 24

 

Emilie showed up at ten on Saturday morning, yawning and clutching a take-out coffee, offering to help set up. Aunt Bay lifted an eyebrow at Amy. They’d been up since six for a sturdy breakfast and last-minute clean-up. The displays were carefully positioned, without Michael’s newest painting. Amy had heard him in his studio late last night, but he hadn’t found the final element of serenity he needed for the piece.

Amy fingered the security device in her pocket. This didn’t feel real. How could a simple question about their plane crash plunge her into danger — along with Michael and Aunt Bay? Without even the satisfaction of answers?

She grinned at Emilie. “Love the orange hair.”

“It’s good for autumn. I’ll match the trees.”

Michael came out of the kitchen. “Hey, Emilie. Thanks for coming. The caterers will be here soon, but until then we have a few quiet minutes. You three chat for a bit. There’s something I need to check on.”

Aunt Bay followed him toward the stairs. “I’m going to have a brief lie-down while I can. Getting old is a pain.”

“You’ll always be young at heart.” Amy went into the living room and sank into a chair. Her hip had a long day ahead. At least with Del’s promise to mingle with the visitors, she didn’t feel too unsafe.

They’d agreed not to tell Emilie about the danger, or about Del’s investigation. If something spooked the girl during the open house, who knew what she’d do? Plus, if her father found out, they had no guarantee he could keep it from his enemies.

Emilie surveyed the art arranged around the room, sipping her coffee. “Michael does such good work.” She settled across from Amy. “You look terrible. No offence.”

Amy bit her tongue. Who looked their best in the middle of setting up for an event? “I’ll change and do my makeup once I see if the caterers need help with anything.”

“No, I mean it. Are you sleeping okay? Nothing’s going on, is it?”

“This hasn’t been a great week for sleep, but I can make it. I’ll crash tonight.”

“Can you sleep late while Michael and his aunt go to church, or will you be scared again?”

“That was one time. But as it happens, I’m going with them.” Not that Michael would leave her home alone now, security system and special phone or not.

Emilie’s carefully-shaped eyebrows pulled together. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Em, I want to go. They joke sometimes, but neither of them would really pressure me about it.”

Emilie’s mouth turned down. “You don’t see how much Michael is influencing you.”

This from the girl with the long-term crush on him. Amy kept her tone level. “I went with Aunt Bay during the week, and I want to go back. I’ve always wanted to know God better. I was... afraid.”

“Of what? Being bored out of your mind? My parents dragged us to mass at Notre-Dame Cathedral once. It was painful.”

“Never mind. How are classes?”

“One of my profs looks like he died years ago and nobody noticed. But I’m learning some event management things that can kick Michael’s promotion up a few notches next year.” Instead of elaborating, Emilie switched to an animated description of a prank they’d pulled on the “dead” prof.

Amy reclined her chair and settled in to enjoy the tale. Gilles’ sister shared his storytelling gene, although her accounts often had a more acidic edge.

In mid-sentence, Emilie set her coffee on the floor beside her chair. With both hands free to gesture, her story spilled faster. Another bubbled out behind it.

They were both laughing by the time Emilie stopped and picked up her cup for another drink. Again, her eyes pinned Amy. “Something is definitely wrong. You’re on guard, even when you laugh. You can tell me. It’s Michael, isn’t it?” She glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “You need to get out from under his control. While you still can.”

Emilie’s guess couldn’t be more wrong, but her ominous tone stirred Amy’s uneasiness. Amy tucked her feet up on the chair and hugged herself. “It’s not Michael.”

“Then what is it?”

Amy picked at the hem of her shirt. “You’re not the only one who wants me to leave. I’ve had some nasty… messages this week.”

“Hey, I never said I wanted you to leave! I’m concerned about your wellbeing if you stay in Michael’s protective bubble. It’s like you’re another display in his exhibit of life.”

Could Miss Drama Queen be the one behind the messages? Amy shook her head. The first two, maybe, if Emilie considered her a rival for Michael’s affection. But not the death threat. Plus, Del and his team connected the threats to Gilles’ murder.

Murder. Amy hadn’t thought of that starkly before, but whether they’d planned to kill him or simply scare him, Gilles had died. A wave of sorrow pressed her into her seat.

She would not go there now. Not with Emilie, and not hours before Michael’s open house. He needed a poised, collected hostess, not a red-eyed wraith. Imagining how eager Emilie would be to take her place drove back the sadness and lit enough of a fire to enable Amy to smile and meet the girl’s appraising gaze. “You should be writing novels. Or plays. His exhibit of life?”

“You know what I mean. But you said someone’s sending nasty messages. Who?”

Amy lifted a shoulder. “No idea. Ever since I started asking questions about the plane crash, people have been upset. Your father’s right, I need to let it go.”

Emilie peeled the lid from her take-out cup and drained the last drops. She stuffed the lid inside and bounced the empty cup on her leg. “It could be Michael.”

“What?”

“It sounds crazy, but listen. He wanted you to stop, didn’t he?”

“Along with your parents, the flight club and who knows how many other people?”

The cup tapped faster. “If he could scare you into stopping, he’d increase his hold on you. The next time you want to do something and he objects, he can remind you what happened. Send you another threat if you try anyway.”

Amy stood. “I don’t have time for this.” Emilie adored Michael far too much to believe he’d behave this way, but now was not the time to call her on her unsubtle attempt to clear the field. Amy started for the door.

Emilie gasped.

The sound turned Amy without conscious thought. “What’s the matter?”

Eyes wide, fingers pressed to her mouth, Emilie stared long enough that Amy glanced back at the doorway.

It was empty. Amy released the new phone she hadn’t known she gripped. She slid her hand from her pocket and ran it over her hair. “You scared me.”

Emilie blinked. “I just realized what it is. Michael took you in, but none of us expected you to stay so long. He can’t ask you to go, so he’s doing this weird passive-aggressive thing. Overprotecting you so you’ll feel trapped and want to leave. Using anonymous threats since he can’t speak it directly. Amy, you’re in the way and he’s too sweet to tell you.”

The vibration of an approaching engine saved Amy the need to reply. The caterers’ van drove past the window. “Excuse me.” She hurried from the room.

 

~~~

 

Amy stood for a few minutes looking out the kitchen window at the peaceful evergreens and the light glinting off the bay. Behind her, the catering duo bustled with the efficiency of a well-choreographed routine. Clothing rustled, plates clinked, and their light chatter never faltered.

It wasn’t like her to be nervous about an exhibit. That was Michael’s turf. Hers was to smooth the waters, if she could allow herself that little pun. Today, with the week’s threats, meeting her father, and now Emilie’s blatant manipulation, Amy’s own “water” was choppy.

Hello, God, my adopted Father? Thank You for caring. Please help today to go well for Michael, and keep us safe. Amen.

She needed time to learn about prayer, and more about God’s love and plan for her life. A little shiver of anticipation zinged through Amy’s spirit at the thought of church tomorrow. To the people, she’d be a stranger, but to God, she was accepted.

The thought lifted her shoulders and brought her back to what mattered now. Michael’s work. Supporting him and Aunt Bay. The troubling, extraneous influences would keep for another day.

Except for Emilie, here in the midst of it all. Amy turned from the view and went back to the living room. Spotless. Emilie hadn’t forgotten her coffee cup. Amy plumped decorative pillows in the two chairs and slid a finger along the left edge of one of the wall paintings to straighten it. She’d be doing that all day, especially once patrons started touching the frames.

She walked through the entryway into the gallery, assessing and making minute adjustments.

Michael emerged from the office, Emilie chattering at his back. Amy flashed him a sympathetic grin. Poor guy, he didn’t need this, especially now that he knew the girl’s feelings. He wouldn’t want to hurt her, but the reddish tinge to his ears showed his frustration.

Amy checked her watch. “Emilie, if you need a drink or a snack, now’s the time.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Emilie caught Michael’s arm. “Wait a minute. Your hair.” Deft fingers straightened hair that had been less out of place than the pictures Amy’d been adjusting.

Couldn’t Emilie see the way he tensed? Amy cringed for him. Michael might never love her, but he deserved someone who’d complete him. Emilie would only chip at him, marring what she tried to polish.

Emilie reached for his collar, and Michael twitched visibly. She pouted. “Stand still. Don’t you want to look your best?”

“This is about the art, not about me.” His eyes pleaded with Amy, but what could she do?

Any perceived interference would only push Emilie to greater extremes. Amy lifted empty hands and mouthed Suffering for your art.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Emilie, please. I can dress myself.”

“I’m just trying to help.” Her voice throbbed with emotion. She turned away from him and took a few tentative steps toward the exit. As she passed Amy, the girl’s eyes shone with hope, not hurt.

Michael opened his mouth but Amy shook her head in a quick no. He frowned for a second, then relaxed. “The caterers are ready?”

“I just came from the kitchen. Everything looks great.”

Aunt Bay called from the main part of the house. “Where is everyone?”

Amy turned and nearly tripped over Emilie. The girl hadn’t fled far at all. “Sorry!”

By one-thirty the happy buzz of conversation filled the house and gallery. The caterers wove among the guests, offering water in long-stemmed glasses and trays of cold finger food.

Amy mingled, enjoying the ambiance. Ruth and Tony arrived mid-afternoon, and Amy felt herself glowing as she introduced them to Michael. Was she proud of him, or grateful to Ruth? Or both? He thanked them warmly. “We’ve been encouraging Amy for so long, but sometimes a person has to hear it from strangers.”

A few minutes later, walking into the living room display, Amy noticed Del chatting with a woman in blue. Her smile felt suddenly brittle. How had she forgotten the danger?