Chapter 25

 

Amy tidied the note cards in the display rack. Seeing Del had brought back her anxiety. She paused in front of the nearest easel, pretending to adjust the picture. Her eyes drew on the stillness of the scene, and her lips slid into a more natural smile. Michael loved Hemlock Ravine Park in Halifax, but he said the hike to the actual ravine would be too much for her hip. Instead he’d taken her to the heart-shaped pond at the park’s entrance. They’d sat on a bench, watching ducks and dragonflies and a picnicking family. Once the family left, he’d taken some pictures.

This painting highlighted a curve of the shallow rock wall, with gently-rippling water and a single, upturned feather. Amy’s breathing settled, and she slipped back into hostess mode, her spirit lighter. She circulated around the room, greeting those who weren’t in conversations, and made her way to the entrance as one of the caterers came in carrying a tray.

On her rounds, she occasionally met Michael, Aunt Bay or Emilie. If Gilles’ sister seemed perpetually in the same room as Michael, at least she had fallen into a charming support role and dropped the coquette routine. All four knew how to process a sale, and by early evening about a third of the originals bore “sold” signs on their frames.

Amy and Michael had re-stocked the framed and un-framed prints throughout the day, as well as the note cards and pads. Amy’s hip ached, and she’d retrieved her cane from the closet. She’d encountered Del several times, and she’d learned not to tense when they met. He fit the role of casual visitor — unless a person noticed his eyes.

A stout woman in a bright-flowered dress advanced toward Amy. “You’re the one from that plane crash.”

Amy nodded, the back of her neck prickling. Did the lady pack extra volume, or had the others in the room hushed?

Shrewd eyes flicked her up and down. “Such a little thing, too. The paper made it sound like you were crippled.”

Amy smiled. “Thankfully, no. I do need my cane when I’m on my feet too long.” She leaned on it now.

The woman clucked her tongue. “Nasty world we live in. People taking down planes.”

Amy’s grip tightened on her cane. “The investigators ruled it an accident. I’m told they were quite thorough.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.” The woman tapped the frame of the painting beside Amy. “He does good work.”

“Yes, he does. People have said it’s almost healing.”

“You’re in a good place here, dear. I hope you thrive.” She gave Amy’s hand a quick squeeze and moved to the next painting.

Amy took a few slow breaths to steady herself. She hadn’t lied, but had she given the impression that she’d accepted the verdict? Not that anyone here was likely involved with the killers.

“Well played.”

Del’s voice in her ear kicked Amy’s heart into panic mode, and she couldn’t stop a gasp. She turned it into a run of light coughs. When she trusted herself, she turned to face him. “Thank you. For that, and for being here today.”

He nodded, then strolled away.

Amy ducked into the office for more notepads and found Emilie at the desk, writing up a sale. Amy stopped beside her. “Enjoying yourself? I think the day’s going well.”

“Definitely.” Emilie looked up, eyes narrowing. “Who’s that guy? With the moustache. I just saw you talking to him. He’s been here all day.”

What to say? Amy picked up a handful of pads from the shelf. “Michael asked him to come today for security. More subtle than a uniform.”

“We’ve never needed security before.”

As if it were Amy’s fault. Emilie was her mother’s daughter. “I told you someone wants me to leave. We didn’t think they’d disrupt the open house, but better safe than sorry.” She left the room.

Michael came through the gallery entrance. He brightened when their eyes met, and he joined her outside the office door. “I was on my way for some of those pads, but you’re ahead of me, as usual. How’s the hip?”

“Sore, but manageable.” Amy glanced around the room. “It’s been a great turnout. We have more customers each year, and they’re buying — even with the economy the way it is.”

“That’s why I like the prints and these pads and cards. They’re less pricey. Struggling people need art more than the rich ones.”

Amy checked to be sure Emilie was still in the office. “Emilie asked about Del. I’d told her someone wanted me to leave, so I said he was here in case they tried to cause trouble today. Naturally, she blamed me.”

Michael’s brow crinkled. “Is it just me, or is she getting worse?”

“Hush, or she’ll fix your hair again.”

He flinched. “I need to do something about this. I don’t want to hurt her, though.”

“I know.” Reluctantly, Amy left him under Emilie’s watchful eye and distributed the notepads around the displays.

As she crossed the entryway, the front door opened. Troy stepped in, one hand wrapped in a bandage. Amy’s professional smile warmed to personal. “Hey, Troy, I’m glad to see you in one piece. How are you?” So she knew him better through phone calls and texts than their one meeting at the interview. He was on her side, and he cared — about her safety and about the truth. Caring had nearly cost his life.

Troy waved his bundled hand. “Could have been worse.” None of the people around them seemed to pay any attention. “Where’s Michael?”

Amy pointed back into the gallery. “He’ll be glad to see you. Grab a drink and snack from the caterers. They’ll be around again in a few minutes.”

Troy ducked his head. “Catch you later. I see you’re on a mission.” He started for the gallery.

The entryway displayed only paintings. Amy carried on to the living room. Only a handful of people lingered here, mostly those in need of a few minutes in a seat. Amy’s hip put her in that category, except she was beyond the point of a brief respite. Tonight she’d need a long, hot soak in the tub.

Painkillers, too. Why hadn’t she taken one already? Amy placed the remaining notepads and exchanged pleasantries with the visitors, noting the caterers had them well-supplied, then made her exit and trudged up the stairs.

She took the pill bottle from her dresser and manipulated the child-resistant cap, resolutely ignoring the soft bed. If she lay down, she’d never get up again. A quick glass of water from the bathroom, and Amy headed downstairs again.

Her path crossed with Michael’s as she went back into the gallery. The guests wouldn’t notice, but his smile was thinning, and his eyes had a weary look. Amy touched his arm. “You poor introvert. It’ll be over soon. Did you see Troy?”

“You’re the one in pain, and you’re worried about me? I got myself into this, remember. And yes, we talked. He has pictures of his car on his phone. It’s hard to believe he walked away from that.” Michael moved aside to allow a guest to pass, then stepped closer. “If anything happened to you—”

“It won’t. It—” Amy closed her mouth. It could. Too easily. And she wouldn’t see it coming. Her head darted side to side until she saw Del. She looked back at Michael. “We have to trust your friends to do their job. And trust God to look after us.”

A measure of life returned to his smile. “That, we do.” He brushed his fingertips against hers and turned toward the entryway.

Amy stood a moment to watch the activity before working her way through the gallery. Passing Del, she paused. “You’ll be so sick of these paintings after today.”

“They’re restful, but I’m not paying too much attention to the inanimate parts of the event. Except the food. I’m attending to that.” He passed a hand across his stomach.

“I’m glad it’s been quiet.”

“Me too. Slow is better than exciting, for me.” Del winked.

They carried on in opposite directions around the room. Amy spotted Emilie coming out of the office. Personal conflicts aside, Gilles’ sister seemed to be out-selling them all. Not that it was a competition. Getting Michael’s work out was what mattered.

Emilie looked around, probably hunting Michael. The gallery door chimed, and Amy turned to welcome the newcomers.

Newcomer. Ross Zarin pulled the door closed behind him. When he saw Amy, he smiled and threaded his way among the art and visitors. He took her hand. “You look lovely. I hope it’s been a good day.”

“Thanks for coming. How’s your father?” Amy slid her hand free. What if Emilie saw the gesture and used it to goad Michael? Or would it diminish her perception of Amy as a threat?

His dark eyes twinkled with a charm that should have had Amy melting to a puddle at his feet. “My father is fine, and he sends his best. He is very pleased with our latest paintings, and charged me to come home with another one.”

Amy swept her hand to embrace the room. “Tonight it’s this area and through into the main house as well. Take your time to browse, and sample the caterers’ snacks as well. They’re delicious.”

As if summoned, one of the black-garbed caterers approached with a tray of water and food. Ross selected a glass of water, cradling it expertly in long, brown fingers. “Thank you. The food is tempting, but I’ll pass.” He sipped, and turned searching eyes back to Amy. “How goes the closure?”

Amy blinked, then caught his meaning. Time to trot out her story again. “I’ll never have answers to everything that happened that day, but I don’t need to keep searching. I can say goodbye to Gilles and begin to live my life.”

Ross nodded approvingly. “Wise words. And what will the rest of your life look like? Will you continue here at the gallery?”

Emilie spoke from beside them. “Hi, Ross. Sorry to startle you, Amy.” She looked at Ross and gave her head a pitying shake. “She’s jumpy. Someone’s been upsetting her — wants her to go away.”

Those dark eyes grew piercing, as if they could see into Amy’s fears. “Who would do this to you?”

Amy glanced around the room. Nobody stood near them, but still she kept her voice down. “This isn’t a good time to talk about it. I don’t know what to say, anyway. It must be someone I’ve upset by asking about the plane crash, but I don’t know who. They’ve been sending messages telling me to leave.”

“To leave? Why would that link to your accident?”

Amy spread her hands. “I haven’t done anything else lately to rock anyone’s boat. Gilles and Emilie’s father was upset with me for reopening the family’s pain. Maybe someone else was more upset about bringing up the investigation. If I don’t draw any more attention to it, I hope the harassment will stop.”

“One can hope.” His eyes remained serious.

A man in a designer sweater approached the three of them. “Could one of you young ladies help me? I’m interested in the spider web painting near the main door.”

Amy made to excuse herself, but Emilie cut her off. “No, you were in the middle of a conversation. I’ll go.” She gestured toward the entryway. “Lead on.” She followed the customer from the room.

Standing in the middle of the room meant they were blocking traffic, as light as it now was. Amy edged toward a row of paintings. “One of the things I love about working here is I don’t have to pick a favourite. I can enjoy the originals until they’re sold, and there are always copies of the prints.”

Ross followed her lead, and they moved slowly along the line of paintings. “Purchasing for the hotel chain means I needn’t worry if I’ll tire of it or if another choice would ultimately please me more.”

They’d nearly circled the room. Emilie bustled past with her customer, and with a surprisingly friendly smile for Amy. Either the girl had up-sold him to buy two paintings, or the sight of Amy with Ross gave her a false sense of security. The two disappeared into the office.

Amy glanced around. Few patrons lingered in the room, and those who did seemed content to browse. “I need to get back to work. While it’s quiet is a good time to check and re-stock the smaller products.”

As she turned, Ross nodded toward her cane. “This much time on your feet is painful?”

“I’ll be sore tomorrow, but it’s a small price. I enjoy these shows, and I’m so proud of Michael’s work.”

His gaze warmed. “I hope he realizes what a gift it is to have an employee like you.” A crease appeared between his brows. “But for your own health, wouldn’t it be better to find a job that didn’t involve so much physical strain? Amy, come and work for my father. Your business and marketing skills—”

A pair of strong arms slid under Amy’s and wrapped her ribcage. Tightly. She gasped, and they loosened a fraction.

“Hello, Ross.” Michael spoke before she turned to identify her assailant, and the first note of his voice turned her fight-or-flight to unnatural stillness.

Michael didn’t do private displays of affection, let alone public ones. Amy glanced toward the office. If Emilie saw this, the feathers would really fly. Was this how he planned to discourage the girl’s crush? Amy relaxed against his chest. Whatever the cause, she’d be a fool to resist it.

Ross’ face had gone still. He raised one eyebrow at her, and she gave a small smile.

Michael kept talking. “I’m sorry to foil your attempt to steal my best worker, but I must. Amy and I—” Warmth filled his voice. “—have a private understanding. We were waiting for the next anniversary of the accident, out of respect for Gilles’ memory and his family, but I see you’ve forced our hand.”

Ross’ eyes chilled to those of a hawk. They raked Amy’s face and stabbed at Michael. “A simple ‘no thank you’ to the offer would have sufficed.”

“Perhaps, but it would have put Amy in the awkward position of turning down a valued client without being able to say why. You deserve better than that. You’ve been so supportive to Amy, taking her to the crash site and all. This way you can be happy for her instead of concerned.” Michael’s voice dropped a notch. “If you could keep it to yourself until the anniversary, we’d appreciate it.”

“Me and the others in the room.”

Michael’s embrace shifted as if he’d shrugged. He spoke into Amy’s hair. “Do you mind terribly?”

Amy snuggled deeper into his hold. His heart beat against her back, almost as fast as her own.

Ross nodded gracious defeat and raised one hand. “Allow me to be the first to offer congratulations. May you be very happy together. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a painting to select, and time is running out.”

Michael held Amy in place for a long moment after Ross walked past them to the main house. A few other visitors smiled indulgently before turning back to the artwork. Amy’s racing heart and Michael’s arms didn’t leave room for her lungs. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

What just happened? This wasn’t about Emilie at all. He couldn’t mean it — could he? Amy wanted to turn and read his face. See love there.

But she wouldn’t. Michael didn’t love her. He’d have shown some kind of sign by now.

This moment, crazy as it was, would be her treasure to remember. She wouldn’t be the one to break it.

“I’m sorry.” His arms slid away and he retreated.

Amy spun. The pain in his eyes matched what she’d heard in his voice. “Michael?”

“It was the first thing I could think of. I had to get you away from him.”

“Why?”

“You need to stay here for now. With me. Safe. Until Del’s group ends this. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I didn’t mean—”

The words kept on, but Amy’s hearing froze. Cold and shaking inside, she walked away. Past a few patrons, seeing them only as obstacles to avoid. Toward the entryway. The stairs. Her room.

Emilie would be delighted to have her out of the picture, and Michael deserved the girl’s undivided attention.