Eight

Charley was on her own with Thomas in the gallery, and on the defensive. She had last seen him outside the Coffee Nook. He’d been furious with Andrew and close to violence. Was it a personal vendetta or just artistic temperament?

The comments Sarah had made about Thomas’s difficult relationship with his daughter and the argument Charley had witnessed didn’t paint a pretty picture. Although the man could paint. There was no doubt about that.

His canvases leaned against the wall beside hers. One faced out. Through the protective plastic, the paint glowed, the luminosity barely contained. His portrait, that fragmented profile of a saxophone player, trapped the Bebop beat of snapping fingers in a basement bar, the blue notes of emotions unleashed centre-stage. Even the shroud of plastic couldn’t dim the swinging rhythm of those brushstrokes. Colours swirled as though propelled by the pulse of the music. By passion.

Right now, Thomas looked like a kindly grandfather, with a neatly trimmed white beard and twinkling blue eyes. But a rampant squirrel in the gallery might be enough to set him off. And she didn’t intend to be on the receiving end of that temper.

Thunder rumbled and Cocoa woofed, as though threatening the gods to stop making all that noise.

Thomas stopped in his pacing, in front of the rain-smeared window that looked onto the courtyard and the street beyond. “When did Kayla say she’d be here?”

She checked her watch again. When Kayla arrived, she’d break the news to both of them. “Five minutes ago.”

To some, that might not seem like much, but it wasn’t like Kayla. She’d always been the punctual one. But that was in the past, before she got engaged to Andrew. Before they lost touch.

“She’s probably just running late.” Still, worry nagged at Charley.

Thomas’s raised eyebrow conveyed disbelief and more, although he didn’t say a word.

Suddenly, a sound came from above them. This time, it wasn’t thunder. The scratching echoed down the wall.

His gaze shot up, zeroing in on the fine crack running through the ceiling paint, like he could peer through it and into the room beyond. “What was that?”

“The rain?” It was worth a shot.

“It sounds like someone’s up there.” He crossed the room, heading toward the door that led upstairs. Each stride dislodging dried dirt onto her freshly cleaned floor.

He reached for the door handle. Cocoa leaped up off her blanket and spun in excited circles, eager for another chance to bark at the squirrel.

“Wait,” Charley said. The snap to her voice froze him in his tracks. “You’re right. We have a problem.”

The glance Thomas shot her was full of patience worn thin. “What kind of a problem?” The resignation in his voice was worse than anger.

Had he been expecting something to go wrong all along? The thought had her back going up.

A bubbly tune cut through the tense silence. Her phone vibrated with the incoming call. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked the caller ID.

Relief washed over her when she saw the name on the screen. “It’s Kayla.” Finally.

He raised one eyebrow, as though to say it was about time.

Charley answered the phone. “Hi, where are you?”

“I tried to call earlier, but it went straight to voice mail.”

She’d had her phone within reach the whole time. But service in Oakcrest could be spotty, at best. “The storm must have interfered with my cell reception. Are you on your way?”

“That’s why I’m calling.”

That drop in tone. Despite the years, things hadn’t changed that much. She could tell right away. Something was wrong.

She moved away, to the door. Rain tracked a path down the glass panels. On top of the gazebo, the weathervane spun to face the storm. She felt Thomas watching and lowered her voice. “You’re not coming, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

Not enough panic there for an accident, at least. “Did something happen?”

“I’m going to have to quit the exhibit, Charley.”

It took her a full second to form a reply. “What? Why?” Andrew’s words came back to her. I intend to put an end to this exhibit. Anger flared within her.

Kayla said, “I know this is short notice, but I should never have taken it on. I’ve got too many other commitments.”

Too many commitments? “You approached me, remember?” she said, on a sting of betrayal. “You asked to take part.” Out of the blue, after four years of silence. And she’d trusted her. Counted on her.

“I’m really sorry. I know I said I’d contribute to the rent, but —”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” The rent was the least of her problems.

The bare wall loomed in front of her. White and big. More intimidating than any blank canvas. How would they fill the gallery now?

She’d sort it out. She’d have to.

Thomas shook his head. “Another problem.” The words echoed through the space.

“Did someone just say, ‘another problem’?” Kayla asked. “What happened?”

Might as well get it over with. “I’m putting you on speaker phone.” She gestured for him to step closer and held the cellphone between them.

“Hello Kayla.” His clipped tone bordered on annoyance.

“Hi Thomas.” Although tinny, the sound carried clearly through the speaker. “What’s going on, Charley?”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “I’d like to know that, too.”

Say it fast. “We’re going to have to postpone the opening of the gallery.” They’d planned to open that weekend, but maybe the delay was a good thing. With a little more time, she might be able to convince Kayla to change her mind.

“Why?” Thomas demanded.

“There’s a squirrel in the gallery. I saw it upstairs.” And wished she could erase that image from her mind. “Along with a hole in the drywall.”

“A squirrel?” Kayla’s voice rose in disbelief.

Thomas shrugged a shoulder. “The building has been empty, for a while. It’s no surprise animals got in. There’s a reason Sarah put it up for temporary lease. It needs a thorough renovation before someone will consider buying it.” Comforting words from an architect.

But the gallery was a hobby for Thomas, nothing more. He could afford to take it in stride. If the exhibit didn’t happen, he might be disappointed, maybe even frustrated about the wasted time and effort, but it wouldn’t be earth-shattering. He didn’t need this to work. And, apparently, neither did Kayla.

Her heart tightened. So much for being a team and conquering challenges together. “I contacted Sarah Felles. She’s been phoning around but, so far, she hasn’t had any luck finding someone who can take us on. Apparently, there are too many —”

“Cottage raccoon emergencies?” Thomas shot her an amused glance.

She fought to keep her own temper in check. “Yes, actually. One pest control company offered to put us on a list, but they’ve already predicted a two month wait.”

Kayla asked, “Pest control has a wait list?”

“By the time they get here, the squirrel will have made the gallery it’s new home.” Shredding insulation and chewing through electrical wiring in the process.

“Let’s think this through,” Thomas said, suddenly the voice of reason. “The poster in the window doesn’t give a specific date. If we have to postpone the opening by a few days, we won’t lose out on any of the advertising material we’ve already paid for.”

“A few days,” Kayla repeated, as though the words had triggered a thought. “That’s it! Why don’t you move the opening date to coincide with the Oakcrest Summer Food Truck Festival?” Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier. The festival is only a few days later than our original date, and the town will be teeming with tourists.”

Street food under the open sky, people strolling down Main Street. Right past the gallery windows.

Thomas scraped a hand over his chin. “That’s not a bad idea.”

They’d planned for the pop-up gallery to last for four weeks. If they moved the date of the opening, the exhibit would end on her birthday. A shiver stole over her. Well, that was fitting, wasn’t it?

“How is it,” Charley wondered, “that I’m living with the woman who runs the community paper and I don’t know anything about the food truck festival?” So much for having access to all the insider details.

“Trust me,” Kayla said. “This is the sort of perfect timing people kill for.”

As an event planner, she had gained a reputation for creativity in just a short time and had a track record of success. When she got married, she’d quit her job but, it seemed, she hadn’t lost her knack. It just might work.

“So far,” Charley said, “we’re assuming the squirrel is confined to the second floor. Which means we could set up downstairs.” And that was something. “But we’ll need a partition wall, to give us more display areas.”

Thomas stroked a hand over his beard, thinking. “Some shade cloth, plywood and drywall screws should do it. And l brackets to hang the paintings. I could easily make something.”

Finally, things were coming together. “Sounds great. And good thinking about the festival, Kayla.”

“It’s the least I can do. Don’t worry,” she said, “This is just a minor setback.”

Charley hung up the call. Easy for her to say. She hadn’t seen that furry black arm reaching down from the ceiling.

How could they put on a decent exhibit if one third of the art was missing? She’d have to figure that out, too. What was one more problem, in the long run?

They’d need to leave more room between the paintings. Cheat, to fill the space, best they could.

Charley dug her sketchbook out of her bag and scrounged for the 2B pencil. Right at the bottom. “We need to rethink the exhibit’s design.”

Thomas sighed. “Unfortunately, revisions are all part of the creative process.”

Along with the eraser shavings. But that didn’t make it any easier. “Let’s take another look at our drawings, see what we can save from the original plan.”

Freestanding walls would change the focus. But the images still needed to flow through the gallery. To create a coherent route. Tell a story. Anything jarring, or noticeably out of place, would break the illusion. No illusion, no sales.

She refused to wait any longer to fulfil her dream. That had been the entire point of coming to Oakcrest. To finally take action.

Charley flipped open the spiralbound book to the next blank page. She dragged her pencil across the paper, drawing a line for the wall. Then sketched in placeholders. Rectangles and squares. A jigsaw puzzle of hollow frames.

Somehow, she would fix this.