Chapter 15
Quinn squinted her eyes, studying the group of people who were holding signs. “What do the signs say?”
Morgan tiptoed to the gallery window, peering out. “Fakes and forgeries sold here.”
Elizabeth tapped Grady MacDonald’s arm. “Can you force them to disperse?”
“Only if they’re standing directly in front of the gallery. All they’ll need to do is move off to the side, unless you contact the other store owners and they ask them to leave.” Grady told her they would likely keep moving until no one complained.
Ryze emerged from the crowd, gloating at them through the window. He said something but Morgan couldn’t hear what it was.
“I’ll tell them to move.” Grady stepped out onto the sidewalk. He pointed toward the gallery several times and shook his head.
Ryze stopped the protesters, who had begun circling around. After a brief word, the group shuffled off.
Grady waited until they were gone before stepping back inside. “Ryze is asking to speak with you.”
Elizabeth, with a determined gleam in her eye, caught up with Grady. They left, only to return moments later.
“Well?” Quinn asked. “What did he want?”
“He wants to make a deal. He’ll get the protestors to leave if I pay them for their time.”
Morgan’s jaw dropped. “Isn’t paying them to go away illegal?”
“He’s calling it worker reimbursement,” Grady said.
“How much does he want?” Morgan asked. “I mean, if it’s not too much, it might be worth it to hand out a few bucks to get rid of them.”
“Two hundred dollars per person times ten people.”
Quinn whistled loudly. “Two hundred bucks to walk around for a few hours holding a sign?”
“Yep.”
Morgan pointed to Grady. “So the only thing we can do right now is keep them from blocking the entrance?”
“Unfortunately,” he grimaced. “Maybe they’ll get tired and leave on their own.”
“Not if they’re collecting two hundred dollars. They’ll be here all day.”
“I refuse to be blackmailed,” Elizabeth insisted. “He and his band of agitators can march until the cows come home.”
Grady patted his pocket. “If they harass customers or disrupt your business in any way, call me. I can charge them with disturbing the peace.”
While Grady and Elizabeth talked, Morgan noticed a figure lurking nearby, camera in hand. She began to feel lightheaded when she realized it was Priscilla Finkpin.
Quinn, who was standing next to her, nudged her arm. “Do you see who I see?” she whispered in her ear.
“Priscilla holding a camera,” Morgan whispered back. “Don’t mention it to Grandmother. I’ll take care of it. I need to get going.”
Grady left first, passing by a customer who was on their way in. The distraction of a new arrival gave her the perfect excuse to slip out of the gallery.
A quick check confirmed the protestors were still out in full force, marching up and down the sidewalk, yet careful to steer clear of the gallery. Edward Ryze stood on the curb a few feet away, cell phone in hand, recording the scene.
A sick feeling settled in the pit of Morgan’s stomach. She had little doubt he’d pulled a similar stunt before. Veering off in the opposite direction, she cut between cars and crossed the street.
Picking up the pace, Morgan and Chester trekked down the sidewalk to the Easton Harbor Beacon. With a quick check inside, she noticed Priscilla was seated at her desk, her back to the door.
She gave the receptionist a friendly wave as she crossed the room. “Hello.”
Priscilla spun around, a look of surprise on her face. “Hello, Morgan.”
Morgan offered her a tentative smile. “How are you feeling?”
“One hundred percent better.” She lifted her leg and rotated her ankle. “I’m still getting an occasional twinge, but it’s not nearly as painful as it was the other day.”
“I’m glad you’re doing better. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure. Have a seat.”
Morgan pulled out a chair and perched on the edge. “I noticed you standing in front of Grandmother’s gallery a few minutes ago. I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going on.”
Priscilla tapped the side of her forehead. “The reporter’s inquisitive mind never rests,” she joked. “Based on the signs the protestors were holding, my guess is someone is unhappy with a purchase and claiming it’s a fake.”
Morgan briefly filled her in, starting with the sale of the piece, including the part about the Toronto art gallery who had been through a similar situation with Ryze and had paid him off. “Grandmother needs time to compare the piece she sold to the one the customer is trying to return. The bottom line is we think some shenanigans are going on.”
“I bet Elizabeth is fit to be tied, having them picket near her place.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Morgan sighed. “The protesters have offered to leave…for a price.”
“A price?” Priscilla arched her eyebrow. “Instead of blackmail, the customer is asking to be paid off to go away?”
“In a nutshell. He wants two hundred dollars per protestor.”
“I can’t imagine Elizabeth giving him a dime.”
“Nope. She refuses to reward bad behavior.” Morgan nodded toward the camera sitting on the desk. “I’m here to ask you not to print a story about this.”
“Because it won’t look good.”
“You have written some pretty unflattering stories about us Eastons in the past, so I guess this might be asking for too much,” Morgan said.
Priscilla leaned her elbows on the desk. “I have.”
Their eyes met.
“I won’t do it.”
Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. “You won’t print the story?”
“Nope. What did you say the customer’s name was?”
“Edward Ryze.”
“His name sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Maybe you read the story. Toronto Renaissance Gallery is the other art gallery who paid money to make him go away.”
“That sounds familiar, as well.” Priscilla reached for a pad of paper and pen. “I must be getting soft in my old age.”
“Or maybe you’re realizing the Easton family isn’t as evil as you thought.” Morgan clasped her hands. “This means a lot to me, to Grandmother. She has so much on her plate right now, dealing with negative publicity will only add to her stress level.”
“She’s down to the wire for the wedding of the century, at least by Easton Island standards,” Priscilla said.
“Grandmother mentioned you the other day and seemed excited about you being there.”
A look of surprise flitted across Priscilla’s face. “She was?”
Morgan nodded. “She still considers you a part of the family.”
The woman’s eyes watered. She quickly looked away. “It seems this past year I’m finally figuring out what’s important.”
“One of them being letting go of old grudges.” Morgan slowly stood. “Thank you. I know printing a juicy story about the gallery would sell a few papers.”
“It would. However, I intend to keep my promise.”
Morgan exited the office. She called Chester to her side, replaying the brief conversation in her head, more than a little shocked that Priscilla had agreed not to write the story. “I can’t believe it, Chester. She has a heart, after all.”