22. Conrad
22
CONRAD
T he gallery was alive with the kind of polished grandeur that only Charleston’s elite could conjure on a humid Southern evening. It was a charity gala, a fundraiser to support the arts, with the proceeds going to local programs that painted the city’s culture in its brightest colors. Black tie was the dress code, and the crowd more than delivered—sleek gowns that whispered over polished floors, crisp tuxedos with pocket squares as sharp as their owners’ conversations, and glittering jewelry catching the soft glow of chandeliers that dripped like Spanish moss from the high ceilings. Outside, the crickets and cicadas hummed a steady serenade, but here, inside the gallery’s cool elegance, it was all champagne laughter and carefully curated sophistication.
Holden, ever the cynic, leaned toward me as we watched the crowd swirl around us. “The Bores and the Bored,” he muttered, his tone dry. “Out to see and be seen. Gossip, sip champagne, and pretend they care about the arts more than they do seeing their names published in the donation list.”
Blanton’s gallery had been transformed for the evening, every corner dripping with elegance. Elaborate spreads of canapés and hors d'oeuvres—mini crab cakes, bacon-wrapped figs, and blinis topped with crème fra?che and caviar—were arranged on long tables draped in white linens. Waiters in sharp uniforms floated through the space with trays of champagne, and two full bars stood at opposite ends of the room, surrounded by well-dressed patrons exchanging compliments and pleasantries that sounded a little too rehearsed.
I let my gaze drift to Moon, who stood near one of the bars, talking animatedly with Hendrix and Holden. She looked enchanting. Her gown was periwinkle blue satin, the kind of dress that made it impossible to look anywhere else. The fabric clung to her frame in all the right ways, shimmering faintly as she moved, with a plunging neckline that showcased a long, delicate silver necklace that dipped between her breasts. She was radiant, magnetic—the kind of presence that made you forget to blink.
The boys cleaned up well too, though neither would admit it. Hendrix wore his tuxedo like he’d been born to, the crisp lines and tailored fit snug on his rugged frame. His curls were tamed just enough to look intentional, though a few strands fell loose, softening his edges. Holden, ever the classic, looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Gatsby party. His traditional black tux was perfectly tailored, the sheen of the fabric catching the light as he moved with an understated confidence. His green eyes, sharp and observant, swept the room like he was cataloging every detail.
Fanny and Blanton approached, Fanny radiant in a flowing champagne-colored gown that set off her chestnut hair, styled in loose waves that framed her elegant features. Blanton, as composed as ever, exuded calm authority as he greeted guests with a handshake and quiet charisma. Fanny swept Moon into a hug, her warmth genuine and eager, while Blanton’s gaze settled on her with approval.
“Moon, my dear,” he said smoothly. “Would you let me borrow you for a moment? There are some patrons of the theatre company I’d love to introduce you to. They’ve been dying to meet a star of Cabaret .”
Moon shot us a quick glance, her lips curving into a small, steady smile. “Of course,” she said, tucking her arm into his with an ease that made it seem like she’d been moving in these circles her whole life. She held her head high, her movements fluid and unhurried, as if the daunting setting was nothing but another stage.
As they disappeared into the crowd, Holden nudged my shoulder, his gaze flicking toward one of the walls. “Your photography,” he said, his voice softer now, pointing at one print in particular: “that one sparks some good memories. Going out to Johns Island…that tree felt magical when we were kids.”
I followed his gaze to the large black-and-white print of the sprawling Angel Oak. Its massive, gnarled branches stretched outward and downward, some dipping into the earth before rising again. The Spanish moss hanging from its limbs gave it an almost otherworldly air, like something pulled from a storybook.
“Yeah,” I said, stepping closer. “We’d climb it for hours. The limbs were so thick. Remember how we used to pretend they were bridges, like they were leading us into some kind of secret world? And those roots—remember how we thought if we dug under them, we’d find treasure?”
Holden laughed softly, the sound warm and laced with nostalgia. “The bark was so rough, we’d come home with scrapes all over our arms, and my mom would freak out. But it didn’t matter. That tree was everything back then.”
I gave Holden a small nod, pleased that he felt what I did.
“You captured it,” he said. “Not just the way it looks but…the way it feels. Like it’s alive. Like it’s got secrets.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept quiet, letting the hum of the room fill the space between us. My attention shifted back to Moon, who was now standing with Blanton in the middle of a group of Charleston’s most polished and privileged. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but her body language told me everything—head tilted slightly, smile warm but not overdone, gestures smooth and practiced. She looked completely at ease, even as I knew this was far from her natural element.
“She’s handling them like a pro,” Hendrix said from behind me, his tone low but amused. “Look at that guy—he’s practically drooling over her.”
He wasn’t wrong. One of the older men in the group seemed utterly captivated by Moon, his laugh a little too eager as she said something that made the others smile. She was in complete control, charming them effortlessly, and I felt a swell of pride watching her hold her own among Charleston’s elite.
“She’s good,” I said, my voice quieter. “Better than good.”
Moon slipped back over to us, her blue gown catching the light as she moved, graceful but purposeful. The faintest flush touched her cheeks, but her eyes carried something sharper—intent, maybe, or determination. She came to a stop just between me and Holden, her voice low as she leaned in.
“I want to check out James’ studio again,” she said, her tone quiet but firm. “I don’t know why, but…I feel like there’s something I’ve missed. Maybe just being in the space again will help.”
I exchanged a glance with Holden, whose brows furrowed in a way that told me he was already considering the logistics. “Blanton’s office is going to be locked with the public here,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady.
Moon tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile and pointedly looked at me. “Good thing I know a guy with access.”
Hendrix, leaning casually against the wall beside us, let out a low chuckle. “She’s got a point,” he said, his grin widening. “But sneaking into a hidden studio in the middle of a black-tie gala? That’s bold even for you, Moon.”
She shrugged, her confidence unshaken. “I have you three, don’t I? Distract Blanton. Keep him busy while I slip away. He won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Holden’s jaw tightened, his green eyes narrowing as he considered her proposal.
Moon looked at the three of us, her voice calm but resolute. “I just need you to trust me.”
“We do,” Holden said resolutely. Hendrix and I nodded in agreement.
Moon’s eyes flicked toward the hallway that led to Blanton’s office. “If I’m going to do this, I’ll need Conrad to let me in—and keep watch.”
Holden hesitated, his green eyes narrowing slightly as if he wanted to argue, but instead, he sighed. “We’ll keep them busy,” he said, glancing at me. “Don’t let her get caught.”
Moon didn’t wait for further discussion. She turned, her gown shimmering under the chandeliers as she moved toward the hallway. I followed her, weaving through the crowd until the hum of conversation faded, replaced by the quiet echo of our footsteps on the polished floors.
When we reached the heavy office door, Moon glanced at me, her composure solid but her eyes carrying a spark of nerves. I punched the code into the keypad without hesitation. The keypad beeped, and the lock clicked open. “You’re in,” I said, pushing the door open for her.
The room was dimly lit as Moon stepped inside, her movements quiet and assured as she headed toward the bookshelf on the far wall. I watched from the doorway as she walked to the bookcase, finding the heavy book on the end that concealed the button panel.
“Stay out there,” she said, looking to me. “Just make sure no one comes in.”
I nodded, leaning casually against the wall by the entrance. “If anyone shows up, I’ll handle it. Just don’t take too long.”
Her expression softened slightly. “Thanks, Conrad.”
I stepped back into the hallway, keeping my stance casual, my gaze flicking toward the distant glow of the gallery where Holden and Hendrix were undoubtedly keeping watch to make sure Blanton and Fanny were occupied.
A few quiet minutes passed, my mind racing as I kept watch. The silence was unnerving, every distant footstep or murmur from the gallery making my shoulders tense. My phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me. Pulling it out, I glanced at the screen.
Blanton
Conrad, can you grab the second folio binder from the storage room near the east bar? I want to show a listing to a patron.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. The storage room wasn’t far, but leaving the hall even for a minute made me nervous. Still, ignoring Blanton wasn’t an option.
I tapped out a quick response.
On it. Be right there.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I cast one last glance at the closed office door before heading toward the storage room. Moon was still inside. I just hoped she wouldn’t need me in the few minutes I’d be gone.