Chapter 7 #2
“Right? See, you’re smart like Arnav. I don’t want to speak disparagingly about the police.
I mean, they’ve got a tough job. But he just—” I considered.
“Sloppy was the word Arnav used over and over. They had their man and so didn’t do the work necessary to uncover the truth.
Honestly, Arnav said he’d never seen such a horribly put-together case.
” With that, I smiled. “Now, he’s a young guy.
I think he’s still a little wet behind the ears, but he won the case, so I’m not complaining.
And here I am—talking about my ex again. ”
“Arnav is on the young side. But also brilliant.”
I cocked my head. “You know him?”
Cody nodded.
“Small town, right?”
He considered. “Do you plan to go to Kink again? On pup night?”
“Depends. Why?”
“Just curious.”
Putting two and two together, I came out with the notion that I might run into Arnav at Club Kink on pup night. Which sort of blew my mind. I understood discretion, though, and wasn’t going to push. “You’ve got me curious, but I kind of need to take a leak.”
He grinned. “I’ll show you to the guest bathroom.”
I arched an eyebrow.
The grin held. “Two bedrooms and two bathrooms. And an alcove they call a ‘den’.” He used air quotes.
“Now, I’m curious.”
“Let me give you a tour of the entire place. Should take, oh, about ten seconds.”
As we rose, I cast one final glance at the volcano.
In fact, the tour took about five minutes.
I loved the tile work done in the bathrooms—modern and sophisticated palette, yet also understated. I couldn’t help myself—I checked out the workmanship and found nothing wanting.
He’d painted the guest bedroom a soft pastel yellow. The desk crammed against the window might’ve been small, but the view out of it was glorious. Again, of Cedar Valley and the volcano.
“How do you get any work done in here?”
“Honestly? I’m mostly here at night—after a long day at the ranch, I come home and do an hour or two. Making notes, looking up cases. Stuff like that. Then I sit in front of the television and flake. Or, just as likely, I crawl into bed.”
I pointed to the double bed.
He shook his head. “No, this is a guest bedroom. Not that I have many guests—but the option’s here. I’ll show you my bedroom.”
I thought he was going to take my hand, but he merely gestured for me to follow.
The living room was dominated by a huge black sectional sofa.
“It’s actually more comfortable than it looks, and the faux leather is easy to clean.”
“I think it already looks comfortable. I have a thirdhand used pullout couch whose mattress should’ve been replaced last century—and that doubles as my bed.”
“Oh.” He scratched his stubble-free chin. “And you can’t fit a small bed into the space?”
I gestured to myself. I wasn’t as tall as Cody, but the only small bed that might fit was a child’s bed, and even I couldn’t make myself that small.
He laughed ruefully. “Point taken.”
“What about the artwork?”
“Local artist.” His gaze turned wistful. “I love his use of color. He does both landscapes and people.”
The painting was above the couch and, again, dominated the space. The mountains felt…majestic. And the forest growing up the side of it seemed expansive. “It’s amazing. I can feel the fresh air.”
“Right?” Cody grinned. “Talented guy. Not well known. He moved back to Mission City after living in Vancouver for almost twenty years. He, uh, knows Kennedy and she introduced me to his work. I’m embarrassed to say, he gave me a discount.”
“Then he saw something in you.” I see something in you. Cody wore his heart on his sleeve. Compassion oozed out of every pore. Is he this way with his patients? How easy do they find it to open up to him?
About as easy as I found it.
Well, that was true.
He rested his hand on a high-top table with four barstools. “My idea of a dining room. Truthfully, when I have more than one person over, we usually sit on the couch.”
“And the recliner.”
“Oh, you noticed.”
“I’m envious. That’s top of the line.”
His face clouded for a moment. “I got it secondhand. A gentleman bought it for his mother to keep her comfortable—but she died in hospital just a few days later. He couldn’t bear to keep it, and so wanted it to go to a good home.”
“He made a good choice.”
Cody shot me a glance.
I shrugged. “You can put your feet up at the end of a long day taking care of other people.”
“It’s not like I’m on my feet.” His expression was dubious.
“Hard work intellectually can be as draining as manual labor, and it doesn’t end when your day is done. I do love that about my job—I get to go home at the end of day, and I don’t have to think about work until the next morning. That means everything.”
“I guess…I never really thought about it like that.”
“That painting must bring you comfort.”
He smiled a little wistfully. “It does. I find it reminds me of the ranch—even though Healing Horses doesn’t have a view like that.”
“Who’s the artist?”
“Douglas Matheson.” He held out his hand. “Come, and I’ll show you another piece of artwork worth noting.”
I took his hand—with some trepidation. This gesture felt intimate in a way I wasn’t fully prepared to explore at this junction. But I let him lead me to his bedroom.
The sun still shone brightly—although it was moving westward, and no longer poured direct light into this room. Still, the vivacity of the room spoke to my heart.
The wall behind the bed was a vibrant aquamarine. It complemented the navy blue of the comforter and the soft beige of the bedside lamps.
All this sank in within mere moments of entering the room. Then my attention was pulled toward the painting above the bed. My breath caught. “Is that a Tessa Carlysle original?”
“Yep.” He puffed out his chest. “An earlier piece.” He grinned. “My aunt taught her in high school. Nurtured the artist’s talent. Encouraged her to study art in university.”
“The world owes your aunt a debt of gratitude.”
Douglas Matheson might be a competent artist. His painting in the living room was proof of that.
But Tessa? Her work adorned galleries across the country. Her paintings could command huge sums of money.
Often, the designer who we’d worked with would try to obtain pieces by her for the homes we finished. Sometimes buyers would pay big bucks for the prestige.
“You know she sells smaller pieces at a local gift store.”
My gaze shot to Cody.
“Yeah, most people don’t know that. She donates the proceeds of those paintings to a local charity. They’re not as large as—” He gestured to the painting over his bed.
She’d painted a loon mid-flight. A stunning representation of nature. The intricacy and delicacy of the work spoke to years of perfecting a craft and hours upon hours spent applying brush to canvas. “It’s amazing.”
“Especially because it’s one of Tessa’s earlier works. My aunt gifted the painting to me upon my graduation from Simon Fraser University with my PhD. She has two smaller works that she intends me to have when she passes. That said, I’ve made her promise she’ll never die.”
I chuckled. “Have you ever found that to work?”
Another shadow crossed Cody’s face. “No. Much as I wish I could say otherwise, I’ll admit defeat on that. We none of us live forever.” He gazed at the painting. “But some of us go before our time.”
“Or you can see it as that being their time—even if they didn’t live to old age.”
He shot me a glance. “That’s a philosophical perspective I can’t embrace. I think we should fight for every last moment on this earth. That someone might still make contributions, even as they age.”
I’d hit a nerve. I just couldn’t figure out which one. So I pointed behind me. “Walk-in closet and a bathroom?”
“Yeah. You can do a thorough examination and let me know if you find any deficiencies.”
We’d dropped hands when we stepped into the room and I’d been so blown away by the Carlysle. This time, I offered my hand to him.
He accepted.