Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
G etting a three-foot glass and copper sculpture into my little car required a lot of bubble wrap, blankets, and muscle.
The ride out to my grandmother’s house, time to change and clean up—holy hurricane hair—as well as loading my precious cargo for movement took a lot more time than I’d thought.
By the time I got back to the gallery, I had twenty-five minutes to get her set up.
Phil was fluttering again. Her mouth was flapping as much as her arms now. While I’d been gone, she’d rearranged one of the rooms completely.
I rolled my eyes and hoped Linda would remember to update the gallery program. Doing the commissions would be a bitch otherwise.
I grabbed a hand truck and went back to my car, snagging one of the half dozen interns on my way out the door. The two of us got it out of my car without mishap and into the Cove Room.
Phil rushed in as we were tearing off the bubble wrap. She pushed the intern away. “Go help Linda.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stanwick.” The girl gave me a finger-wave and bolted.
“Thanks,” I called after her.
“No problem,” she said over her shoulder.
“Oh, Grace. When you said different, you weren’t kidding. This is gorgeous.”
“Yeah?” I wrapped one arm around my middle again, the other resting on my forearm so I could nibble on my thumb. We were well beyond butterflies in my belly at this point. I was pretty sure I was going to fly apart.
Phil slapped my hand away from my mouth. “Stop that. Yes. It’s stupendous.” She glanced down at my bright indigo dress. “You look better in color.”
“You like us in black.”
“Well, now you’re an artist, so I’m glad you went with color.”
I clasped my hands together or I was going to gnaw what was left of my thumbnail off. “I’m still working the show.”
“Of course you are,” she said absently. She walked around the column of marble. “You did this alone?”
I bristled. “I’d have given credit otherwise.”
“Relax.” She held up a hand. “It’s just really different from your usual work.”
I stared at the angel with her outspread wings. Instead of being in a pious stance as most were, she was suspended from a spire of copper with thin wires, and in a falling position. Her body was a mosaic of different glass from smoky to clear, but her wings were panels of the same smoke-tinged gold. Such unusual glass.
I’d had it forever, but I’d never had the right project to use it.
Until now.
Each of the panels were framed in copper. It gave the piece a fragile nature, even though it was one of the most intricate yet still sturdy pieces I’d ever done.
And it was my hail Mary play at this point. I was out of materials, out of money, out of options. This was my only chance to start over.
Phil stood next to me. “We’re going to end up with a bidding war.”
“You think?”
“I know.” She patted my arm. “It’s a good thing you got fired. You’re going to be busy.”
“Mrs. Stanwick?”
She turned to the tall, austere student in the doorway. “Yes, Stephen?”
“It’s seven o’clock.”
“Right.” Philomena hooked her arm through mine. “You ready?”
“No.”
She bumped my shoulder. “Spoken like a true artist. Let’s get this party started.”
The next three hours were a whirlwind of patrons and locals that came for the gossip. Many knew me by name, so I was constantly being pulled in nineteen directions. Sales, schmoozing, gladhanding, and the all-important bits of gossip made the night fly by.
Each time I heard my piece mentioned, I had to talk my stomach into behaving.
Can’t throw up at the gallery . That’s not good form at all .
I had a hard time going into the Cove Room, though. I didn’t want to hear any reactions to my piece.
Good or bad, I just wasn’t sure I could handle it tonight.
I finally escaped to the small break room and collapsed into a chair. I’d been talking for three hours straight, and the herd didn’t seem to be thinning. It was Black Friday so there were a lot more families in town than normal. Marblehead was mostly a seasonal place when it came to tourists.
I hauled myself up to go to the fridge for a bottle of water. Inside was a white bag. I frowned and peeked inside.
“I think that’s yours.”
I spun around. “What?”
Linda nodded toward the fridge. “If you’re looking at the white bag. That tall, really good-looking man in the dark suit brought it in for you.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to think about that. I vaguely remembered him holding a bag when I’d seen him earlier. But then we’d…well, we’d been too worried about getting naked to talk about how and why he’d been there. He’d actually brought me food—thinking it was my house he was going to.
The butterflies were finally silenced, but now my chest felt tight. I brought the bag to the table. I pulled out two tins with white tops.
Linda sat down across from me. “What’d you get? Chinese?”
I tucked a fingernail under the pinched tin sides and peeled back the white top. My stomach roared at the scent of dressing and turkey. I opened the other tin, and it was full of cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and a large container of gravy.
Thanksgiving dinner.
“I couldn’t even look at turkey.” Linda sat back and sipped her water. “I swear, I ate my weight in it yesterday.”
I plucked out a piece of breast meat and nibbled. My mouth watered so much that I crossed the room for our stash of plates and cutlery. Five minutes later, I’d warmed the turkey in the microwave, and I was plowing my way through it.
He’d brought me Thanksgiving dinner.
I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. In fact, confusion was tipping the scales in all ways tonight.
Linda stood with a sigh. “I wish a guy brought me dinner.”
“No luck with Jax?”
She snorted. “Yeah, that man is for a lost weekend, not bagged lunch. Though your guy brought ultra fancy bagged lunch.”
I poked at the stuffing, my initial hunger receding finally. “Yeah.”
Wait, he was not my guy.
I looked up, but Linda was already heading out with a wave. I hurried to do the same. I went to scrape the rest in the garbage but at the last second, I changed my mind.
I couldn’t really waste food right now. And this was more than enough for an entire second meal. I tucked everything back into the tins, and then I stashed them in the fridge. I cleaned up in the little bathroom and popped a breath mint from the roll I kept in my pocket.
I took a deep breath before jumping back into the fray. I recognized two of the gossipier blue bloods from the bay.
Abort . Go around .
All of the bells and whistles were sounding off, but it was too late when Catherine Bishop smiled at me.
“Grace, dear.”
“Hi, Mrs. Bishop.”
“It’s so nice to see you in the gallery again. We all miss Annabelle so much.”
I forced a smile. “Yes, we do.”
“I just wanted to congratulate you on the sale of your angel. I was bidding on it before I even knew it was yours.”
“Bidding?” I asked.
“Yes. The price was too much for my blood by the end of it.”
“Oh, Cat, you ruin all my fun.”
I turned to Phil’s voice. “Fun?” I realized I sounded a little thick, but what the hell had happened since I’d escaped for my impromptu turkey dinner?
“Yes. You’ll be so very pleased with the sales figures.”
I blinked. “Truly?”
“Oh, yes. You did quite well. I’m going to require at least another six pieces, Grace. People love this new style of yours.”
I squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Phil.”
“It was a pretty penny. I know you’ve fallen on hard times.” Mrs. Bishop’s smile was serene, but I saw the glee lighting her eyes.
And it was one of the reasons I’d been hiding away from everyone. Everyone knew everyone’s business in Lady’s Bay. It was a small curve of beach with many old and established houses along the shoreline. The Bishop and Gregory houses represented the oldest families as well as the oldest money.
Once upon a time that had been me, as well.
I lifted my chin. “Feels good to earn my own money.”
Phil pinched me on the underside of my arm.
Instead of insult, I caught a glimpse of respect in the older woman’s eyes. “Everyone should be able to do what they love. I’ll be looking for more of your work, Grace.”
Surprised, I could do no more than nod. Phil steered me over to the desk. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but tread carefully, dear.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really prepared for her to bring up my grandmother.”
People had been doing it all evening, but it had been more condolences rather a direct swipe at my situation.
“Cat just likes to stir up trouble.” Phil slid a piece of paper over to me. “I told you there would be a bidding war.” She smiled before she sailed off to another old friend across the gallery.
I flipped open the folded piece of stationery.
That couldn’t be right.
There were far too many zeroes.
It was just one piece.
My heart raced and I barely heard the patron who came up and asked me questions. I stuffed the slip of paper in my pocket as I answered on autopilot. I explained the blind system we had for auctions at the gallery.
Most of the artwork was bought at face value, but a few pieces ended up with some haggling. I hadn’t even known what to put on my piece for a base figure.
I usually left it up to Phil.
When the patron wandered off to one of Singer’s pieces, I floated my way into the Cove Room. A discreet red dot was on the front of the pedestal next to the name, “Fallen Angel.” I drew my thumb across the embossed lettering.
Someone had actually wanted my work badly enough to put it into an auction situation.
Unfathomable.
I had always done okay with my work, but nothing like the number I clutched in my hand.
The rest of the night was a blur. When we were finally down to a handful of guests, most waiting for Philomena, I was able to finally sit down with the ledger. Lady’s Bay Gallery had sold most of the pieces. A few minds had been changed by the end of the night, and maybe stickers had become nos.
I tucked the personal checks from reputable patrons of the gallery, as well as a pile of certified checks into our bank bag. It had been a good haul for Phil, and I’d made a few commissions of my own. She might’ve started the gallery as a lark, but she was turning a very good profit these days.
Finally, I came to my name on the ledger and paused. If the patron didn’t want the artist to know who they were, we made anonymous sales part of the agreement. Phil hadn’t told me the name of my buyer earlier, but there wasn’t a mark on the sales receipt to keep it a secret.
Normally, I was the one who didn’t want to know. Once it was out of my hands, I just wanted the person to enjoy it, but I had to know this time. I opened the computer to see who’d made the first request.
Catherine Bishop had been one of two people who had inquired about it. The other name, I didn’t know. Then a third name had been added to the history of “Fallen Angel.”
My fingers shook over the tab key.
No .
The bids had been neck and neck for a good hour before the one name outbid by nearly ten thousand dollars.
It couldn’t be. I opened the bank bag and fanned out the checks. Sure enough, there was a personal check with a familiar block print, followed by a scrawling signature.
Blake Carson.
“I’m going to kill him.”