Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DELANEY
I’d always been a one-obsession-at-a-time guy; ask anyone. I’d date one person—usually the worst possible person—until I realized I was super unhappy, and then I’d move on. I’d throw myself into a story, chase it to the ends of the Earth, then move on to the next. A serial obsession monogamist, if you will.
But as I strolled down Weaver Street in O’Leary on Wednesday morning with a wrapped painting under my arm, I found myself obsessing over not one but three different things because, apparently, I was becoming an overachiever.
First was the obsession I was calling E. Winters and the Jam Cupboard Mystery —which, yes, sounded like the title of a lesser-known Hardy Boys book, but I was going with it.
Second, the Empire Ridge story, aka The Avery Decker Award-Winner Delaney Never Finished .
And third, The Case of the Extremely Hot Contractor Whose Talented Hands and Mouth Should Come With a Warning Label. I was still workshopping this title.
Of the three, though, there was only one that was truly consuming my brain every waking moment.
Brewer Barnum, with his crinkle-cornered eyes, big, comfortable chest, and tip-tilted smile had hijacked my brain… and he made me feel so very good , I wasn’t even mad about it.
I’d told myself, when I woke up this morning still cuddled in Brewer’s arms, not to get too used to it. We were “friends, sort of” but now… possibly with benefits. A contractor and client who’d shared a bed on occasion. Simple biology mixed with proximity—the baking soda volcano of relationships—that would soon fizzle out. I’d recounted to myself, ad nauseam, all the reasons why that was all it could be.
But by the time I left the house a few hours later, I’d had to stop lying to myself.
I could pretend it was casual all I wanted, but I practically vibrated when Brewer walked into a room, purred when he smiled, and had stared at the precise angle of his jaw so long I could sculpt it out of clay in the dark, though I was barely capable of drawing stick figures. None of that felt casual.
Yes, that was scary as fuck, thank you for asking.
And no, I had no idea what I was going to do about it. The man wasn’t exactly open with his emotions, and it was too soon to bring it up.
Or maybe I was too scared.
I reached the Gazette office and paused outside, willing my body to settle down. Samuel had asked if I could meet him here to talk about the paintings, and I really didn’t need to walk in sporting a semi because I’d been thinking about Brewer and his jaw.
Get it together, Monroe.
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside, and I was immediately enveloped by the scent of ink and old paper, though I was pretty sure they didn’t actually print newspapers here. Something about the space felt immediately comfortable—three battered wooden desks set in a row, each stacked high with folders and notes; a century-old printing press displayed in the corner; a wall of framed front pages marking historic moments in Copper County’s history.
It was cute, in a wholesome way.
Charming, if you liked that sort of thing.
And to my surprise, I kind of did.
But no sooner had my shoulders relaxed than I spotted Samuel’s tiny terror curled in his doggy bed by the desk. Admiral Barkington lifted his head to fix me with beady eyes and let out a sharp yip.
“Don’t mind him, Delaney,” said the older man rising from behind the desk. “Admiral Barkington thinks he’s the welcoming committee. We’re both happy to see you again.”
I recognized Samuel Purchase from our brief encounter at O’Leary Hardware a week and a half ago, and I extended a hand in greeting while keeping a careful distance from the Admiral.
“Mr. Purchase,” I said. “Hi. Thanks for making time to see me on such short notice?—”
“Samuel, please.” He shook my hand briefly, then waved me to a chair in front of my desk. “And don’t thank me. Everyone’s been talking about the treasures you uncovered for days now, and I’ve been dying to see them for myself. I was nearly giddy when I got your text.”
I laughed as I set the painting on the desk, and he immediately started to unwrap it. “I’m afraid I don’t know for sure who the artist is or how they came to paint so many scenes around Copper County. I have an appointment with an art appraiser who’ll hopefully tell me more. But I was mostly wondering if you could tell me why they would’ve been hidden in my wall?—”
Samuel’s breath caught as the final bit of wrapping fell away and he took in the lakeside autumn scene. “Elizabeth Winters,” he said softly. “My God.”
“You recognize the artist?” I asked in surprise.
He glanced up at me distractedly, like he’d momentarily forgotten I was there. “Hmm? Oh, yes, these are Elizabeth Winters’s work—E. Winters, as she was professionally known.”
“Really? Because I saw some E. Winters paintings online, and they were…” I hesitated. “Different.”
Samuel smiled and sat back in his chair, though his eyes kept returning to the painting. “Yes, Elizabeth was best known for her urban landscapes. Street scenes, crowded cafes, subway platforms. Very bright and energetic. Lots of faceless people?—”
“Yes!” I sat forward eagerly. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
He nodded absently. “The work she did in Copper County was quite different. More… personal. Not as well-known, I don’t think… but that might be because she gave so much of it away.” He smiled. “For example, I have a portrait at home that she painted of me, aged seven, eating an apple with no front teeth.”
“Wait, you knew her?” I demanded. “Personally?”
“I did. I imagine most folks around here knew Elizabeth—at least, folks of a certain age.” Samuel gave me a wink and ran a hand over his thinning gray hair. “She was a Coppertian, after all.”
I stared at him, stunned. “ Was she?”
“Yes, of course. She owned your house once upon a time,” he said, seeming bemused. “You didn’t know?”
I shook my head, but of course, it made perfect sense. So many of the paintings of Copper Lake looked like they could have been painted in my backyard… because they had.
“I didn’t know a single thing about my house when I bought it,” I admitted. “Except that it was close to Tam’s house, and it felt… happy.”
It felt like a silly thing to say about an inanimate object, but Samuel simply nodded. “I always thought so, too. My mother and Elizabeth were friends, so I spent quite a bit of time there as a boy. Elizabeth and Jean were Copper-plates back then—summer residents,” he explained, “but they moved here full-time in… oh, ’76 or thereabouts? When I was in high school, anyway. Jean taught English at the high school.”
“Jean?”
“Jean Soler.” Samuel tapped the edge of the canvas gently. “Elizabeth’s partner.”
I stared at the woman in the painting. At her secret smile. At how the light seemed to caress her. At how she radiated off the canvas, though I couldn’t have picked out one remarkable thing in her figure or her features that made her beautiful.
Elizabeth had painted Jean in a way that rendered the stunning lake, the vibrant trees, and the expansive sky as mere backdrop for Jean’s heartbreaking loveliness.
“When you say partner,” I asked softly, sure I already knew the answer, “you mean…?”
He smiled. “I mean they were very much in love, yes.” He sat back, steepling his fingers, and his face took on an abstracted look. “If I recall correctly, Elizabeth was already a fairly established artist when they met. Jean was a writer—brilliant woman, worked for several magazines. They collaborated on a project, don’t ask me what, and… sparks flew.” His smile softened. “And kept flying, as long as I knew them.”
“And… and people here were okay with that?” I demanded. “Two women, in the seventies?”
Samuel tilted his head from side to side. “There might’ve been some folks who muttered behind their hands. But most folks just saw two women who made each other happy. Small towns can be surprising that way, Delaney. We know each other too well to waste our energy on hate.”
“Huh. The rest of the world wasn’t like that then. Hell, it’s not like that now in lots of places.”
“True.” He pursed his lips. “Which might explain why these paintings were hidden, I suppose. I never knew Elizabeth painted Jean like this. I imagine she kept those paintings close to her heart. I did hear that when Jean died in the nineties, Elizabeth changed. Retreated from everything, even her art.” He shrugged. “She might’ve hidden these away, not knowing there’d come a time when their life together would be viewed as anything but scandalous.”
My chest tightened as I studied the painting again. “That’s really tragic,” I said softly. “Because this is beautiful.”
“ They were beautiful,” he said. “I remember thinking so, even when I was a kid. And they set a high bar for love, let me tell you. I spent years searching for a relationship like theirs. A true partnership.”
“Did you find it?” I asked, noting the gold band on his finger.
Samuel smiled, turning the ring thoughtfully. “I did. But I had to come full circle to find it. Isn’t that always the way?”
I shook my head. “I don’t follow.”
“I grew up here, but I couldn’t wait to leave. Real life happened in big cities, I thought. So I became a reporter for the Boston Globe . Spent fifteen years there, covering everything from city politics to international crises.”
“Impressive,” I said, meaning it. “So why’d you come back?”
“My mother got sick. Cancer,” he said simply. “I took leave and came back here to help care for her, thinking I’d stay a few months. Then I met her doctor, Marcus, and we’ve been together ever since.” He laughed out loud. “Dear God. The expression on your face, Delaney.”
“Sorry! Sorry,” I said. “It’s just very…” I hesitated. “Hallmark movie?”
“Yes, so my niece tells me,” he said wryly. “And yet…”
“But didn’t you miss it?” I demanded. “I mean, I’m sure Marcus was worth it, but wasn’t it kind of a letdown, covering the annual town spelling bee and whatnot, when you could’ve been covering so many bigger stories?”
Samuel’s eyes twinkled. “That’s the secret no one tells you, Delaney. The stories aren’t bigger in the city, just louder. Here, I know the people I’m writing about intimately. I know their whole story, not just the newsworthy moments. I still do cover big stories, just… from a narrower perspective.” When he leaned back this time, his chair creaked. “I find it more fulfilling, honestly.”
“I… I suppose,” I said, not entirely convinced.
He shrugged. “Not for everyone, for sure. But if you ever decide you’re interested, let me know. The Gazette could use someone with your talent, whether it’s telling Elizabeth and Jean’s story—” He nodded down at the painting. “—or something else entirely.”
“I don’t…” I started to decline automatically, but something made me hesitate. “I mean, I’ve got an assignment already and another in Costa Rica waiting in the wings, so I appreciate the offer, but…”
Samuel nodded, unbothered. “Beautiful thing about Copper County,” he said, rewrapping the painting carefully, “is that it’ll still be here. Door’s open, if and when you’re ready.”
From his bed, the Admiral gave a halfhearted yip , and I startled.
“The Admiral agrees,” Samuel said with a wink.
I thanked him and left, the wrapped painting tucked securely under my arm, but the drive back to my house was filled with thoughts of Elizabeth and Jean, of hidden love and hidden art, and of a community that had quietly accepted what the larger world would not.
By the time I got home, I was practically buzzing with excitement to share everything I’d learned with Brewer. I burst through the door, calling his name.
“Kitchen!” he called back.
I rounded the corner to find him kneeling on the floor, hands coated in sawdust like giant powdered donuts, frowning fiercely as he checked the level on one of the cabinet bases he’d built.
I grinned automatically.
But then Brewer glanced up, and his whole face lit, like just the sight of me made him glad , and that made my stomach tremble.
“Hey,” he said, setting down his tools and standing. “How’d it go with Samuel?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The way Brewer looked at me—like I was remarkable, like my presence was important—felt dangerous.
“Good,” I managed to say. “Very good.” I set the painting down on the workbench Brewer had set up and jammed my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t reach for him. That was boyfriend behavior, not… whatever it was we had right now. “Guess who accidentally bought the house once owned by E. Winters, well-known artist and former resident of Copper County?”
Brewer’s grin widened. “No kidding?”
“Honest truth. And the woman in all the paintings? Her partner , Jean.” His excitement amped my own exponentially, and suddenly, I couldn’t stop the flow of words, yanking my hands out of my pockets and gesturing excitedly. “They lived here together for decades . Samuel said they couldn’t be open about their relationship in the larger world, but here in Copper County, people accepted them.”
“Wow.” Brewer’s eyes never left my face. He leaned against the cabinet he’d been working on and wiped his hands on a rag distractedly, seeming content to watch me bounce around the kitchen like a kid hopped up on sugar.
“Samuel thinks Elizabeth hid the paintings after Jean died in the early nineties. She probably never imagined there’d be a time when their story could be told openly.” I paused, suddenly feeling emotional. “It’s sad, you know? That she felt she had to hide her best work. The paintings that probably meant the most to her.”
Brewer pushed off from the counter and moved closer, lifting a hand to push my hair off my forehead.
I froze.
“You had some sawdust,” he murmured.
My heart hammered wildly. Brewer was covered in sawdust. I hadn’t touched a single thing since entering the kitchen. There was no way…
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Sawdust,” I whispered. “Thanks.”
“You know,” he said without moving away. “I think it’s pretty lucky that those paintings were found by a man who wants to make sure everyone has a voice and likes to make things fair and right.”
Something warm and sweet unfurled in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His deep voice held utter conviction. “You’ll make sure their story gets told, Delaney.”
I sucked in a breath and looked away. Brewer’s faith in me meant something. Way more than it should for a friend… sort of. Even one with benefits.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling some kind of way. I stuck my hands back in my pockets before I did something incredibly stupid, like grab Brewer’s beautiful face, kiss the ever-living shit out of him, and tell him to mate me like one of the Krakenpeople. “So… dinner tonight?”
“Okay.”
“Or not,” I added. “I mean, you’re not required to eat dinner with me every night just because you’re staying?—”
“Delaney,” Brewer called from mere inches away.
I looked up and met his big blue eyes. “Yeah?”
“I said… okay .” He smiled. “Dinner sounds good.”
And it was…
But what happened after that was even better.