Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
As the credits rolled and we tossed candy and popcorn boxes into the trash, I was still determined that this night would proceed as planned.
“Whose baby is that?” Jemma asked, narrowing her eyes, as if I’d been hiding a surprise—and unwanted—twist to the evening. The sugar and the length of the movie had sobered her up, and she was back to her usual critical demeanor.
“Valerie Hurt’s,” I said quietly, trying not to wake the baby, who’d finished his bottle and promptly fallen asleep on my chest while Savilla was in the restroom. “Remember? Valerie was at the reunion weekend.” I mimed her pregnant belly.
“Ah, yes. The self-righteous whale.”
I heard a snicker from the direction of the cousins, and I was fairly certain it was Charlotte who was getting a laugh at Valerie’s expense.
“I just love babies,” Savilla said, returning from the bathroom and reaching again for the bundle in my arms, which I was more than happy to release.
“I need to wake up Valerie before our next stop anyway.” I moved to the back of the theater and touched the new mother on the shoulder, but she didn’t budge. In fact, she didn’t so much as flutter an eyelash.
“Valerie,” I whispered, trying to be gentle.
When she still didn’t flinch, I said her name again and put a hand on her shoulder.
Nothing. My heart beat faster in my rib cage, and for a second I wondered if she was breathing.
I shouted this time as I called her name, emphasizing each syllable. “Va-le-rie!”
That time she shifted in the seat but didn’t open her eyes. “No, thank you,” she mumbled, before her head lolled against her shoulder again.
I tried one more time to wake Valerie, this time practically propping her up and holding one eyelid open, but her only response was in the form of two words: “So sleepy.”
Apparently, the desperate need for rest in these early days of motherhood—in addition to the stress I assumed came from whatever shady business her husband was up to—could basically mimic the effects of a strong dose of Ambien.
Since I didn’t hear Ollie crying, I decided to leave her for as long as Lou would let her stay.
I made my way back to the front and told him as much. He shrugged and gave a curt nod, which was as much communication as I could expect from him. Then he told me he would put on It’s a Wonderful Life and let Valerie sleep a couple more hours—as long as we would take the baby with us.
I considered, wondering if my old classmate might wake up terrified that we’d run away with her child, but then I realized that we would literally be two storefronts and one flight of stairs away from her at The Attic, one of the town’s beloved boutiques and my aunt’s most recent hobby.
Surely it couldn’t be called kidnapping if you’re no more than a few yards away and you wish the mother was there?
“Deal,” I told Lou as I checked my watch. “Valerie can call Savilla whenever she wakes. We won’t be far.”
“Sounds good,” Lou said, starting toward the projection room, where he would put on the soothing tones of Jimmy Stewart’s and Donna Reed’s voices.
I kind of wished I could stay myself, but instead I turned to round up the ladies and pull out the second clue, handing it to Lacy, who cleared her throat and read aloud the next riddle.
You’ve always wanted
to glimmer and shine.
High above Main Street
you pick the jewels this time.
Lacy narrowed one eye, knowing immediately that our next destination was one of her all-time favorite spots downtown, partly because it was the only shop that ever carried the vintage-chic clothing she liked to wear, but also because Aunt DeeDee dropped off cookies each afternoon for the salespeople to give out to shoppers.
In elementary school, Lacy would practically pull me into the store on our walk home; inside, there were usually a handful of other customers—and sweets.
It had been a happening little place, especially for a town of our size.
“The Attic opened late for us?” Lacy asked, excitement in her words.
“I kind of know the new manager,” I said, smiling as I referred to Aunt DeeDee. “She was excited to be asked.”
We wrapped winter coats around ourselves and Savilla folded the sleeping baby against her chest as we braced for the brief but very chilly walk to the store.
When Bella muttered something about being shocked that this town even had a real store, Myrtis giggled while Charlotte side-eyed the baby.
I’d noticed her doing the same to Valerie on our way out of the low-lit theater, and I wished I could read past the curious expression on Charlotte’s face.
Did she hate Valerie? Did she want to be her?
Or was Charlotte merely in shock that a postpartum woman could sleep so soundly?
I couldn’t think about it too long because Lacy put an arm through mine and leaned close.
“Thanks for being so great tonight,” she said quietly. “You’ve kept everything, including me, afloat even though we’ve had a few”—she glanced behind her and lifted a chin toward the three women—“a few surprises.”
Lacy wasn’t the kind of friend who needed defending or protecting very often, so I felt pleased that she’d noticed me come through for her this time.
“Happy to,” I said, squeezing her gloved hand.
We climbed the stairs, gripping the cold metal railing, and as we reached the stairwell, Aunt DeeDee was there to greet us with a smile and an invitation to hurry to the warmth inside.
“Come in, come in, ladies!”
We scurried into the foyer of the boutique, which had been a series of tiny apartments for the mining families in the late 1800s.
The conversion to a store had kept the exposed brick and the high wooden beams, and Aunt DeeDee had added a simple festive flare by stringing white lights across the room.
When we were all inside and standing in a half-circle, Aunt DeeDee surveyed us, taking in the extra three attendees and the baby one by one with a kind nod.
Ever the gracious hostess, she welcomed all of us, taking the hands of Bella, Charlotte, and Myrtis and introducing herself to them each in turn.
When she reached Savilla and the baby, her words of welcome turned to murmuring as she moved in for a closer look.
“And this must be Oliver,” Aunt DeeDee cooed.
“Ollie,” Savilla gently corrected, beaming as if the child were her own. “Valerie and Will’s baby.”
“I got to visit with him in the church nursery a couple of weeks ago.” Aunt DeeDee rubbed the baby’s back, but he didn’t stir. “Precious boy.”
“Valerie is meeting up with us later,” I explained. “She fell asleep during the movie.” I decided not to mention that she’d shown up late, looking bedraggled, before going practically comatose.
“Which is totally fine because this little wonder is precious.” Savilla sighed, nuzzling against Oliver’s bald head for at least the fifth time that night.
“He certainly is,” Aunt DeeDee agreed, before putting her hands together and turning back to face everyone. “Well, welcome, everyone. I’ll pour a few more glasses of prosecco, and we have plenty of designs ready for your perusal. All on the house, of course.”
As Bella’s eyes roamed the room, for the first time that evening she didn’t act as if she was completely bored by this town.
In fact, all three of the Texas ladies seemed intrigued, their eyes lighting up as they noticed the art hanging along the wall.
Though they weren’t for sale, Aunt DeeDee had hung them to enhance the store’s ambiance.
Charlotte’s hand waved toward the frames as she asked DeeDee, “Who painted these?”
Aunt DeeDee followed the gesture to the three Impressionist images of our majestic Blue Ridge Mountains outlined in mottled grays, purples, and ivories.
“These were painted by a resident at our Aubergine Art Collective years ago,” Aunt DeeDee answered.
“Her name was Anna Perry. She won our town’s annual Rose Palace Pageant in 1926.
Eventually, she moved here in the 1960s and became a full-fledged citizen of Aubergine for the last couple decades of her life.
” She smiled. “And she actually mentored me before I competed in the pageant.”
“And won,” I noted, proud of my aunt in ways I hadn’t known to be before this past year.
“The Collective allows Aubergine businesses to rent them out for display,” Aunt DeeDee clarified. “So the artwork can be admired rather than languishing in a store room.”
“Hmmm,” Bella mused, moving closer to the paintings to study the brushstrokes. “An Impressionist-style painting, though well past the official period.”
“Post-Impressionist, but just barely,” Charlotte remarked.
Too knowledgeable for a ranching family, I thought, before catching myself. Of course rural living didn’t equate to stupidity or a lack of culture. I should have known that better than anyone.
Still, something about their interest nagged at me, though I couldn’t have verbalized why.
I continued to watch Bella absorb the painting, and something about this cozy space and the people milling about the room made me think of a weekend train trip Charlie and I had taken up to Boston from New York.
We’d visited the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, holding hands as we walked through the gallery displays, which felt more like rooms at an Italian villa than a museum.
Afterward, I’d read all about the 1990 heist in which thirteen paintings had been stolen.
There was still a $10 million-dollar reward to anyone who could provide substantial clues as to the whereabouts of the artwork.
I had no idea why such a thought had come to mind, except that there was something hungry in the looks of the three Texan women as they stood admiring the paintings—rather than the shiny jewelry only a few yards away.
“I must say that I’m impressed to find such quality pieces here.” Charlotte looked around as if she couldn’t believe where she was standing.
I caught Aunt DeeDee’s eye and gave her a look that said I was annoyed by not only Charlotte’s condescending tone but by the way she was distracting us from where our focus should be—on Lacy.
Aunt DeeDee gave the slightest shake of her head as if to tell me to be polite.
Though I wasn’t willing to be nice, I was willing to engage them. “Have you ever heard of the Gardner heist? I believe Impressionist paintings were stolen from that museum.”
Charlotte’s eye caught mine for a split second before she looked back at the painting, as if she either couldn’t tear her gaze away or she didn’t want to meet mine.
“I have heard of it,” Myrtis offered, stepping forward as if she was afraid of being left out of the conversation.
“There have been at least nine other thefts of Impressionist works in recent years, all across the world. In fact, more than five hundred million dollars’ worth of paintings were taken from Amsterdam in 1991, just a year after the Gardner heist. That time the thieves just took them off the wall in broad daylight.
” Myrtis simpered, as though pleased with her own recall.
“Except they loaded them into a getaway car with a flat tire. They were caught within the hour.”
Aunt DeeDee chuckled at the story. “Perhaps thieving is best left to those with more reliable vehicles.”
Charlotte lifted an eyebrow as if she wasn’t sure whether or not Aunt DeeDee was joking.
“The most recent was a Monet in 2012 from a museum in the Netherlands,” Myrtis continued eagerly. “When the thieves were caught and questioned, one eventually admitted that his mother had burned it in their kitchen oven to get rid of the evidence.”
Charlotte touched Myrtis’s arm. “That’s enough.”
Her cousin’s face immediately fell, and I noticed that Bella was keeping a watchful eye on both of the women.
“Well, I’m pretty sure we don’t have many art heists in our little hamlet,” Aunt DeeDee said with a soft laugh as she extended a hand toward the jewelry, obviously hoping the three women would take the cue and begin selecting items they’d like to take home with them.
“Oh no. I’m sure no one would want to steal something quite so”—Bella wrinkled her nose as if she found the paintings somehow distasteful—“colloquially charming.” She reached out and patted my aunt’s arm, and I had the sudden urge to grab Bella’s petite frame and toss her across the room.
She continued in a simpering tone. “Works like these are best left here, where they can be experienced by the local community.”
The last two words were said with such contempt that Bella might as well have been calling us ignorant imbeciles.
I thought of Patty Swanson’s vague threat about Bella moving to Aubergine, and I was now certain that idea was total crap.
There was no way Bella Rivera would deign to move into our community—not even for Anton, the apparent love of her life.
“And I’m sure we will continue to enjoy them for years to come,” I said, trying to keep the vitriol from my tone. “Now, why don’t we join the others and pick out one or two pieces of jewelry for each of you to take home?”
The women turned to the display, eyeing the shimmery jewelry set against their backdrop of velvet. I was pleased that none of the women crinkled their noses as they took in the pieces. In fact, if anything, they seemed to be impressed.
“Did you make this one?” Bella asked, fingering a pair of tear-drop-shaped earrings that sparkled as they caught the twinkling lights.
“I did,” Aunt DeeDee said, pleased to turn to a different topic. “It’s become a hobby of mine of late. Those are made of topaz, and the color would go great with your skin tone. Do you like them?”
Bella nodded appreciatively, and I thought I caught of glimpse of humanity in her eyes. Aunt DeeDee had a way of bringing out the best in even the worst of people.
“Well, like I said, everything is on the house tonight.” Aunt DeeDee grinned before her eyes flitted to me. “Or maybe I should say that my niece has generously offered to pick up the final bill.”
Bella eyed me, seeming surprised that a girl like me had any extra funds. Not that I wanted people to know I had money, particularly if they might treat me differently, but if that knowledge somehow kept Bella in check the rest of the weekend, that was fine by me.
I gave my best Aunt DeeDee smile. “Select anything you like.”