Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Three Days Later
On her way back home, Mary stopped by Jolt N Bolt to grab a coffee and a freshly made salad bowl for her dinner.
‘Mary,’ Betsy said, as soon as Mary stepped into the bakery. ‘I’ve got a delivery for you.’ Her eyes widened and the smile that she gave Mary was a little cryptic, but enthusiastic nonetheless.
Mary paused, her brow creasing at Betsy, as her entire demeanor became one huge question mark. ‘A delivery? For me? What?’
Betsy nodded. ‘Hold on. I’ll go get it.’
As Betsy disappeared into the back of the shop, Mary felt her blood run cold, triggering an avalanche of questions inside her head.
How was she getting a delivery if she hadn’t ordered anything?
From who? And why deliver it to a coffee shop?
Had she been found again? Had Nelson managed to somehow track her down all the way to the west coast of the country? How was that possible?
Mary knew that she hadn’t let her guard down, not once since gangster-suit man and Nashville.
No matter where she went, she still always checked the streets for anyone following her, and she always did her best to pay attention to strangers, looking for anyone who might’ve been watching her.
Not once, in over seven months, had she seen any signs of a shadow.
Betsy reappeared carrying a large rectangular package, which had been wrapped in brown paper. Mary’s eyes narrowed for a second time, but this was intrigue, not apprehension. The package was large in size, but not exactly thick in volume.
‘Betsy,’ Mary asked, her head twisting right. ‘Are you sure that’s for me?’
Mary didn’t want to say that no one really knew where she lived, with the exception of the realtor who she had rented her apartment from, but that was exactly what she was thinking – how could she get a package delivered to her if no one had her address?
Betsy nodded, sending a daring wink Mary’s way. ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s for you.’ She paused for effect. ‘It’s from Thomas.’
Mary’s entire upper body angled back slightly, as if she’d just been hit by a strong gust of wind. ‘Sorry… what?’
‘It’s from Thomas,’ Betsy told her again, joining Mary by one of the tables and handing her the large package. ‘He delivered it himself earlier this afternoon.’
‘Thomas?’ Mary shook her head, trying to understand what was happening. ‘The guy from the exhibition? How did…? How did he know to come here? To this coffee shop?’ She placed the package on the table to her left.
‘He saw us together, remember? At the end of the exhibition? I was looking for you – you were in the room with him? You even introduced me to him.’
‘Yeah, of course I remember, but how did he know to come here to Jolt N Bolt?’
‘Oh, I told him to,’ Betsy replied.
‘You…’ Mary paused. This was getting confusing. ‘I thought you said you didn’t know him.’
‘I don’t… I didn’t,’ Betsy tried to clarify. ‘Well, do you remember that little catalogue that you got at the exhibition last Thursday, the one naming the artists exhibiting that evening… the works… and with the map of that crazy labyrinth?’
Mary nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘OK,’ Betsy continued. ‘Well, the contact details to all the artists displaying that evening was included in there, and since he saw us together at the exhibition, he figured that we were friends.’
Mary stayed silent while she thought about it for a moment.
‘You must’ve left a great impression because he wanted to give you a present,’ Betsy said, nodding at Mary and indicating the package on the table. ‘But he had no idea of how to get in touch with you.’
‘So, he figured that since we were friends,’ Mary concluded, ‘you’d probably know.’
‘Exactly, but he was very diplomatic about it.’
‘Diplomatic?’ Mary frowned.
Betsy nodded. ‘Yeah… he was very gentleman-like – he never asked me for your number or your address.’ She shrugged.
‘Which I don’t have anyway, but even if I did, I would’ve never given it to anyone without clearing it with you first…
and he sounded like he knew that. He knew that it would be inappropriate for him to ask me for your number, so he never did. ’
Mary’s eyebrows arched, showing surprise and interest in equal measures. ‘So, what did he say?’
‘He asked me if it would be OK for him to drop off something, so that I could pass it on to you.’
‘Hum!’ Mary’s attention bounced over to the package for an instant before returning to Betsy.
‘I told him “Yeah, no problem”,’ Betsy continued.
‘So, I gave him the address of the bakery, and he turned up just after lunchtime with this.’ Her chin jerked in the direction of the package.
‘I’ll be honest with you, when he said that he had a gift for you, I thought that he’d turn up with some flowers, or maybe a box of chocolates or something.
I wasn’t expecting a painting, which this clearly is.
But it makes sense, since he met you at an art exhibition…
but that’s not all.’ She lifted her left index finger at Mary while reaching into her back pocket.
‘There’s a card.’ She retrieved a golden envelope – the size of a postcard – and handed it to Mary.
There was nothing on the envelope except Mary’s name handwritten in black ink across the front of it.
Mary took it and stared at it for several long and silent seconds.
‘I told you that he was into you!’ Betsy’s smile seemed naughty.
Mary tore open the envelope and pulled out a folded white piece of paper, with a handwritten note on it.
I think this was the one you really liked.
Enjoy.
Thomas
It was clear to see that there was something else on the inside of the folded note – a loose piece of paper, rectangular in shape. Mary unfolded the note to find a printed invitation and second handwritten note.
I’m not sure if you’re free this coming Wednesday,
but if you are, this is an invite to the Grand Opening
of a brand-new exhibition at the Legion of Honor. I
think that this is something you might really enjoy… plus, it
would be truly nice to see you again.
I hope you can make it.
Thomas
Mary turned the note over. That was it. There was nothing else written on the back of it – no email… no phone number… no real way of contacting Thomas.
Her attention moved to the stylish invitation.
Its backdrop was a printed image showing the facade of the Legion of Honor – a magnificent open-hall, white-pillared building, with a grand, arched main entrance that could’ve easily belonged to Ancient Greece, or Julius Caesar’s Rome.
Printed over the image, in striking, embossed, silver lettering was the following message:
YOU ARE HEREBY CORDIALLY INVITED TO ATTEND THE GRAND
OPENING OF THE ‘DARK AMERICA EXHIBITION’ – AN EXTRAORDINARY COLLECTION OF DARK THEMED AMERICAN ART DATING BACK TO THE CIVIL WAR.
WEDNESDAY, FEbrUARY 20TH – 19:00 – AT THE LEGION OF HONOR.
INVITATION ONLY.
‘Oh my god!’ Betsy’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets, as she indicated the invite in Mary’s hand. ‘That’s an invitation for Dark America.’
Mary nodded without making eye contact. She certainly wasn’t expecting this. She checked the reverse of the invitation – again – no email or phone number.
‘That’s going to be an amazing exhibition.
’ Betsy’s excitement was palpable. ‘I’ve been waiting for it for months, but it will only be open to the public from next Monday on.
That, right there…’ she, once again, pointed to the invitation that Mary was holding, ‘… is a hot, hot ticket. You really have to be in with the in-crowd, or very rich, to manage to get your hands on one of those.’
Mary nodded at nothing at all, just a reflexive acceptance gesture. She paused for a second, as if uncertain of what to do before returning the note and the invitation to the envelope and placing it inside her handbag.
‘Aren’t you gonna open it?’ Betsy asked, her gaze bouncing from the package on the table back to Mary.
‘I’m not sure,’ Mary replied, staring at the wrapped painting and giving it an extra moment’s thought.
She was pretty sure that she knew exactly what painting that was.
‘Probably not.’ Her right hand came up to her neck and she allowed the tips of her fingers to lightly brush against her neck dimple.
‘Really?’ Betsy looked truly surprised. ‘Why not?’
Mary bit her bottom lip, as her left shoulder came up ever so slightly. ‘Because I’m not sure I’m going to keep it. If I don’t, then I’d like to return the gift to him exactly how I got it.’
‘Oh.’ Betsy needed a second to think about what Mary had just said. ‘Why wouldn’t you keep it?’
‘Like you said before,’ Mary explained, ‘I didn’t get flowers, or even a box of chocolates. I got a painting… and an invite to a very exclusive party, by the looks of it.’
Betsy’s eyes widened before she frowned. She was clearly struggling to see the problem.
‘From someone who I met for the first time three days ago,’ Mary continued.
‘And who I chatted to for no more than… three minutes? Maybe?’ She read the look on Betsy’s face and decided to clarify.
‘I wouldn’t exactly call myself a feminist, but I’m not sure I’m OK with this.
Trust me when I say that some men will simply take things for granted, Betsy.
’ She reached for the painting. ‘And what I mean by that is – the bigger the gift, the more that they’ll expect in return…
and some men, if they don’t get what they expect to get, they’ll simply take it, as if it were their right, just because they gave you a gift, or paid for dinner or something. ’
Betsy’s eyebrows arched again, but this time it came with the pursing of her lips and a gentle head nod.
‘I know nothing about Thomas.’ Mary reached inside her handbag for the golden envelope and waved it at Betsy. ‘Except for the fact that he seems to be well connected…’ She thought about it for a beat. ‘Or very rich…’ She thought about it again. ‘Or both.’
Betsy nodded. ‘He’s also very hot.’
This time, Mary laughed. ‘Then there’s that.’ She picked up the wrapped painting and turned towards the door.
‘Even if you don’t keep the painting,’ Betsy pushed, ‘you gonna go to the Grand Opening, right? Seriously, you can’t miss that.’
Mary’s reply was a simple angling of the head.
‘If you decide not to go,’ Betsy called, as Mary got to the door, ‘can I have that invite… please?’
‘If I don’t go,’ Mary said, practically already out the door, ‘it’s all yours.’