Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Mandy
Again, silence.
I shocked everyone. The quiet settles heavy in the room as I stare at my hands, my fingers twisting together in my lap. The confession about lying to the police hangs in the air between us.
Seymour’s hand remains steady on my back, his thumb moving in small, reassuring circles.
The pressure increases slightly, grounding me, letting me know he’s there.
The warmth of his touch affects me, heat pooling inside of me, despite the seriousness of the situation.
I try to focus on the conversation at hand, but my body betrays me with a slight shiver.
“What did you lie about?” Scott’s voice comes out rough. He leans forward in his chair, shoulders tense, that familiar protective-brother expression taking over his features.
In all fairness, he’s my brother, and as far as brothers go, he’s the protective kind. Always has been.
Seymour answers with practiced casualness, though I feel his posture stiffen beside me. “It was a minor event.”
“Mandy?” Scott’s gaze fixes on me, the frown deepening the lines around his mouth.
I exhale slowly, shoulders slumping. “He asked if I had any disagreements with either Darren or Eugene. I told him no.”
“And...?” Scott presses, leaning even closer.
“Fine. I told him I didn’t have a problem with either of them and—”
“Darren was a complete pervert and couldn’t keep his eyes off Mandy the day of his event.
” Seymour’s voice rises sharply, his body tensing beside me.
“He went too far with where he was willing to place his hands.” He takes a deep breath, his jaw working.
“I let him know in no uncertain terms he was to stay away from Mandy. Yes, it was a threat. But I didn’t kill him.
Just scared him enough that he behaved himself. ”
Scott looks between us, his expression shifting from concern to understanding.
“I don’t advocate lying to the police, but I’m with Harris.
If you refuse to answer the questions, this can stay under the cops’ radar.
” He taps his pen against the page. “Okay, so Barrie is going to do some digging in the artists’ lives.
Seymour and Mandy will talk to the other board members.
See what they know. I’ll work with the police. See if they learn anything.”
The meeting ends, and soon it’s just Seymour, Harris, and me left in the room. The silence feels different now, less tense.
Harris stretches in his chair, his expression amused as he seems to notice everything that happens between Seymour and me. “How is the little challenge going? Or is it off?”
“Oh, it’s on.” The words come out with more confidence than I feel, considering I’ve done nothing to plan for the Silvano event.
“What are the plans so far? Can I help?” Seymour reaches for me, pulling me into his lap. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “I’m totally fine with losing.”
I shrug, trying to ignore how my pulse quickens at his closeness. “It’s coming along.” Only, it’s totally not coming along. I have a basic idea but I’m struggling to find the motivation to move forward.
Harris pushes back from the table and stands. “Alright, I have a real job to get to.” He pauses, eyebrows raised as he looks at Seymour. “You can handle being alone with her now, I take it.”
A flush creeps up Seymour’s neck, spreading across his cheeks. “Yup.”
Once Harris leaves, I twist in Seymour’s lap to face him. “Oh, do tell,” I tease, poking his chest lightly. “Is this about the rules?”
“Something like that.” His hands settle on my waist, anchoring me. “Now come here and kiss me.”
And I do.
The next few days pass quickly. I teach another art lesson to the kids, and so far, Seymour has showed up for all of them.
I watch him move around the classroom, kneeling beside the small tables to work closely with Jerry while making sure to give attention to the other children too.
His sleeves are rolled up, paint sometimes smudging his forearms as he helps steady small hands holding brushes.
It makes my job easier. The boys especially seem to sit up straighter, work with more focus when they see him there.
It’s wonderful for them to see a male role model excited about art and painting. His presence says it’s okay to be here and not out on the soccer field or playing flag football. It’s okay to like both.
There are so many sides to him that draw me. Each new discovery causes my heart to flip-flop in my chest and my knees to go weak when I see him. He’s become this constant presence in my thoughts, pulling me toward him like gravity. But isn’t that how all women react to him? How am I any different?
At the same time, I’m exhilarated and I’m despairing, because for this to work, I have to tell him what happened with Todd. The weight of that secret sits like a rock in my stomach every time he smiles at me.
I crave that honesty in a relationship. Need it, desperately. Especially after what happened. From the way Seymour holds back sometimes, the careful way he maintains certain boundaries, I have a feeling he needs it too.
But there never seems to be a right time to bring it up. Maybe I’m just going to have to blurt it out, with no perfect moment. Yes, it will be awkward, because Seymour was so thrilled to have brought Silvano in for our next event.
I’m not even sure I’ll be able to make it through the event.
Earlier this week, Seymour learned about a different gallery event not too far away. He overheard Stephen talking about it, so today we’re heading there. We hope Stephen plans on attending. The goal is for me to approach him and talk about everything. Glean something from him. Any kind of clue.
I can’t imagine he’d poison someone just because he wants to open a restaurant, but I don’t know all the facts. Really, this case has so few suspects. It scares me that I seem to have the most motive. And it’s a weak motive at that.
The sound of a car horn—two short beeps—pulls me from my thoughts.
Through my window, I see Seymour standing in my driveway, leaning against his Mercedes like he belongs on the cover of a magazine.
He’s wearing khaki pants and a black shirt that somehow manages to come across as both casual and fancy.
My breath catches at the sight of him, and everything inside me starts fizzing with anticipation.
He straightens as I walk out, his eyes following my movement. When I reach him, he pulls me into a hug, his hands settling against my back. His lips brush the top of my head, lingering there as he breathes in deeply. “You look beautiful, Sweetness.”
Tell him now! Right now. Before you go any further. The words sit on my tongue, but I swallow them back.
“Thanks!” I chirp instead. “You, too.”
He gives me a sly smirk, his green eyes bright with mischief. “Ready for some detective work?”
“I hope so.” Because we need a breakthrough.
And nope. I don’t tell him.
It’s a nice drive up to Penwood Gallery. The late morning sun warms the car, and a gentle breeze flows through the cracked windows. I ignore any opportunity to talk about our event with Silvano, focusing instead on the passing scenery. I decide now is not the right time.
We park, the gallery looming in front of us. It appears to be a renovated older brick building, the red bricks weathered with age but well-maintained. Ornate white trim frames tall windows, and flower boxes burst with colorful blooms beneath each one. It’s gorgeous. And it’s bigger than ours.
“Wow,” I whisper, taking in the scope of it.
“I hope we can even find Stephen in this crowd.” Seymour eyes the stream of people flowing through the entrance.
“We will.” I love entering other galleries. Not only are they my happy place, akin to a booklover walking into a library or bookstore, but it’s research. Are there any marketing ideas or set-ups that can offer inspiration? Any unique ideas they are employing to highlight certain paintings or art.
We walk through the building, and he holds my hand. His fingers lace through mine, palm warm against mine.
I mean, we’ve made out quite a few times now, but this feels different. This is him making it clear to everyone in the room that we’re dating, or at least we’re something.
I’m in awe at the vaulted ceilings stretching above us, the soft and warm lighting creating perfect spotlights on each piece of art, the large windows flooding the space with natural light. Phew. Someone invested millions in this place. It’s gorgeous.
We roam, chatting about the art, while on the lookout for Stephen. After about thirty minutes, Seymour squeezes my hand. “There he is. Go to it.”
I nod, my gut churning with nerves. Stephen is a nice guy and I’ve never been nervous talking to him before, but this feels different.
It feels sneaky and underhanded. My heart pounds against my ribs as I approach him.
There is nothing about me that is cut out for the life of a private detective.
One of the reasons I stopped working for Scott on the side.
It’s easy to slide up next to him, like I’m interested in the same painting, and this bump-in is a complete accident. I pretend to study the artwork, a landscape with bold brush strokes. “Oh, Stephen. What a surprise to see you here.”
He raises an eyebrow like it’s really not that much of a surprise, because we both love art and there are only so many galleries in the immediate area. Then, any questioning turns into a smile, his face softening. “Mandy, good to see you.”
Then it drops. The awkward silence settles between us like a wall.
I’ve known Stephen for the year he’s been on the board, but honestly, we haven’t had many personal conversations. We’re in board meetings. We dabble in shallow conversation at the gallery. I don’t even know if he’s married or has kids.
Plus, he’s the type of guy who’s hard to read. During board meetings, he goes along with what everyone wants. He doesn’t ruffle feathers, but he does offer sound advice. He’s kind of a yes-man.