Chapter 22 #2
As in, I might want to check it out, but there’s no board meeting that I’m aware of. My stomach tightens as I head to the stairs, already bracing for a possible encounter with Todd. Probably checking up on me again.
The voices from the room drift down the hall. I recognize Seymour’s deep tone first, then Diana’s crisp voice. Can’t tell if Stephen or Lilly are there. Taking a deep breath, I walk into the room to find a full-on board meeting. Everyone.
Diana’s hands rest on the table as she smiles. “Mandy, good, you’re here.”
“Did I miss an email?” I adjust my shirt, suddenly aware of how casual I look compared to everyone else.
She waves a hand. “No, no, nothing like that. It was an impromptu meeting and we knew you’d be coming into work.”
My gaze is drawn to Seymour like a magnet.
His dark eyes study me from across the table, but his expression remains carefully neutral.
I squelch the familiar thumping of my heart, the spark that starts up every time I see him.
My mind and heart need to catch up with the situation.
That’s what happens when you get involved with a guy who’s known to be cold and heartless, and who doesn’t like to text.
They’re so skilled at building those walls. He’s unreadable.
I want to bang my fist on the table and demand answers. Embarrass him into admitting something, anything. But I don’t. I slide into the nearest empty chair.
“What’s up?” My voice comes out with forced brightness that makes me cringe internally. This is a stressful situation, and everyone in the room knows it.
Diana clears her throat, then moves to the coffee station. “Anyone like coffee?”
Oh no. Definitely a bad sign. She only serves coffee, trying to soften bad news like it’s comfort food. My fingers grip the edge of my chair as I wait for whatever’s coming.
After a round of no thank yous, she returns to her seat, smoothing her silk blouse before giving us the serious look. “We all know how much is riding on the upcoming Silvano event.” She pauses, her gaze settling on me with uncomfortable intensity. “Everything on track?”
“Absolutely.” I force my hands to relax in my lap.
“Champagne. Appetizers. Classy music.” What I don’t say is that there will be no servers dressed in black and white, no ticket sales, no black tie affair.
I revoked all that. And the violin quartet are local musicians.
All from the same family. Their younger cousin attends my art lessons.
“Good.”
Before Diana can continue, Seymour’s voice cuts through the tension. “Does anyone know how the investigation on the murders are coming along?”
Well, I want to say, Stephen had a nice conversation with the police where they asked a ton of questions about me, but I press my lips together, keeping those thoughts to myself.
Lilly shifts in her seat, her bracelets clinking together. “I talked with the police yesterday.” She glances at me apologetically, and my stomach drops. “They were very focused on Mandy. A lot of questions.”
Yes, and I know exactly what they were. More questions about my relationship with Darren. Maybe a couple to see if I have any anger management issues. The thought makes my jaw clench.
“I’m heading down to the station from here,” Seymour says, his voice steady and calm. “They had a few questions.”
Oh, geez. I want to play the lawyer and judge, and bang my imaginary gavel on the table. You’d better have your lawyer with you, I’d say. Then he shatters that illusion.
“I think it will help Mandy though. I plan on telling them everything that happened with Darren.”
“And what is that?” Diana’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.
He doesn’t look at me or try to flash an apologetic glance. “That Darren sexually harassed Mandy on more than one occasion.”
My cheeks burn as I stare at the table. Terrific. That will just add fuel to their fire. I’ll be arrested before midnight.
Diana taps a finger to her closed mouth, her expression thoughtful but not particularly sympathetic. Not even one look of empathy or outrage toward me.
“That scum,” Lilly spits out, her hands clenching into fists. “Sorry to speak ill of the dead.”
I say nothing, trying to squash the rising humiliation.
I want to cry out, explain that he was a pervert and I did nothing to cause his wandering eyes and hands, but honestly, I just want the attention off of me.
I don’t want to explain the subtle comments Darren made or how many times his gaze dropped from my eyes to my body.
“Except I was the one who threatened him,” Seymour continues, his voice firm. “If they want to look at anyone as a possible suspect, it should be me.”
Oh.
My chest tightens with conflicting emotions. This is the Seymour I knew from a couple weeks ago. Where has he been? Why would he do this for me if he doesn’t care? Unless he does.
Or, it’s his way of saying goodbye and I’m sorry.
They continue to chatter about the outrage of it all, their voices rising and falling around me. I don’t disagree, but right now isn’t the time. I clear my throat, then say loudly enough to cut through the discussion, “I found out some news today, concerning something related.”
The room falls quiet, all eyes turning to me. Even Seymour leans forward slightly in his chair.
“I learned there was an art gallery in Ohio that closed four years ago after three murders happened. Three artists. No suspect was ever found.”
“What?” Stephen’s voice cracks with shock, his face paling.
“This isn’t good.” Lilly’s fingers fumble with her phone, probably already planning to research it herself. The clicking of her nails against the screen fills the sudden silence.
Seymour watches me intently from across the table, his expression unreadable. I wish, once more, that I could understand what he’s thinking behind those carefully guarded eyes.
I turn to Diana, my heart beating faster. “I was wondering if the police here should talk to the gallery owner. Maybe he can share something that will help this case. His name was John Walters. Have you heard of him?”
“Hmm.” Diana drums her fingers on the table.
“I haven’t, but I’ll reach out to my contacts and see.
He might have disappeared from the art world.
” She straightens in her chair. “Thank you for updating us, Seymour and Mandy.” She pivots, her tone growing more serious.
“The event is in two nights. Back to my announcement, which correlates to what Mandy shared. It’s hard for a business to survive with bad press.
I’m sorry to say that the Silvano event will have to be a smashing event if we want the gallery to stay open.
I’ve had a couple offers from agents. There are interested parties looking to purchase. ”
My eyes snap to Stephen, suspicion curling in my stomach. He offers me a shrug that seems too casual. How else would anyone even know the gallery might be for sale?
My upcoming meager attempt at a successful event is the nail in the coffin, but right now, I don’t care. I’ll work at Beachside Java. I’ll apply to the thrift store in town. I just want to make it through the event without feeling sick and without hurting someone—namely Todd.
Diana clears her throat, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “I’d like you to meet one of the art consultants who’s always quick to point out the up-and-coming artists we might want to host. He’s the brains behind the brilliance.”
The door opens, and a man walks in. My breath catches in my throat. He’s youngish—hard to tell his exact age. He could be twenty-eight. He could be thirty-eight. That’s not what makes my hands grip the arms of my chair.
“I’d like to introduce Jack Hansen.”
Wait. What?
Because I swear I’m looking at John Walters. Same dark blonde hair, though the goatee is gone. He’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses now, but the bone structure, the way he holds himself—it’s him. I attempt to keep my expression blank. How is this possible?
The memories of the past few weeks—the murders, the investigation, the tension with Seymour—all seem to crystalize in this moment as I stare at a ghost from another gallery’s tragic past.