Mom Zone Mysteries 02 Staying Home Is a Killer (19 page)

“Sure. I’ll come by in an hour to pick it up.” It would beat mopping the floor, anyway. Bree gave me directions to the gallery.

I left Livvy in the car and opened the door to the studio with the key Bree had handed me out the front door. She’d said, “It’s crated and ready to go,” before she swallowed hard, slapped her hand over her mouth, and banged the door in my face.

I flicked on the lights inside the studio, but I didn’t see a crate. I walked to the back of the studio and passed a bathroom. I saw another tiny, windowless workroom with a crate standing on another long table. I’d expected to see more paintings in this room, but it contained furniture.

Unpainted chests, nightstands, headboards, and armoires stood in one corner, while finished pieces done in white paint with decorative trims and accents were spaced across the floor. Some were decorated with flowers, others with race cars or footballs. Some had intricate designs of ivy, while others, especially the pieces for kids, were bright and almost cartoonish in their designs. I walked slowly over to the table to pick up the crate. The furniture was an unusual contrast to the paintings in the next room. I wondered if this was what Bree did to make money until her paintings caught on with the public.

I snagged a parking spot directly in front of the downtown gallery, White Walls. Instead of parking in the public parking garage, I’d driven by the gallery on the off-chance that there might be an open slot. I saw one and, of course, I was on the opposite side of the street. But for once in my life, there was no oncoming traffic. I whipped the Cherokee around in a U-turn and, my miracle for the day, slid into the parallel slot flawlessly. I scrambled out, thankful for the Cherokee’s tight turn radius, and punched Hetty’s cell phone number into my phone.

She met me out front. A guy in a thin T-shirt with bangs down to his eyelashes followed her out and reached for the crate. I hesitated to give it to him because his shirt hung on his pointy shoulders, looking like it was hanging on a wire coat hanger. I expected him to collapse under the weight of the crate, but he adjusted his grip back inside the gallery.

“Like to come inside for a quick tour of the gallery?” Hetty asked.

“Sure.” I pulled Livvy out of her car seat, settled her snow hat on her thin fluffy blond hair, and fed the meter some quarters.

Paper covered the windows of the gallery, giving it a blank look, but inside lights blazed down on shiny wooden floors as a few people moved gray partitions and adjusted track lighting. Hetty walked through the small gallery pointing out where the artwork would be displayed. It didn’t take us long to make a loop around the small gallery. Hetty steered us back to the door, mentioning names that I didn’t recognize.

“So this is just one location where art will be displayed?”

“Yes. We’re using several galleries downtown, and the Rotunda on campus will have a large portion of the artwork on display, too. But we really want to get people out of their houses and downtown to shop. Look for the red banners with snowflakes and icicles outside the galleries.”

“So will Bree’s artwork be displayed here?”

“No. It will go in another gallery, Riverview. I had two artists, one of them fairly prominent locally, promise to support our show with several pieces and they both backed out at the last minute. So I’ve reviewed Bree’s work—she sent me slides—and I’ve made an executive decision. Normally, a panel of judges decides which works will appear in the show, but we can’t have blank walls in our show. We’ve never had so many problems. I’ve called another friend and he’s coming through with a few sculptures, so we should be okay.”

We stopped near the door and I kept a tight grip on Livvy’s hand. I could imagine her stepping on someone’s canvas without realizing it. She leaned away, pulling my arm taut and forming a triangle out of our arms and legs.

Hetty considered the door with a frown. “I think I better order a bigger banner for this location,” she murmured to herself and whipped out a handheld computer. “This is our only gallery that isn’t connected with the skywalks, so we may have to work a little harder to get people in here.” A complex system of glass-enclosed bridges connected several downtown businesses with the shopping district.

“You’ve got to take what you can get, though,” said the bony-shouldered kid from beside us. Livvy jerked my arm back and forth, pulling as hard as she could away from me and then running to my side to hug my leg.

A plump young woman with blond hair straggling down her back walked past us toward the office at the back of the gallery. She shook a sheaf of paperwork at the kid and snapped, “Yeah, it was a real sacrifice to allow us to use
this
gallery.” She jerked the papers back into place like a shield over her ample cleavage. Musky perfume swirled around us in her wake, and the guy beside me grinned and said to her back, “He’s just doing it out of the goodness of his heart.”

Hetty’s phone rang. “Just a minute,” she said to me and threw a warning glance at the guy.

The woman paused and said over her shoulder, “Victor Roth has never done anything that didn’t get him something in return.” She stomped away, her platform heels thudding across the hardwood floor.

An Everything In Its Place Tip for Organized Closets

Kids’ closets

• Make sure you’ve got rods at lower heights so kids can reach their clothes. This is a big confidence-booster when they can pick out their own clothes. And they can also put away their own clothes after the laundry is finished.
  
• If you’re going to store toys in the closet, add shelves or use buckets or bins to control the toy area.
  
• Moving a dresser into a closet can open up more play space in the child’s bedroom.
  
• Shoe caddies and laundry baskets or bins will help keep the closet floor clear.
  
• A morning time saver: Create a place to lay out a week’s worth of outfits with everything from the shirts and pants down to socks and underwear. You could use hangers labeled with the day of the week, a labeled shelf, or hanging bins to prep the clothes.
  
• Those clear plastic over-the-door shoe organizers come in handy in kids’ closets, too. Use them to store small toys like plastic blocks and action figures.
  

Chapter Eighteen

A
t the mention of the name Victor Roth I let my attention slide from Livvy to the bony-shouldered guy. He missed Hetty’s look as he crouched to toss packing materials into an empty crate. Hetty paced over to a corner of the room to conduct her conversation. A file drawer slammed in the office. When the guy paused to push his long bangs out of his eyelids he caught my glance. I asked, “Why is she so upset?” and looked at the office where the woman had gone.

He stood up and pulled off work gloves, then flicked them in the direction of the office. “Roth dumped Mary a few days ago after he had the deal set up with Hetty to use the gallery for Frost Fest.” He glanced around and said, “It looks like we’re going to get it ready, but it’ll be close.”

“So, this is a last-minute addition?”

“Yeah. The Cerulean Villa got smoke damage last week from the fire in the restaurant next to it. There was no way to get it cleaned up in time, so Victor kindly volunteered his new gallery here. Pretty convenient for him.”

“Why’s that?” I asked, ignoring Hetty’s glare at the guy. Livvy ran in a half circle around my legs. I kept a firm grip on her hand, but my arm felt heavy from tracing the arc in the air.

“Victor Roth said he wants to help out local artists, but we all know it’s a ploy to get the gallery and himself noticed. He’s brandnew in town, so this is great—it gets his gallery in the paper and he gets the bonus of being the good Samaritan.”

Mary emerged from the office with one arm in her coat and the other flailing around behind her as she searched for the other armhole. Her struggles tested the limits of the baby blue shirt as it stretched against her curves. Finally she found the armhole, flung her purse onto her shoulder, and snatched up a stack of files. She shoved them at the guy and said, “Give these to Hetty. I’m done.” She stalked out, again leaving the imprint of her perfume on the air around us.

The door closed and Hetty snapped her phone closed, then took the stack of papers. A pink “While You Were Out” message slip flittered to the ground. “Sorry about that.” She tucked the paperwork into her elbow. Hetty wasn’t apologizing for the interruption, but for Mary’s behavior and stormy exit. The guy grabbed the empty crate and disappeared behind the dividers.

“Everyone gets a bit edgy with the start of the show so close.”

Livvy picked up the paper. I dug in my coat pocket with my free hand. My fingers closed on a small figure. I pulled it out. “Look, Livvy, I found Pink Girl.”

“Oh,” Livvy sighed in contentment and dropped to the floor to walk the two-inch figure around between the crates. I took the paper from Livvy, shook out my arm, and said, “So White Walls is Victor Roth’s gallery?” As I handed the note to Hetty I noticed a familiar name, Ballard Nova. She’d called at 3:20 and wanted Roth to call her back.

“Yes.” Hetty’s lips thinned in disapproval; then she sighed. “I’m sorry about Mary. She’s a friend of my daughter’s. She thinks Victor used her to get to me, that’s why she’s so angry. She’s not the only one that thinks we shouldn’t use the gallery, but we have to. There’s not that many options left at this late date.”

“But I thought you said several artists dropped out,” I said.

“They did. Not enough to drop a whole gallery from the program, just enough to leave rather large empty spots in the galleries. We’re fortunate that Victor made this available. At least I don’t have to tell the artists there’s nowhere to display their work.”

Livvy crawled across the floor, making Pink Girl jump and hop. She moved toward the door, so I edged along behind her.

“In all my time working on this, I’ve never had so many problems. And so much controversy.” Hetty shook her head.

“Come on, Livvy. Time to go.” I adjusted her hat and said, “Sometimes controversy can be good. You might have a bigger crowd this year because of it.” I waved to Hetty and headed to the car.

With Livvy snapped in the backseat, I merged into the line of headlights pushing through downtown and out to the suburbs around Vernon. I checked the radio, but didn’t hear anything about Osan during the top-of-the-hour newsbreak. That was good. It meant Mitch and the other crews were doing their job and the situation in Osan was too boring—that is, no death, destruction, or threats—to include in the news.

I cruised under the freeway overpass and gave the Cherokee some gas so I could make it up Black Rock Hill. As I chugged up the incline the car behind me closed on my bumper. The Cherokee definitely wasn’t in the turbocharged category, more like a snail’s pace off the starting line, so I pushed the gas pedal harder and muttered, “Back off.” The traffic thinned a little and I leaned my head on the headrest. I didn’t want to go home. With Mitch gone, the evenings were the worst. I needed to fix something for supper, but I never wanted to put a lot of time into a meal because Livvy had decided she only needed five foods besides Cheerios and Goldfish crackers: milk, bread, waffles, apples, and grapes. At least some of the items were fruits, but it did limit dinner choices. Maybe I could convince her to eat some scrambled eggs and I could have an omelet.

The headlights flashed in my rearview mirror again and I checked my speed. I was already doing forty-five and the speed limit was thirty because the road wound through residential areas. The road widened and I pulled over to the far right. It was really only a two-lane road, but for a few blocks the road opened up and impatient people liked to use the short stretch to whiz past slower cars. I slid right, expecting the car behind me to pass, but it lunged closer to my bumper. Blinding white light flashed into the Cherokee, then disappeared as the car behind me closed the distance. I shoved the gas pedal to the floor. My shoulders tensed for a crash. The Cherokee did its usual hesitation and then the needle inched up to forty-seven.

The road narrowed again and I pulled back into the middle of the lane, gripping the steering wheel. My gaze slid between the road and my mirrors. I swallowed hard. Livvy said, “Mommy, I drop Pink Girl. Pink Girl.”

“I can’t get it right now.” I realized my voice sounded harsh. I took a quick breath. “In a minute, sweetie.”

The car behind me backed away and the headlights reappeared. The road leveled as we came to a plateau in the hill and the Cherokee’s speedometer needle jumped up to fifty-two. I loosened my fingers on the wheel and took a deep breath.

“Need Pink Girl. Pink Girl,” Livvy chanted.

“Okay.” I reached back to feel around the floorboard, but the headlights surged forward, then disappeared again. I jerked my hand back to the steering wheel and took the curves of Black Rock Hill at sixty.

Was this was some kind of game? Some kids out for a thrill? The turn for my street was coming up fast, but I wouldn’t be able to make it at this speed.

Tree trunks, dark against the snow, flicked past. I stayed in the center of the cleared and sanded lane, avoiding the white mounds of cars parked along the street. Quiet streets flew past perpendicular to Rim Rock Road. The dark houses lined unplowed roads that were too slick for me to turn onto. Their corner street lights flicked over the Cherokee quicker and quicker as I pressed the gas when we hit another flat section of the road. If I did manage to make a turn without skidding out of control, would the car behind me follow me?

I felt myself taking shallow breaths. I forced myself to focus on the steep curve of the road ahead as the march of houses on the right stopped abruptly.

“Pink Girl, Pink Girl,” Livvy chanted.

The car dropped back again and I watched the headlights, ready for it to close the distance again. I flicked a glance at the road and eased the wheel to the left, following the road as it hugged the escarpment of Black Rock Hill. To the right, the ground dropped away and I could see tiny pinpoints of light in the valley and the flash of silver, the river. I took in the dark drop, then refocused on the road.