The Unveiling (Work of Art #2) (2 page)

Max expressed something very similar once about himself. This paints Max in a different light and shows how much chasing Chloe’s ghost has influenced his life.

“A few years ago, I ran into one of our old classmates who had stayed in contact with Chloe. Evidently, she and the art teacher had a kid. Now she’s a part-time tour guide in Florida for some kind of hokey ‘art experience.’ That loser bitch—all high and mighty that she was going to turn the art world upside down—is riding around in a bus and lecturing fat tourists in their Bermuda shorts. Fuck her. The bitch got what she deserved.”

“Does Max know?” Inwardly, I enjoy the image of her on the tour bus a little too much.

“No, I didn’t tell him. I thought I’d only make him feel worse, knowing she dumped him for that kind of life.”

She’s right. That news would be like salt in his wound.

“I wish his mom were here, especially during times like this. He adored her and would do anything to make her proud. And she just wanted him to be happy. He needs that kind of support. He can depend on his small circle of old friends, but it just isn’t the same.”

I sigh, knowing all too well what she means.

“But still, guys, Max has us, and we have to make a plan,” Laura says.

Jess nods. “Yeah, a plan.”

I finger the stem of my wine glass. “So, what about Max’s family? Is there anyone who can help us find him?”

“I don’t know. Max and his dad are estranged. The only other person I can think of is Ann, his aunt. I met her a couple of times; the last time was at Elizabeth’s funeral. The two sisters were very close, but I believe she lives in New York.”

“Do you think that’s where he went?” I look up as the busboy fills my water glass.

“It’s possible, but I have no idea how to find her. I don’t even know her last name.” Jess rests her chin in her hand.

“Can he be tracked from his cell phone?” Laura asks.

“No. We found his cell phone and laptop in the house. So, wherever he went, he can’t be easily reached. We tried to get on his computer to find clues, but we didn’t have his password, and his phone is locked.”

A wave of frustration rolls through me, but I’m determined not to give up. Max has become a real-life
Where’s Waldo?
puzzle. L.A. is one of the biggest cities in the world. It’s not like you can go door-to-door asking about a thirty-year-old runaway. Perhaps Adam and Katherine can help me find Max’s aunt.

We polish off most of the wine and rehash all the possible places Max might be when Jess’s phone rings. She looks at her screen and immediately takes the call.

“Dylan, what’s up?” Her eyes widen.

“You got an email? When did he send it?”

“So, tell me again exactly what it said.”

Laura takes Jess’s hand.

“He didn’t indicate when he was coming back or how we could reach him?”

Laura bites her lip as she watches Jess. Between the three of us, the tension is palpable.

“Yeah, he must have borrowed someone’s computer or smart phone and knew you wouldn’t be able to trace an email like you can a phone call. He doesn’t want us to find him. Our boy is clever all right.”

When Jess hangs up, she leans on the table and cradles her head in her hands. Relief emanates from her. She straightens up, eyes rimmed with tears.

I place my hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, I was so worried. Thank God he’s alive,” she says with a gasp.

“What did Dylan say?” Laura asks.

“Max must’ve finally calmed down enough to realize how worried we’d be. He sent Dylan an email a few minutes ago.”

“So, we still don’t know where he is?” I ask.

Jess taps her fingers on the table. “No, but he did say he’s trying to get his shit together.”

“Well, that’s encouraging, right?” Laura says.

“I suppose, but I wish I could talk to him directly.”

“We’ll keep trying until we find him, Jess. You’ll be talking to him before you know it,” I say.

She gives me a hopeful smile as she leans back in her chair and sighs.

Now that we know Max is safe, the mood is lighter on the drive back to his house to get my car.

Jess looks over at me. “I want to get my mind off this stuff for a while. Tell me something good, Ava.”

My mind goes blank. “Like what?”

“Do you have any other writing plans, now that you’re done with the book project?”

“Well, I want to finish the story I’ve been working on with my writing group.”

“You know, I’d really love to read Max’s book, now that you’re done. Would that be okay?”

“Sure, I’ll email it to you when I get home. “But, you have to promise not to show it to anyone else and to give me an honest opinion when you’re done with it.”

“Okay, I promise, but I have high expectations.” She gives me one of the first smiles of the day.

“Gee, thanks. Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s great.”

“Well, I must admit, Jonathan was very excited about it when it was done. He gave me quite a compliment…said it was one of the best things he’s read in this genre.” I raise my eyebrows and scrunch up my face.

“That’s awesome!”

I shrug. “Of course, he could’ve just been trying to be nice.”

“Bullshit! Jonathan wouldn’t blow air up your skirt with a fake review. That’s not his style. He can be a real hard-ass with his opinions. Speaking of which, has he been blowing your skirt up in a hot way, missy? I heard you two were working
hands-on,
if you know what I mean.”

My face burns with embarrassment. “Yeah, he seems…how shall I put it? …rather intrigued.”

Jess holds up her hand that’s not on the steering wheel. “What did I tell you? All the men want to get in your pants.”

“Well, he does want to get in my pants, but after seeing how Max almost destroyed his house after our fight, I’m staying away from all men for a while. I have a fabulous track record for bringing out the best in people.”

“Ooo! Are you coming over to our side? Laura has a friend she wants to set you up with.”

“Aw…too bad it’s not my thing…I have to admit that sometimes I wish it were. Men are infuriating.”

“You know, Ava, I don’t want to see you become a shut-in,” she half-teases. “Why don’t you loosen up and date for a while?”

“Are you telling me to date Jonathan?” I ask, with one eyebrow arched.

“Maybe someone new, and sure, Jonathan too. Why sit at home when you can be having fun? It doesn’t have to be a great big romance. Jonathan’s too old for you anyway. But he adores you.”

“You just want to keep my mind off Max, don’t you?”

Jess gives me
the big-sister look
, but I know I’m not far off the mark.

“I
do
want you to keep your mind off Max. He needs to get his shit together, and I don’t want to see you sucked into his drama. You know this obsession he has isn’t healthy, nor is it any way to start a relationship. He was already depending on you too much emotionally. Then he tried to make things physical, and now this.”

She drums her fingers on the steering wheel.

“The last thing you need is to take care of Max when he comes back. Take a healthy break from each other. Besides, I want to see you with someone who’s able to give and not just take emotionally.”

She makes sense in my head, but what about my heart? I’m overwhelmed as I look out the window, hoping to get lost in the view.

I fire up my laptop to forward the book to Jess. Once that’s taken care of, I scan through my emails. I notice one from Jonathan.

I turn Jess’s advice over in my head. I doubt lunch with Jonathan will get my mind off Max, but maybe she’s right. I need to try.

Later that evening, I’m halfway through a pint of ice cream and on my second glass of wine when my cell phone rings. I pick it up.

“Ava!” Jess shouts out, her voice joyful.

“What, Jess, what?”
Has she found Max?

“I just finished the book! You rocked it so hard—you brilliant bitch, you!”

A smile explodes across my face, pure joy radiating through me. “Really, Jess? You really like it?”

“Like it? I love it! It’s perfect, girl. So smart, yet with this young, fresh attitude. Once I started it, I couldn’t put it down. I seriously think it’s the best book I’ve read about an artist. You totally got him! He must be blown away.”

“Hmm…I don’t believe he’s read it yet. The pages scattered all over his house and garden were his copy of the manuscript.”

She moans. “You’ve got to be kidding! This will knock him out. Oh, he has to read it.”

“Yeah, if we could only find him.”

“Okay, but I want to focus on you right now, you fabulous writer, you. Promise me something?”

“Anything, Jess. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Okay, when it’s my turn for a book—and I know it will happen at some point—will you write it?”

A tear skates along the edge of my eye. “It’d be my honor.”

Although I tackle Adam first thing in the morning, the only help he’s able to provide is the contact information for Max’s father. Evidently, Maxfield Caswell Sr. is a customer of Adam’s and has bought a number of originals over the years. I suspect, considering Max’s non-relationship with his dad, this will be a dead end, but I’ll take what I can get at this point. Max may not want to talk, but the rest of us won’t feel settled until he at least speaks with Jess or Dylan.

After lunch, I step out onto the patio behind the gallery to make the call. I’m very hesitant to throw myself into Max’s personal business all in the name of helping him. But, do I have any boundaries when it comes to this man? I’m probably a candidate for a long stay in a padded room.

To prepare me, Adam has told me with what he knows. Max Caswell Sr. is a veteran film and television producer. His biggest moneymakers were a series of action films, but he also produced a popular series for HBO about teenagers living in Manhattan, which had a number of successful spin-offs. On the slippery slope of Hollywood, he seems to have the magic touch.

But like so many of the big players in Tinseltown, he lacks the magic touch in his personal life. He’s been married and divorced three times and has three sets of offspring, Max being his oldest child. He lives in a sprawling Mediterranean home off Sunset, not far from the Beverly Hills Hotel. The number Adam gave me was to his office on the lot at Paramount.

My fingers shake a little as I dial Mr. Caswell’s number.

“Mr. Caswell’s office, how may I help you?”

“Yes, is Mr. Caswell in? My name is Ava Jacobs, and I was given his number by Adam Kester.”

“One moment please, Ms. Jacobs,” she responds promptly.

There’s a long wait before he finally picks up the call.

“Caswell here.” His voice is strong and direct with an intonation similar to Max’s voice.

I use my most polite tone. “Thanks for taking my call, Mr. Caswell. I’m Ava Jacobs and I not only work for Adam Kester, but I’m a good friend of your son, Max—”