“None of us knew he didn’t make it back to the orphanage until he didn’t show up for class the next day. What a commotion. The principal called the police. We all got questioned. But hell, we didn’t know squat.”
“Did anyone see Bobby actually get into a car?”
His eyes flickered with sudden anxiety, as if he were struggling to recall the details. “I didn’t see anything, mostly because I was three sheets to the wind, but Hennessy saw a car stop to pick him up. Make and model unknown because it was too dark to tell, but he was reasonably sure it wasn’t white, and he didn’t think it was a station wagon. Peewee and Mike backed him up, but let’s face it, it wasn’t much to go on. Little wonder the police never found him.”
“That’s so sad.” I felt an emotional tug, not only for Bobby Guerrette, who never seemed to have gotten a break, but for the bullied kids, like Laura LaPierre, and the square pegs, like Pete Finnegan, who’d never experienced the thrill of having a buddy punch him in the arm in congratulations.
I suffered a twinge of guilt that I might have misjudged Pete. If I’d been a flaming introvert who’d been shunned in high school, I might have become a grouch, too. So maybe he wasn’t a villain. Maybe he was just a socially inept guy who was in desperate need of a friend.
“Changing the topic just slightly,” I ventured, “were you present for the big blowup last night?”
“In the Red Light District? Sure was. It was the classic battle between good and evil. Paula Peavey versus everyone else.”
“Did Pete threaten her?”
“Sure did. Said he’d been wanting to take her out for fifty years, though his choice of words was a bit more, how shall I say, colorful.”
“Did you know Paula never made it back to the hotel last night?”
“No kidding? I’d noticed the lack of tension on the bus this morning. Maybe she’s hanging out with your two guys. Or better yet, maybe she decided to go home. She got a pretty brutal taste of her own medicine last night. She might be feeling a little chicken-livered about facing her detractors after that. Paula loved to dish it out, but she could never take it.”
“You didn’t happen to see her after the blowup last night, did you?”
“Who, me?” He leaned back on his heels, as if trying to back away from the question. “Nope. Didn’t see her. Uh” —he checked the time— “would you excuse me? I need to make a quick pit stop before we meet up with our art expert.”
As a practical matter, it seemed someone should advise Wally of the possibility that Paula could have been too humiliated to continue the tour and might have caught a flight home, and I supposed that person would be me, but I didn’t relish the thought of freaking him out any more than I already had.
I cast an uneasy glance around the exhibit room, relieved when I didn’t see him.
Okay, at the very least, I felt duty-bound to go through the motions, but if luck was with me, maybe I wouldn’t run into him.
Happily, I ran into Mary Lou and Laura instead.
“Am I ever glad to see the two of you,” I said in greeting. “Mike was so concerned about you last night. He said one minute you were there, and the next, you were gone. What happened to you?”
Mary Lou offered a hesitant smile. “We got separated in the crowd. It was no big deal. I don’t know why Mike made such a fuss.”
I laughed. “Duh? He was afraid something might happen to you.”
“We’re big girls.” She linked arms with Laura. “We can take care of ourselves.”
Was it just me, or was Mary Lou acting a little testy? “So did you hook up with Mike on the bridge, or did you end up finding your way back to the hotel on your own?”
“We—” It was the only word she got out before freezing up like the proverbial deer in the headlights.
Laura tapped her watch to indicate the hour. “Sorry, Emily, but would you mind if we finished this conversation another time? Mary Lou and I have to powder our noses before the tour begins. See you up there. Okay?”
“Sure,” I said, as the two of them headed off in another direction.
Hmm. I seemed to be throwing everyone into a tailspin. They couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Maybe I should stop asking people about last night. And yet, if my innocent questions could spark such instantaneous urges to hit the restroom, what did that indicate? Bladder control problems, or something much darker?
A shiver rattled my spine as I searched out the staircase to the first floor.
I was getting a very bad feeling about this.
Ten
“This painting is one of Rembrandt’s most notable,” our art expert informed us. We were gathered in a room with a vaulted ceiling and skylight, mist-colored walls that were embossed with giant fleur-de-lis, a blonde hardwood floor, and a long swath of carpet that mirrored the gray of the walls.
“It’s called The Prophetess Anna,” he continued, “and, as you can see, it depicts a very old woman studying a page in her Bible.”
His name was Harold, and he had the clear, well-modulated voice of a natural-born auctioneer. I could imagine him requesting opening bids for diamonds at Sothebys, pearls at Christie’s, or hogs at Arnie’s Auction Barn.
“According to the Bible story, St. Anna worshiped God day and night in the temple and therefore witnessed the young Jesus when he questioned the holy men about their teachings.”
I stood on tiptoe at the back of the group, thinking I’d have to wait until they moved on to the next painting before I could get a good look at this one. It also didn’t help that Peewee was hogging the front.
“Please note Rembrandt’s use of light and shadow in the portrait. He wants you to focus on both the woman’s hand and the Bible page, so he illuminates these details in such a way as to make them appear to be lit by a spotlight. The woman’s face, which is oftentimes the most important aspect of a portrait, is entirely in shadow.”
Feeling a presence at my back, I looked over my shoulder to find Jackie practically on top of me. “You owe me,” she whispered out the corner of her mouth.
“I know,” I whispered back.
“Have I mentioned that Tom and I are thinking about starting a family?”
“I am not carrying your baby.”
“Party pooper.”
Harold’s voice thrummed with enthusiasm. “The Dutch masters developed a simple technique to draw our eyes to the parts of their paintings they wanted to emphasize. It involves a bit of geometry and …”
“Have you read Beth Ann’s recap of last night?” I asked as Harold continued.
“Not every word. Her handwriting is atrocious.”
“So, what did you make of it?”
“Rather amateurish, but she has a real gift for metaphors.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not talking about Beth Ann’s writing skills. What did you think about the blowup?”
“Oh, that.” She waited a beat to gather her thoughts. “I am so ticked off. It would have been the perfect opportunity for a well-dressed life coach to jump in and show these reunion screwups the error of their ways. Money in the bank, Emily, and I missed it. I’ll tell you one thing. Playing the part of the Good Samaritan is highly overrated.”
“Chip Soucy thinks that Paula Peavey suffered so much humiliation at the hands of her classmates last night that she might have left the tour and flown home.”
“That’s too bad. Now there’s one broad who really could have used my help. So”—she lowered her voice to a near inaudible whisper—“what’s my assignment for today?”
“Keeping your fingers crossed that the Dicks show up.”
“Oh, come on, Emily. No tailing? No disguises?”