“Watch the road.” I reached over to push the wheel to the left. The Corvette barely missed a parked FedEx truck.
She looked straight ahead, her shoulders hunched. The Corvette turned on a back road. “I heard a man’s voice. He spoke to you.” Her tone was accusing. “Where was he? Where is he?”
“Not to worry. You should be honored. That was Wiggins, my supervisor.” Wiggins no doubt was embarrassed that he had spoken aloud in Kay’s hearing. I was sure he’d departed. I would encourage him when next we spoke. One mistake does not a disaster make. I was living proof. Ghostly proof? Whatever. “Wiggins doesn’t take a direct part in most missions.” It wasn’t necessary to explain that perhaps the oversight was for me, not for her. Everyone likes to feel special. I decided it might make Kay feel more comfortable if she could see me. I appeared.
She shivered. “One ghost I can take. Two is more than my mangled sensibility can tolerate.”
“You have such a nice way with words.”
She shot me a look of pure loathing. “Look, Bai—”
“Francie. You don’t want to make a mistake at The Castle.”
“You’re still coming to stay?”
I decided to overlook her clear lack of enthusiasm. “With a song in my heart.” I paused, grinned. “I know. Soooo last century.” I thought I detected a quiver of amusement on her face. Possibly we might forge a better relationship.
I gave some thought to my visit, selecting clothes and accessories and personal items, then informed Kay. “My suitcase is in the trunk. You might see if I could be put in that lovely white room. That’s where I stayed last night. It’s very convenient to yours.”
“Oh, sure, I’ll ask. Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like.” Her tone was just this side of churlish.
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother. Nothing I’d rather do than make you as comfy as possible.” The car picked up speed.
My feeling of bonhomie eroded. However, I resisted responding in kind. I hoped Wiggins was even now adding a star to my file. “Is Gregory Gallery near The Castle?” I knew this old part of town well and we were retracing our earlier route.
“Gregory Gallery?” She sounded abstracted.
“Alison Gregory. Surely that’s where we’re headed.”
“Bai—Francie, you may ostensibly be my assistant, but please leave the tactical planning to me.”
I don’t like to be patronized. However, I made my tone quite reasonable. “Jack specifically sought information about Alison Gregory’s financial status. There was a time noted on the back of her business card and a name. That suggests he made an appointment with her.”
Her head jerked toward me. “How do you know about the business card?”
I didn’t bother to answer. If she was so smart…
Her face screwed up in dismay. “That gives me the willies. You’ve been creeping around—”
“I never creep.” Absolutely not. I float.
“You know what I mean. You were there, but I couldn’t see you and you pawed around in the desk.”
“Please.” It was my turn to patronize. “Let’s focus on what matters.”
The Corvette curved into the front drive. “Let’s do that very thing,” she snapped. “Alison Gregory’s a side issue. Jack didn’t find out anything to derail Evelyn’s plan to buy into the gallery. What matters is the background of Laverne and Ronald Phillips. I’m going up to my room and do some calling.”
Sometimes it’s better to remain aloof from controversy.
I disappeared.
The Corvette squealed to a stop. Kay looked above, around, and behind. “Come back here. What are you going to do? Where are—”
Diane Hume stepped from the shadow of an elm. Eyes wide, she stared at Kay.
“Are you all right?”
Kay punched off the car. She managed a strained smile. “I’m fine. Sometimes”—she swallowed hard—“I practice questions before I talk to people. I asked myself, ‘What are you going to do?’ That helps me organize my thoughts.” Kay slammed out of the car, headed for the front steps.
Diane hurried to catch up. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll try it. ‘What are you going to do?’ Why, I already feel more empowered. That’s what Laverne urges me to do. Open up and be empower—”
The front door shut behind them.
In my experience as an emissary, I’d learned that clothes and accompanying articles such as a purse with customary contents could be imagined into existence. Perhaps…I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined the most fetching red Corvette convertible—not, of course, that I wished to imitate Kay, but the ride was exhilarating.
I opened my eyes.
No red Corvette gleamed in the drive of The Castle.
Oh, well. It never hurt to try. Instead, I thought Gregory Gallery and there I was.
Built of golden adobe in the style of Santa Fe, Gregory Gallery drowsed in the shade of cottonwoods. Water splashed from a fountain of brilliant red-and-blue-patterned Talavera tiles. A bell tinkled as I turned the oversize iron knob and pushed the hand-planed, sugar-pine door.
The entryway opened to a large, rectangular room. Cleverly spaced lights plus natural light from skylights illuminated paintings mounted on pale lemon walls.
Alison Gregory moved gracefully toward me. Her cool blue eyes swept me, likely tallying the price of my hairdo, makeup, and wardrobe. The sum must have been adequate for a customer. I was glad I’d chosen the silk georgette blouse. Perhaps she admired the pale pink of the hand-painted flowers against the lime background. Her smile was welcoming. “May I help you?”
I smiled in return. “I hope so. I’m Francie de Sales.”
A graceful hand was extended. An emerald glittered in an elegant gold filigree setting. “Alison Gregory. Welcome to Gregory Gallery.” Her handshake was cool and firm. “Are you looking for a particular kind of painting?”
“I wish I were.” My voice was admiring. “That’s a striking scene.” I gestured at a painting of Indians on horseback against the backdrop of granite buttes.
“Thomas Moran.” She spoke as if he were an old friend.
“Remarkable.” My gaze swept the displayed paintings. “Your gallery is very impressive. No wonder Evelyn Hume plans to become your partner.”
Utter surprise widened her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh?” I showed confusion. “That was my understanding. Jack Hume told a friend that Evelyn hoped to become a partner in the gallery. Wasn’t that what he discussed with you?”
Her face was suddenly unreadable, smooth and controlled. “What do you have to do with the Humes?”
“I’m Kay Clark’s assistant. She asked me to visit with you for her book about him. He had an appointment with you. I doubt there’s much that would matter for the book, but she didn’t want to overlook you since he’d made a special note about seeing you. I hope you can spare a few minutes to tell me about your meeting.”
“I’ll be happy to do that, though I doubt my conversation with him will be of interest to you.” She gestured toward an alcove. Well-worn leather furniture looked comfortable. “Come sit down.”
We faced each other across a rough-hewn pinewood coffee table. Several art magazines rested on the table.
She relaxed against the soft leather, crossed her legs, and locked her hands around one knee. Even in the fairly dim light of the alcove, the emerald glowed grass green. “However, I first want to make it clear that you have received false information about my gallery. Evelyn Hume and I have never discussed going into partnership.” She spoke briskly, but pleasantly. “Evelyn is a dear friend and a valued customer, but she isn’t interested in being my partner, nor have I ever suggested a partnership to her. I own Gregory Gallery. I run Gregory Gallery. That’s the way it is and that’s the way it’s going to be.”
It was my turn for surprise. “I see.” Though, of course, I didn’t. “Definitely there is a mix-up. Jack told a friend he was interested in the gallery’s business performance because Evelyn was considering a partnership.”