Page 79 of Burning Caine
“Sam was trying to explain, but I don’t get it.” She squinted at one of the paintings, tilting her head.
Samantha nodded at her protégé. “It takes some time to absorb. Come to the next room, I think you’ll find what you like there.” Leaving the front room, we made our way around the corner to the second, where the landscapes and portraits hung.
“This is more me.” Lucy wandered from painting to painting, admiring the sculptures.
Samantha remained at the entrance to the room, watching her, leaning against the wall. I slid my hand into place at the small of her back, but she shifted her weight away from me.
I moved close to keep my words private. “Are you upset I’m here?”
She shook her head slightly, keeping her eyes on Lucy.
“Would you be more comfortable at dinner tonight?”
She chuckled, which evolved into a smile. “I’m working until eight tonight, and you have a Chagall to clean.”
“Will you ever say yes when I ask you out?”
She turned to me with a twinkle in her eye. “Probably not. I don’t date, remember?”
I leaned closer, my mouth next to her ear. “So I’ll have to wait for you to ask me out? Is that the plan?” She shook her head, but with the smirk this time. She pushed off the wall and followed Lucy into the room.
“Which one’s your favorite?”
Lucy stopped in front of one resembling Monet’sImpression, Sunrise, pointing.
“Mine, too,” said Samantha. Perhaps I would buy it for her if she liked it. Or paint one of my own. Sì, I would paint this for her. Mine would be a better copy than this.
“It’s for sale if you’d like to buy it,” came a woman’s voice from behind us. As we turned, Rhonda Wells, owner of the gallery, joined us. A sharply dressed woman in her mid-sixties, she spiked her short white hair, and always wore red glasses and black clothes.
“Dr. Ferraro.” She gave me an appreciative smile, shaking my hand. “Scouting for your father?’
My smile faltered, but I snapped back in place quickly. “It’s good to see you again, Rhonda. Have you met Samantha Caine and Lucy Chapman from Foster Mutual Insurance?”
Rhonda shook with each of them and addressed Samantha. “You handled theNumber Veerepair, didn’t you?”
“I did. It’s a beautiful painting.”
“It’s crap!” She sniffed. “The artist is my curator’s son, so I had to include it. He’s sold a few pieces from here. Thinks he’s God’s gift to the art world. I told him it’s Brenton, for Christ’s sake, but he thinks he’s the next Mark Rothko.”
“That’s his junk over there, too.” She pointed to a drip painting in the first room. “Rothko said he wished to bring people to tears with his depth of emotion.Number Veeinspires the wrong sort of sorrow.”
Lucy looked fit to burst. She laughed a lot; I liked her. Perhaps I would introduce her to my younger brother, Lorenzo.
Rhonda guided us to the back of the gallery, into her small office. She sat in the chair behind her desk, inviting Lucy and Samantha to sit opposite her, while I stood.
“Dr. Ferraro. I have an appointment with these ladies…” Rhonda let the words hang, an unspoken request for me to leave.
Samantha gestured to me. “I invited Dr. Ferraro to join us, Ms. Wells.”
Rhonda glared at me for a moment over her glasses. Her comment about scouting for my father had my guard up. My father offered to buyLes amoureuxwhile it was here, however the Scotts didn’t sell it until afterward. Papa went directly to Bobby Scott for the sale, so Rhonda may have been in the dark. But would she make the guess? Would she let it slip he had made the offers?
There was little I would learn here. I would, however, ensure Papa’s secret remained. My secret now.
She hit a few buttons on her computer and tilted her head back to look at the screen through the bottom half of her bifocals.
“So we’re all here aboutLes amoureux dans le ciel? The Chagall?” She hit a few keys and moved the mouse.
Samantha said, “Yes, could you tell us exactly when it was on display?”