8 Sandpiper Way

Page 41

“Not yet.”
Mr. Jefferson nodded. “I have an agreement here that I’ll need Shaw to sign. Two copies, one for me, one for him. Once he agrees to my terms, which I think are fair to both of us, I’ll be happy to display his work.”
“What about the prices?” She didn’t want Shaw to give his drawings away, but she didn’t want them to be priced so high they wouldn’t sell, either.
Mr. Jefferson named a price that felt exactly right. Apparently he’d taken the advice of Maryellen Bowman, who was obviously a good judge, not only of art but of the market.
“That sounds reasonable,” she said, accepting the paperwork. “I’ll be back later.” She fairly danced out of the gallery.
Tanni ran to the car, breathless with joy and excitement. Shaw was pacing outside, his breath steaming in the cold air. He stopped abruptly when he saw her.
“What did he say?” he blurted out the instant she was within earshot.
“You have to sign these papers,” she said and thrust them into his hand.
“Why?” He stared at her as he took the two sets of pages from her.
Tanni broke into a wheezing laugh. “This is the agreement to sell your work.”
“He likes my stuff?”
“Yes.” She grinned widely. “A lot.”
“You’re not making this up, are you?” Shaw studied her skeptically.
“Did I make up those papers?”
Shaw clutched them so tightly, the edges had started to crumple.
“Read the agreement first,” she said. “If you want, I can have my mother look it over. She’s had contracts with this gallery before. Other galleries, too.”
Shaw frowned uncertainly. “I’ll do whatever you think is best.”
She exhaled. “Then we’ll ask my mother to read it.”
“Okay.”
Tanni slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. “Are you excited?”
Shaw hugged her back, the papers still in his hand. “More than I thought possible. I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”
“I love you.” She hadn’t meant to tell him that, but it was too late. She’d said it.
Shaw’s breathing became labored. And yet he didn’t release his grasp on her.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” She was embarrassed now and wished she could take back the words.
“I love you, too.”
“Oh, Shaw.” She wanted to weep with joy. Her mother would say she was too young to be in love and maybe she was. All she knew was how she felt about Shaw. He was constantly in her thoughts. Their times together brought her happiness and peace—in sharp contrast to the intense grief of losing her father.
Her improved outlook was noticeable to those around her, particularly her friends at school, but her mother, too. Since Tanni had met Shaw, everything in her life had become a little better.
He continued to hold her. “I never understood why Anson would risk his freedom by calling Allison,” he said close to her ear.
Tanni remembered how Anson had been unjustly accused of starting the fire that had destroyed The Lighthouse restaurant. Then he’d disappeared, and no one other than Shaw knew he’d enlisted in the army. The evidence was all circumstantial. No formal charges were filed against him, but Anson was considered a “person of interest,” so if the police had learned of his whereabouts, he would’ve been taken in for questioning. And if there wasn’t a more plausible suspect by then, he could actually have faced arrest.
Even with that risk hanging over his head, Anson had phoned Allison. Not once or twice but repeatedly.
“I told Anson he was an idiot,” Shaw explained. “He could’ve ended up in jail. You know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said it didn’t matter, he needed to hear the sound of Allison’s voice. I couldn’t imagine loving someone so much I’d take that kind of chance.” He kissed her hair. “I understand it now, though.”
“Oh, Shaw…”
Tanni noticed a couple of women coming down the street toward them and nudged Shaw. Reluctantly they broke away from each other.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Of course.”
“You’re so talented, but you don’t seem to care if anyone sees your work.”
“I care,” she said. “But a lot of what I draw right now is just for me.” Her sketches were what had kept her sane—somewhat sane, anyway—after the accident. They were too private to share with anyone other than Shaw. Certainly not her mother, who’d probably get hysterical if she saw some of them.
Despite his lack of training and encouragement and everything she’d taken for granted, Shaw was an artist. He would succeed.
Tanni knew it as clearly and precisely as if she could look into the future. A few drawings in a small-town gallery was just the beginning.
Twenty-Nine
Dave Flemming folded his hands in his lap. He sat in Roy McAfee’s office, across from the one man he trusted to help him.
“What can I do for you?” Roy asked. “I have to admit I was surprised to see you’d made an appointment with me.”
Dave had never, ever thought he’d be in this position. He’d promised Emily, though, and he kept his promises. “I have a problem,” Dave said. He didn’t mince words; he felt the best way to clear himself of suspicion was to be as honest as possible.
He was busy, and he didn’t have time to squander on speculation, worry and doubt. He wanted this resolved, preferably by Christmas Eve. If Roy could manage that, then Dave would thank him heartily.
“And you think I can help with this problem?” Roy asked.
“I don’t know. I hope so.” Dave still needed to visit a couple of ill parishioners, check with Cliff Harding about the Nativity scene animals and prepare an agenda for one of his committee meetings. The charity food baskets were being assembled that afternoon and he had to pick up some canned goods and get them to the church before the volunteers arrived at five. Then he’d head over to the bank for his shift.
“I take it this has to do with Martha Evans’s missing jewelry?”
That question told Dave the rumor mill had been churning at full speed and his name had been bandied about town in connection with the theft. “It does.”
Roy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and his body language caused Dave a moment’s chagrin. He wondered if his friend was attempting to distance himself from him and his problems.
“You don’t want to talk to an attorney?” Roy asked.
Dave had considered this option and rejected it. “Do you think I should?”
Roy shrugged. “That depends. Are you guilty of anything?”
Of being foolish, perhaps. But the question stung his pride. “No.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t qualify his answer. He couldn’t make it any plainer than that. He had absolutely nothing to do with Martha Evans’s missing jewelry.
“What can I do for you, then?”
Enlisting Roy’s assistance had seemed like a logical decision. Now he wasn’t so sure. “I’d like you to hear my side of all this.”
“Your side,” Roy repeated, watching Dave, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is there something you want to tell me that you wouldn’t want an attorney to know?” A frown drew his brows together, and he leaned even farther away. “Listen, Dave. Perhaps—”
“First,” Dave said, interrupting his friend, or the man he’d assumed was his friend, “I need advice.”
If Roy went any farther back in that chair, he was liable to topple right off.
“What kind of advice?”
Dave realized that the detective, along with Troy Davis and possibly Allan Harris, viewed him as a prime suspect. Painful and discouraging as it was to admit, if Dave had been given the same set of circumstances, he’d probably make the same assumption.
“Before I say anything else, I’d like you to return this gold watch to Martha Evans’s heirs.” He removed the watch from his wrist and handed it to the other man. He’d had the clasp repaired, so there was no chance of losing it again.
Roy accepted the watch. “You have it because…” He waited for Dave to explain.
“Martha wanted me to have it. Her husband retired as an executive, and Martha insisted I take the watch.”
Roy didn’t reveal whether or not he believed him. “Do you have any proof of that?”
Admitting he didn’t mortified Dave. “Apparently not…I thought I did but I don’t.”
Roy frowned again. “Perhaps you better start at the beginning.”
Dave wasn’t sure where that was. “Martha attended the church for as long as I’ve been pastor.”
Roy nodded for him to continue.
“She was an encouragement to me, and a strong supporter, generous in nature. I…I thought of her as a second mother.”
“You told her this?” Roy prodded.
“No.” He could almost read the other man’s reaction. “But she was special to me and to anyone who knew her. When she became ill, I visited her as often as I could.”
“How often was that?” Roy reached for a pen and pad, taking notes.
Dave couldn’t tell if that was a good sign. “At least twice a week. She had a visiting nurse and I tried to stop by on days the nurse wasn’t there.”
Roy arched his brows and made another notation. “Any particular reason for that?”
“Well, yes…The way I figured it, someone should check up on Martha the days she was alone. Her daughters live in Seattle and they both work. I didn’t have any nefarious motive, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Roy glanced up from his notepad. “I’m only asking you the questions Sheriff Davis will ask.”
Will ask. Roy seemed to believe it was inevitable that he’d be questioned by the sheriff. Perhaps he was advising Dave to get his story straight, which made no sense because he’d never changed it.
“Go on,” Roy urged, watching him closely.
“A few days before she died, Martha asked me to get the watch.”
Roy glanced up again. “So you knew where she kept her valuables?”
Once again Dave felt as if he’d already been tried and convicted. “Yes, but I’d never—” He bit off the rest of what he’d intended to say. Verbal protestations weren’t going to help.
“Where did she keep the watch?”
“The vegetable bin in her refrigerator.”
Roy lifted one eyebrow. “With the broccoli?”
“Yes. And she kept some of her jewelry in an ice-cube tray in the freezer. She thought that was the last place a thief would look.”
Roy shook his head. “That’s as obvious as hiding your door key under a flowerpot,” he muttered.
Dave merely nodded. “The watch would’ve been damaged in the freezer so she kept it in a temperature-controlled bin,” he said.
“And she wanted you to have it?”