Driftwood Point (10 page)

“It makes me sad to think about him.”

“Don't be wanting you sad, Lisbeth.” Ruby reached across the table and took Lis's hands.

“I'm mostly sad that he could have been happy and he chose not to be.”

“Not the fault of you or Owen or your mama for that matter. Jack made his own path, that's a fact. Had nothing to do with you, hear?” Ruby squeezed Lis's hands, then let go. “Now it be your time to make your path. You choose to be here for a time, see what comes of that.”

“The only thing I expect to come of it is—hopefully—some good art. Some
great
art,” she corrected herself. “I have a feeling about that place, Gigi. I have a feeling that I'll find something new there.”

“Like what new?”

“A new form of expression. A new look at life and the world and a new approach to my work. I think I was getting stale.”

“Might have something to do with staying in that place after
he
moved out,” Ruby said dryly.

Lis had been wondering how long it would take Ruby to toss in her two cents about Lis's broken engagement.

“It wasn't Ted's fault, Gigi. It was mine.” Lis recalled The Talk, the look on Ted's face when she'd said,
“It isn't you, it's me,”
and realized she'd just uttered the biggest cliché, the world's worst breakup line. “Something just didn't feel right. I can't explain it.”

“Don't need to. You find what you need when you need it. You weren't in the right place. Told you a hundred times or more, you got to know where you belong. Right always feels right.”

“Oh, and I suppose you think this is the right place?” Lis tried to make light of a touchy subject. “That you know where I belong?”

“Be surprised what I know, missy.” Ruby smiled that enigmatic smile that had driven Lis crazy all her life, finished her tea, and went to the counter a full thirty seconds before a customer came through the door.

LIS SPENT THE
rest of the afternoon unpacking and shelving a soda delivery.

“Soda's a killer,” Lis told Ruby. “So much sugar. Suger'll kill you.”

“Everything'll kill you if you have too much,” Ruby replied.

“True enough, but do you know how much sugar is in just one of these?” Lis held up a bottle of cola.

“I can read, good as you.” Ruby took the delivery invoice and headed back to her little office. “I just sell them. I don't give judgment when I do.”

“I never saw you drink one.”

“And you never will. Not to my taste.” Ruby paused in the doorway.

“Earl Grey all the way?”

Ruby nodded. “That, or water. Got some good spring water here, no need for bottled. Others, they can have what they like.”

Lis reflected for a minute. “You never let us drink it. Soda, that is. When Owen and I were living here.”

“Don't remember.” Ruby went into her office and closed the door. Lis laughed out loud. She'd bet a bundle that Ruby damn well remembered.

Lis had just finished loading six-packs of soda onto the shelves when her phone rang.

“Lis, this is Carly Summit. From the art center?”

“Of course. How are you?” After an exchange of pleasantries, Carly asked, “Are you free in the morning?”

“I'm free all day,” Lis told her.

“Could you stop over, maybe around ten?”

“Perfect.”

“I'll bring the coffee. Dress casually. I'll be in work clothes. Don't show me up by dressing like a city woman.”

Lis laughed. “It's strictly shorts and tees here on the island in summer.”

“Then we'll match. Do you know where the gallery is? Do you need directions?”

“You're on the Enright property, right?”

“Yes. In the carriage house. It's where Hudson Street dead-ends.”

“Got it.”

“Perfect. I'll leave the front door unlocked. Just walk in and yell.”

“Will do.” Lis disconnected the call. She liked Carly already.

The next morning, Lis found she liked her even more after meeting her in person. Carly was petite and blond and full of energy and enthusiasm, especially for the gallery, which was still relatively new to St. Dennis.

“We haven't even been open for a year,” Carly told Lis, “but we've attracted some big-name collectors and have made some nice money for some of our local artists.”

Lis glanced around the main room, where paintings of various degrees of talent hung from the walls and the partitions.

“These works were all done by local artists,” Carly explained. “Some, as you can see, are really quite good. Others are . . . well, some of them are pretty terrible.”

“The cats with the wild yellow eyes on black velvet . . .” Lis stood in front of one such work.

“Ah, yeah. I usually don't have that hanging in here. I tried to use the space for the better works and hang the more amateurish pieces in the mansion. But that one just came in, and the woman saw the empty space there on the wall and assumed I'd left it for her.” Carly smiled. “She's a sweet old woman who loves her pets and I wanted to indulge her for a little while. She's proud of her efforts and I do want to encourage that. However scary the results might be.”

“That's very kind of you.”

Carly shrugged. “The gallery belongs to the people of St. Dennis. Who am I . . . ?”

“Seriously? Who are you?” Lis laughed. “Only one of the most successful gallery owners in New York.”

“I made my reputation there, it's true, and my place in the city does very well. I have good people working for me, so I'm lucky there.” Carly paused. “Any way I can talk you into letting me exhibit a few of your works at my gallery, or is your arrangement with Casper exclusive?”

“It isn't exclusive, but honestly, I feel obligated to him. He showed my works when no one else would return my phone calls. If not for him, I doubt that high-profile sale—the one that got me all the attention—would have been made.”

“Summit International could have done as well.”

“Summit International didn't return my phone calls.”

“Ouch. Really?” Carly frowned. “I'll have to look into that. But I do admire your sense of loyalty to Casper. He's a pretty good guy and honest as the day is long. I can't fault you for wanting to stay with him. But I did hear he might be retiring in another year or so . . .”

“In which case you'll be my first call,” Lis assured her. “Assuming you're still interested.”

“I'll be interested. I love the paintings you sent us.” Carly led the way into a back room where Lis's watercolors were stacked against the wall. “I love the way you play with light, particularly in this one.” She pointed to the first in the stack.

“Thank you.” Lis knelt down and considered the painting. It was one of her favorites. “I sat in Battery Park for hours, looking at the river, watching the way the sun played off the water. It took me forever to get it right.”

“Well, you definitely hit it out of the park—pun intended. I'm going to display this one so that it's the first thing people see when they come in the main door.”

“Nice. I like that.” Lis stood.

“How 'bout I give you a tour, and then we'll sit down and have that coffee I promised you.”

“Sounds good.”

Lis followed Carly through the gallery, then out into the summer heat to the mansion that had once belonged to local attorney Curtis Enright, who'd recently donated the house and grounds to the town for use as a cultural and arts center. The entire walk-through lasted forty minutes, and by the time they returned to Carly's office, Lis was ready for a cold drink rather than a hot one.

“We can do that, too.” Carly opened a small refrigerator and took out bottled water. “This okay?”

“Perfect.”

Carly handed one to Lis, opened one for herself, and gestured for Lis to sit on a small loveseat that stood along one wall. “So I understand you grew up in St. Dennis,” Carly said as she sat on a wicker chair behind her desk.

“Actually, I grew up on Cannonball Island.”

“Well, same thing, right?”

“Night and day, depending on who you ask.” Lis gave the short version of how some of the residents of St. Dennis ended up on the island.

“Wow,” Carly said after Lis had finished her recitation. “I hadn't heard any of that.”

“I doubt it's something the town people think
about, if they even know about it. To some of the islanders, it's still a sore subject.”

“You?” Carly asked.

“My dad rarely missed an opportunity to rail about it.” Lis forced a smile. “Ancient history. Let's talk about something fun. I heard you're married to Ford Sinclair. I went to school with him.”

“Yes, I am, and yes, I heard. My mother-in-law mentioned it last night at dinner. She's apparently good friends with your grandmother.”

“My great-grandmother,” Lis corrected.

“Right. She owns the store out on Cannonball Island, right?” When Lis nodded, Carly continued. “I remember Ford's cousin mentioning something about doing some work for her.” Carly's brows knitted together in thought. “And something about getting paid with a boat that one of their relatives had built . . .”

“My great-uncle Eb's boat.” Lis sighed. Did everyone know the story?

Carly nodded. “Something that needs a ton of work but Alec wanted it anyway. Oh, wait. You must have gone to school with Alec, too. He and Ford are the same age.”

“I did, yes.” For reasons she couldn't explain, Lis felt a sudden rise of color from her neck to her hairline.

“Oh, I see.” Carly laughed. “It's like that, is it?”

“What? No! It's not like anything,” Lis protested.

“Sorry, but that red on your cheeks misled me. Sorry to have assumed.” Carly cleared her throat. “Anyway, I'm finding that everyone in St. Dennis
seems to have a connection to someone else. Even people who didn't grow up here.”

“So you're not from here?” Lis was happy to change the subject.

“I grew up in Connecticut. I love it here, though. Actually, I love that sense of connection—I hope it didn't seem as if I were implying otherwise. I like the tightness of the community. The way people stand together and work together and cheer for each other. That's why I wanted to have certain times of the year when we only exhibited local artists.” Carly smiled. “Even the scary-cats-on-black-velvet lady deserves to be acknowledged. Her children and grandchildren and her friends and neighbors come and see her work hanging here, and while they might roll their eyes at the subject matter—not to mention the questionable level of talent—they are supportive of her efforts, so I am, too.” Carly stood and lifted a painting from behind her desk and held it up. “And then there is this . . .”

“That is flat-out gorgeous.” Lis rose and leaned across the desk to get a better look at the landscape that was done in muted blues and greens and browns. She tried to get closer to read the signature. “Who . . . ?”

“Carolina Ellis. A friend of mine is a descendant, and inherited a house here in town. The place was loaded with Carolina's works. My heart stopped in my chest when I realized what she had there.” Carly was beaming. “It was a moment that comes once in a lifetime. If at all.” She held out her arms. “I still get chills when I talk about it.”

“I remember reading about that. It was the talk of the art world for months.”

“I moved to St. Dennis to be able to display the works. I have a few in my New York gallery. Their sales go directly to keeping the gallery here going. I like to think that Carolina would have approved of what we're doing with her work. There's one in particular I think you'd like to see.”

Back in the gallery, Carly turned on the lights and led Lis around the partition that divided the room.

“My absolute favorite.” She pointed to a painting that depicted a couple who appeared to be picnicking on a beach. “It's the most romantic painting I've ever seen.”

“Oh, it is. It's wonderful.” Lis studied the work carefully. “Who are the subjects, do you know?”

“We're pretty sure the woman is Carolina, because we've seen her photographs, but we don't know who the man is. Ellie—my friend who inherited it—is pretty sure it was a secret lover.”

“Was Carolina married?”

“She was, but this was done several years after her husband died, and the man in the painting looks younger than Carolina's husband would have been.”

“Maybe she did it from memory.”

Carly shook her head. “She alluded to the work in one of her diary entries. No, we're pretty sure it was a clandestine meeting.” She stepped back to admire it. “
Stolen Moments
.”

“What?”

“
Stolen Moments
. That's the name of the painting. We even found the place where it was painted. Sunset Beach.”

“I know that place. It's on the mainland, the next cove over before the island.”

“I've been there. Ford took me. It's certainly the right place for a romantic secret rendezvous.” Carly made a face. “It's sad we'll never know who her lover was, though.”

“You said Carolina had a diary. Maybe she named him.”

“She left tons of journals, and I've read them all. Assuming we found every one she wrote in, he's never been named. Everyone thinks it has to be someone local if he knew where Sunset Beach was. It isn't easy to get to.”

“Fun to think that he could be someone's great-uncle or great-grandfather.” Lis peered closer. “I love a good mystery.”

She turned to Carly. “Is it for sale?”

“No. Ellie would never part with it, and if she had any inkling to, I'd be first in line to buy it. Sorry.”

“Just thought I'd ask. It does draw you into their story, doesn't it?”