Tumbling Blocks (28 page)

“There’s an emergency,” she said, her voice harsh and panicked.

My thoughts flew immediately to the Finch painting. Had someone broken into the folk art museum and taken it? Had something happened to the museum itself? Was anyone hurt?

Her voice broke through my racing thoughts. “Our speaker for the 49 Club Christmas luncheon canceled on us. You’ll have to take her place.”

“What?” My panic turned to annoyance in a millisecond.

“Which part don’t you understand?” she asked, her voice impatient. “The luncheon is at noon at the Forum downtown. You’ll be speaking at one thirty. Wear nice clothes.”

“I thought Nola Finch was speaking today.”

“Fifteen minutes is all we need from you. Nola Finch was only half the program. The other half was . . . well, never mind, doesn’t matter, she canceled. Don’t be late.” Then she hung up.

I stared at the phone, whose buzzing dial tone was eerily reminiscent of Constance’s voice. This was all I needed. What would I speak about? The only thing I could think of was tweaking the speech I was going to give tonight. I knew Constance would complain after the fact that I used the same speech twice, but what could I do? I had less than five hours before I had to give a talk to forty-eight snooty society women plus three wannabes. So much for my nap.

Twenty minutes later, Ray and Kathryn came into the kitchen just as I was pulling a pan of muffins out of the oven.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice unnaturally cheery. “Banana muffins coming right up.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Kathryn said, her cheeks looking a little drawn. I hurt for her; I hurt for my husband. What if they couldn’t resolve this before she left?

“What are your plans today?” I poured Ray a cup of coffee and started the electric teakettle for Kathryn’s morning tea.

“Your neighbors, Beebs and Millee, kindly offered to give us the grand tour of San Celina County,” Kathryn said, sitting down at the table.

“Apparently we have quite a full agenda with wineries, old cemeteries, and a tour of the San Miguel mission,” Ray elaborated. “If I heard Beebs correctly, we’re eating lunch in a cave?”

I set the platter of hot muffins on the table. “That’s one of the wineries in north county. Gabe and I attended a fund-raiser there. It is literally a cave.” I gave Kathryn a worried look. “You’ll take time to rest, won’t you?” Then I realized it might not be my place to make that comment. Fortunately, Kathryn took it with grace.

“Don’t worry, Benni,” she said, her voice warm. “Ray watches me like a hawk. We’ll take it easy. I don’t want to be sick on Christmas Day.”

I gave an inward sigh of relief. Gabe was wrong. She was planning to stay through Christmas. That meant there was still a chance that they would patch things up. “I have a full day myself. I’m a last-minute speaker at the 49 Club Christmas luncheon today, and then there’s the outsider artist exhibit opening tonight at seven o’clock. I’d love for you to come if you’re not too tired.”

“We’ll see,” Ray said.

“We’ll
be there,
” Kathryn said. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Gabe’s told me how hard you’ve worked on this. Isn’t it quite an honor to have such a valuable painting donated to your museum’s collection?”

I nodded, setting out plates, napkins and silverware for three. “Yes, there’s a newspaper reporter coming from Los Angeles. The outsider art movement is just exploding, and our little museum is starting to carve a small place on the map for itself.” I opened the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of grapefruit juice.

“Because of your hard work and expertise, no doubt,” Kathryn said, smiling.

Her praise, so unexpected, caused me to blush with pleasure. “A lot of people’s hard work and help. Even as annoying as our patroness, Constance Sinclair, can be, she’s worked tirelessly to promote the museum.” I set the pitcher on the table.

“Will Scout be all right being alone all day?” Kathryn asked.

“Ordinarily, but I think I’ll drop him off at All Paws with Boo,” I said. “It will be his first time in day care, but I think he’ll like it.”

By nine o’clock I had the kitchen cleaned, was dressed in brown tweedy slacks, a pale green shirt and golden brown cowboy boots. I dropped the dogs off at All Paws and was reminded by Suann that Boo still needed his picture taken with Santa.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “I know. Did Hud call you?”

She nodded. “I don’t mean to bug you about it, but he mentioned it when he was calling to see how Boo was doing.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll call and reassure him.”

Out in my truck, I dialed the number he’d given me and got the housekeeper.

“Mr. Hudson and his family are off on a ride,” she said. “May I take a message?”

“Yes, tell him Mrs. Ortiz called and said not to worry. Boudin and Santa, it’s going to happen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said, her voice not missing a beat. She’d probably taken more than her share of weird messages for Hud. I then dialed the ranch and got the answering machine. I sure wished Sam had convinced Gabe to buy him a cell phone.

“Never mind,” I told Dove’s recorded voice. “I’m looking for Sam.”

I dialed the bookstore and hit pay dirt. Sam himself answered.

“What’s up,
madrastra
?”

“Want to earn forty bucks?”

“Sure. I still have to buy Dad and Grandma a Christmas present. Who do I have to kill?”

“No death involved. I need someone to take Boo to see Santa.”

His laugh almost rattled the cell phone in my hand. “You’re kidding? No
problema.
Easy money.”

“You’ll have to find a Santa and convince him to have his photo taken with a dog.” I had a feeling it wouldn’t be as easy as he thought.

“Just a minute.” He went away from the phone for a few minutes. I could hear people talking in the background. Elvia must be opening the store at nine a.m. instead of ten during the holiday season. “I’m back,” Sam said. “I have a lunch break at noon. Where can I find the little guy?”

“All Paws on Board Doggie Daycare. It’s in back of the folk art museum.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll do it during my lunch hour.”

“I’ll leave his car seat with Suann. Make sure to buckle him in. And thanks. You’re the bomb.”

“I know,” he replied.

I got out of the truck again and took Boo’s car seat inside All Paws, informing Suann that Sam would be by to pick up Boo for his photo op.

“Check that off my list,” I said to myself on my way back to the museum. I spent the next hour at my desk at the folk art museum editing my speech for the exhibit opening. With a few modifications, I could use the same one for the luncheon. True, some of the people hearing it would overlap both events, but many more wouldn’t. I called the catering company and made sure they had the time and menu right for the opening.

“White and rosé wines,” I read off my list. “Sparkling water and ginger ale, cheese platters, crackers, tiny cream puffs, vegetable plates, mini-chicken tacos and those little cherry tomato thingies with the mushrooms.” Constance was footing the bill for the opening tonight. There’d be, if everyone we invited attended, about one hundred people. Tonight would be the unveiling and official presentation of the painting to the museum with Nola Maxwell Finch standing in for her reclusive uncle. We’d pulled every string we had to obtain as much media coverage as possible. This was the big time for the Josiah Sinclair Folk Art Museum.

After verifying everything with the caterers, I took a deep breath and sat back in my high-backed office chair. Was there something I was forgetting? D-Daddy was supervising the cleaning of the museum. The artists from the co-op were straightening up the studios and deciding what of their creations should be displayed, hoping to score a little attention for themselves from the visiting Los Angeles journalist. Everything was on schedule.

I contemplated calling Gabe, just to see how he was doing, then squelched the urge. I might be tempted into discussing his mother, and I swore to myself I was staying out of that. Instead, I called Dove to tell her about Kathryn’s condition.

“Hey, Gramma.”

“Hey, granddaughter. How’s things in town?”

I sighed, not knowing where to start. “No murders in the Ortiz household yet, though we’ve come close a few times.” I updated her on the most recent development between Gabe and Kathryn, including her MS.

“What a shame. How’s Gabe taking it?”

“I don’t really know how he’s taking her condition because he’s so wrapped up in being upset about being the last to find out.”

Dove’s voice was sympathetic. “Can you blame him?”

“I suppose not. But it was a sticky call for me. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him about his mom’s condition, but I hated holding out on him.”

“That’s just one of those places where you just can’t win, honeybun. Don’t worry too much about it. He’ll come around. You said he seemed more settled this morning?”

“His note didn’t sound angry.”

“Then if I were you, I’d get on to whatever business you have today and let things work themselves out.”

“No wise homily about mother and son relationships?” I lightly mocked.

“Mind your own beeswax? That wise enough for you?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, guess I can’t misunderstand that.” I sat up in my chair and brushed some crumbs off my desk pad. “I do have plenty of other things to worry about today. Want to hear something absolutely maddening? Constance roped me into speaking at the 49 Club Christmas luncheon today.”

“Didn’t they already have a speaker?”

“I guess whoever it was canceled at the last minute. So I have to warm up the audience for Nola Finch, who people are really coming to see.”

“You’ll do fine. You ready for your opening tonight?”

“Thank goodness for D-Daddy and the docents. They have everything under control. You are coming, aren’t you?”

“Me and Isaac will be there in our fanciest threads. Anything you need me to do for you?”

“A little prayer might help. Not for me, so much, but for Gabe and his mama.”

“Already got that covered. Now, I have to go feed my geese before they storm the kitchen.”

On my way out through the museum, I stopped by Abe Adam Finch’s painting one more time. D-Daddy had done an excellent job hanging it. Light reflected off the old hacienda’s pale adobe walls, illuminating the details of the animal faces painted among the small odd-shaped leaves. What was he trying to say in this painting? Like a lot of outsider art, his message appeared to be private until he chose to reveal it.

It was now eleven o’clock, still plenty of time to get to the luncheon. The Forum, a large, Greek-style building used for a variety of San Celina’s society gatherings, was, fortunately for me, only ten minutes away in downtown San Celina.

I sat in my office for a few more minutes with my eyes closed, trying to calm my nervous stomach. No matter how many times I spoke in front of groups, I always had stage fright. There were many things I loved about my job, but this was not one of them. And I wouldn’t even feel relief after the luncheon, because I had another speech tonight. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. By tomorrow this would all be over.

The Forum was one of San Celina’s newer buildings, where many clubs and private citizens held their special functions, wedding receptions or charity auctions. It had a large kitchen built to accommodate the specific needs of catering companies and had a huge, airy ballroom-size hall that I’d seen decorated in every way imaginable from a colorful, pinata-themed Cinco de Mayo dance to a wedding whose theme was gnomes and fairies to Western hoedowns with fiddle music and tri-tip barbecue to fancy ladies’ luncheons that featured models wearing Chanel suits and music by the Santa Celine Mission orchestra.

I arrived a half hour early to orient myself and scope out what type of microphone and podium were being used. I parked in the back next to two pink vans with EmmyLou’s Creative Catering painted on the side, and entered through the kitchen where Constance, not to my surprise, was giving the catering company detailed instructions on how to do their job. With Constance’s back to me, I gave the woman she was chattering at a sympathetic smile. Her face looked familiar, and I realized I’d seen her photo in the
San Celina Tribune
a few weeks ago. Her name was Prudence, and her catering company was new and was named for her rescued greyhound, Emelia Louella. Being the new kid on the block was probably the reason she was catering this function for Constance. All the established catering companies had, no doubt, been conveniently booked this day. Constance had a tendency to leave chewed-to-the-marrow bones in her wake.

After Prudence assured Constance that everything would be fine, Constance turned to face me.

“It’s about time you got here,” she said, her thin nose quivering like an anxious rabbit. Her back was to Prudence, so this time I was on the receiving end of a sympathetic smile from the beleaguered caterer. “Are you all ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, not elaborating.

“What are you going to talk about?” she demanded.

I forced a smile and said, “I’m going to talk about Abe Adam Finch and his painting.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“What will Nola talk about? You can’t talk about the same thing.”

“I’m sure we’ll cover different aspects,” I assured her. “I’ll talk about acquiring the painting, what it means to our museum and a little about outsider art—”

“No, no, no!” Constance interrupted. “You cannot do that. You must talk about something else.”

I have to admit, I was flummoxed. It was less than an hour before the luncheon, and she was telling me I had to come up with a completely different subject? So much for the notes I’d so neatly printed on three-by-five index cards. I lifted my hands in frustration and found my voice. “Constance, I can’t believe—”