Where Dreams Begin (15 page)

“She knows, but she won’t cause either of us any trouble.” He pulled a hastily drawn map from his pocket. “Now let’s get to work. Here are the buildings I’m considering.”

Catherine scanned the map and the surrounding neighborhood. As Luke turned from the parking lot out onto the side street, she checked his notations. “Lost Angel is on the southwest corner. An automotive supply store is directly opposite us on the northwest corner. I never even noticed what it was, but with no windows facing the side street, it’s a possibility, but I wish it weren’t just one story.”

“Let’s circle the block. There’s a Ninety-Nine Cent store next to the auto supply. It has a graffiti-covered exterior wall facing the next side street, but I’d really like to do our first mural on a wall the kids could see from Lost Angel.”

“I would too.” She observed the buildings closely as Luke drove down the main boulevard. “We need a corner, don’t we, but that sleazy bar opposite the auto supply won’t do.”

“I agree, but it does have a suitable wall. Let’s just go a couple of blocks in each direction and see what strikes us.”

“Fine.” Other than visiting Lost Angel and the carpet store, Catherine was unfamiliar with the neighborhood, but she was unimpressed with what she saw. There were lots of little shops with dingy displays, fast-food restaurants, used car lots, apartment buildings with aluminum foil covering many windows, and a few single family homes that had seen far better days.

Finally, Luke parked his car on the side street next to the bar, and gazed across the street at Lost Angel. “Not much promising real estate around here, is there?”

“No, but what about Lost Angel itself? Would the owners object to a mural decorating the front of the church?”

Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I called them right after Dave suggested a mural, and while the building no longer serves as a church, they like the look of the weathered granite and don’t want it, ‘defaced’. That was their exact word.”

Catherine stared past Luke to the Victorian home on the corner opposite the bar. She checked his map, where it was noted simply as a house. “It looks as though someone is working on the Victorian right here. They’re often painted in fanciful colors. Do you suppose the owner might consider a mural?”

Luke was so startled by her suggestion that he opened his car door and got out to look. It was a three-story house with all the gingerbread and curlicues that made the style so distinctive. He leaned into the window to respond.

“I can see a ladder and paint cans on the porch, and someone’s been watering what’s left of the lawn, but that’s someone’s home, Catherine.”

“That’s no reason to eliminate it from consideration,” she argued. “The Germans and Austrians decorate private homes with colorful murals. Other cultures probably do too. Maybe we could start a trend here.”

“It’s not really a trend I’m trying to set.”

She hurriedly left the car. “I realize that, but would you mind terribly if I introduced myself to the owner and described the idea?”

“Yes, I would,” Luke responded crossly. “It’s probably some dear little old lady who’d agree to a mural just to have some company.”

“Then we’d all benefit, wouldn’t we? Besides, with three stories, an angel mural would soar toward the heavens.”

He stared at her a long moment and then shook his head regretfully. “You’re not going to give in on this are you?”

“You asked me to head up the mural project. What are my responsibilities if you insist upon making all the decisions? Will I have to get your approval before I select the paint?” She knew she was pushing him, but if he were really the control freak he appeared to be, she wanted no part of the mural.

Luke rested his hands on his hips. “I thought we’d work together, cooperatively. I didn’t intend to micromanage every brushstroke.”

“Good. Now it’ll only take a moment to introduce ourselves and pose the question.”

Pushed into an uncomfortably tight corner, he appeared angry enough to spit. He glanced toward Lost Angel, where the kids seated on the steps were watching their every move. He turned his back toward them.

“We have quite an audience, so I’ll have to do it, but I’m hoping some grouchy old man lives here, and he’ll shoo us off the porch without hearing what we have to say.”

Delighted to have her way, Catherine would have reached for Luke’s hand as they started up the cracked concrete walk, but with Lost Angel right across the street, she squelched the impulse. “We could invite him to volunteer. Maybe he’d find Mabel’s cooking every bit as delectable as you do.”

He paused at the bottom on the front steps. “This is a crazy idea. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

“Quit stalling.” She nodded to encourage him, and they climbed the steps.

Luke knocked at the door. Expecting an elderly woman, if not a cantankerous old man, he took a cautious step backward, but the door was opened by a young man clad only in low-slung jeans.

He had dark curly hair, green eyes, and an engaging grin, but those assets weren’t his most remarkable attributes. His upper body was covered from his collarbones out to his wrists and down to his waist with colorful tattoos. The exotic array of dragons, Samurai warriors, cranes, chrysanthemums and kimono-clad ladies spread over his shoulders and appeared to plunge down his back. While the whole staggering display was interrupted at his waistband, it certainly didn’t appear to end there.

Astonished, Luke nevertheless recovered sufficiently to introduce himself and Catherine. He pointed across the street. “We’re from Lost Angel. We’re considering a mural project and thought this house might make a suitable location. Are you the owner?”

“Sure am. Name’s Toby McClure. You want the kids to paint a mural here? That’s cool. You’ve got some real tasty chicks over there. Not that I’m into underage babes. I like real women, myself.” He swept Catherine with an appreciative glance and extended his hand.

He was a handsome man despite his zest for decorative art, but Catherine wasn’t certain she wanted to touch him. Good manners indicated she ought to at least shake his hand, and surprisingly, his skin was warm and his touch quite pleasant.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. McClure,” she said. “You have such stunning tattoos. Are you a tattoo artist?”

Toby gave her hand an affectionate squeeze before releasing it. “No, I’m a collector,” he replied with a conspiratorial wink. He turned back toward Luke. “When do you want to start?”

“We’re still in the planning stage,” Luke explained. “But it was good to meet you, and I’ll let you know what we decide.”

“Stop by any time. I’m a sculptor and work out of the garage in back. A fancy mural might be a real good backdrop for my work.”

“It just might,” Luke agreed, but he hurried Catherine out to his car and quickly returned to the Lost Angel parking lot.

“What an extraordinary character,” she mused aloud. “While I still like the house, you were right to be concerned about the owner. I’m surprised some of the Lost Angel girls haven’t found Toby already, but I sure don’t want to invite any to meet him.”

“Neither do I,” Luke replied. “I had no idea you were fond of tattoos.”

She opened her purse to repair her lipstick before they left his car. “We don’t know each other well yet, do we?”

“You want to warn me now so I’ll be prepared for the next surprise?”

She rested her hand lightly on his knee. “I like a bit of mystery, don’t you?”

He shot her a darkly skeptical glance. “Just how mysterious do you plan to get?”

“I don’t know. I’ll let you know if I’m hit with a sudden inspiration.”

“Oh yeah, you do that. Now the purpose of this little expedition wasn’t to cultivate the friendship of bizarre neighbors, but to select a building for the mural project.”

She gave his knee a playful pat, then forced herself to be serious. “I’d prefer a two-story building, but the auto supply store is at least convenient. Do you think the owner will be receptive to the idea?”

“He will be when I finish with him.”

“Yes, you can be very persuasive, Dr. Starns.”

Her glance was slyly seductive, but he was still curious. “If you’re really fond of tattoos, perhaps I should go out and get one.”

“I wouldn’t rush,” she advised. “Now hadn’t we better get back to work?”

He shoved open his car door. “You go on in. I want to visit with the owner of the auto supply.”

She stepped out of the car and carefully closed the door. She waved and started toward his office. “Don’t worry,” she called in a stage whisper. “I’ll be excruciatingly discreet.”

Luke offered a grateful nod, but as he walked away, he turned back to watch her enter the office. She moved with the lithe grace of a gazelle, but nothing was ever going to be easy with her, and that was truly excruciating.

Chapter Eight

Luke walked over to the auto supply store, but now that Catherine had pointed out how much better a two-story building would be for a mural, he had second thoughts about approaching the owner. The bar was definitely out, because he refused to place the kids so close to beer-guzzling lowlifes.

He discounted Toby McClure’s Victorian for much the same reason. The Ninety-Nine Cent Store looked damn good by comparison, but it faced the wrong direction. He usually had no difficulty coming to a swift decision on matters concerning the center, but the mural project wasn’t nearly as simple as Dave had originally made it sound.

Then there was Catherine, who took great delight in complicating everything. He jammed his hands in his pockets and walked around the block, but the only inspiration that came to him was to hand the mural right back to Dave and Catherine and let them choose a site which he would then approve or veto. Dave lived at Lost Angel and knew the neighborhood, so he ought to be able to suggest a better site than Luke had been able to find on his own.

Pleased to have found a way to sweep the mural project off his desk, Luke returned to Lost Angel, but as he walked into the office, he found Nick sprawled across one of the guest chairs. The kid was a bloody mess, and Catherine was kneeling at his feet, playing paramedic. There was a bloody handprint on her yellow sweater, and for one terrible instant, he feared the blood was hers.

“Good God, what happened?” Luke cried.

Nick shifted in his chair and winced. “I was skateboarding down the sidewalk, minding my own business like I always do, when this little old lady came barreling down her driveway in her Buick. She knocked me right out into the street, but because I’m such a lucky dude, no one was driving by to smear me into the asphalt.”

“Thank God. Did you call the police to report the accident?” Luke asked.

Nick sneered at the suggestion. “No. She was somebody’s grandmother, like the ladies who volunteer here, and you know the cops would have blamed me rather than her.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind. Now, this is clearly more than we can handle here. You belong in an emergency room. Can you make it out to my car?”

Nick made no effort to rise. “They’ll make me wait for hours for a couple of Band-Aids and an aspirin. I had a tetanus shot last year, and Mrs. Brooks is fixing me up just fine.”

Luke couldn’t meet Catherine’s gaze, but the sight of Nick’s scraped and bloody hands and knees didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it did him. He felt shaky and leaned against Pam’s desk for support. “Where’s Pam?”

Catherine continued to clean Nick’s torn knees with a wet towel and spoke without looking up. “She’d already gone to lunch when Nick stumbled in, and I knew you’d be back soon.”

Before Luke could reply, Rafael burst through the door, followed by Polly. “Shit man, what happened?” he yelled.

Nick provided a flippant summary of his ordeal. “It’s worse than it looks, but I’ll need some new clothes. You’ll help me out there, won’t you, Luke?”

Clothes were about all Luke could replace, and he swallowed hard before he spoke. “Sure. When you feel up to it, Pam will open the clothes lockers. Take whatever you need.”

“Thanks, man.” Nick winked at Polly, but she was so badly frightened, she collapsed in the chair at his side and began to moan softly.

Luke still felt uneasy, but he was satisfied Nick had no deep cuts that would require stitches. “Mrs. Brooks, when you can spare the time, I’d like to speak with you in my office. If you change your mind about going to the hospital, Nick, let me know.”

Nick gave a jaunty salute, then rested his bloody hand palm up on the arm of his chair. “What do they call these scrapes, abrasions?”

“Nasty abrasions is what I’d call them,” Luke countered, “but that’s scarcely a medical term.”

“Whatever. I’ll survive. It’ll take more than a Buick to do me in.”

“Try and be more careful in the future,” Luke cautioned. “I’d like to report the woman who hit you even if you wouldn’t. Did you notice her address?”

Nick shook his head. “It was only a couple of blocks away, but I was just watching the blood drip off my hands, not the house number.”

“Want me to go look for blood in the street?” Rafael offered eagerly. “Maybe I could find the house.”

“No,” Luke ordered. “You’d be more likely to be hit by a car yourself.” With a last anxious glance toward Nick, he entered his office and closed the door.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Polly whispered.

“Rafael, will you please help her into the bathroom?” Catherine asked.

Rafael offered Polly a hand but clearly wasn’t happy about it. “Just don’t puke on me,” he warned, but he got Polly across the office to the bathroom without mishap. He came back, picked up Nick’s skateboard and turned it over.

“At least your board wasn’t ruined.”

Catherine hadn’t seen Rafael since his run-in with the police, but his orange hair was still spiked, and he looked none the worse, or better, for the experience. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if the police had returned his knife. Because she would want a weapon if she were ever forced to live on the street, she hoped his was tucked away safely in his backpack.

A few minutes later, Polly came weaving out of the bathroom, but she was still pale. “I’ll wait for you guys on the steps,” she murmured softly. “Come get me when you go to look for clothes.”