Out of the Picture

by Tracy Gardner

  Syd smacked her hand. “No sampling the supplies!”

  Savanna stuck her tongue out at Syd and ate another one, scooting around the other side of the kitchen island out of her reach.

  Lauren was upstairs vacuuming, cleaning for the party. It was just two weeks away now. She’d come through this morning and had opened all the windows to the sunny, seventy-degree day outside. Days like this in late September were few, and Savanna breathed in the refreshing lake air.

  She moved to the coffee maker and poured a steaming cup, adding creamer for Caroline. “I’m going to ask where she keeps the punch bowl. You can get to work peeling kiwi,” she ordered.

  Syd sat on one of the stools at the counter and pulled her phone out, scrolling through. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  Savanna couldn’t help laughing as she made her way to the parlor. She set the coffee on the side table by Caroline’s wingback chair, leaning over to see what she was working on.

  “It’s just another blanket,” the older woman said, moving the knitting needles effortlessly as she worked her way through a dark burgundy spool of yarn. “Keeps my fingers from stiffening up and my mind occupied. One can only watch so much television.”

  “I’m sorry you’re housebound at the moment. I know you’re used to a much more exciting day-to-day.”

  “I really am, as funny as that sounds at my age. But this is temporary.” She flapped a hand at her boot. “I’m lucky. I’ll be up and running again soon. Your friend says so.” She winked at Savanna.

  Savanna felt her cheeks flush. “My friend?” She had to ask, but she knew who Caroline meant.

  “Oh, you know. You and my Dr. Gallager seem to have struck up quite a friendship.” She set her knitting needles down and captured Savanna’s hand in hers, looking her in the eye, suddenly serious. “I think it’s very sweet, so you know.”

  Savanna patted Caroline’s hand. “Thank you. We are friends. He’s a very nice man. He thinks a lot of you.”

  “He thinks a lot you as well. I hope…” She broke off, hesitating.

  Savanna’s heart raced a little at Caroline’s words. Had Aidan said something about her?

  Caroline nodded, seeming to have decided to say what was on her mind. “I hope that, when you’re ready, when your heart is ready, you might give love a chance again. It won’t always turn out the way it did in Chicago. And as for our Dr. Gallager, I believe he’s had to do his own share of mending too. We never know what the future might hold, do we? But we must be brave enough to make the journey.”

  Savanna leaned in and hugged Caroline. “You’re the wisest person I know. Thank you,” she whispered.

  Both their eyes were glistening when Savanna let go.

  “So.” She cleared her throat. “I was wondering, where do you keep your punch bowl?”

  Savanna followed the long hallway around to the formal dining room, probably the most infrequently used room on the main floor these days. A regal, dark cherry wood table ran the length of the room down the center, complete with three wide leaves and twelve chairs. Against the far wall, on a matching buffet, sat Caroline’s large crystal punch bowl and ladle, surrounded by twenty or so petite crystal cups. Lauren, or someone, certainly did a wonderful job caring for the Carson mansion and everything inside. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

  As Savanna carefully dispersed the cups so she could pick up the bowl with both hands, she studied the Sergei Minkov painting hanging above the buffet. Storm in Sochi, one of the more obscure pieces. She still recognized it; she’d done her thesis on Minkov’s work. How could Caroline let this go? It was a study in rich, opulent color, done in oils as was the norm for late nineteenth-century work; this piece was simple, a distant view of a village with a tumultuous sea beyond. Two figures skipped through the foreground, the entire work fairly abstract, but Savanna knew they were children; Minkov depicted them as such not just in stature but posture and carefree attitude, on their way home to the village. The overall tone was a contradiction, also as Minkov had intended: humble, light-hearted, and foreboding all at once.

  The painting lacked the size and presentation of the much-larger piece in Caroline’s library. This was one of the artist’s early works, void of pretension and ego. To Savanna, it was even more stunning than that gorgeous piece in the library, because of its simplicity. She took a step back, and then another, without thinking, her time in school coming back to her, the fine nuances of works done with oil over a century ago.

  And then she saw it. The child’s dress… Savanna stood stock still, the dining room chair now touching her back, as she let her vision relax and she took in the painting, the children, the vague shapes of clothing, the trail they skipped along, surrounded by some type of farming fields. She felt her heart race as she gasped.

  Moving forward quickly, Savanna leaned in, over the punchbowl, until she was just inches away from the painting, peering at the child’s dress. The pigment in the dress—the emerald-green sheen of the painted fabric—the texture—it was wrong.

  She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and focused the camera on the spot and zoomed in, waiting until the mechanism made sense of the pixels and the lines sharpened. The texture had minute vertical cracks, rather than the typical grid or cross hatch lines normally seen in a Minkov and other work from the same era. She snapped a photo, zooming in further and studying the screen. Could this piece be a forgery? Something was just not right.

  What she had, what she knew, was nothing. A slight variation in pigment, the pattern of age lines in the paint. Neither of those things proved a thing without diagnostic equipment.

  “What happened to you?” Sydney appeared in the doorway. “Do you need help with the punchbowl? You’ve been gone forever.”

  Savanna shook her head, rubbing her eyes and frowning. “No, I’m fine.”

  Sydney came and stood next to her, facing the Minkov. “What’s up? Do you know this picture from Chicago?”

  “I thought I did,” she said slowly.

  “What is up with you?”

  “I think this piece is a fake,” Savanna whispered.

  Sydney’s eyes widened. “What? For real?”

  “Yes. I think so. I don’t know.” She looked at the photo she’d snapped on her phone. “I can’t tell for sure. I’d need my equipment, X-ray, or at least a microscope to start with.”

  Syd leaned on the buffet, taking care not to disturb the crystal. “So what does this mean?”

  “I don’t know. It could mean Caroline’s house is filled with fakes? Or maybe just this one? What if I’m right, and it is a forgery?”

  “Have you looked at the others? She still has a lot.”

  “No. I mean, not closely. But there was that corner in the Laurant.” She remembered the discordant area where the lighter paint led into the dark, in the piece that had been above Caroline’s piano. The piece she’d just sold. Ugh! It was gone now, with no way for her take a better look at it. But what about the rest of the collection, the fortune in fine art Caroline had throughout her house?

  “I need to check the rest,” she said quietly. “Some of them are hung so high I doubt I’ll be able to see anything. But I need to try.”

  Sydney was nodding. She carefully picked up the punchbowl between both hands. “Let me make the punch. Go take a closer look.”

  “How?” Savanna’s eyes went to the ceiling. “I know Caroline isn’t mobile right now, but Lauren’s here cleaning.”

  “Well, she’s vacuuming at the moment. You’ll hear when she stops. And if she comes downstairs before you’re back in the kitchen with me, I’ll just say I sent you looking for something. A footstool. Because I’m short, and we all know I can’t reach the top shelves, and that’s where all the supplies we need are. Right?”

  Savanna laughed softly. “Right. Okay. I’ll try to be quick.”

  As
Sydney headed back to the kitchen, Savanna moved quietly from room to room. Caroline had one stunning piece in almost every room. In the library, Savanna studied the large Minkov for a long time. She pushed the rolling ladder to the center of the room and climbed it so she could view the painting head on. With the Laurant gone from the living room, she moved through to Caroline’s office at the far south end of the house. It felt wrong being in here, even though she and her sisters had had run of the house when they were little. A Rothman adorned the mantle over the fireplace, and two more hung on each of the adjacent walls. Caroline’s office was light and pretty, but very full, the result of seventy-odd years of adulting, Savanna supposed, along with helping to run the lucrative Carson businesses. It made sense that Caroline was liquidating some of her art collection. As regal as the three Rothmans were, the room would appear less cluttered with them gone.

  Savanna studied each one carefully. She recognized the large one over the mantel. The two smaller paintings weren’t familiar to her, but she didn’t know Julian Rothman’s work nearly as well as Minkov’s. She took photos of each one to research later.

  The house suddenly became very quiet. Savanna no longer heard the vacuum. She walked in stocking feet back toward the doorway; Caroline’s office was all the way at the opposite end of the house from the kitchen, where she was supposed to be. She listened for footsteps overhead, creaking floors, anything. Silence. Where was Lauren? Savanna’s heart raced as she stood perfectly still, frozen. What could she say if Lauren found her in here? That Caroline had sent her looking for something? That wouldn’t work. Lauren might mention it to her grandmother later.

  She wasn’t technically doing anything wrong. She was looking out for Caroline’s best interest. But she also didn’t know anything concrete. Not yet. She worked up her nerve and crept down the hallway. If she could just get to the library, she’d be in the clear. Anything looked better than being caught coming out of Caroline’s office.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs and pinned herself to the wall, panicking. Lauren would see her if she decided to go in any direction other than the kitchen.

  “Lauren?” Sydney’s voice rang out. “Hey, could you help me with something, if you’re down here?”

  “On my way,” Lauren called, descending the stairs on the left and exiting toward the kitchen.

  Savanna was flooded with relief. She tiptoed over to the front door, pulled it open, and then closed it, loudly. Now she proceeded the rest of the way down the hall normally, pulling a pack of gum from her pocket as she walked into the kitchen. “Got it. I knew I’d left it in the car. Want some?” She set the pack on the counter.

  Syd winked at Savanna as Lauren closed a drawer and handed her a peeler. “Ah, I thought I looked everywhere for that! Thank you,” Syd told her.

  “This looks really good,” Lauren said. There were four bowls on the counter, with different mixtures in each one. The punchbowl sat on the kitchen table, waiting.

  “We’ll finish up, and then we can have you and Caroline do a taste test.”

  “You two are so great to do this. It’s important to her that everything be perfect, and she hasn’t stopped talking about your mother’s punch. You have to let me reimburse you for all these supplies.” Lauren went to the little nook where Caroline kept a to-do list, calendar, coupons, and the like. She returned with a checkbook and pen, looking from Sydney to Savanna. “How much were the groceries? Did you go to Happy Family?”

  “Oh!” Sydney grabbed Savanna’s arm across the counter, jarring the knife in her hand as she was slicing strawberries.

  “Hey!” Savanna stared at her.

  “Sorry! But I just remembered, I checked out the wine while I was there.”

  Savanna made settle-down motions with her hands, her finger to her lips. “I don’t want to get her blood pressure up again, shh.”

  “Okay, right,” Sydney said much more quietly, looking from Lauren to Savanna. “Happy Family doesn’t sell any kind of claret that looks like the fancy bottle you described. Their selection is very small, all domestic, and some of it local. No cute, fat, round bottles with gold vines. Nothing imported.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Savanna said. “That’s basically what Amber said too. I just wasn’t sure whether to believe her.”

  Sydney said, “I even asked Mr. Frank—you know, the owner—if they ever get different types of wine in, like maybe an occasional holiday claret, odd-shaped bottle, any imports. He said absolutely not. They carry the same sixteen brands year-round; it never varies.”

  “That’s good to know,” Lauren said. “So we still don’t know where that bottle came from. And now I’m even more freaked out, thinking about someone sneaking around in here, planting a bottle of poisoned wine. You have to thank your father for us, again, for installing new locks. My dad wants to pay him for his time.”

  “He won’t take it. He wanted to do it. I think it was the only way to get her to keep her doors locked.” Savanna laughed.

  “Okay,” Sydney said, “the finishing touch.” She scooped the rainbow sherbet into two of the bowls and the vanilla ice cream into the other two, all of them fizzing from contact with the carbonation in the mixture. Savanna distributed the berries according to Charlotte’s instructions.

  Lauren produced a serving tray, holding it out for Sydney to place each four-ounce cup on it, all with just enough punch to get an idea of the flavor, four sets of four. “Ready?” She led the procession into the parlor and set the tray in front of Caroline. “For your consideration, Grandmother. The Shepherd sisters have been creating concoctions all morning from their mother’s recipes.”

  The women picked up the first round of sample cups.

  “Cheers, girls.” Caroline said, clinking with each of them.

  “Taste tests are the best.” Sydney grinned, taking the first sip.

  Savanna was still able to squeeze in a few hours of painting before having to clean up and head home. She had to change and go pick up Nolan for the Fall Fun Fest. Syd had left to relieve her assistant, Willow, at Fancy Tails the moment Caroline had decided on her favorite punch. The red Faygo pop and 7-Up with sherbet and kiwi had won, hands down, the only alteration being an addition of raspberries to the mix.

  Savanna needed to figure out what to do about the Minkov in Caroline’s dining room. It had been on her mind all day. And nothing else had happened this week; maybe the immediate threat had passed. She had no answers. But as pressing as that was, she couldn’t keep her thoughts on a possible solution.

  Throughout showering, drying her hair, applying makeup, and choosing what to wear, Aidan keep creeping into Savanna’s thoughts. Five days had passed since she’d seen him. It seemed like a very long time. He hadn’t even been in the after-school pick-up line in the past week; she’d spotted Mollie getting into a car with an older couple, likely her grandparents. She realized how little she knew about Aidan, other than he was from New York.

  Would she see him tonight? The event went from six to nine p.m., and it was kind of a “come and go as you please” thing, as far as she could tell. It was entirely possible that she’d not see him. He and Mollie might come later, or she might be tied up with Nolan or in the middle of a mini yoga session when he did show up.

  How could she miss someone she’d only known for three weeks?

  The thought bothered Savanna more than she cared to admit. She’d come home to heal, to rediscover the person she wanted to be. She’d lost herself in the relationship with Rob, and she was never going to let that happen again.

  But maybe things didn’t always have to work that way. Her parents were very distinctly their own people, with their own opinions and interests, and yet, they somehow seemed to complete each other when they were together. And as independent as Skylar was, what she had with Travis looked like it worked well.

  She and Aidan had the beginnings of a lovely friendship.
That thought alone warmed Savanna to her toes. It was enough.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Carson Ballroom was lit up inside and out. Housed in the town’s largest space, it was basically a huge banquet hall with gleaming oak floors and red brick interior walls. The adjoining building had once been a theatre for live shows. That half of the building had been in disrepair since the 1980s, sitting empty and unused. Skylar had mentioned the other day that the five-year lease was expiring soon on the entire building, wondering aloud whether it would ever be restored or renovated.

  The banquet hall was, by default, a catch-all venue for most of Carson’s events—weddings, wakes, proms, and the handful of town-spirited events like this one. Tonight, multicolored globe lights were strung across the ceiling to match the carnival-themed games and bounce houses.

  Savanna paid her three-dollar admission fee; Nolan was free. They were hardly in the door before he was tugging at her hand, looking up at her through white-blond bangs.

  “Auntie Vanna, come on!”

  She laughed, letting him lead her. She was so happy he’d begun saying her name, though she wished he’d latched onto any other part of it—Savvy, Savanna, Anna. But she could learn to be content being Vanna to Nolan.

  She should have guessed: first stop, bounce house. Nolan was experienced at this. He was already on the floor kicking his shoes off. She bent to help him, tying the laces together and stringing them through her purse handles so they wouldn’t be lost in the pile.

  He paused, looking back at her from the little mouse-hole opening he had to enter through. “Auntie Vanna, you come too!”

  “I’m too big.” She waved him in and went to stand near the mesh side where he could see her. “But I get to see how high you can jump!”

  She cringed as she watched him get jostled when a little girl bounced past him, but he fell onto his back giggling, loving it. The age cutoff was seven for this one, with older kids in the adjacent bounce house.