Picture Me and You: A Devil's Kettle Romance, #1

by Sey, Susan

  “I could sell the art.”

  The silence that dropped over the room was as thick as Gerte’s coffee and Addy tried not to fidget under the weight of three startled stares. She waved weakly at the canvases that all but pulsed with power and energy between windows. The brutal beauty of Lake Superior radiated from those paintings just as strongly as it did from the lake itself. Addison had her arguments with Diego the man, and held grudges she would probably never let go of, but Diego the artist? Nobody could argue with the man’s talent. It was incandescent.

  “What?” This from Bianca, faintly.

  “Diego’s art,” Addy said again, more firmly this time. “We could sell it.”

  Disbelief started to surface through the shock on her mother-in-law’s face, and Addy’s stomach rolled. She’d made a career out of being Diego’s dedicatedly grieving widow, and here she was offering to sell all she had left of him? But drastic times and all that.

  “Not the whole collection,” she said quickly. “We wouldn’t touch anything in the gallery in town, of course. But there’s the triptych in this room, the large panel upstairs, the smaller works in the bedrooms. I haven’t looked at the inventory in storage in ages but surely we could come up with a few pieces we’re willing to part with. And if we went to auction with them—”

  “No.” Bianca cut her off. “Absolutely not. I won’t allow you to even consider such a thing.” She leaned forward, took Addy’s hands in hers and gave her a stern look. “This?” She raked her dark gaze across the paintings. “This is all we have left of Diego. All you have left of your husband, Addison. It’s yours, as he was yours.” Bianca touched the diamond ring still sparkling on Addy’s finger, a smile ghosting over her lips. “As you were his. And ours. Your heart is so generous, dear. You’ve been a blessing to us since the moment Diego brought you home. Fate’s been unkind to you but I never will be. You’re my child as much as he was, and I won’t allow you to lose anything more. Not on my behalf.”

  “Oh,” Addy said, her throat going hot and tight with emotion. “Oh, Bianca. But—”

  There was a sudden yelp from the back yard. A squawk? Certainly a noise of distress. And it was accompanied by a strange yodeling call that Addy instinctively associated with…

  Turkeys?

  “Holy crap!” Matty shouted from outside, his voice thin and high with panic. “Addy! Help!”

  Addy ran.

  She raced through the rainbow splattered foyer, jerked open the door and hit the back veranda. Matty was down in the yard, knee-deep in the shrubbery, his back pressed to the porch spindles while a dozen or more wild turkeys milled with vague menace between him and the little Acura that had come to pick him up. His buddy — Josh, she thought — had evidently decided that discretion was the better part of valor and had taken refuge in the car.

  “What on earth?” she said, staring at the yard full of birds.

  Jax hit the porch behind her, his boots skidding for purchase on the wood. He grabbed the veranda railing beside her and said, “What the hell?”

  “Beats me,” Matty said grimly, and renewed his grip on the lacrosse stick he held in front of his body like a sword. “They busted out of the woods from over there.” He jerked his chin at the stand of pines at the far edge of the meadow. “At first it looked like they were pissed at the car. That one is still giving the headlights the hairy eyeball.”

  Addy looked, and sure enough one turkey still was standing eye to eye with the Acura’s driver’s-side headlight, its feathers fluffed out, its turkey chin thrust pugnaciously forward.

  “The rest of them are more interested in—” Matty swallowed audibly. “—me.”

  Bianca made it to the porch. “Good heavens. Are those wild turkeys?”

  “Looks like it,” Addy said.

  Jax frowned. “We don’t have wild turkeys this far north.”

  “Tell it to the turkeys,” Addy said.

  Georgie finally drifted onto the veranda. Her laugh chimed out like silvery bells. “Those are some big birds,” she observed. “What did you do to them, Matty?”

  “Nothing,” Matty snapped.

  “Clearly you did something,” she said. “Those guys are pissed.” She tipped her head and considered them. “And big. Those are some big, angry birds. Seriously, Matty, what did you do?”

  “Nothing.” He shot her a black look then refocused on the turkeys. “This is not my fault.”

  “Yeah,” Georgie murmured. “Sure.”

  He hissed with fury — actually hissed — and the flock surged forward a few feinting steps. He fell silent, his attention back on the turkeys, his knuckles very white on the grip of his lacrosse stick.

  “Don’t move,” Jax said, his voice low and calm. “Just stay still, Matty.”

  It was good advice. Definitely the prudent course of action. Jax’s specialty. But something hot and foreign filled Addy, something that felt disturbingly like rage. Because Matty was right. This wasn’t his fault. Nothing was his fault, but life just kept slapping the kid into the ropes. First there were Bianca’s unfounded expectations, then bankruptcy, then a potential move to Duluth, and now feral turkeys? Enough was enough.

  “Screw that,” she muttered and marched down the steps.

  “Addy, what are you—” Jax began but she ignored him.

  “Go on,” she shouted, slapping her hands at the turkeys. “Get out of here. Shoo.”

  “Oh boy,” Jax said. Because the turkeys didn’t shoo. They simply swiveled their heads on undulating necks and fixed her with a flat-eyed stare. “Okay, now you stay still, too, Addy.”

  She did. Not because Jax had told her to, but because she was simply frozen in place. The turkeys angled their bodies toward her as one and her mouth went dry. She wasn’t afraid, she assured herself. Not precisely. It was just kind of eerie, the way they did that. No single turkey emerged as the leader. No single turkey took the first step. It was as if they were operating with a pod-brain or something, and moved in perfect lock-step. All except that one still giving Josh’s car the stink eye.

  Addy’s heart kicked and she remembered suddenly why people didn’t stand up to bullies. Why she didn’t stand up to bullies. It had a lot to do with the very real chance that instead of seeing justice served, you’d just get your butt handed to you. For pity’s sake, hadn’t middle school — any of the six she’d attended — taught her anything?

  She scrambled back up the porch steps and Jax slid her a sideways look.

  “Shoo? Really?”

  She shrugged. “I had to do something.”

  “Gosh, why didn’t I think of that?” Matty rolled his eyes. “Get my air rifle, Jax.”

  “Absolutely not.” Jax tucked his fingers into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, considering the turkeys. “Shooting turkeys — even with a pellet gun — is illegal outside of the proper season. Plus, you’re unlicensed.”

  “Then you do it!”

  “I try not to shoot things just because they scare me.”

  “But it’s the American way,” Matty snarled, and she heard Diego. Saw him in the flat mouth, the gorgeous bones, the angry eyes. Recognized that sneer, the way he aimed it right at the object of his fury. Her stomach pitched. Oh, mercy, she was losing him. Matty. She was losing the boy she loved to the ghost of the man she didn’t and her heart cracked under the weight of it.

  “Jax has to set a good example when it comes to firearms,” Georgie said solemnly. “As an officer of the law.”

  “He’s a firefighter,” Matty pointed out.

  “Fire chief,” Jax said absently, still watching the turkeys.

  Bianca simply blinked at her serene meadow, overrun with belligerent poultry.

  “Well, we have to do something.” A flush crawled up Matty’s neck even as he glared at the turkeys. “Any other bright ideas?”

  “You know what?” Addy said. “I have one.”

  “It better not involve the air rifle,” Jax said as Addy stalked away from the veranda rai
ling and disappeared through the open back door.

  “It doesn’t.” She crossed the foyer and helped herself to the coat closet. Weapon selected, she marched out onto the porch again.

  Jax stared at her then sighed. “Seriously, Addison?”

  She ignored him.

  “Hey, turkeys!” She came down the steps, this time with one hand concealed behind her back. “Hey!” The flock did that bizarre head-swivel-as-one thing again, consulted their communal brain and oozed toward her. “That’s right, come on over. I’ve got a treat for you. You’ll like it, promise.”

  She eased toward Matty until he was safely behind her back, and let the turkeys advance on her. Weird rubbery wattles covered their beaks and hung down from their chins. Weak chins, she thought. These were weak-chinned, mean-spirited, child-hating bullies. It was a bolstering thought. And when a girl found herself within arm’s length of a dozen or so three-foot-tall wild animals with questionable intentions, a little bolstering never went amiss.

  “Um, Addy?” Georgie didn’t sound at all concerned, merely amused. “What are you doing?”

  “Letting them get closer,” she said. “Just a little closer.”

  “Good heavens.” Bianca sounded appalled. “Why?”

  “So I can give them something to remember me by.”

  “Oh hell.” Jax pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Hey, Addy?” Matty said from behind her.

  She didn’t take her eyes off the turkeys. “What?”

  “That’s not the pellet gun.”

  “No.”

  “That’s Mom’s golf umbrella.”

  “Yep.” Her enormous purple golf umbrella. Addy adjusted her grip. Her slippery, shaky grip. “Come on, you stupid turkeys. Another foot...”

  “You should have gotten the gun.”

  She shot him a narrow look over her shoulder. “We are not shooting—”

  Then Jax shouted, “Addy!”

  She spun to find the turkeys surging forward with unsettling speed and grace. On a spurt of panicked adrenaline, she whipped the umbrella out from behind her back and hit the spring-loaded release button. The umbrella snapped open to its full six-foot diameter with the majestic crack of unfurling sails. Addy unleashed a war cry full of righteous fury and charged.

  She sprinted across the gravel drive behind her make-shift shield. She caught a brief glimpse of Matty’s friend behind the windshield of his car, eyes huge, mouth open. She hit the carriage house at the far side of the circle and spun, heart thudding, to survey the field of battle. Half the turkeys had gone wattle over drumsticks, and were rolling around the yard like rogue bowling balls, taking out their blinking companions with satisfying efficiency. The few lucky enough to have remained upright began hefting themselves into the air on vast, ungainly wings. Even sheltered by the umbrella, Addy’s curls danced madly on the chaotic breeze those wings created.

  She wrestled with the umbrella for a few seconds, then finally collapsed it in time to see the birds who’d gone claws-up after her bright purple assault come back to their feet like an army of those sand-bottomed punching bag clowns. They flung themselves into the air and hurtled toward their colleagues in the boughs of the giant pines.

  She dredged up a cocky grin for Matty, still standing in the shrubs, his lacrosse stick hanging loosely in his slack hands. She shot her umbrella into an imaginary holster. “Looks like there’s a new sheriff in town.”

  He didn’t say a word. He just bent, snatched up his bag and stalked toward the Acura.

  “Some officer of the law you are.” Georgie gave Jax a poke in the arm. “You should be ashamed of yourself, letting Addy do your job for you.”

  He shrugged. “She does everybody’s job for them. Why not mine?”

  But his eyes stayed pinned to Addy, and there was something speculative and assessing in that steady gaze that had her stomach lifting inside her. She pressed a hand to it and swallowed.

  Matty jerked the passenger door open and tossed his bag into the back. He folded his endless legs into the car and slammed the door. Addy sighed and crossed to the Acura on shaky knees. She tapped on the driver’s side window with her umbrella. It slid down.

  “Hey, Mrs. Davis,” Josh said. He was a good-looking kid — sandy haired, square-jawed, with an aura of laid-back surfer-cool that probably had the girls lining up for days. He was one of the Martin kids, she realized now. He played for the high school lacrosse team. Must be doing assistant coach duty for the middle schoolers or something. “That was—” A lazy grin spread across his face. “That was awesome.”

  “No, that was offense, Josh. We play offense up here.” She paused meaningfully. “Especially when somebody younger and smaller is taking it on the chin. No solider left behind, right?”

  He dropped his gaze in chagrin. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Matty stared out the windshield as if she were invisible, mouth tight, eyes blank. Addy sighed and slid the umbrella to him through Josh’s open window.

  “In case you have trouble after practice.”

  He tossed it into the back without a word. She stepped away and Josh pulled off, but she followed the car with her eyes until it disappeared into the pines. Then she turned to face her family on the porch. Georgie was leaning up against one of the pillars like she was contemplating another nap. Bianca stood beside her, frowning at the trees to which the turkeys had retreated. Jax, however, was still looking at her.

  He spoke to his mother. “You need to get Willa Zinc up here.”

  “Willa.” Georgie said the name like it smelled bad. “Do we have to?”

  “Unless you want to go mano a mano with the turkeys whenever you need to visit the garage,” Jax said.

  “Carriage house,” Bianca murmured, gazing thoughtfully into the trees.

  Georgie just shrugged and sat down on the railing. Addy walked slowly to the porch and settled herself on the railing beside Georgie. She hooked a companionable elbow through Georgie’s, just in case she fell asleep for real and took a header into the shrubs. Georgie sighed and snuggled into Addy’s shoulder. “Don’t make us, Addy,” she murmured. “We don’t want Willa up here.”

  “We don’t like Willa Zinc?” Addy asked. “Why not? She’s very good at what she does. Plus she’s Peter’s sister. She could be your sister-in-law one day.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Georgie shuddered. “I can’t believe I’m dating a man whose sister traps rats for a living.”

  “I like Willa,” Jax said easily. “She does way more than rats, too. Remember last spring when that bear wandered into the liquor store?”

  Addy laughed. “I’m still sad I missed that. Did it really climb the tower of beer cases?”

  “Yep. Camped right out on top of the Leinie’s Summer Shandy,” Jax said. “Willa didn’t even blink.”

  “Why would she? She probably recognized it as one of her own.” Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Lord, that girl smells.”

  “She does not.” Addy jostled Georgie gently. “Willa smells just fine.”

  “Maybe now. But in high school? Yikes.”

  Jax shook his head. “Her mom took off when she was, what, twelve? And you know her dad was a hopeless drunk. That girl raised herself.”

  “So did Peter.” Georgie shrugged elegantly. “But Willa smelled like it. He didn’t.”

  “Georgie,” Addy said.

  “Well she did,” Georgie said serenely. “Happily for me, Peter has the very good taste not to be particularly close to his family. I doubt he’ll insist on my inviting Willa the Skunk Girl to Sunday dinner or anything.”

  “You’ll have to invite her to the wedding, though,” Jax pointed out. “Which will be way worse than inviting her up here to chase off the turkeys.”

  “I’ll burn that bridge when I get a ring on my finger.” Georgie yawned, as if a proposal were a foregone conclusion. “And when I see how many carats of rising-above Peter springs for.”

  Jax gave up on Georgie and turned to Bianca. “Seriously
, Mom. Call Willa.”

  Bianca’s lip curled, exactly as her daughter’s had.

  Addy sighed. “I’ll do it,” she said.

  Bianca smiled. “Thank you, dear.”

  Chapter 6

  ADDY PUT MORE hours into her Save The Davises campaign over the weekend than she would ever publicly admit to. But she was onto something. By mid-morning on Monday, she really thought she was onto something.

  She pushed off her desk and went zinging across the teeny faux-wood-paneled office on her wheeled chair. She grabbed a few sheets off the printer and inspected them. Smiled. She needed a closer look — an in-person walk through — to see if her gut said the same as her spreadsheets, but maybe, just maybe this could work.

  And if it did — when it did — Bianca could kiss UMD goodbye. Better yet, Matty could graduate from the same school district he’d started kindergarten in. But best of all? By saving the Davises, Addy was going to save the whole darn town.

  Because there was no denying it — the Davises were Devil’s Kettle. They owned a chunk of nearly every business in town, of course, but it went deeper than that. That rich strain of artistic ability in the Davis DNA — Diego being the most recent example — had kept Devil’s Kettle awash in tourist dollars while other equally pretty towns up and down the North Shore died off with alarming speed. It was a quirky little ecosystem but not hard to grasp: the town’s continued existence depended almost completely on both the Davis money and the Davis talent.

  Keeping the talent at home was no problem, of course. Addy was the sole heir to Diego’s entire body of work, and while she’d lent out carefully chosen pieces to top-flight museums from time to time, she’d kept the majority of his oeuvre — including his masterwork — right here in Devil’s Kettle.

  The money was trickier.

  The Davises needed a dependable cash flow if they were going to maintain their local investments, the more immediate the better. Unfortunately, their most obvious path to ready cash would be selling the art. Some of it, at least. Without the Diego Davis collection, however, the tourist traffic would unquestionably wither, and the town along with it. Which left Addy darn few options.