by Amber Foxx
“She’s gone, and they never got to make things up. I thought there could still be some healing, though, y’know? Between her and Reno.”
“I’m supposed to forgive him for her, be her proxy?”
“Um ... Yeah.” Jamie lowered himself to sit cross-legged facing the others, grimacing as his hip objected to the transition. “She’d be okay with that.”
Niall frowned. “You sound like you’ve been talking to her. I thought dead people were off-limits for you.”
They should have been. But Jamie wasn’t off-limits for dead people. Though the late artist hadn’t haunted him the way some of the deceased had, he’d felt a thread of emotion from some outside source since she’d died. Not grief, not anger, but love, sweeping like a searchlight, seeking for something lost.
“I didn’t talk to her. Violet mediated. Or some bird spirit.”
Only Alan met Jamie’s eyes. The other three looked down. Jamie guessed they thought he was wacked but were too kind to say so. He pushed through the awkwardness of the moment. “You could forgive her family, and Reno, and anybody who ever did anything wrong to her. Just, y’know, take a moment of silence and ...”
Jamie closed his eyes and tried to draw in a feeling of forgiveness, but all he felt was embarrassment and the unmistakable sense of being stared at, until the enormous blue parrot flew across his inner vision, stately and slow. His mind fell suddenly silent. Air fanned by her wings cooled his skin.
Then his anxiety crept back in. How much time had passed? Was Act Two over? His phone vibrated in his pocket. He needed to go backstage and see if Act Three was still on.
*****
“We’d better talk inside.” Zak’s voice was quiet but harsh.
He pushed the door of Misty’s apartment shut behind Mae and took a gunslinger stance, feet planted wide, hands on his hips. One knee of his jeans was faintly dusty. “What are you doing? Still trying to play psychic spy with my stuff?”
“I was looking for you. And the painting that went missing.”
“You think I took it?” Bad liar. He forgot to ask questions or be surprised.
“Yeah, I do. I don’t know where you put it, but you need to give it back or you’ll get caught.”
“You think I’m hiding it? You want to check my car? My pockets?” He turned and offered his ass, slapped his back pockets, and then faced her again. “Think it’s under Misty’s bed?”
He strode into the bedroom, flung the bedspread aside and angled the bedframe up, revealing a couple of pizza cartons—almost large enough but nowhere near clean enough to hold the stolen art—a few socks, and a pair of pink dumbbells.
“Satisfied?” He set the bed back down with a thump. She glimpsed small cuts and scrapes on the heels of his hands as he let go. “How about her closet?” He yanked the door open. The closet was empty except for an ancient vacuum cleaner and some scarves and belts dangling from hangers. Zak marched back into the living room. “Let’s do the car now. Or do you need to look behind the fridge?”
“No. You can stop the drama. I already know it’s not here. You came from somewhere else—from wherever you hid it.”
Zak flopped onto the fake leather couch and let out a loud breath. He crossed and uncrossed his ankles, folded and unfolded his arms, then refolded them. “You really think I walked through T or C in broad daylight carrying a stolen piece of art in a garbage bag full of litter? And then managed to hide it? You’re out of your mind. Anyway, you can ask Ezra where I’ve been. Ask Refugio and Misty. I haven’t been out of their sight all day until now except to take a shit.” He lifted his chin. “Go on. See it through. Ask them.”
Mae felt suddenly small and uneasy. Would Zak tell her to ask for his alibi if he didn’t have one? Maybe. If she didn’t ask, she might be failing to call his bluff. She didn’t have her phone to call Misty, though. With Jamie driving, she’d left her purse at home and brought nothing but her house key. “Are they still up at the civic center?”
“Yes. But you can ask them later. You need to be with Baldy now. And I need to head back to Mescalero.”
“You came running here that fast so you could go home?”
“Why not? Maybe Mel’s in the mood. It could be a hot pussy emergency.”
“For you? I doubt it. I think you came for your car to pick up the painting.”
“Damn. I need to straighten you out.” Zak took his phone out and texted, frowned at the screen, sent another message, and put the phone away. “I don’t want to do this, but I can’t have you running loose thinking I’m a criminal.” He rose and held the door open for Mae to go out ahead of him, then got Ezra’s suitcase out of his car and put it into Misty’s apartment. Then he unlocked the passenger door of the Eagle. “Get in.”
After what he’d said, did he really think she would obey? “No. I need to get back to Jamie.”
“So get your ass in. He wants me to drop you off.”
Zak held his phone up and showed her Jamie’s scrambled message: Yes tell erh nda give ehr a ride.
It made her brain feel spun-around. Had she been wrong about Zak? Or had Jamie gotten him to confess?
The moment she was in with her seatbelt fastened, he aimed the Eagle onto Austin Street.
She asked, “You gonna explain what’s going on?”
“I thought Miss Mary-Mae the psychic detective had this all figured out. You tell me.”
“Jamie wanted you to tell me.”
Zak turned from Austin onto Foch, toward Florencia’s house. “Nope. You go first.”
Either he still didn’t trust her or he was playing games.
Mae said, “I think Reno was forging his teacher’s work. Selling it at the Chavez-Mirabal Gallery. Letitia was helping them get buyers, and Shelli stole a couple of parrots to make it look like the family had Violet. Like they’d made up and had approval for everything.”
“And what did I do in all this?” He paused at the intersection with Broadway, waiting for a few cars to pass.
“Delivered paintings.”
“But you don’t know why.”
“Because they needed a middleman and you wanted money. Or Will blackmailed you. Or because you’re hot for Letitia.”
“Christ. You are so wrong. None of the above.” Zak proceeded across Broadway and up the hill toward Main. “I didn’t even know what was going on until Reno used my shed.”
“I don’t believe you. You knew Letitia. I saw you with her twice before that.”
“I knew her, but not what she was doing. I’d met her in December.” He braked for a chihuahua trotting across the street, no owner in sight. “Mel and I were in T or C and I was heading to the lake for a run when I saw Reno’s car with the hood up on that hill before the park. I stopped to help and he had seven or eight art boxes in the back.” The little dog reached the sidewalk and Zak drove on. “He said he couldn’t afford the insurance to ship them so he was meeting a courier from a Santa Fe gallery.”
“In Elephant Butte? Why not at his place? And what gallery would send a courier to get Reno’s work?”
“Hindsight is perfect. I didn’t think about it at the time. He asked me to take the paintings to the courier while he waited for a tow truck, so I met Letitia in a parking lot near a trail outside the park. I asked why they were meeting there and she said she was taking pictures.”
“And you believed that?”
“Why not? It was a great view. Was it supposed to occur to me that he was forging?”
They paused at the intersection with Main. Down the block to the right, near Passion Pie, was one of T or C’s two post offices. Both were busy, friendly places. The UPS place on Broadway was equally conspicuous. Reno must have gotten paranoid and been covering his tracks so people wouldn’t notice how much he was shipping. “So I did figure out the truth. He was forging his teacher’s work.”
“Yeah, but I’m not psychic. I had no clue.”
“Seven paintings and a fishy story? You had to wonder about something.”
<
br /> “Letitia made it sound normal. And hell, she distracted me. Wanted to take my picture.”
“Did you let her?”
Zak shot Mae a narrow-eyed glance and then drove across Main, following the steep part of Foch toward Florencia’s back entrance. “What if I did? What’s wrong with that? I won’t be on a calendar. And it was a compliment. You know the last time Melody told me I looked good? The first time I put on my army uniform.”
And the last time you told her she looked good? Mae steered her thoughts away from the distraction. “You say you didn’t know what Reno was doing, but you hid things for him.”
“Reno hid them. He knew the combination for the shed. He’d finished some paintings right before he came to Mescalero and he didn’t know where else to put them. The paint wasn’t dry so he didn’t want to pack them up, and he couldn’t leave them lying in the Rabbit. Orville would notice. And Letitia didn’t want to get them until after dark.”
“Sounds like he trusted you to go along with it.”
“No. He thought I’d be too busy to go in the toolshed. But I’m the unofficial lend-a-tool guy for the vendors along the road, if they need something they didn’t bring with them.” Zak turned in at the street behind Florencia’s house and cut off the engine, parking a good distance from the house. “So of course I went in, and I saw what he’d done.”
“You know enough about art to realize he was forging his teacher’s work?”
“I know Reno’s art, and this wasn’t his style. And he’d signed her name. He told me later that he didn’t ever want to do that again. That was why he had to finish them. Anyway, I changed the combination to keep the paintings locked up. I wasn’t sure if they were stolen or forged, but I knew something wasn’t right. Once I got the story out of Reno, I tried to get everyone together to wrap it up. To end it before they got caught.”
“Throwing that party made it look like you were part of the scam.”
“I had to keep Mel out. Our house was the most private place we could meet except for one of their motel rooms, and David and Reno didn’t want to go that far. They needed to get back to their families’ booths.”
“That doesn’t explain why you brought the paintings to Letitia the next day.”
“Will’s accident. He called me and ...” Zak exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming the steering wheel. “He owed Montana money. Kathy was only paying him and Letitia five percent. He couldn’t ride and he needed every penny.”
“You did it for Will? I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t.” Zak took his phone out and rubbed the edge of it. “But I owed him.”
For the accident—not telling him Ezra’s dream. “Did you know Letitia was his other woman?”
“Not until I was done with her.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Wish I had.”
“Done with her? You did have an affair?”
“Christ, no. I was tempted—and don’t give me that righteous look. If you can ever make a marriage last ten years, you’ll know the feeling. Now go inside and pretend you went home to get your crystals.”
“Is that where Jamie said I went?”
“Yep.”
“You could have told me sooner. I don’t have them.”
He smirked. “Then it looks like Miss Mary-Mae has to tell a lie.”
Mae got out and he drove off. She went into the studio and took a moment to process what had happened, staring at the empty easel. No wonder Zak hadn’t trusted her. The Sight gave her only fragments of any story and she’d kept looking for more. Had she tried too hard? Helping Misty and Melody learn their men’s secrets had felt important, though. Felt right. More right than wrong, anyway.
No doubt keeping the secret and protecting Reno had felt more right than wrong to Zak.
He had managed to dodge the question she’d gone after him to ask. Was the painting somewhere safe as part of Jamie’s ceremony, or had Zak taken it to get rid of a forgery?
She walked through to the living room, where Jamie was pouring out a passionate speech. Mae sat beside him. He took her hand without breaking his flow and scooted close to sit hip to hip. He was saying, “You don’t think straight when you’re in that dark place, y’know? He lost love twice.”
Daphne cut in. “We get it. You’ve made your point about ten times.” She looked at Mae. “Did you get your crystals? Are we ready to do this?”
Jamie squeezed Mae’s hand twice. A signal. She said, “Sorry I took so long. I ran into some people and got held up. I’m ready if you are.”
A soft breeze rose as Jamie led them out the back door. The sun had gone down, leaving the sky a deep blue. He brought them to the carport, where he used a key on Niall’s keyring to unlock the Mustang.
Inside it, the painting faced the steering wheel. From where she stood, Mae could only see the edge of the canvas. A cheap dreamcatcher with blue plastic beads and a hyacinth macaw feather hung from the rearview mirror. Juniper twigs formed a half circle on the seat in front of the painting. Tobacco was sprinkled along the dashboard. A ceremonial space. A symbolic journey.
After returning the keys to Niall with silent formality, Jamie opened the driver’s door. “Had to do it here, y’know? Bet she loved this car. Put some of her soul into it.”
“She did.” Niall squeezed his hand around the keys then slid them into his pocket. “Violet used to ride shotgun.”
Jamie gnawed on his thumb knuckle, watching as Niall took the canvas out, lifting it by its edges so it faced him. He was strangely quiet for a moment before showing it to the others. Mae sucked in her breath. Only the textured white background was complete. A few stalks of the blue corn had been filled in, none of the red corn, and the parrot was no more than a flat pink bird shape with one eye.
“Yes,” Alan said. “That’s more what I expected.”
Daphne asked, “Are you going to tell us what you did with the other one?”
“Can’t,” Jamie replied. “It was part of the healing.” He walked off to Violet’s grave and sat in the dirt to sift through the remains of his smudging fire.
Mae looked around at the group. No one else appeared as surprised as she was. “I think I missed something.”
Marty gave her a side-hug. “I can catch you up.”
“Not yet.” Niall said. “That can wait. I’m sure Jamie thinks this is the real one, and it should be, but I’m still going to get it authenticated. Officially with the professionals and unofficially with Mae. Have her see if the story checks out—before she hears it.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alone in the studio, Mae approached the unfinished painting now resting on the easel. She guessed what had happened, though not all the details. Jamie had brought the painting with him from Santa Fe, and his obsessive parking and repacking had been concern for protecting and hiding it. He and Zak had arranged the swap, and Zak had made a mad dash to get the forgery, one last effort to save Reno.
There was a slim chance the young artist had lied to them about which painting was which and gotten them to exchange Florencia’s final work for his unfinished fake, knowing that Niall and Daphne had expected less progress. If he’d painted it in the studio, its DNA might confuse the authenticators.
Mae was confident she could tell who’d painted it, though. If she picked up Reno’s energy, it should mean he’d been the last one to work on the pink parrot. The peaceful dead left no traces, not lingering as ghosts. For all Jamie’s doubts that he had helped Florencia, Mae believed the artist had died in peace and moved on. She’d had his music and time to prepare.
Though Mae could use the Sight without crystals, without them her skill was less reliable, especially under stress. She sought an image to help her focus. Lightly touching the top of the canvas, she closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and imagined the swimming part of the triathlon. The hardest segment of the race, it had called for commitment of her whole mind and body. No distractions, just stroke, stroke, breathe. The sound of the water. The sensatio
n of pulling herself through it. She set her intention. Did Reno forge this painting?
As she dropped into the imagery, the water changed to a tunnel, and she saw fragments of scenes flashing through it. Reno walking down Foch with a large flat box across both arms, a bulging paper bag hanging from his arm by its handles. A handle tore, pieces of black cloth tumbled loose, and he cursed as the wind carried them off. Back to the tunnel. Reno in his place on Austin Street, packing his clothes and crying. Sounds from another room, voices, a clatter like a drawer full of cutlery being dumped out. The tunnel took her once more and then her vision settled.
Reno sat on a cot inside a very small trailer, a single room, staring at the unfinished painting, which leaned against a dresser across from him. He was thinner, as if he’d hardly eaten since she last saw him.
A door slammed and Will came in, whistling. One arm was in a sling and though he limped, he had a spring in his uneven steps. He slowed when he saw Reno. “That’s morbid, dude. I didn’t think I believed in ghost sickness, but you’ve got it. Or you will. Hanging out with a dead person’s stuff.” He opened the top drawer of the dresser, scooped out a stack of folded boxer briefs with his good arm, and held them against his shoulder. “Good thing I’m moving out.”
“I didn’t mean to drive you out.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You gave me an excuse. She’d’ve let me move into the big house years ago if I’d quit smoking and dumped Montana.” He set his clothes on the cot and sat beside Reno. “Listen. You can stay here as long as you like. Tish doesn’t mind. But that painting has to go.”
“I know.”
“Jamie’s coming for it tonight.”
Reno hugged himself and looked away.
Will asked, “Are you ever gonna tell us why you did this? If you don’t mind my saying so, it was pretty fucked up.”
No response.
“Did you just need to pull it off? Like some ego trip?”
“No.” The first word exploded. “She wanted to finish it and she knew she couldn’t. It broke her heart. I almost did it for her, but I couldn’t.” Reno leaned his head in hands. “I’d dishonored her enough.”
