Watercolor Hearts

by Sutton Shields

  When the song ended, Blake and I were right up against one another, our faces barely inches apart.

  “That’s one way to lure,” said Ivy. “Keep it PG-13, you two, yeah?”

  As a reflex, I took a step back, but Blake pulled me forward, pressing his forehead against mine. I loved when he did that. “For now, we will keep it vanilla. Later tonight, all bets are off,” he said, and I wanted him right then and there.

  “Okay, time to let go, you guys,” said Ivy. There may have been a hint of dismay in having to be our keeper. But, we were on the job, and that must come first. “Our lure needs to spread her estrogen.”

  “Excuse me.” Standing behind Blake was Colt Krane. “May I cut in?”

  Blake stared at me without answering. I could almost see the eyes in the back of Blake’s head burning a hole through Colt. Before the moment reached an awkward phase, Blake moved aside. “Be my guest. Charlotte’s a wonderful dancer.” There may have been a little double meaning there for my benefit.

  Slipping an arm around my waist, Colt replied coolly, “I remember. Had the pleasure of dancing with her on Halloween.”

  Blake smiled sarcastically at Colt. “Right…where you danced.”

  Yep, definitely double meaning. Colt’s head jerked curiously. He knew he was missing something, poor guy. Blake bowed his head at me and moved off the dance floor, melting into the crowd.

  “You and Blake a thing now?” asked Colt as we started dancing.

  “Say it’s more of a flirtation. Be aloof,” Ivy instructed.

  Shrugging one shoulder, I said, “I would say it’s an active flirtation.”

  Colt’s expression and body relaxed. “So, you’re unattached.”

  “Be clever. Never commit, yet say enough to keep them hooked,” Ivy instructed.

  “When am I ever attached?” I quipped.

  “Good,” said Ivy.

  Colt brightened up. “I’m glad to hear it. You think we should consider making our encounters more frequent, say outside of a back-patting party for the elite?”

  I heard a very deep grumble in my earpiece, undoubtedly from Blake.

  “I’m surprised we haven’t ditched the back-patters sooner.” It wasn’t an outright ‘yes’, but if the sparkle in Colt’s eyes was any indication, my response sufficed.

  We danced and chatted awhile longer until Ivy told me to mingle and spread my aloofness. Thus, under the guise of being overheated and in desperate need of a drink, Colt escorted me from the dance floor. Servers with full trays were few—no doubt a side effect of it being New Year’s Eve—but Colt managed to grab a couple glasses of champagne.

  “Charlotte, here ya go,” called Colt, holding the glasses high above his head as he made his way back to me. He handed me the glass, which I eagerly took. “Have to settle for the bubbly. No beers in sight tonight.”

  “Aw, that’s okay,” I said. “Champagne and New Year’s Eve go hand-in-hand.”

  Ivy’s voice suddenly drew my attention from Colt. “Maggie, behind you is Bernard Blancheier, financier, collector of Dywieswan paintings, and an all-around dirty old bastard. He’s a prime target for me—loves to have the most intriguing woman in the room on his arm and show her off to his friends, effectively doing the lure work for you. His friends will think you’re easy by association.”

  The idea of someone taking the pressure off having to walk around as bait all night was more than appealing. Of course, I certainly didn’t fancy being considered easy.

  Even though I missed whatever had Colt chuckling, I knew I needed to give him something, particularly when his expression turned expectant. So, I laughed, pacifying Colt, which afforded me the opportunity to ‘lose’ my balance and ‘accidentally’ bump into Bernard Blancheier.

  “Oops! I’m so sorry…oh! Can it be, Mr. Bernard Blancheier? Why, I cannot believe my good fortune! So good to see you again!” I said. An older man, tall and lanky, with a full head of bright white hair turned to face me. “I certainly wish I’d had the chance to see your Dywieswan collection, but my schedule has been absolutely manic.”

  Anyone could see the wheels turning within Bernard Blancheier’s mind. “Charlotte? Charlotte Canteberry? The appraiser extraordinaire?” he said, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his substantial nose.

  “That’s me,” I said pleasantly.

  He flashed a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. His dentist must’ve raked in the dough with this guy’s fangs. Bernard Blancheier moved aside, revealing a sizeable group of his cronies. “Look who we have with us, fellas. Charlotte Canteberry.”

  “You’re the appraiser we’ve heard so much about,” said a short man who looked like what I imagined a human shark would look like—dead eyes, sharp teeth, shiny skin. I learned via Ivy that this shark-like man was a corporate lawyer named Patrick Stonebrough. Well, it fit.

  “Nice to meet you, gentlemen,” I said playfully. Not wanting to leave Colt out, I invited him into the circle. “And you all must know Colt Krane.”

  Colt stepped forward anxiously. If he was serious about leaving the Huntslee Museum and escaping Blair’s poisonous thumb to open a place of his own, these were the men to know.

  “Ah, indeed,” said Bernard, sizing up Colt. “You’re the Huntslee Museum night guard, are you not?”

  The smile on Colt’s face faded in an instant. “Curator.”

  “Oh, well…close enough,” Bernard said to chuckles from his cohorts.

  I shot Colt a quick, apologetic glance, which he seemed to appreciate.

  Bernard whipped out his phone and swiped through his pictures. “Now, Charlotte, I’ve had my eye on an antique desk in an upcoming estate sale…”

  And so it began. Not only did Bernard and his friends keep me occupied with appraising via pictures on their phones—impractical way to appraise, by the way, for there was no substitute for a hands-on inspection—but many others, both men and women, sought my knowledge. It appeared folks were lured by my mental filing cabinet more than my body, which was a relief for me. This unexpected turn of events shocked Ivy and eased Blake’s worry—and jealousy, though he’d never admit it.

  Eventually, Colt kissed my cheek and excused himself. Blair had summoned Colt on his phone, and I knew that could only mean one thing…

  “It’s time we press GO,” said Ivy. “Get in place.”

  “Same number of guards in the front and back,” Greg confirmed.

  “Got visual on the front,” Ty retorted grumpily.

  “Ditto on the back,” Pike supplied.

  “Guys, what the hell is Blair doing?” asked Ivy, a slight tremor of terror in her voice.

  Blair and Colt took to the stage. It was too early for the diamond’s presentation and would be disastrous for our plan if she decided to change the time on a whim.

  “She couldn’t be bringing the diamond in this soon,” said Greg. “No movement in the room.”

  “If she’s introducing the diamond now, we’re screwed,” said Ty.

  Blake’s forceful, yet calming voice came next. “Relax. If we have to adjust, we adjust. Right?”

  “Hear you,” said Ivy, and by her tone, I knew there was something planned between the two of them that was unknown to me and possibly the others.

  Taking a microphone, Blair addressed the crowd. “Esteemed guests. As you enjoy the remainder of this year and look forward to all the delights the New Year holds, my family and I have something very special to share with you. Don’t worry, don’t worry, we won’t let you miss those New Year’s kisses with your significant others.” Hurl. “However, before we get to our sparkly little surprise, my partner in gallery crime, Colt Krane, and I have put together a little teaser film to wet your whistle.”

  Blair and Colt separated, each taking a different side of the stage. A giant movie screen slowly lowered between them, blocking the band from sight.

  “Thank God,” said Ivy, relieved. “It’s only Blair showing off.”

  The lights dimmed to
a glow, and a man’s dignified voice began its narration as images appeared on the screen.

  “Years ago, a child went missing.”

  Old school photos of me, aged seven, materialized before us.

  “The child’s parents were viciously murdered, her mother charred, her father butchered.”

  Gruesome crime scene pictures of the kitchen from my childhood home flashed on the screen.

  This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be. The sounds of static in my head and my pounding heart nearly drowned out the outraged voices coming through my earpiece. Though I heard their various reactions—Greg’s bizarre, panicked wheeze, Ivy’s cussing, Blake’s fuming demands for Greg to find out who was responsible for this film, and a few mumbles from Ty and Pike, along with a constant stream of them calling my name—I was in too much shock to respond to anything. My whole life story, the one I had run away from, the one I had tried so hard to hide from everyone, the one I used to fuel me to the next level, was being stripped bare for all too see. I might as well be standing here completely naked. Every truth, every lie, every everything was playing out on that screen.

  “After years in the foster care system, the child exhibited a reckless disregard for authority.”

  Now, picturesque depictions of quaint towns and neighborhoods, like the ones I lived in during my foster years met viewers’ eyes. No doubt, the filmmaker intended to paint my foster life as some idyllic adventure I took for granted.

  “By age ten, she disappeared. Police didn’t know what happened to the child. But based on her past, one thing was absolute: Margaret McKennla was a troubled child, potentially capable of the unthinkable.”

  Suddenly, Colt’s irate voice cut through the narration. “What the hell is this, Blair?”

  Blair didn’t answer, but fixated on the screen instead. For such a large crowd on New Year’s Eve, anyone could have heard a feather fall from the sky.

  “Unseen for years, the missing daughter of the famed cold case has finally resurfaced…and she’s been walking among us for months.”

  I knew what was coming next. Those brief two seconds were a much needed warning for my emotional state, since a picture of me as an adult captioned with the name ‘Charlotte Canteberry’ popped up, drawing gasps and mutterings.

  “Meet Margaret McKennla. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Charlotte Canteberry is little Margaret McKennla.”

  All eyes found me as if I had a bright spotlight shining down on my head. Blair, her face smug, descended the stairs and headed straight for me. Anger swelled within my chest, and I forcefully walked to meet her.

  “I knew you were a fraud, but my word, what a colorful past you have. Very unbefitting of a New York socialite wannabe looking to step into the shoes of the next Mrs. Traverz. No wonder you crafted a new identity. After all, who would want to be you?” Blair’s self-righteous tone and matching bitch brow begged for a slap of the century.

  “And I knew you were a conniving bitch, but I didn’t think even you would stoop to this,” I said, fairly certain my lip was mid-snarl.

  Blair swished her blond hair from one shoulder to the other. “As much as I’d like to take credit for film of year, I’m afraid I can’t. Sorry to disappoint.”

  I had to laugh. “Right. You expect me to believe you didn’t make this roasting masterpiece after your little threat to uncover my secrets? Come on! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My parents’ killer is still out there. I was supposed to die with them that night. And you’ve just told the bastard right where to find me.”

  She shrugged. “As I said, this wasn’t my doing, but I imagine whoever went to this extreme clearly wants you gone. Can’t say I’ll cry when the killer pops you off.” Blair moved to within an inch of my face. “Tell me, is it true you saw dear old daddy gutted like a fish? Bet it was…messy.”

  I’d had it. Turning my ring around for a little extra impact, I slapped the hell out of her. Blood trickled down her cheek from the cut my ring caused. Blair held her hands to her injured face and gazed at me, stunned and livid.

  “Score one for our little gnat!” Ivy cheered. “That’s my girl!”

  “Don’t ever talk about my father again, or I will do a lot worse. Like your narrator said, I’m troubled,” I warned.

  “Ivy! Now, now, now!” Blake ordered.

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, but it hardly mattered at this point. I was once again an interloper, an unwanted intruder in their perfect world. My eyes found Colt charging for me; he was angry, not at me, but for me. His expression and determined gate comforted me, particularly when everyone else slowly pulled away as if I possessed some incurable plague.

  Before Colt could reach me, the sounds of pops and bangs coming from the main and back corridor of the ballroom stopped him cold. The doors of the ballroom swung open, startling us all, as dozens of people in black bodysuits wearing ornate golden cat-like masks and cat ears danced, cart-wheeled, flipped and otherwise swarmed the room. Many of them had sparklers in their hands, while others tossed surprisingly loud snap firecrackers around guests’ feet, garnering excited yelps, laughter, and applause. It was fortuitous timing, for the firework-tossing, cat-masked people drew the attention of the masses away from me. At first, I thought the performers were part of Blair’s over-the-top party planning, but her shrieks of “Who are these people?” and “Get them out of here!” told me otherwise. The guests were oblivious to Blair’s alarm; they thought as I did: these folks were simply part of the New Year’s Eve celebration.

  But, in fact, I realized these masked performers were hired by Blake. This had been the surprise distraction he alluded to while we danced earlier. I bet when he gave Ivy the go-ahead shortly after my unexpected film debut, he meant for her to send in the entertainers.

  A guard rushed up to Blair. I couldn’t make out much of the conversation. Blair was shrilly and the simultaneous popping sounds of the firecrackers were damn near deafening. I did manage to hear the guard confirm that the performers had the proper identification for access. Well, of course they would, with Greg and Blake on the job.

  Suddenly and shockingly, Greg’s panicked voice screamed in my head. “We’ve lost the back cameras! We’ve lost the diamond room cameras! Pike? Pike, do you read us?”

  “Pike, you arrogant asshole, answer Greg!” demanded Ivy. “Maggie, slip out the front right of the ballroom and get into the diamond room. Hurry up! Now!”

  Several of the performers moved between me, Colt, and Blair, effectively separating us. I took the opportunity to hide amongst them and follow them through the crowd. I caught the tail-end of another group of performers heading towards the front right of the ballroom. I carefully parted from them and slipped out the door, virtually unseen.

  The back corridor was empty. Not a guard could be seen, which I found curious, to say the least.

  “There aren’t any guards,” I reported, walking tentatively up the corridor. “I guess Pike chased them off?”

  “Get in there, Maggie!” Ivy instructed. “We’ve lost visual everywhere.”

  The door to the diamond room was ajar. When I sneaked in, I found Blake and Pike standing on opposite ends of the room, staring at the diamond sparkling in Blake’s hand.

  “Blake,” I said softly.

  Blake held his arm out, gesturing me to join him. “Come stand beside me. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Been through worse.”

  “I-I don’t understand,” said Pike, frustrated. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Yeah, there is something wrong, isn’t there?” said Blake, far too calmly.

  “Why is Pike in here?” I asked. “Shouldn’t Ty be in here too?”

  “Ty knows his marks.” Blake’s voice was strong and severe.

  Pike ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth. “I don’t get this, man! How could it be a fake? Someone’s screwing with us…I mean they have to be.”

  “It’s a fake? Jesus, God.” I was flabbergast
ed. Someone outwitted the Manx.

  “Yes, Maggie, it’s a fake. And you’re absolutely right, Pike, someone is screwing with us…and you know exactly who it is, don’t you?” asked Blake.

  My eyes couldn’t have gotten any wider as I searched Blake’s face.

  Pike immediately stopped. “What are you talking about, man?”

  “It was you, wasn’t it? This whole time. You sold us out.”

  “You’re out of your mind!”

  “Am I? You know where we all live. You attacked Ivy, Pike. Your injuries were consistent with the injuries Ivy described giving her attacker—I noticed as much when I saw you that night. I didn’t want to believe you, of all people, would do such a thing.”

  I remembered the ice bags, both on his face and in his lap. I figured he had just set the ice down in his lap, but maybe he was icing his manhood. Ivy made it very clear she walloped her attacker right where it hurt a man the most.

  “You’re crazy, Blake. Ty. Ty’s the one you’re after.”

  “Yeah, you wanted us to think Ty had done it. Your pointed, well-timed comments didn’t go unnoticed. You tried to throw suspicion on him. Hell, who wouldn’t suspect Ty? He’s quiet, keeps to himself…fits the profile of a traitor. Ty was also the only one of you unscathed the night Ivy was attacked. What you didn’t bank on was Ty going to visit his on-again/off-again girlfriend, giving him an absolute alibi, now did you?”

  Pike drew closer to us. “Well, you’ve finally done it. You’re finally going the way of your old man. Paranoia has firmly set in. All downhill from here.”

  Blake chuckled sarcastically, closing the gap between them. Passing so close, you could barely separate the two in the dark room, Blake slowly circled him. “I guess it’s paranoia that the man who attacked Maggie and died in her apartment was a former military man. And guess who his bunkmate was?”

  “You? Pike, you were Proller’s bunkmate?” I asked.

  “Little Greggy uncovered the missing files, I take it?” said Pike.

  Blake nodded. “But my suspicions were peaked prior to Greg’s findings.”

  “Wow. Really? Enlighten me.”