The Second Family

by Janice Carter

  Tess simply smiled but saw that he had a point. Hadn’t she been mumbling to herself about the very same thing for the past two or three days?

  She let him guide her toward an alcove in a courtyard clustered with trendy shops and boutiques. From the outside, the redbrick gallery appeared unimpressive but when Tess stepped through the double glass door, she realized that the two-story building was topped by an enormous skylight. The interior was a large atrium. Tess stopped to stare upward into the second story, enclosed only by a wrought-iron railing. Natural light showered through from the roof. Tall potted plants lined the iron staircase and native art hung from walls that had been splotched with pale yellow and terra cotta to resemble the interior of an old European building.

  “I was aiming for Tuscany,” piped a voice from the second floor, “but couldn’t resist the native touch. Hence the slightly eclectic look.”

  Tess spun on her heel toward the voice, coming from behind her. Leaning over the rail was a tall, thin man with short, bleached-blond hair spiked in a current fashion trend. He waved his fingers and strolled down the staircase as if an audience were watching every move.

  Up close, Tess noticed he was at least ten years older than the figure he’d cut from above. Fine lines wreathed startlingly blue eyes—his best feature, she thought—but his tanned skin failed to hide old acne scars. He wore a creamy linen suit paired with a cornflower-blue shirt opened at the neck. A thin gold chain lay against the base of his throat and, other than a single gold cross earring in his left ear-lobe, was his only jewelry.

  “Tomas Kozinski,” he said, dangling a long thin hand toward her.

  “Tess Wheaton.”

  “A Wheaton indeed! You’ve got your father’s dramatic coloring. That pale Irish skin coupled with raven hair. The Black Irish, isn’t that what they’re called?” He uttered a throaty laugh. “As opposed to the redheads, I suppose.”

  Tess heard Walker sigh impatiently behind her. “Miss Wheaton is interested in seeing any of Richard’s paintings that you might still have.”

  The charming facade slipped momentarily. “Miss Wheaton, I’m so very sorry about Richard. We were not only business partners but very dear friends for many years.”

  Tess withdrew her hand from his moist grasp. “Please. Both of you call me Tess.”

  “Well then, Tess, let me show you around,” Tomas said, extending his elbow for her in a gesture she found embarrassingly old-world and familiar.

  But she was pleasantly surprised at the tasteful and, as Tomas had said, eclectic displays of art. The southwestern influence was predominant, but she saw some abstracts that would have exhibited well in Chicago or New York. The few pieces he had of Richard Wheaton’s were on the second floor.

  One look told Tess that her father had been a truly gifted artist. There were six pieces in all, of varying sizes. Most were mountain and desert scenes, although two portrayed people in solitary poses. There was a dreaminess in these that touched her, drawing her closer to examine them.

  “A lot of people do that,” Tomas remarked. “Move right up to the piece. Whenever we had a show of Wheatons, there was always this strange hush in the crowd. Not the usual buzz over cocktails and canapés.” He edged closer to Tess in front of a woman in shadow at sunset, wrapped in a native blanket and looking out into the desert.

  “That’s Gabriela,” he said. “He used her a lot in his portraits.” He sighed. “She was a striking woman.”

  Tess couldn’t help calling up a memory of her own mother, who had been beautiful once herself. Long before mental illness and a failed marriage had removed the warmth from her eyes. She felt an unexpected rush of pity for her mother, who’d never been able to cope with life. Tess turned away, feigning interest in another painting to conceal the emotion she knew was etched on her face. After a moment, she noticed a price tag on one of the larger canvases and was shocked.

  “I didn’t realize my father was so…so commercially successful. Will you actually find a buyer for this at that price?”

  “Oh, yes. In fact, after his studio fire last year, most of his pieces doubled in price.”

  “Really?”

  “Because so many were lost in the blaze. In fact, it was almost a turning point in Richard’s career. He’d been written up in a lot of catalogues and had received tremendous reviews from critics outside Colorado just before the fire. This came after years of local success and shows in Denver, Aspen and so on. When it was reported that many of his pieces had been destroyed, interest in his art skyrocketed. Along with the prices.” Tomas stepped closer to Tess and added, “Now of course, prices will go right through the roof.”

  Now that he’s dead. The business side of Tess lost out to her natural revulsion at the unconcealed excitement in Tomas’s eyes.

  Realizing he’d made a faux pas, he prattled on. “That’s the silver cloud in this whole tragedy and one that will certainly benefit the children.”

  He was quick on his feet, Tess had to admit. “If you don’t mind my asking, I’m curious about Richard’s share of the price.”

  “Uh, well…our terms were very fair,” he stammered, giving Jed Walker a furtive glance that intrigued Tess. “He took seventy-five per cent and I got the rest.”

  “Is that standard?” she asked. “Just that I’ve no idea how the art world works.”

  “Arrangements vary with artists and dealers. Richard and I started out together years ago when we were both setting up shop, so to speak. In those days he basically sold on consignment. Then as his success grew, he was able to pay me a percentage as his manager.”

  “So with his death, your take will also increase.”

  Tomas frowned. “Certainly. But my dear, one doesn’t celebrate the death of the golden goose. If you get my drift.”

  She did. And for some reason, for the first time since she’d learned of her father’s death, Tess felt a pang of sadness for her father. He’d sometimes talked about being rich and famous. And when both were finally in his grasp, he was killed. Such talent, gone forever.

  “Mr. Walker—Jed,” she amended at the look in his face, “tells me that one of my father’s paintings has been left to me. May I see it?”

  Tomas pursed his lips, regret in his face. “It’s being cleaned at the moment, I’m afraid. Richard brought it in just the week before he died. It’s one of his early ones, you know.”

  “Perhaps when it comes back to the gallery you can let me know?”

  “Of course, of course.” He placed a hand at the tip of her elbow and led her to the staircase. “Would you two like coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” Tess quickly said. “I’ve got to finish some errands and then visit Molly’s school.”

  “I suppose you’ll be taking the children back to Chicago with you?”

  “I doubt it. I think they’d be much happier staying with friends and in a place that’s familiar to them.”

  “Oh, I just assumed—”

  “I noticed some canvases in my…Richard’s studio at the ranch,” she said, changing the subject. “Would you happen to know if they’ve been sold or not?”

  Tomas looked flustered. “Oh? I thought I had all his work here.”

  Tess turned to Jed Walker. “I thought Nick told me you saw them when you visited the studio, after the accident.”

  Walker frowned. “I vaguely recall some canvases but didn’t inspect them.” He cut his eyes to Tomas. “If there are more, I’ll collect them for you. Anyway, I’ll need to go over an inventory of Richard’s unsold works before liquidating the estate. Shall I come round here some time and do that?”

  “Please do,” Tomas murmured.

  Tess paused at the front door of the gallery. Neither man seemed to be aware that she was waiting to leave.

  “Thanks again,” she said to Tomas. He gave a preoccupied nod while Jed Walker followed her out the door.

  Now she wished she’d brought her own car, rather than having to make small talk on the way back to Walker’s off
ice. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss business or her future plans for Nick and Molly. They were almost at Walker’s car when a voice called from behind.

  “Tess?”

  She spun around, vaguely aware of a small hiss of air coming from Jed’s pursed lips. Alec Malone was walking toward them.

  “I was in the area at a meeting and just thinking I’d have to call you,” he explained as he caught up to them. His eyes flit from Tess to Walker and narrowed perceptibly.

  “Walker.”

  “Morning, Mr. Malone. Tess and I were thinking of going for lunch. Care to join us?”

  Tess felt her eyes widen. She was about to correct the lawyer when Malone swiftly added, “Another time, then. Give me a call, will you, Tess?” He handed her a white business card. “At home, too, if you like.”

  He was already disappearing into a group of shoppers when Tess found her voice. “I thought I told you I couldn’t make lunch,” she said.

  Jed gave a sheepish grin. “Guess I hoped you’d change your mind. No? Ah well, my bad luck. Come, let me drive you back to your car anyway.”

  Sensing her mood, he didn’t attempt small talk and as soon as his Mercedes was parked behind her car, Tess leaped out of the door.

  “I’ll call you as soon as the will goes through probate. If you decide to return to Chicago before then, will you let me know?”

  “Yes, I will. Thanks for taking me to the gallery. We’ll be in touch.” She got into the station wagon and pulled away from the curb before he had a chance to say another word. All she wanted to do was to go someplace quiet and try to conjure up faded memories of Richard and Hannah Wheaton.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DINNER THAT NIGHT was more successful, although Tess doubted that frozen meals qualified in any cooking sweepstakes. Molly babbled on to Nick about Tess’s visit to her school, but other than an occasional nod of his head, the boy was silent. He was also evasive when she asked how his first day at school had gone. It wasn’t until after the two had gone to bed that Tess realized she’d received no more than a gruff “okay” to her question.

  After she tidied the kitchen and prepared lunches for the kids for next day, Tess sank into one of the armchairs in the family room and clicked on the television. She was exhausted and wondered how much longer she’d have to stay. When she’d talked to Mavis the day before, she’d been tempted to ask her outright to come to Boulder and help. But Mavis’s arthritis and other minor health problems deterred Tess. Besides, she figured she ought to be able to look after the needs of two children for the few days it would take to settle affairs.

  Tess mindlessly browsed through the channel selection before giving up on the television. The telephone jolted her out of her vegetative state and she ran for it, half hoping that Mavis was calling to say she could come and help. Her hello was a breathless one.

  “Everything all right there?”

  Alec Malone. “Fine. I…uh, ran for the phone, thinking it might be someone else.”

  “Like?”

  “Mavis.”

  “Oh, sorry. Just me. Were you able to finalize things with Walker this morning?”

  Tess hesitated, wondering why he was asking. His curiosity about her affairs seemed to cross the line of professional interests and she decided to remind him so, as subtly as possible. “There’s a lot to discuss with the lawyer, the Sullivans and your department. I assume you’ll be assisting me with the last two, won’t you?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. That’s why I’m calling. I got a message from Nick’s school at the end of the day. Apparently he never showed up after the lunch hour. They didn’t know you were in charge temporarily and so phoned Mrs. Sullivan who contacted me.”

  Tess closed her eyes. That explained the “okay” from Nick at dinner. “I see,” she said.

  “So I’ve arranged for the two of us to meet with the school principal tomorrow afternoon. The appointment is for one o’clock if that’s all right with you.” He gave her directions to the school, adding, “It might be better not to mention this meeting to Nick just yet. I don’t want to make him feel cornered. He may not go to school at all if he thinks there’s going to be a deputation waiting there for him.”

  “He has to face the matter sooner or later,” Tess said, “but if that’s what you want, okay by me. I’ll see you at one.”

  She was on the verge of hanging up when he said, “A word of advice. Don’t let Walker try to persuade you to do something your instincts warn otherwise. He can be a very smooth character.”

  Tess was tempted to say the lawyer’s manipulative skills were no match for Malone’s. Instead, she said, “He’s a very charming man and you’d be surprised to know that he’s just as anxious to have the children go back to Chicago with me as you seem to be.”

  “Really?”

  His voice was a mix of surprise and incredulity. And something else that Tess didn’t identify until he rang off. Suspicion. Definitely that, too.

  SHE WAS FIVE MINUTES late but her entrance was so damn self-assured no one minded at all. Especially the principal who was on his feet in an instant, hand outstretched and saying, “Ted Capshaw, Ms. Wheaton. Glad you could come.”

  Alec simply nodded from his chair across the room. Though he was aware that all of his senses perked up when she walked in. She was wearing a short, straight, olive-green skirt that just skimmed the tops of her knees and a matching jacket that, swinging open as she leaned forward to shake Capshaw’s hand across his desk, revealed a form-fitting creamy blouse. Her cheeks were flushed, though Malone doubted it was embarrassment from being late. She didn’t strike him as the type who would care. Besides, he bet that executives like her made a practice of it.

  Capshaw got to the point right away, opening the file the school had already documented for Nick since the accident a little more than a month ago. “What concerns us most, Ms. Wheaton, is that Nick’s scholastic record has thus far been excellent. He’s been a straight A student since starting here a year ago. This is a Junior High and he’s finishing grade eight. His teachers are understandably worried that the truancy and behavioral issues will affect his success not only this year, but in grade nine as well. He’s had a couple of sessions with the school psychologist and of course, Mr. Malone here has been in touch regularly. But all of us feel that part of Nick’s problem is fear of the unknown. His future is frightening for him so he’s obviously doing his best to avoid dealing with it.”

  Malone noticed that she didn’t murmur or interrupt once during the long report. Another good strategy, he thought. Letting someone else do all the talking while you do all the thinking. Then make your pitch clearly and succinctly.

  When she did speak, he felt almost smug at his prediction, which had been spot on. “You’re quite right, Mr. Capshaw. And believe me when I say that I, too, am worried about Nick. My job as next of kin is to ensure that both Molly and Nick stay together in a supportive and caring environment.”

  Environment. An image of some kind of plant habitat came immediately to mind. Alec pretended to brush something from his cords. At least she hadn’t used the word context again.

  But the principal appeared to like her terminology, beaming as if she’d just quoted some article on the latest in child development. Malone half listened as they talked about needs and issues. His gaze shifted from one to the other before settling on Tess. She was on the edge of her chair, explaining something about her career demands in Chicago. The topic obviously enthused her, for her impossibly green eyes sparkled. Can people really have eyes that color? he wondered.

  Then he couldn’t listen any longer. “Excuse me,” he interrupted. “We all understand the why of Nick’s behavior. Let’s get to how we can change it. Support and encouragement are fine enough—” he nodded to the principal, letting him know he was on his side “—but what he really needs at this very moment is some assurance that he and Molly will not be split up and that he can recapture some semblance of family. I think he knows a
ll too well that his life has irrevocably changed. What he needs to know now is that it can still be safe and secure. Perhaps even happy again.” He leaned back into his chair.

  Capshaw gave him a blank look as if to say, Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about here? But Tess paled, fixing him with an expression that almost sent shivers down his spine.

  “What do you suggest then, Mr. Malone?” she asked.

  “I hope—in fairness to Nick and Molly—that a decision can be made as soon as possible with regard to their future care. All the rest—the trouble at school, nightmares, thumb sucking and bed wetting—will be resolved eventually.” He saw Tess raise her brows at the bed wetting and felt a tiny pang. Actually, there’d been only one incident and that had been Molly’s first night at the Sullivans’, but he wanted to emphasize the children’s post-traumatic symptoms.

  “So basically you’re suggesting I should make a decision about the children as soon as possible?”

  The fire in her eyes belied the calm in her voice. She was royally ticked off at him, he thought. And rightly so. It had been unfair of him to raise the point again in front of Capshaw. But he was hoping the man would concur, strengthening Alec’s side.

  “Mr. Malone has a point, Ms. Wheaton,” the principal began. He glanced from Alec to Tess and flushed. “At least,” he backtracked slightly, “one that needs to be considered as quickly as possible. Though I understand you’ve only just arrived in Boulder and so may need to investigate the situation here and at the Sullivans’.”

  Tess pursed her lips and shot Alec a triumphant look. The discussion went nowhere from there. They agreed that both Tess and Alec would talk to Nick again about attendance and keep in touch with the school. Tess was on her feet, out of the office and almost to the front door by the time Alec caught up to her.

  “What was the meaning of that in there?” She rounded on him at his approach.

  “I’m sorry if I put you on the spot. But my job is to look out for Nick and Molly, not to worry over the niceties of conversation.”