Sera patted Ritter and gave Hollis a goodbye wave. “Thanks for all your help, but we need to head back to Summer Haven now.”
When they made it out to Abby Ruth’s truck, she looked Maggie up and down, lingering in the vicinity of her hip. Maggie glanced down to find a big snotty wad of something plastered to her like an octopus. Lord have mercy.
“Sugar,” Abby Ruth drawled, “you know I love you like a sister, but on the way back, you will be riding in the truck bed.”
The evening of the auction at the Gypsy Cotton Gallery, Bruce opened the passenger door for Maggie, and she stepped out in a flowing black skirt Sera had loaned her. It felt incredibly sexy to have the wispy fabric move around her bare legs, and being able to fit into anything of Sera’s was a boost. Maggie wouldn’t have believed she’d ever fit into Sera’s headband, much less a piece of the younger woman’s clothing.
Lil slid out of the backseat, looking a little uncomfortable. Being out and about in Summer Shoals was probably a big change from prison life. Maggie was trying desperately to keep that in mind and be patient with Lil as she transitioned back home.
Bruce hooked his arm and Maggie wove hers through his.
She leaned in. “Thanks so much for letting Lil join us this evening.”
“That’s fine.”
He seemed okay with it, but it was kind of a damper on a date. She’d have to make it up to him. They walked up the sidewalk past the original cotton scales and through the massive wooden doors that had replaced the trailer-height sliders once allowing big cotton trailers through.
“Tassy has worked some magic in here,” Lil said. “I can’t believe she transformed this place in such a short time. It was only an idea when I left…on my trip last summer.”
The high-ceilinged warehouse gave the gallery a New York loft feel. Tassy and Sherman Harrison had done as they’d promised the town planning committee in keeping the legacy of the old cotton gin. They’d even used a couple modules of cotton at the far end of the building to partition off an office, and hung art along the tufts of natural cotton. Round bales of cotton served as super-sized pedestals for two huge sculptures, giving them an out-of-this-world look as they rose close to the rafters of the two-story open space.
Bruce led Maggie along the velvet-roped path to the podium where he handed over his invitation, and a young man in a black suit and tie checked them off the visitors’ list. Then Lil handed hers over, and the invitation-taker gave her a double-take. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Heard you were back from your trip. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
A tinge of pink rose in Lil’s cheeks. No one else would probably notice, but Maggie knew it meant Lil felt guilty as sin.
Maggie and Bruce walked in and meandered through the exhibit of at least forty sculptures up for auction. Each was a unique and personal interpretation of a dog, or what was supposed to be a dog. Seeing these gave her a little more respect for Colton Ellerbee’s work. At least she could tell what his were.
Maybe turning junk into art really was a special talent. But what some of these kids had done was nothing short of disturbing. Spanish moss covered one sculpture, which by the looks of the shape was probably supposed to give the appearance of the fur on a Bichon Frise. But Lord have mercy, who wanted a hunk of fungus moss hanging in their living room? And that one with the skinny bedspring legs looked as if it might leap from the shelf and attack her with its handsaw jaw.
One sculpture in particular had a suspiciously familiar look to it. Probably because of the bobber eyes, just like the ones they’d had to repair on the sweet baby Jesus from Colton Ellerbee’s nativity scene. Suspicion tickled Maggie’s senses. She tried to push the feeling away. She was here on a date with Bruce, and she would not worry about the investigation tonight.
“What do you think?” Bruce said.
“I…well…hmm…” She wasn’t sure how impressed he was, but she sure couldn’t say what she was thinking with Sherman standing just feet away from her, bragging about the gallery. He was busy talking it up to some out-of-towner city types.
Bruce gestured to some seats. “Would you like to sit down or keep looking? I could get you a drink? A glass of wine?”
“That would be wonderful. I’ll take some sweet tea if they’ve got it.” Something told her she needed to keep a clear head.
“I’ll be right back.”
But Maggie couldn’t help herself. As soon as Bruce walked away, she edged closer to Sherman and listened in on his conversation.
“The gallery has really made a name for itself in some of the bigger cities lately. I’m so proud of Tassy. And we do love supporting the youth in the arts. After all, they are our future. And what better test of their skills than to turn trash into treasure?”
The people he was talking to nodded and rubbed their chins as though they were very impressed. Then one mentioned something about a friend of Sherman’s in Palm Beach.
Bells and whistles went off in Maggie’s head. Bong! Whoo-whoo!
What if there was a connection between Sherman and Colton’s work? After all, most farmers could weld. Sherman might not be much of a farmer, but he could be a heckuva welder.
Maggie glanced toward the bar. Bruce stood talking to some people, but he hadn’t yet made it to the front of the line.
As she turned to study the kids’ sculptures more closely, Maggie spotted Murphy Blackwood entering the room. Could he and Sherman be working together? She snagged an auction program off a chair and ran a finger down the items on the page. Next to each item was a description of the art and the student who’d created it. She counted the items, and then counted the ones on display. They matched.
Darn it. She’d had a hunch maybe there’d be a lead here. So much for that.
Maggie casually strolled over to Mr. Blackwood’s side and smiled up at him. “Hi, there. I was hoping I would get the chance to meet the man responsible for opening these children’s minds tonight.”
“Thank you. It’s such an honor to work with the kids.” He motioned to the work. “Their creativity amazes me.”
“Yes. They certainly have fertile imaginations,” she said. “Tell me, have you ever created sculptures like this?”
“No. All my welding was done in a steel factory back home. That’s why I went back to school to get my teaching degree. Welding all the time was hard work. Not nearly as rewarding as teaching either.”
“I’m sure. Well, Summer Shoals is lucky to have you. Of the art here tonight, is there any one student’s work you think stands out from the bunch?”
He scanned the room but held his tongue. The silence went on and on, but Maggie wasn’t about to break it. Finally, Blackwood said, “They’re all special in their own way.”
“I’m sure,” Maggie took one more quick look at the sculptures on display. It was unlikely any of these could be mistaken for Colton Ellerbee’s work. Maybe she was seeing connections where none existed.
Chapter 23
Lil picked up her bidder’s paddle and took a seat in the third row. Two of the pieces displayed would look so cute in the gardens around the gazebo, and people would be suspicious if she didn’t at least bid on a few things. After all, the Summer family had long been supporters of the arts and charity events in town. She’d bid a couple of times just to keep up appearances, then drop out and fake a deeply disappointed expression.
Or could she? What if people began to question her financial straits? That could lead them too close to the truth of her whereabouts these past few months.
You promised to curb your high and mighty ways when you left prison camp, Lil. Why is being humble so darned hard for you?
If anyone asked, she could claim she wasn’t buying anything this evening because she was planning to redecorate Summer Haven and didn’t yet know which art would be best for the estate. Then again, had anyone ever questioned her on something like this? Maybe she was the only one who really cared about keeping up appearances.
She watched as
Bruce carried two glasses of tea toward Maggie. His date. It was so odd to think of Maggie dating. She and Lil had both married the loves of their lives. How did a woman move on after that? Especially at her and Maggie’s age.
But Maggie’s slimmer face lit up when Bruce approached her. And the way she looked up at him while they talked, she was clearly enchanted by the man. Bruce reached for Maggie’s hand and gently tucked it inside his.
Something inside Lil’s chest moved. It was good to see someone care for her best friend that way.
At the sound of her name, Lil turned. She’d swear it had come from a group of people engaged in a hushed conversation over by an oil painting. Why in the world would they be talking about her? She didn’t even know those people.
And when had that happened? She used to know every single soul in Summer Shoals.
Determined to be stoic about the possibility people were talking about her, she turned her attention back to the students’ sculptures. From the corner of her eye, she caught Winnie, the owner of Love ’Em or Leave ’Em Florist, staring at her. Lillian wandered over and pretended to look at a painting in the back corner of the gallery. She could feel people’s gazes following her as she moved, and a warm flush crept up the neckline of her dress. She dabbed at the sweat on her lip with a tissue from her pocketbook.
Winnie wiggled her bulk in next to Lil and threw her arms around her. “I can’t believe you’re finally back. Do you know how much we’ve missed you? This town is not the same without you. Angelina Broussard has been trying to fill your shoes, but she’ll never take your place.”
Lil scanned Winnie’s face for signs of distrust or disgust. None, but that darned Angelina had to have let the cat out of the bag. People were talking, and their hushed whispers sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing “Lillian Summer Fairview is a criminal” in an explosion of altos and sopranos. Her heart picked up pace, and suddenly breathing was an effort. It took all she had to pant out a response to Winnie. “Almost time for the bidding. Let’s chat after.”
She made a mad dash for her seat, and almost immediately, Bruce sat down next to her holding two glasses. “Are you okay?”
Lil fanned her bidder number across her face. The air felt soothing against the heat of her skin.
“Here.” He pressed a glass into her hands. “Sweet tea. Take a sip, and it’ll fix you right up.”
“Thank you, Bruce.” But her hands shook as she lifted the tea to her lips. Her sip was more of a slurp, and a rivulet of liquid escaped her mouth and ran down her chin.
Maggie’s beau immediately pulled out a snowy handkerchief and passed it to her. If there was such a thing as death by humiliation, Lil was done for. She had to do something to divert Bruce’s attention from her nerves.
“Where’s Maggie?” She craned her neck, searching the crowd.
“Maybe the ladies’ room? I’m sure she’ll be back before the bidding starts.” He pointed toward a dog sculpture that looked like the love child of Hollis Dooley’s bloodhound and something from a science fiction movie. “I’d like to buy her a little gift. Do you think she’d like that one?”
Just then, Lil spotted Maggie across the room. She looked right and left, then slipped behind a cotton module. Lil knew the restrooms weren’t back there. Oh, no. That wasn’t good. It meant Maggie hadn’t listened to a darned thing Lil had told her about dropping these so-called “cases.”
“Bruce—” she placed a hand on his arm and stood, “—if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen up before the bidding starts as well.”
“What about the sculpture?”
Maggie had wanted a pet for as long as Lil had known her, but George had been highly allergic. “I’m sure she would love it.”
Whether or not she deserved it was another question altogether.
Maggie slipped behind a tall cotton module. The space was partitioned off as an office with a beautiful wooden desk in the center sitting atop what looked to be a very expensive rug. The desk lamps, with their multicolored glass shades, were too ornamental for her taste, but they were obviously expensive. The wall on the far side was filled with artwork and a bookcase with lighted shelves. Next to the bookcase was a door standing slightly ajar.
Somewhere behind her in the main gallery area, the auctioneer was starting things up with his fast-talking explanation of how the bidding would work tonight. Maybe she should just go back and take her seat next to Bruce. If the Harrisons found her back here, they’d be upset.
Although the sign said “Employees Only,” Maggie pressed on the wood, and the door swung open easily.
The large space was a shipping area connecting to a loading dock. She took a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure no one had followed her. Then she tucked in behind the door and scanned the room. Packing material dotted the floor. Several crates were stacked against the wall. To get a better look at those, she pulled at their wooden corners, inching them out to reveal the shipping labels.
The crates contained framed art pieces. Huge oils that would never sell around Summer Shoals. No one had a wall that darned big, and besides, who wanted to hang what looked like melted brown crayon in their living room?
But next to the back door sat a crate too square to contain a painting. Maggie walked over and took a closer look at the box. The barcoded label had already been prepared, and the return address label listed Colton Ellerbee as the shipper.
Probably wasn’t unusual for an artist to ship from the local gallery, but Colton had said he shipped from the Shipper Shack. Plus, Tassy didn’t even handle his artwork. Why was this box here? Did he no longer trust the Shipper Shack to handle his work, or could this be another forgery?
Maggie’s breathing hitched with excitement. She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the label and the crate, like Sera had taught her. Maggie squatted next to the box and pulled away one of the copies from the packing slip. She tugged at the crate’s edge, but it had been nailed tight. Spotting a claw hammer hanging on a pegboard over a long table, she jumped to her feet. Hammer in hand, she went to work on the top of the wooden framed crate.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The hammer slipped from Maggie’s hand, and gravity introduced it to her toe. The pain shot clear up to her shin, and she let out a thin scream. “Lil, what are you doing? You scared the living daylights out of me.”
Lil strode to Maggie’s side and grabbed her arm, her small hands squeezing with surprising strength. “I could ask you the same thing, since you have absolutely no business being back here.”
“I was just taking a look, and I found this crate. Look at the return address label. Says this is being shipped from Colton. It might be another forgery.”
“Or it might be Colton’s shipping out art. It’s none of your business.” She yanked on Maggie’s arm, forcing her to stumble a couple of steps. “I told you to leave this alone. You’ll get us all in trouble.”
Maggie pulled away from Lil’s grip, wincing at the pain shooting from her big toe. She pitched her voice to a whisper. “If anyone is going to get us in trouble, it’ll be you. You need to lower your voice.”
“If I saw you come back here, there’s no telling who else saw you. Come on.” Lil headed for the door.
“No. This is a solid lead, and I need to check it out.”
Lil spun back around to face Maggie. “Excuse me?”
“Look, Lil, you’re used to being the queen of Summer Shoals, and that every little thing you say goes.” Maggie tossed her hands in the air. She’d about had it with all Lil’s high-handed ways. “But since you went to prison…”
“Why are your eyes suddenly the size of salad plates?” Lil whispered.
“Probably,” Bruce drawled, “because I caught you two back here snooping. So why don’t one of you tell me about Lillian going to prison?”
Sitting in Abby Ruth’s dually with a clear view of the alley behind the Gypsy Cotton Gallery, Sera smoothed a hand down her black catsui
t. She was becoming quite attached to it. If they were going to make this crime-fighting stuff a regular pastime, she might have to invest in a second one. Too bad organic cotton didn’t stretch the way spandex did.
Then again, she had to consider more than just what she wanted at this moment. She had loose ends to tie up before she could make a decision about staying here in Summer Shoals or returning to California for good. The clock was ticking, so loud she could hear it in her dreams at night.
The thought that she might not be in on these adventures with Maggie and Abby Ruth for much longer made her insides ache.
Her hand lingered on the black fabric. Technically, she didn’t need to be wearing the catsuit now since it was nearly daylight. But once Maggie told her and Abby Ruth what she’d found last night, they’d known they needed to track that package from the gallery. It was still dark when they’d left Summer Haven this morning.
“So,” Sera said to Maggie, “was Bruce really upset when he found you and Lil snooping around the gallery?”
“He was polite enough to drive us home,” she said. “But the silence in his car was so loud it almost busted my eardrums. Pretty sure I blew it with him. Something about me lying to the whole town didn’t settle well with him.”
Sera reached for her hand. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”
And by the mopey look on Maggie’s face, she was too.
Abby Ruth popped her steering wheel with the flat of her palm. “Am I the only one thinking if the box hasn’t moved in the past four hours that it’s probably not gonna grow legs and walk outta there on its own?”
“We can’t give up now,” Sera said. Especially if this was her last hurrah with the two women. Solving crimes with them would be hard to leave behind.
“Maybe we need to regroup,” Maggie said with a yawn. “Besides, Teague may get the clue needed to break this thing wide open.”
Abby Ruth cranked the dually and they rode back to Summer Haven with the windows down, allowing the chilly spring air to slap their cheeks and keep them awake. From the back seat, Sera gazed out at the rolling Georgia landscape.
In High Cotton Page 20
