Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (10 page)

Grace was inclined to think Spritz was joking, but that wasn’t in accord with what she’d seen of her sense of humor. “Ten dollars? Do you know how much this is worth?”

Spritz jutted out her lower lip, blowing a wisp of bangs off her forehead. “Hundreds, I’m sure. Our broker is always throwing around money, trying out new things. He got it in his head that our clients would enjoy a lovely cup of espresso when they came into the office.”

“Good thinking.” Grace bit her lower lip, debating whether to clue her in to the machine’s real value.

“It might have been if any of us had learned to use it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Why would the people of the town slurp down caffeinated poison while a perfectly good espresso machine went unused?

“Whenever we’d offer the espresso, people would laugh and ask if the Mr. Coffee was broken. It turned into a joke after a while.”

Grace reached into her purse, her mind trekking back to a conversation she’d once had with the owner of her neighborhood deli. He boasted of the deal he’d just gotten on a new machine that looked very much like this one. “
Two Grand
,” he’d proclaimed repeatedly. “
Worth at least three!
”

“I’ll take it.” She grinned. “But I’m giving you a twenty.”

“Okay.” Spritz’s look of surprise appeared unrehearsed. “There’s no instruction book, but I guess being from Seattle qualifies you to run it by intuition.”

Grace felt almost giddy as she handed over the cash. “I’m naming him Salvatore.”

“Well,” Spritz tucked the bill into her pocket. “I hope you and Salvatore will be very happy together. He’s heavy. Why don’t we find a man to carry him for you?”

“I can get him.” Grace hoisted him into her arms, her knees folding slightly under his unexpectedly ample weight. “I’m fine.”

Struggling to see over her new acquisition, Grace took one careful step at a time. Her arms shook and a bead of sweat dripped into her eye, but she focused on the edge of the parking lot. All she had to do was make it to Lucy’s table and ask her for a ride home.

Just then a whirlwind of child-chasing-child crossed the sidewalk directly in front of her. She put on her brakes, halting her feet but not the rest of her body. Salvatore’s forward momentum continued, and for one awful second Grace felt him slipping from her grasp. There was no way to stop it. She was going down like a bowling pin and Salvatore was leading the way.

Chapter 14

Grace braced herself for the awful crack she knew Salvatore’s metal casing would make when it hit the pavement. Without warning, someone grabbed the machine while simultaneously barricading her descent. She gasped, astonished that she had just avoided two skinned knees and a mangled mocha maker.

She looked up, prepared to thank her rescuer.

“You okay?” Sam’s eyes were wide with concern.

“I’m just fine, thank you.” She spit out the words as she attempted to pull free of his grasp.

His firm grip held on the machine. “Why don’t you let me get this for you?”

Her mouth froze around her intended retort as her biceps begged for mercy. Reluctantly, she acquiesced.

He bowed back subtly at the transfer of weight, then set the machine down on a nearby table. “Looks like she’s still in one piece. I hope we can say the same for you.”

“She’s a ‘he’,” she snapped. “And I’m just fine, thank you.”

He nodded. “Good. And you’re welcome.”

She sneered. She had no desire to have anything even remotely resembling a conversation with this guy. The last thing she needed was to invite the attention of an abusive drinker. She flicked him a glance, noticing something odd about his appearance. The area under his left eye resembled a plum, both in color and shape.

“Get into a fight?”

He nodded in seeming embarrassment. “My reward for trying to help a friend.”

“Oh. Well. You are very
helpful
.” She shook out her quivering arms, then reached for Salvatore. “I’ll just be—”

Sam put his hand on the top of the machine. “Let me get that…uh…
him
for you.”

She firmed her hold. “No, really I…” She stopped, her voice catching in her throat. There on the ground on the other side of the table, propped up against an old wooden barrel, was the painting from the theatre lobby. She sputtered, letting go her hold on the machine. “W…what’s that?”

“What,” Sam’s voice pitched. “That old painting?”

The ornate gold frame rested unceremoniously on the balmy blacktop. The opera lover in oil paint seemed to cry out for rescue. Grace knelt down and reached out, but her hand froze a scant inch from the canvas.

The floodgate broke and a torrent of memories inundated her mind.

Chappaquiddick
. That weekend at Kirk’s cottage.

“Nice, huh?” Sam stooped beside her.

Jarred momentarily by his voice, she honed back in on her thoughts. She could be wrong, but all at once it seemed so clear.

Sam flicked a hand toward the image. “It’s really old. I don’t know anything about art, but the frame is real nice. It would look really good above your mantel.” His tone taunted. “With this opera lady and the water globe, you’d have a whole musical thing going on.”

Her mind flashed back. Two summers ago, shortly after she’d met Kirk. She’d so needed that weekend in the country to take her mind off everything. She could still picture the pair of paintings prominently displayed on his gallery wall, and the blank space all ready for his next acquisition.

The same style. The same brushstrokes. The same colors.
The same artist
.

Sam brushed a coating of dust off the frame’s rim. “I don’t know who it’s by, but lots of people come here to paint so it was probably a local artist.”

Her mind raced.
A contemporary of Van Gogh
.
Limited body of work
. This was almost too much for her to fathom. She leaned in, double checking the signature. Her heart leapt. “Horace Blackthorn.”

As if her word wasn’t good enough, he bent closer to verify. “Oh, yeah. You’re right. Ever hear of him?”

She straightened. “Um…no. Not really.” Her throat pinched. This lying thing wasn’t getting any easier.

If he sensed her duplicity, he didn’t let on. “I’ll give you a good deal.”

Her excitement mounting, Grace struggled to recall Kirk’s commentary. Most of the artist’s works sold to private collectors, causing their value to skyrocket. His subjects were always opera-related, so it made perfect sense that Kirk would own two of them. He was obsessive.

Placing an elbow on his knee, Sam took in a breath and rested his chin on his hand. “If you want it, you can have it for five.”

Her pulse thumped audibly. This guy was actually going to let go of a million dollar work of art for a measly five hundred bucks? She smiled.

He leaned back on his haunches. “Oh, but I forgot.” His tone dripped of sarcasm. “You’re not staying around long. You wouldn’t have any need for—”

“I’ll take it.”

“Oh.” His voice lilted with surprised satisfaction as he stood. “Great.”

She pushed herself to her feet, stunned. He actually thought he’d made a deal.

He lifted the painting and set it on an already-jam-packed table. She took a fleeting look at the surrounding items while he searched, presumably for wrapping material.

“Hey…” She puzzled. “Where did you get all this?”

He tossed his head to one side with a look of lament. “I’m just helping my dad clear out some old stuff.”

She frowned, running her eyes across stacks of old playbills and sepia photos. “But where did you get this theatre stuff?”

“Well, I doubt the guy who’s buying the theatre will be interested in salvaging piles of old junk—”

“You mean before he tears it down to build his casino?” Her antagonism charged ahead of her mouth. “He might as well tear down the whole town.”

Sam blinked. “How did you—”

“So you’re helping this ‘Mr. R.’ sell out the town. Great.”

Sam’s shoulders visibly tensed. “Look, my dad is just doing what he thinks is best—”

“Your dad?” Her chest heaved. “You’re Mr. R.’s
son?

He lifted his hands. “Just like it says on the sign.”

“What sign?”

“The one that—”

“Sam!”

His answer was cut short by Sophia’s unmistakable trill. Grace turned to see her approach at a rapid clip with Devon close behind.

“I have to have this.” Sophia aimed her sinuous arms toward Sam’s table.

Grace reached down at the very second that Sophia’s hands touched the painting. She lifted the frame, realizing with irritation that Sophia had a grip on the other end. Their surprised eyes locked on each other.

“It’s mine!” Sophia said through gritted teeth. “I saw it first.”

“Hardly.” Grace scoffed. “Did you see me standing here?”

“So you were standing here. What difference does
that
make?” Sophia yanked the painting toward her, but Grace held fast.

“All the difference.” Grace gave a tug to no avail. That girl was stronger than she looked. “Let go!”

Sophia’s face tightened. “I’m not letting go. You let go!”

“Now hold on, Sophia.” Sam stepped in like a referee. “Grace and I already made a deal. I’m letting her have it for five.”

“Five!” Sophia’s face glazed like a child about to throw a tantrum. “I can give you seven-fifty! Devon, grab my wallet.”

Devon, clearly amused, threw his hands up with a staying-out-of-this look.

Sam’s tone remained calm. “Sorry, Soph, but we made a deal.”

“Did you shake on it?” Sophia pleaded.

“No—”

“Then it isn’t a deal. Sam, you know how much the theatre means to me. I deserve to have this.” She shot Grace an icy glare. “
She
just got here.”

Grace wrinkled her nose and tightened her grip.

Sam looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Soph.”

“Sam, you’re being unfair. Devon,
tell
him!”

Devon stepped forward and all eyes turned to him. As he looked from Sophia to Grace, his expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

His eyes met Grace’s, causing her unguarded heart to pound out a staccato passage. Why would she react this way to his piercing gaze?

She held her breath and awaited the verdict. Her nerves pinched with the understanding that as important as the painting was, something else was also at stake. Sophia had asked him to choose, and Devon was evaluating the candidates.

Winner take all.

“I’m sorry too.” Devon’s eyes lingered on Grace before grudgingly shifting to Sophia. “The court rules in favor of the new girl.”

Sophia sputtered like a motor boat. The anger in her eyes dissolved into hurt and she released her grip on the frame. Lip aquiver, she took a few dramatic steps backward.

Grace’s insides reeled with twofold victory. Surprised by the flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with the painting, she shifted Devon a glance. A smile played at the corners of his lips. Then his eyes lifted, and his look grew shadowy.

Grace’s gaze flitted toward Sam, who was pinning Devon with a stare that could melt iron. A palpable tension hung in the air between the two men.

“Devon!” Sophia huffed.

Devon’s eyes remained steady. He reached into his back pocket, removing a thick, Dior-embossed leather wallet. “The least I can do…” He held out a crisp bill and steadied his gaze on Sam.

Sam’s mouth tightened. “I’m not taking your money.”

“Take it.” One corner of Devon’s mouth pulled upward. “On behalf of the lady.”

Grace withered in puzzlement as Sam worked his jaw. After a moment, he reached out and took the money. Grace caught a flash of the bill as he wadded it in his fist.

Devon slanted Sam a look as he stepped away. “You can keep the change.” He tossed Grace a wink and met up with the retreating Sophia.

Sam turned away, darkness overshadowing his demeanor.

Looking at Sam’s hunched shoulders, Grace measured her words. “Uh…Sam?”

He kept his back to her, barely turning his head as he spoke. “You really don’t have to take the painting, you know. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re contributing to the selling out of the town.”

She bristled, mystified and disturbed by his dark mood swing. “No, I still want it.” She reached for the frame slowly, as if he might snap it away. “So, can you take a check?”

He lifted his head slightly. “Why? Did you want to grab some more stuff?”

Grace furrowed her brow, wondering if he had even bothered to look at the money. “No, but he gave you a
ten
.”

His shoulders lifted in a sardonic chuckle. “You’re right.” He turned to face her. “You know what, I’ll give you a deal.” He bent down and picked up an empty box. “You can fill this up with whatever you want and we’ll call it even.”

She tried to shake off her mental whiplash. “Sam, I don’t get it…”

He let out a sigh, pressing his fingers onto the bridge of his nose. “I can’t explain. That guy just…” He waved a hand over his head. “You don’t need to know.” His face lifted and he turned back to the table. “There’s some great old theatre stuff here. I don’t know what you’d do with it, but hey, for five bucks—”

“Five bucks?”

He quirked a confused look. “Ten minus five. Such a deal.”

Realization spread through Grace like a cool breeze. He’d given her the painting for five. Such a deal, indeed.

Chapter 15

“One for dinner?”

Grace inhaled the intoxicating bouquet of roasted garlic as she followed a young man with a large menu. He led her to a table by one of the elongated windows at the end of a surprisingly elegant dining room. She had a lot to celebrate, and it was time she treated herself to a nice dinner.

As she opened the menu, a warm rush of emotion pervaded her being.
The Fountain Restaurant
. She couldn’t believe this little jewel had been hiding all along just a block past Main Street. After five days in Madison Falls, she had yet to find any real take-out and had been mainly relying on cold sandwiches from the display case that passed for a deli at the Peach Basket Market. Now, her mouth watering, she hoped the gastronomic options lived up to her expectations. If their Sauce Mornay turned out to be Velveeta, she might just lose it.