A Priceless Find. Kate James

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СКАЧАТЬ intense cop had a sense of humor, but it appeared that he did. And when he smiled? He went from seriously good-looking to dangerously handsome.

      “Why don’t we start here?” she suggested, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she was blushing again, and led him to a watercolor of a Venetian canal by American artist John Singer Sargent.

      “I personally like this painting,” she began. “Sargent was said to be fascinated with Venice, and I think it shows in his work. He’s captured the different shades of the water and the brightness of the light beautifully. It’s interesting that although he turns a commonplace neighborhood into something so romantic, he didn’t use much detail depicting the people on the bridge.” She smiled up at Sam. “Sargent’s passion for the city didn’t seem to extend to its inhabitants.”

      Next, she showed Sam a Ralph Curtis painting, also of Venice. “Curtis was the son of Bostonians, who moved to Venice in the late 1870s. He was educated at Harvard, but then studied in Paris. We purposely juxtaposed these two paintings to allow our patrons to compare and contrast the style and emotion of the two. Sargent and Curtis were, in fact, distant cousins. It’s quite remarkable, isn’t it, how Sargent’s work evokes romance and joy while this one...well, is quite bleak.”

      “Uh-huh” was Sam’s noncommittal response.

      Chelsea guided him to a Childe Hassam winter scene in New York next and continued talking until she could all but see his head spin. Since he’d said he was there for business and pleasure, she assumed the business had to do with the robbery next door, so she made a point of taking him to speak with the Rochesters. She almost laughed at the relief she saw on his face as they approached the elderly couple.

      Chelsea introduced Sam to Mrs. Rochester, and he politely asked Mr. Rochester how he was feeling and just as politely answered that they still didn’t have any leads on the robbery. Adam joined them and also expressed an interest in the investigation. Chelsea was aware of how concerned he was about his aunt and uncle. He wanted the matter over with as much as anyone; she presumed that was so he wouldn’t have to worry about their safety, in case the perpetrator decided to return.

      Adam questioned Sam until, eventually, Chelsea adeptly steered the detective away.

      “The nephew, Adam, seems close to the Rochesters. What’s his story?” Sam asked when they were separated by some distance.

      “Oh, yes, they’re close. Adam’s story is a sad one, though. Adam’s father—that’s Mr. Rochester’s considerably younger brother—was in the military and frequently deployed overseas. What I’ve heard is that Mr. Rochester was the principal father figure in Adam’s life as he was growing up. Adam’s mother was already struggling with alcohol and drug abuse by the time her husband was killed in the line of duty. His death pushed her over the edge. The Rochesters tried to get help for her, but it was futile. Although they didn’t have legal custody of Adam, they tried to be positive influences in his life.”

      “Where’s the mother now?”

      “Excuse me,” Joel interrupted, as he joined them. He glanced at Sam—seemed to size him up, Chelsea thought—before he turned his attention to her. “Mr. Anderson was looking for you. When we saw you were...occupied, he asked my opinion of the Babineux. I didn’t know enough about it, so I steered him to Mr. Hadley.”

      Pushing aside her immediate concern that she’d dropped the ball, Chelsea asked, “Did Mr. Anderson buy the Babineux?”

      Joel frowned. “No, he didn’t. He left.”

      “Without buying anything? Is Mr. Hadley upset with me?”

      “I smoothed it over for you. But the auction’s about to start, so I thought you might want to get ready for it.”

      Chelsea had been enjoying herself with Sam so much, she’d lost track of time. “Thank you for reminding me,” she said gratefully. “I’ll get to it right away,” she added, but she couldn’t help noticing that Joel kept looking over her shoulder. “Oh, Joel, let me introduce you to Detective Sam Eldridge. Detective Eldridge...uh, Sam is leading the investigation into the robbery next door. Sam, this is Joel Sinclair, grandson of Nadine Sinclair, the owner of the gallery.”

      “The last part of the introduction is superfluous, I hope, as I like to think my role at the Sinclair Gallery is earned rather than nepotism,” Joel said stiffly as he shook hands with Sam. “Are you working tonight?” he asked, with a meaningful glance at the flute Sam held.

      “No, I’m not,” Sam replied and took an unhurried sip from his glass.

      “What brought you to our gallery this evening? I don’t recall seeing your name on our invitation list.”

      Sam glanced at Chelsea. “Curiosity.” There was something in his eyes she couldn’t decipher.

      Joel took a sideways step toward her and ran a hand casually up and down her arm. “You enjoy art, Detective?” He continued probing, obviously not in any hurry to leave them alone, and she sensed friction between the two men.

      “Not particularly.”

      “The filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard said, ‘Art attracts us only by what it reveals of our most secret self.’”

      “Very profound, but I like to keep my most secret self to myself,” Sam retorted.

      Chelsea felt as if she was watching a chess game, and it had started with Joel’s inappropriate display of possessiveness. Two could play that game, she thought, and she moved away from Joel in a way that put her equidistant between the men. She intended to stay neutral.

      “Well, Detective Eldridge,” Joel said after a moment. “I hope you got some pleasure from your tour. Even if you’re not a huge fan, the right work of art always adds richness and interest to a room. You should consider acquiring one of our...more traditional pieces.”

      Sam stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “You’re correct that I am more of a traditionalist.”

      They didn’t seem to want to let up, and Chelsea didn’t need to stick around while they jockeyed for alpha position. She cleared her throat. “I see Mrs. Fontaine admiring the Oldenburg. Joel, if you’d attend to the detective, I’ll see if she’s interested in making a purchase. Good evening, Detective,” she added, deliberately using his title rather than his name, before she walked away.

      * * *

      SAM WATCHED CHELSEA march off. March seemed to be the most accurate way to describe it. He had to give her credit for determination. There was no question she’d had enough of the verbal sparring he and Sinclair had been engaged in. His gaze still on her, he noted that she moved with poise, too.

      She might not have been particularly tall, but she had long legs. Elongated by the sexy heels. How did a woman manage to stay on her feet all evening in a pair of those? And then there was her trim, shapely figure. Maybe not his type, but a man had to appreciate a form like that.

      He kept his gaze on Chelsea longer than he might have, because he knew he was being watched by Sinclair. Sam could tell that it irritated him, and for some reason that gave him satisfaction. When he finally looked back at Sinclair, he wasn’t surprised by the scowl on the other man’s face. He hadn’t missed his possessive stroking of Chelsea’s arm, either. Boyfriend? They did appear to be suited, but the thought of the two of them together annoyed him for some reason.

      Sam СКАЧАТЬ