Chapter 14
Natalie added a touch of yellow paint to her canvas. She’d painted other portraits, but this one was by far her best. She smiled as she stood back and admired the scene.
A few days after she’d arrived, she’d taken a photo of Gabe and Sherlock by the lake. That photo had become the basis for the painting.
Over the last few weeks, she’d learned more about Gabe than he probably realized. Those impressions allowed her to add layers of emotion to the canvas, to celebrate the man and dog who’d spent most of their lives protecting people. She hoped she’d captured Gabe’s creativity, his grief at losing the woman he loved and the joy that Sherlock brought to his life. His family, his friends, and his work as a writer all added another dimension to the man she loved.
Her painting wasn’t as technically complicated as the landscape she’d finished, but it was still difficult. Painting a portrait was like looking into someone’s soul. As an artist, you balanced what you saw with what you found. Sometimes what you were looking for was hidden beneath a lifetime of experiences that needed to be unraveled. And sometimes, it was there, right in front of you, waiting to be discovered.
She picked up an old rag and wiped her brush. It was time for a break. She needed to stretch, grab a drink, and see if she had any of Brooke’s cookies left.
As she walked into the living room, Natalie glanced at the clock. If the meeting with Detective Jameson had lasted as long as Gabe intended, he should be getting ready to leave Polson.
She checked her cell phone, then headed toward the kitchen. After their walk, Gabe still wasn’t happy about leaving her alone. She understood why he felt that way, but he needed to realize she could look after herself. Reluctantly, he’d driven to Polson, calling her as soon as he arrived at the police station.
A knock on her back door made her jump. Her gaze shot to the deadbolt. No one would be able to get inside unless she opened the door.
“Ms. Armstrong? It’s Special Agent Gareth McDonald from the FBI. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about Leith Chapman.”
Natalie frowned. “No one told me the FBI was involved in the case.”
“Until two days ago, we had a minor role to play. But there has been a significant development in the case.”
She raced to the living room and grabbed her cell phone. On the way back to the kitchen she tapped out a message to Gabe.
“Ms. Armstrong? Are you still there?”
She bit her bottom lip, hoping Gabe saw the message and replied. “You need to show me some identification.”
“I’ll hold my badge against the window.”
Natalie looked at her cell phone again. Still no reply. She sent a quick message to Caleb, then peered at the badge pressed against the glass. It seemed real but, for all she knew, it could be a fake.
“I understand your reluctance to unlock the door. Would it help if I gave you the phone number of the special agent in charge of our field office? He could verify my identity.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
Special Agent McDonald rattled off a number. The man she spoke to confirmed that the special agent at her door worked for the FBI. After she ended the call, she checked her messages. Still nothing from Gabe or Caleb.
“Are you able to come back later when Gabe Lanigan is here?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. If you’re worried about Mr. Lanigan not knowing what’s happening, Detective Jameson is showing him the new evidence.”
That made sense. Gabe wouldn’t deliberately leave her text unanswered, especially when she was on her own. “Just a minute.”
Natalie made sure the special agent had moved away from the window before slipping a small knife into her pocket. She didn’t care if he was with the FBI or the King of Siam. She needed to protect herself and, without a gun, a knife was the next best thing.
She opened the door and held out her hand. “I’m Natalie Armstrong.”
The FBI agent’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”
She had no idea what difference that made. “What do you mean?”
“When I read you were a world-renowned artist, I thought you’d be older.”
“I had some lucky breaks.” Natalie moved toward the kitchen counter, keeping as much distance between the two of them as she could. Special Agent McDonald was about ten years older than her. Time hadn’t been kind to his five-foot-eight, overweight body.
She pointed to one of the chairs pushed against the kitchen table. “Have a seat. I don’t have a lot of time, so if you could ask your questions, that would be great.”
