We didn’t want a gallery tour, but maybe once she showed us the highlights, we could find a way to be alone.
“That would be great,” Theo said. “Thank you.”
It was the perfect excuse to put on my glasses. I let go of Theo’s arm and started fishing in my purse for them. Where had they gone? They should have been right on top. I’d just put them in there.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Theo deftly took the purse out of my hands, and a second later, he carefully slipped my glasses on my face. The first thing that came into view was his smile, dimples and everything.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He winked at me and my knees did not almost buckle. Okay, yes, they did.
I took my purse and put the strap over my shoulder, grateful that I could finally see clearly. The gallery still looked fairly empty, as if they were only gradually putting back the displays after the celebration of life. There were a few easels with paintings on them, but not as many as I remembered from times I’d been there before.
“I’m afraid you’ve come when quite a bit of Edwin’s work is not being displayed,” Tina said. “But I’d love to show you what we do have on display today.”
We followed her toward the side wall where several paintings were hung, lit by gallery lighting. I wanted to tuck my hand in Theo’s arm again, but I didn’t.
“As you can see, Edwin is primarily known for his landscapes. These depict scenery familiar to the Cascade mountains.”
“Are they real locations?” Theo asked.
“That’s an excellent question, and I’d say it depends,” Tina answered. “Some are specific locations. Others are more general. Amalgams of different places he painted from memory.”
We took slow steps around the gallery while she shared more details. I was already familiar with his style, so it wasn’t new information for me. He’d painted with both oils and acrylics, depending on his mood. He’d experimented with other mediums, such as charcoal, but had always returned to paint. He was known for his use of color and texture.
She led us to the loft, the scene of his son Michael’s drunken drama. Without the small knots of people standing around, it was spacious and empty. Theo asked a few questions as she pointed out more of Edwin’s work, as well as the works of a few other painters they had on display.
His paintings were beautiful, but I was getting anxious. Was Tina going to leave us alone? We only needed a few minutes—there weren’t that many paintings to check.
One beach scene caught my eye. For some reason, I had a feeling about it. Maybe because it was one of several that weren’t set in the mountains. Or maybe it was the moody sky, so similar to the creek painting I’d received.
I wanted a moment to check the frame.
Finally, the door downstairs opened, and someone came in.
“If you’ll please excuse me,” Tina said.
Theo gestured to the stairs. “Be our guest. My wife and I appreciate your time.”
There he went with thatmy wifething again. It gave me a very uncomfortable mix of feelings.
My heart started to beat harder as Tina walked down the open staircase.
That’s it. Keep going. We’re not doing anything up here. Just admiring the art.
When we heard her greet the person who came in, we sprang into action. I pointed to the ocean painting and Theo nodded. He took the one next to it—a typical Morris piece featuring a meadow dotted with wildflowers.
He’d seemed to like wildflowers. He’d painted a lot of them.
With my heart beating wildly, I gently removed the painting from the wall and checked the back. Nothing. I ran my fingers along the edges of the frame, but there was no sign of a note tucked inside. If he’d left one, it didn’t have the edge of the paper sticking out.
There was no way we could remove the backing on any of them to get a good look. We’d just have to hope that if he had left more notes, he’d made them accessible like the one in my creek painting.
I rehung the painting and checked to make sure it was straight. Theo returned the meadow piece to the wall. He glanced at me and shook his head.
