“You’re not very good at taking direction, are you?” Judith asked, releasing a dramatic sigh. “You’re still grimacing, and you’ve yet to close your eyes.”
“Has anyone ever told the ladies at the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency that you’re a rather assertive lot?”
“Daily, but if you’d like me to discontinue my assertive attitude, close your eyes and conjure up an image of an alluring lady.”
Realizing it would be far easier to close his eyes and deal with an image of Melinda Jarvis—known to her intimates as Mitzi, and known to everyone else as Mrs. Thomas Gibson—Arthur closed his eyes, opening them a split second later when an image not of Mitzi but of Eugenia Howland pounced into his thoughts.
He shook his head ever so slightly, but the image of Eugenia stayed with him, something that left him feeling more disconcerted than Judith’s stare had done.
Granted, it wasn’t completely unreasonable Eugenia would pop to mind, given that he was on a mission to find her, but having her pop to mind after Judith suggested he conjure up an image of a lady who captured his attention was somewhat disturbing.
Yes, Eugenia Howland was the most beautiful young lady he’d ever seen, which was saying something because Mitzi had been declared an incomparable when she’d made her debut. And yes, there might have been something about Eugenia that had fascinated him, given that she never shied away from speaking her mind and engaging in unlikely conversations with him.
However, because he’d had a specific plan for his life, and courting a lady who wasn’t a member of the esteemed New York Four Hundred hadn’t been part of that plan, he’d striven to avoid thinking of Eugenia as a fascinating and alluring young lady, even though he’d occasionally been unsuccessful with that. When she had invaded his thoughts, though, he’d taken to being more argumentative with her than ever, even though her responses to his argumentative state always resulted in rousing debates that, quite frankly, impressed him.
Judith narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve now taken to scowling, which is worse than a grimace and has left me with nothing to conclude except that you’re suffering from lady problems.”
“I’m not suffering from lady problems.”
“Your expression says otherwise.”
Arthur ran a hand over his face. “Perhaps it might be best if we chose a different topic to distract me from my supposed grimacing.”
“It’s not supposed grimacing. Youaregrimacing.”
“Be that as it may,” Arthur said through teeth that had taken to clenching, “what say we try another tactic to stop me from grimacing? Maybe you could answer a few questions about the agency, especially since I don’t believe I’ll be getting any answersto the many questions I have from Daphne or Mrs. Holbrooke anytime soon.”
“Your case must be complicated, because I’ve never known Eunice to take so long deliberating whether she wants to accept an assignment.”
“I was led to believe the partners always confer about cases, but now I find myself questioning whether that’s actually true.”
Judith abandoned her sketching. “And now you’re looking suspicious, which is not a look I wanted to capture either.”
The thought flashed to mind that his day was not unfolding in any way, shape, or form the way he’d envisioned it.
Judith cleared her throat. “How about if I tell you something else about the agency, something that’s not suspicious in the least—my role here. I design all the signage our agency uses as well as manning the reception room when there’s a need.”
“You don’t work on cases?”
“I have not as of yet because I’m very consumed by my art. But I have been trying to convince Eunice to allow me to put my artistic talents to greater use for the agency, using those talents to paint flyers of suspects or missing people we’ve been hired to locate.” Judith frowned. “She doesn’t seem keen to act on my offer, believing my fondness for abstract portraits may not be a good match for flyers.”
Judith nodded to a painting that was hanging on the opposite wall, one that sported brightly colored yet clearly undefinable shapes. “I’ve been inspired to paint abstract portraits because of the lady who painted that masterpiece. That particular painting is a self-portrait.”
Arthur eyed the painting for a long moment. “How would you know that’s a self-portrait? It looks like a collection of rectangles and squares to me, although I can discern an eye in the very middle of the piece.”
“Self-portrait is written on the back of the canvas.”
“Ah, well, that was helpful of the artist to include that. And while the painting does have a certain intrigue, I believe Mrs. Holbrookeis quite right in that an abstract depiction of a missing person might not be of much help with locating that person.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his flyer. He unfolded it and handed it to Judith. “I had this drawn up by a local artist out west. It’s an illustration of the lady I need to find. Perhaps it’ll give you a better idea of what flyers are expected to look like.”
Judith smoothed the flyer out on top of her sketchpad, her eyes widening. “Good heavens,” she whispered.
“Is something the matter?”
Judith blinked, pulled her attention from the flyer, then darted another quick look at it before she shuddered. “There’s, ah, nothing the matter except that, well, having seen this flyer, I have to question whether I, ah, have the skills needed to produce flyers the agency will find helpful.”
Given that Judith was now looking everywhere except at him, Arthur was getting the distinct impression she wasn’t exactly being truthful. He sat forward. “You haven’t seen the lady in that flyer, have you?”
“And whoisthis lady you’re searching for?” Judith countered, her gaze settled on something past his shoulder.
