“It is?” She exhaled slowly.
“Your work is much improved since we first met. Looser, with a real personality. The story has humor and charm, and somehow, you had even me caring about the fate of that dreadful camper of yours.”
“It’s meant to be a children’s picture book, so I couldn’t draw something as awful as the reality of Spammy being hauled away to a junkyard,” Kerry explained.
“No. That would be too cruel, even for me,” Heinz agreed. He handed her the sketchbook. “You can see I made some suggestions. Places where the perspective could be altered, or the composition reworked. Of course, I’m no expert on children, or the kind of books they like, but I think your story has real potential.”
Kerry found herself beaming. “I don’t know what came over me. This story and the illustrations came pouring out of me while I was in your studio. It felt like something I’d had bottled up inside me for a long, long time.” She clutched the sketch pad to her chest.
“Is that what creating something new felt like to you? Back when you were still painting?” she asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“And I don’t believe you. Heinz, I looked you up. You’re famous. An art world sensation. Did you know that the nude painting of yours that Della Lowell bought back in the eighties sold last year, at auction, for one point two million?”
“Ridiculous,” he said. “Why would she sell the thing, anyway?”
“Her estate sold it. She died two years ago.”
Heinz recoiled, as though he’d been slapped.
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew. The article I read said she was in her late nineties. Her stepchildren apparently weren’t the artsy kind.”
He ran his hand over his chin. “I had no idea. Of course she died. Everyone does, and she was a very old, very grand lady. Della was a tastemaker. After she bought that nude, everything changed. My career took off. She took me to lunch one day. At a restaurant wherethat bodega is now. Pointed across the street, at this building, and suggested, no, insisted, I should invest in real estate. Her husband owned one of the biggest brokerages in the city. He arranged everything, managed for me to buy it at an unheard-of price. George and I, we couldn’t believe our good fortune.”
Kerry picked up the black-and-white photo from the nightstand. “George?”
Heinz nodded. “My dealer, my muse, my partner in all things. We’d been living in a hovel, really, but it was near his gallery. We had three good years here. Only three. And then, he was gone.”
There was so much she wanted to ask Heinz, the questions tumbled over themselves in her mind.
The doorbell rang. Heinz raised an eyebrow.
“It’s probably just Murphy. Bringing me my clothes and things from the trailer. Oh, and I told him I thought it would be all right if he brought Queenie here too, because he’s staying at Claudia’s and she’s got a cat…”
“Fine, fine,” Heinz muttered. “Bring all the strays. I’m too old and sick to stop you.”
chapter 50
As soon as Kerry opened the door Queenie gave a short, happy bark of recognition, then went bounding through the apartment, straight for Heinz’s bedroom.
Murphy had Kerry’s overflowing duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and a plastic trash bag stuffed with what she assumed was the rest of her belongings. Behind him, in the hallway, lay a smallish, forlorn-looking Christmas tree.
He set the baggage down inside the living room, turned, and dragged the tree inside. “This was Austin’s idea,” he said sheepishly. “Vic had to leave early, so Patrick brought him down to help me take apart the rest of the stand. This was the last tree. I guess it was so ugly nobody even wanted it for free.”
“Let me guess. Austin insisted Mr. Heinz had to have a Christmas tree,” Kerry said. She pointed to a spot in the corner of the room. “Put it over there. Heinz has already had to get used to the idea of a squatter, and now a dog. This might just put him over the edge. Or not. Did you bring a stand for it?”
“We sold ’em all,” Murphy said. “How about I just kind of lean it against the wall?”
“Why not? In the meantime, I’ll go check to see how Heinz is getting along with your dog.”
To Kerry’s amazement, Heinz was sitting up in the chair beside the bed, with Queenie sprawled across his lap, gazing up at him adoringly and licking his chin.
“Poor girl,” she heard Heinz murmur as he stroked the dog’s silky ears. “Did the bad people leave you all alone out there in that cold and snow?”
“Poor girl, my aunt Fannie,” Kerry retorted. “I gather you’re feeling better?”
The old man shrugged. “Mrs. Lee might be right about that soup of hers. But I don’t think I could survive a second dose.”
