Chapter 16
Sam was getting hungry and the whole Mrs. Knightly outfit was beginning to make her itch—she didn’t do dresses very often. Luckily, she’d thought of that and brought a change of clothes. She suggested to Rupert that they go inside the café for some lunch. While he ordered her a Reuben sandwich she slipped into the ladies room where she traded the dress and silk jacket for jeans and a soft pullover from her roomy shoulder bag.
“Better,” she told him when she came back to the table. “I’m glad I could fool Carolyn Hildebrandt with the Mrs. Knightly getup, but it’s better that I talk to Bart Killington as myself.”
They devoured their sandwiches and headed back toward Hildebrandt’s gallery. Parking was at a premium on the narrow street but they found a spot that gave a decent view of the front door from about a half-block away. Then came the wait. They had no idea what time Bart would be coming, provided he didn’t change his mind and not show at all. Two hours dragged by.
“What if he came and went while we were eating?” Sam said.
“Patience, my dear. The lady said he was coming this afternoon. We were back here at twelve-thirty, so the odds are in our favor.”
Sam wasn’t very tolerant with this kind of thing, but resisted twitching in her seat. There were so many other things she could be doing this afternoon—checking on her properties, pre-making more decorations for that wedding cake, nagging her daughter about getting a job.
To amuse herself she pulled an old receipt out of her bag, smoothed the eight-and-a-half by eleven page, and began sketching ideas for her pastry shop on the back. Someday Sweet’s Sweets would become a reality, not merely a sideline business run from a cramped kitchen, represented by a name on a business card.
“Sam, look up. I think that’s him,” Rupert said.
The dark-haired man was a block away, walking toward them, on the shady side of the street. Just before he reached the gallery he passed through a shaft of sunlight and Sam got a clear look.
“You’re right.” They both sat straighter in their seats.
Bart stayed inside for nearly thirty minutes and Sam was starting to get impatient again but Rupert told her stories from some of his more memorable book signings to keep her from jumping out of the car and invading the gallery. Before he got to the one about the male cover model and the romance writers convention of 2004, Sam spotted Bart on the sidewalk.
“There he is—be ready!”
He cranked up the Land Rover and started a slow maneuver out of the tight parking spot. Bart got into a dark green Jaguar with the dealer sticker still on it.
“Don’t let him see us,” she said.
“Honey, I’ve written enough stalker scenes to know how to handle it.”
She had no choice but to believe him. They stayed back a few car lengths but she still worried that only a blind guy wouldn’t notice the hulking SUV.
Apparently Bart didn’t. He drove through the city without making any sort of evasive moves. By the time they got on Highway 285 northbound, she began to wonder just how far away he really lived. But then he exited near the opera and wound his way through one of those exclusive neighborhoods where each house has its own little hilltop, some game of king-of-the-mountain, Santa Fe style. At least the Land Rover wasn’t out of place here, as Sam’s big red pickup truck might have been.
Rupert did a good job of maneuvering—staying just one curve behind the Jag, but catching up in time that they didn’t lose him on an obscure lane or something. When the Jag slowed she realized he was about to turn in at a driveway on the right. Rupert let the SUV coast nearly to a stop until the car began the climb up the steep drive. A territorial style adobe sat at the top of the rise, a massive thing with a few gables and some stained glass thrown in for good measure.
Sam hadn’t thought about what their actual approach would be. Rupert handled it by bringing the Land Rover up to the driveway entrance and simply letting it coast to a stop. By the time Bart was out of his car in front of the huge house, Rupert had slammed his door, stalked to the front of his vehicle and raised the hood.
“Damn it all!” he shouted.
Bart fell for it. He came to the top of the drive, peering curiously down at the stalled vehicle.
Sam got out and joined Rupert at the front of his car. He pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open and then made a gesture of disgust and jammed it back into his pocket. “Follow my lead,” he said through clenched teeth.
Pretending to have just noticed his surroundings he glanced up the driveway and feigned surprise at seeing Bart standing there.
Maybe Rupert should have stayed with the theater.
Sam stood there like she didn’t have a clue what to do, which wasn’t far off the mark.
“Oh, say—” Rupert began walking up the driveway and she followed along. “Might we borrow your telephone? My cell seems to be dead.”
With the big SUV blocking his driveway, Bart didn’t have much choice. Rupert kept up the chat as they crossed a wide circular drive. “I just don’t know about these maintenance shops anymore. Just had the thing worked on. Here we are, down from Taos for the day, supposed to have tea with the Rutledges—” He waved vaguely up the road.
“Sure, no problem,” Bart said. “Come on in.”
Piles of dirt and several large landscaping boulders sat beside the driveway and nearby front entry.
“Pardon the mess,” he said. “I’ve just moved in and there’s a ton of stuff to do.”
He opened the heavy, carved front door and ushered them inside. Pride of new ownership was evident. He couldn’t resist pointing out a few features of the home as he showed them into the kitchen (which Sam would have killed for), all granite tops and stainless appliances.
Rupert made a show of punching in some numbers and demanding to speak to the service manager. Sam sent a weak smile toward Bart.
“Samantha Sweet. Sorry, we should have introduced ourselves sooner. My friend is Rupert Penrick.” She glanced through an archway into a dining room. “Oh my, is that a Cantone?”
She walked toward it without exactly waiting for Bart to offer.
“We heard that Cantone recently passed away. In Taos. The whole town is in shock.”
From the kitchen Rupert called out. “What’s your number, Mr . . .?”
“Killington.” He rattled off the number without a pause.
How naïve was this guy? Inviting total strangers in and then giving his number?
Before he had the chance to realize his blunder, Sam pulled at his arm. “Is that another one?” She pointed to a second framed painting on the opposite wall.
“Rupert, you won’t believe this,” she said as he came walking in from the kitchen, muttering about how the shop would need to call him back in a few minutes.
“Mr. Killington has two of Cantone’s paintings. I was just telling him . . .”
Rupert reached out and touched her arm. “Sam, hold it. Killington? Are you— No, couldn’t be. Sophie Cantone—Killington’s son? You are Cantone’s nephew?”
They couldn’t flat-out interrogate the guy, but there were other ways to get information.
“But we heard— Didn’t you live near Taos with your uncle?” Sam turned to Rupert. “Isn’t that what we heard? That the artist had a nephew caring for him?”
Bart looked a little uncomfortable but apparently she’d given him the opening he needed.
“I actually had lost contact with my uncle for a number of years. The whole family had. After Mother died, I didn’t quite know where to turn. Then I discovered where he was.”
“In that tiny house, practically living in poverty.” She shook her head sadly.
“Well, uh, yes.”
“And you offered to bring him here, to your beautiful home?”
“Uh, actually, I hadn’t found this place yet. I wanted to take him in, to have him come to my place in California, but he was just too ill to travel. And he didn’t want to leave New Mexico. He always loved
it here. All I could do was to move in with him and care for him, in his own house.”
Uh-huh.
But before she could ask any more questions, Rupert’s cell phone rang. He jumped.
“Oh my, I guess I have a signal again.”
Chapter 17