The exhibit presented an ideal opportunity to check out the gallery.
CHAPTER THREE
THE GALLERY’S SHOWROOM looked perfect. Chelsea had worked darn hard to make sure it did. The annual exhibit and auction tended to draw a big crowd and was an important event for them. The gallery itself was a dominant presence on Willowbrook Avenue and in the community. It had been ever since Mrs. Sinclair established it when she’d moved to Camden Falls from Cambridge. She was already widowed at the time. Her son and daughter-in-law had died in the same tragic accident as her husband, so she was also Joel’s guardian. Mrs. Sinclair was a bit of a celebrity in Camden Falls, and the gallery’s annual gala was on many townspeople’s social calendars, but it also attracted patrons from Boston, Cambridge and well beyond.
The event was a big deal, and Chelsea had nagged Mr. Hadley until he’d agreed to let her handle it mostly on her own. Joel had coordinated the media, public relations and advertising, but the showroom was all hers!
It was another test she’d set for herself. Despite being her own worst critic, she was pleased with how everything looked.
The hors d’oeuvre stations had been set up and the members of the waitstaff were finishing final preparations in the kitchen. The area where the auction would be held was ready and cordoned off. Nothing seemed out of place.
Chelsea relished these quiet moments before the guests started to arrive and she could be alone to take pleasure in her work.
Mr. Hadley was in his office, changing into his tuxedo, and Joel had gone to his apartment to get ready. He’d pick up his grandmother on his way back. Tina, the gallery’s administrative assistant, and Deborah, the gallery’s other full-time sales associate, had already changed into their dresses. The event was advertised as black-tie optional, but Mrs. Sinclair expected the gallery team to dress up, as did most of their regular patrons. Mrs. Sinclair might be a sweet old lady, but she had exacting standards for herself and the people who worked for her. And her resolve, once she’d set her sights on something, was unwavering.
No, there was no room for Chelsea to make a mistake.
She moved to where she’d positioned a wingback chair for Mrs. Sinclair. Vital and youthful though she looked, she was nearing eighty and—as much as Chelsea knew she hated her own weakness—she could no longer be on her feet all evening. She needed short rests whenever time allowed.
After taking one last look around the room, it was time for Chelsea to get ready, too. In the women’s washroom, she changed into the black cocktail dress she’d bought for the occasion. It was plain other than a sheer-lace panel across the shoulders, and some lace at the hemline just below her knees. Chelsea removed the two jewelry boxes from the case she’d brought with her. She opened the long slender one and carefully pulled out the beautiful single-strand pearl necklace. Admiring it first, she secured it around her neck. Next, she took the matching earrings out of their box and fastened them to her earlobes. The set had been her beloved grandmother’s, who’d passed it on to her mother. Chelsea’s mother had given it to her on her twenty-first birthday. Chelsea treasured it, because it reminded her of her grandmother, who’d died a few years back and whom she missed dearly.
Chelsea missed her mom and dad, too, but at least they were only a phone call or an hour-and-a-half’s drive away in Fitchburg.
To complete her attire for the evening, she’d decided on black stockings and—although she knew she’d regret it by the end of the evening—stiletto-heeled black pumps. Rather than using mousse to get her favored spiky look, she’d styled her hair straight and sleek that morning, parted on the side and tucked behind her ears. Because she opted for a lighter shade than she usually wore, her lips were a more natural-looking shimmery rose.
She studied herself in the washroom mirror with a critical eye, much as she’d assessed the showroom earlier.
Elegant wasn’t a word she usually associated with herself nor, frankly, was it something she normally strove for. But tonight? She thought she’d hit the mark.
It was important to her to set the right tone. Not just because she’d put so much personal effort into the event, but because of her goal to be the next curator. She wanted to ensure that Mrs. Sinclair found absolutely no fault with the evening...or her.
Soon after she reentered the showroom, the guests started to trickle in. By seven thirty, the gallery was packed. There were so many people, Chelsea worried that they’d run out of hors d’oeuvres. Or even more concerning, champagne.
Finding a moment to herself, she hurried to the kitchen to see how the supplies were holding up and passed several reporters along the way. She’d hoped there’d be a strong media presence, even though that fell in Joel’s area of responsibility. Getting excellent earned-media coverage was an important side benefit of the event. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have imagined that arts reporters for two Boston media outlets and one from Cambridge would be there, along with all the locals.
Assuring herself that everything was fine in the food and beverages area, she circulated through the room, much like a conscientious hostess. She engaged guests while leaving the media to Mr. Hadley until Mrs. Sinclair and Joel arrived. When she noticed Mr. and Mrs. Rochester, from All That Glitters and Shines, she excused herself from the couple she’d been speaking with and went to greet them. Placing kisses on their cheeks, she stepped back to scrutinize Mr. Rochester. Although they’d spoken on the phone, she hadn’t seen him since the robbery, because the store was closed while repairs were being made under Adam’s supervision.
Chelsea was relieved that the only indication of the trauma Mr. Rochester had suffered was the small bandage he sported on his temple. “How are you feeling?” she asked him with genuine concern.
“I’m fine. As well as can be expected, at my age.” He looked at his wife lovingly. “Between Carla’s fussing and Adam’s, I can hardly wait for the store to open so I can feel useful again.”
“Now, Arnold, don’t start complaining. We have every right to worry about you. It’s part of our job descriptions,” his wife said with a smile, slipping her arm through his.
He patted her hand. “I know, dear, but I really am okay. And speaking of Adam...” He turned back to Chelsea. “He’s here somewhere if you’d like to say hello. I’m afraid Carla and I won’t be staying long. I need my rest.”
“I understand perfectly, and I’m grateful all three of you could make it, especially under the circumstances.” She glanced around the room and saw Adam in conversation with someone in front of a Jose Royo painting. “Can I get you anything before I go see Adam? A glass of champagne?”
“Oh, we’re fine, thank you,” Mrs. Rochester replied.
“Well, then, I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves,” Chelsea added, before wishing them a good night.
She kept working the room and waited until Adam was alone before going to him. She’d known him for as long as she’d been at the Sinclair Gallery. They got on well enough, but with him she’d never felt the mutual affection she did with his aunt and uncle. She’d gotten to know him a little better while she and Joel had dated. Joel and Adam had been friends since they’d gone to school together. Although not as close as they used to be, they were still on good terms. Considering the hardships Adam had endured as a child, she understood why he was reserved. She told herself she should be more accepting, but their personalities were so different—Adam, being more of a loner and introspective—they’d never gotten close. Maybe part of it was that Adam didn’t seem to show an appreciation for art, one of her great loves.
No matter. He was a guest, and she’d make sure he was having a nice time.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked, walking up to him.
“Yeah.” Adam motioned to the crowd behind them. “Impressive turnout. With deep pockets, I’ll bet,” he added.
“We have a good mix of peopl
e who appreciate art,” was Chelsea’s diplomatic response.
“As an example, how much is this piece?” he asked, turning back to the painting.
For the higher-valued works, they didn’t display the asking prices. They wanted to have the opportunity to discuss the paintings with anyone who might be interested, rather than immediately scaring them off with the price. Chelsea studied the Royo, too. “It’s a classic example of a contemporary artist whose work is favorably compared to old masters. The best we’ve had in some time. It’s valued at a hundred and thirty thousand dollars.”
“That’s a substantial amount of money, even for the wealthy. We don’t have anything in that price range at All That Glitters and Shines.”
“Trust me. We don’t sell many pieces in this price range, either,” she said and left as soon as she felt she could do so politely.
A quick perusal of the room indicated there were even more people present now. For her own peace of mind, she decided to pop into the kitchen to satisfy herself that they still weren’t running low on anything.
As she exited the kitchen, relieved that they had plenty of everything, she saw Joel with his grandmother. He was guiding her protectively into the room. One thing she’d always liked about Joel was how considerate and loving he was to his grandmother. Family was important to Chelsea, and the way Joel treated his grandmother had endeared him to her when they’d first met.
As usual, Mrs. Sinclair was elegantly dressed. Unless Chelsea was mistaken, today she was wearing a Chanel evening suit in rose, a perfect color to complement her pale and remarkably unlined skin and silver-white hair. Chelsea signaled one of the waitstaff to prepare a cup of the herbal tea Mrs. Sinclair preferred, before heading over to the entrance to greet the owner.
Chelsea was pleased by the smile that appeared on Mrs. Sinclair’s face when she reached her. “Mrs. Sinclair, it’s wonderful to see you. I hope you find everything at tonight’s event to your liking.”
Mrs. Sinclair took Chelsea’s hands in her own. Her grasp was cool and unexpectedly firm. “It’s all lovely, my dear. I’m certain our gala will be a success.”
“I hope so,” Chelsea murmured. “I’ve positioned your chair next to the Angelo bronze,” she said, gesturing. “Oh, and here comes Sandra with your tea.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Sinclair said, as she accepted the cup from the waitress. “That’s very sweet of you, but enough worrying about me.”
“I’ll keep Grandmother company,” Joel assured Chelsea. “Why don’t you go mingle and sell some art,” he said, not unkindly.
“I’ll do that,” Chelsea responded with a grateful smile for Joel. “If you need anything, Mrs. Sinclair, please let me know.”
Chelsea did as Joel suggested, and she began to relax. Every indication was that the evening would be a triumph. They’d received a few advance bids above the reserve for the works that would be auctioned at the end of the evening, and she personally made a couple of minor sales. Then she saw Mr. Anderson, one of their faithful patrons, standing in front of a Babineux, obviously admiring it. If she could make that sale, it would be a bonus to an already fantastic event.
“Hello, Mr. Anderson,” she said as she stopped beside him to look at the painting of a woman and her child.
“Good evening, Chelsea.” He smiled at her briefly before turning his attention back to the painting.
“Henri Babineux, as I’m sure you know, is one of the most renowned artists of his day. This piece was painted circa 1862. Today is the first day we’re showing it. I don’t think we’ll have it long. Wouldn’t it look fabulous in your collection?”
“You might be right,” he replied. “Excellent turnout, by the way. I don’t usually go for these types of events, but I couldn’t resist coming this evening to see what new treasures you might have available.”
“I trust you’re not disappointed.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not.”
She stepped a little closer and lowered her voice. “Should I get a sold sign for it?”
“Now, now! I might be known for impulse buying, but even I’m not quite that spontaneous.” He turned shrewd eyes on her. “However, you could tell me how much it would set me back if I did decide to acquire this painting.”
Chelsea named the number in the mid six figures and knew that as pricey as it was, it wasn’t out of Mr. Anderson’s range.
His expression turned contemplative. “Let me think about it while I help myself to a glass of champagne and see what else might capture my interest.”
“Please do,” she said, not in the least disappointed. If she was a betting person, she would’ve laid money on Mr. Anderson’s buying the Babineux sooner or later. She was familiar with that look in his eyes. Once he’d moved on, she turned back to the painting. It wasn’t her preferred style, but she recognized the artistic talent. More important, she knew that the Babineux was to Mr. Anderson’s taste. She then studied the abstract next to it.
“Help me understand what, exactly, this painting is supposed to represent.” The deep voice, with a touch of humor, had Chelsea glancing over her shoulder.
Her courteous reply caught in her throat as she found herself staring into familiar bold blue eyes. “Detective Eldridge, I didn’t know you had an interest in art.”
His laugh was warm and masculine at the same time. “I don’t normally, no. And when I do, I tend to like...ah, the more mundane.”
He was standing so close, she could see the faint stubble of a day’s growth of beard, and the fine lines at the outer corners of his eyes and mouth when he smiled. There were a few strands of gray in his black hair. His scent, clean and woodsy, teased her nostrils. She let her gaze slide over him. She was sure there was a fit and impressive body under his conservative suit.
“I hope I’m not underdressed,” he said.
Chelsea felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She obviously hadn’t been as subtle in her perusal of him as she’d hoped. “Oh, no, you look perfectly fine.” Now she could feel her cheeks burn even more. “What I meant is your attire is fine. Black tie is optional. Are you here for professional or personal reasons?” she rushed on, wanting to change the subject.
“A bit of both.”
His answer perplexed her, but she remained quiet.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d enlighten me about this particular painting,” he said after a moment.
“Of course, Detective. This painting is by Jackson Pollock, who’s among the leaders of abstract expressionism.” Noting his blank look, she went on to explain. “In abstract expressionism, the artist is mostly interested in color, movement and rhythm, rather than trying to depict specific objects. The artists also worked with new ways of applying paint. Pollock, for example, used sticks to fling and drip paint on his canvases. This piece was painted in 1934 and was in a private collection until the gallery acquired it recently through auction.”
“That gives me its history, but tell me about the painting itself. And Sam is fine.”
His blue eyes and the sparkle of humor in them captivated her, and she missed his concluding comment. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”
The smile became a wide grin. “I’d prefer it if you called me Sam instead of Detective.”
“Oh, okay...Sam.”
“Now, tell me about the painting. What is it supposed to be? Aside from blobs of color, I mean.”
Chelsea should’ve been offended by his barely restrained mirth but was instead tempted to laugh along with him. Instead, she ran through the sales pitch she’d developed for the painting. “Well, as you can see, this is a painting of an enchanted forest shrouded in mist,” she concluded and glanced up at Sam.
He was staring at the canvas intently, his brows drawn together, his eyes narrowed. She tried not to feel disconcerted by his proximity.
Finally, he
shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see it at all. This,” he said, pointing, “looks like a sand crab to me, but mostly all I see is spattered paint.”
She was about to point out the key elements of the painting to him, but the absurdity of even trying struck her. “It’s a stylized depiction of the forest,” she conceded.
“Can we at least agree that it’s highly stylized?” he asked.
Now Chelsea did laugh, but quickly clamped one hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around. Satisfied that no one had noticed her outburst, she looked back at Sam.
“Well, am I right? Can you see the crab?” he asked. “I should help you sell paintings here.”
“Don’t quit your day job,” she countered under her breath when two patrons strolled over to admire the Pollock.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Sam said, as they moved away to give the couple space. “We each have our strengths. Do you have the time—and the patience—to show me around?”
Chelsea heard the humor in his voice again and found herself drawn to him. All their guests seemed to be engaged and enjoying themselves. Mrs. Sinclair and Mr. Hadley were making the rounds, champagne glasses in their hands. Joel, Deborah and Tina were available to address any questions, and it was less than an hour before the auction started.
Happily, she noted that sold signs had been placed under a few more of the pieces. “Sure. I have some time. What interests you the most?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea!” he said with a chuckle. “Surprise me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
CHELSEA’S MISCHIEVOUS STREAK kicked in. Sam was someone who, by his own admission, knew little about art, and it stood to reason that he had equally limited interest. She’d see what she could do about turning him into an art aficionado.
“Why don’t we start with some baroques,” she suggested. “Are you on duty?” she asked, when she saw a waitress approach with a tray of champagne.