The Vanished, page 2
Janae headed in the direction the young woman had indicated. It wouldn’t hurt to start with the best piece and work out from there. Long ago these halls were familiar, but she hadn’t visited recently. She stood in the doorway and watched couples and individuals, some standing in front of art, considering it, others appearing aimless as they flowed around the room. High school art class was the last significant time she’d spent here other than for that one college paper. She hadn’t truly valued art until she’d taken an art appreciation class in college. That had ignited an understanding of how art developed over time, while also giving her favorite artists whose work she could look for whenever she visited a gallery. Maybe she should have started by asking the gal at the entrance where to find the museum’s Pissarros.
Nerves jittered through Carter Montgomery as he observed a couple wander past without noticing an exquisite painting by Thomas Gainsborough. He’d found it sitting in a small conference room and decided the painting of an English woman from the 1780s was a perfect addition to the exhibit his predecessor had created on Women in Art. It had felt like a light touch, adding his mark to the gallery. Very few would ever recognize it that way, but he hadn’t expected people to walk by without seeing her at all.
However, one woman stood transfixed by another painting in the collected works.
The elderly woman with silver coiffed hair stared at a Paula Modersohn-Becker painting on loan for the exhibit, a piece that had reappeared from a private or state collection in the last few years. The Expressionist painting of children had pulled the tiny, birdlike woman into its orbit, and she hadn’t twitched. She looked frail enough that she might break at a touch. Yet there was something granite in her slightly stooped posture and the way she didn’t move. She barely breathed. An oasis in the slow swirl of others moving from painting to sculpture or standing like small islands talking, waiting to be seen rather than to see.
The painting was nice. Lovely in a way. While Modersohn-Becker had an exquisite touch, she wasn’t as well-known as Vincent van Gogh and others from her time. The museum owned more popular paintings than this one on loan, and around the corner were two additional famous paintings on loan from other museums—a Donatello and a Raphael.
What about this painting had arrested her attention so completely?
“She hasn’t moved in fifteen minutes.” Ariel Sharp, his young, inherited assistant, came and stood next to him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if she’d died.”
Carter cut her a sharp look. “Be careful.”
“She’s as old as the mountains around here.”
“And worthy of respect.” Before Ariel could say anything else that annoyed him to the point of firing her regardless of who her daddy was and what the board thought, he strode toward the elderly woman. He made a bit of noise as he approached so he didn’t startle her. “You like this one.”
“Yes.” There was the faintest hint of an accent lacing her word. European? Maybe.
“What about it captured you?” He was always curious to know what attracted people’s attention.
The woman placed a hand at her chin and tilted her head, making her even more birdlike as she continued to gaze at it. “This painting was a gift to my grandmother on the event of her fortieth birthday.”
That was … unexpected. “Really? That’s incredible.”
“Not as incredible as the fact this painting was stolen from my family, and I long for the day it returns home.”
His mind whirled as he considered how to respond. A claim like that was far-fetched. And to drop it in the middle of an exhibit—like she discussed the weather and how wonderful the sun felt—was startling and left him floundering. “Why don’t we set a quiet time to meet?”
“Why not now? I have already waited seventy years, and my family has waited even longer to find and recover this piece of our heritage.”
He gestured to the gallery beyond them. “Right now I have too many guests to give you the attention your story requires.”
“I understand.” The words whispered from her, causing him to lean close. He felt the gravitas that infused them. Made the simple words firm and unyielding. And from such a small, unassuming person.
“I look forward to it.” Noting others watching them, he gave her a half bow.
She turned toward him for the first time, a sad tilt to her fuchsia-colored lips, the color feathering out through her wrinkles. The edges of her eyes turned down, reflecting the weariness of her sloped shoulders. “Until then.”
He walked away, careful not to flee, feeling her gaze and those of others in the room. What had just happened? He wasn’t sure, but he needed to find an attorney for the museum.
Chapter 2
Saturday, October 22
JANAE TOOK A LEISURELY PATH down the broad hall, noting each work and stopping when something caught her attention. It might be the colors, the subject, or the brushstrokes. She hadn’t made time for such immersion while she worked eighty hours a week.
That was something she could change with the return to Kedgewick.
Something she could reset.
Eventually she left the hall and entered the gallery and took in the paintings displayed in heavily gilded frames, noting one on the far wall. Standing next to an older woman was the man she’d encountered at the entrance. The director? She should look away but was intensely curious about what the unlikely pair discussed. If her gaze traveled to the man more than the small woman in an elegant coat dress, who could blame her? There was something compelling about him.
Maybe she stood there longer than she thought, because the next thing she knew someone sidled next to her.
“You might want to quit ogling the new director.” Margeaux Robbins’s teasing tone didn’t stop Janae’s embarrassment from flaming her skin.
“You’re not supposed to call attention to it.” Janae gave her a quick side hug, noting how thin her lifelong friend felt.
“I’m glad to see you noticing.” Her friend waggled her eyebrows.
Was Margeaux eating? They had spent hours together in the gymnastics facility growing up, forming a tight bond, and there had been seasons Margeaux had struggled. Janae forced her attention away from her concern. “Why aren’t you watching?”
“Because I joined the museum’s board of directors last month, and that makes me his boss.” She wrinkled her nose in a way that reminded Janae of every time her friend got ready to take the floor. Margeaux was a dynamo when she tumbled, and somehow doing that nose wrinkle had helped her release tension before competing. Taller than the average gymnast by a good six inches, Margeaux had channeled her power into a beautiful blend of grace and pure strength that lightly kissed the floor rather than pounding it like a stumbling elephant.
“Congratulations. I hadn’t heard.”
“Thanks. I haven’t posted it anywhere yet. It could be a lot of work, but it lets me send invitations like the one you received.”
“I wondered who it came from. Thanks.”
“Sure. I wanted one friend here, and since you thought you might come back to town …”
“It was a big might.”
“You’re here.” Margeaux grinned at her.
“Show off.”
“Just like being right.”
“There is that.” Janae looked around. “You’ve always liked spending time here.”
“True.”
Janae noted everyone already holding long-stemmed glasses. “Looks like your people are waiting for you.”
“I don’t know about that, but I should pretend I’m an extrovert for the next hour or two.”
“No pretending needed.” Not when Margeaux managed to find common ground with most people in a matter of minutes. It was what made her a professor who easily connected with her students. But her departure would leave Janae to work her way around the fringes.
Margeaux leaned over and gave her a quick air kiss. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. I think Chloe plans to stop by too.”
“It would be good to see her.” Janae hoped her return meant she’d spend time with her childhood friends, but everyone had their own lives. “Go do your thing. I’m fine.” And she would be. She had to be, because the alternative meant the move from the high-pressure firm to home had been the worst decision of her life.
A waitress walked by, black apron over a crisp white shirt, holding a tray of glasses. “Would you like one? Prosecco is on the left and sparkling grape juice on the right.”
Janae lifted a white grape juice. “Thank you.”
Glass in hand, she walked through the foyer into the first gallery on the right. This one was filled with Virginia artists, none internationally known, but the landscapes captured the best of the state she loved. The older woman had moved in here and now stood in front of one. Janae couldn’t help overhearing when a tall man approached her.
“Mrs. Seeger, do you have a moment?”
The woman didn’t turn toward the man. “You are?”
“Jarod Shaw, attorney-at-law.”
Janae should move but couldn’t. Maybe she could learn something from the way he approached people. She took another sip of her sparkling juice and continued to study the landscape before her.
“I know your family’s history and would like to help you reclaim what is rightfully yours.”
“I do believe that time has passed, young man.” There was no irony in her voice even though the man had to be in his early forties. “I did all I could to put forth a claim fifteen years ago.”
“But did you know where your family’s paintings were then? The ones on display here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe we can talk somewhere private.” He handed her his card. “Next week I can come to you. I think we can make something happen now.”
“I’ll call you.”
“I look forward to it, ma’am.” He melted into the crowd, leaving the woman fingering his card before she slipped it into her clutch.
Before Janae could be caught staring, she moved to the next painting. Then she strolled past several more, nodding to a couple she recognized from when she visited her parents’ church. She paused in front of her favorite landscape, a scene of the Shenandoah Valley in the full color of fall. Approximately four by six feet in the frame, it was a painting she could stand in front of for hours, and she had in fact done that on a dare in high school.
“Like what you see?”
The woman next to Carter startled, then seemed to force herself to still, as more bubbles floated to the top of her fluted glass. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, noting the understated perfection of her outfit. She looked like she was ready to cheer on the latest hunt, except for the brightness of her sweater, but somehow she pulled it off. There was an easy elegance to her style, yet she didn’t seem quite comfortable standing in his museum.
My museum. Carter had to grin at that thought. He’d worked long and hard to reach this point in his career. In fact, he’d reached it years before his plan or peers had predicted, even with the disaster he’d experienced at his prior job. His one regret was that his older sister wasn’t here to see this success. Charlotte had always encouraged his dreams, and his breath still caught in his chest at the reality he’d never see her again.
He glanced around without really moving and noticed Stanley Dukes, the chair of the board and his former colleague, staring at him. There was something in his gaze that set Carter on edge. All was going well with the gallery opening. There were plenty of guests and donors enjoying the evening. Why was the man studying him?
Then a man in a blazer sidled next to Stanley, and the silver-haired man moved into the next room with him.
Carter refocused on the woman next to him, who had stayed silent. “I’m Carter Montgomery, the new director here.”
“I’d heard there was a new one. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Her chin tipped up to meet his gaze six inches above her, styling him as a giant next to her petite frame. She held out a slim hand, nails neatly trimmed but free of polish. “I’m Janae Simmons, attorney-at-law.”
He bit back a snort at the way she said it. “Nice to meet you, Janae, attorney-at-law.”
“That was pretentious, wasn’t it?” She took a quick sip, and he noted the way her hand trembled. “I’m newly back in town and not sure how to explain who I am, and everything feels wrong. It all comes out jumbled or snotty.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and rocked her head side to side. “I need to stop, don’t I? I’m babbling now.”
“Actually, I find this”—he ran a hand up and down in the air—“adorable.”
She grimaced. “That’s not exactly the aura I was going for.” Her shoulders slumped like someone had pricked a hole in her balloon. “Events like this are tricky. I’m a hometown girl, but I’ve been gone more than ten years. So everyone who believes they know me is wrong. Well, other than one of your board members.” She clamped her lips together.
He quickly pivoted back toward the art before she could read his face. Had he met anyone quite like her? Carter hadn’t had this much fun engaging with someone in a while. She came across as natural and unaffected, a combination that piqued his interest.
“You can look again.”
He couldn’t hold back the guffaw, not quite the reaction he wanted others to see, as they turned to stare. He was new in town and an outsider, so no one wanted to know him in this tight-knit community. Best to move the conversation to more artistic territory. “Which is your favorite?”
“Of these?” She glanced around the gallery. “I’m really not much of an Impressionist girl. I prefer Italian art from the 1300s.”
He almost believed her until he noted the faint twitch at the side of her perfect mouth. “Now that is interesting. I find most people seem drawn to masters like Manet and Monet.”
“I personally like the ones where the people are dancing across the canvas on tiptoe. Give me some good old Agnolo Gaddi or Paolo Veneziano. Add a little gold leaf for color and I’m hooked.”
“You’ve been to the national gallery recently.”
“Guilty as charged. Even took the tour.”
“And no interest in Raphael or da Vinci?”
“They’re so …” She paused as if searching for the right word. “Common.”
“Ah yes, nothing to seeing the only da Vinci in the western hemisphere.”
She mimicked the woman who’d been talking to him earlier, tipping her head to the side as she studied the Pissarro. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter 3
Saturday, October 22
THIS MAN GIVING JANAE HIS full attention? A surreal yet wonderful experience. Why would he do that when there were so many important people here? She didn’t know, but she was deeply enjoying their repartee. She took a sip of the sparkling grape juice, letting the fizz tickle the back of her nose before she swallowed.
Carter wore a dark navy suit, red-striped shirt, and blue-and-red-check bowtie. It could have looked ridiculous, but somehow the fit made him seem more artsy and unique rather than eccentric. She decided she liked it better than those of the stuffy attorneys she’d spent her time with before. She yanked in the thought. She’d barely made it to town and two hours ago hadn’t known about this event. She did not need to let her thoughts wander to what might be possible with a man she’d just met.
She needed a redirection. Fast. “Which is your favorite?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Person?”
“No, though you could tell me.” She tapped the glass lightly against her lips as she searched the room. “I was thinking along the lines of paintings. Surely one holds a special place in your heart.”
“That’s like asking a parent who’s their favorite child.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and her heart dropped at his words.
“I’m sorry. That’s probably too personal.” Surely he couldn’t have kids. He was too young, and a quick glance at his left hand would fill in the important detail. Though maybe not. Not everyone cared about getting the wedding before the children. Guess she was an old-fashioned woman at heart.
“No, it’s a good one for me to consider.” He pulled a hand free and pointed at a landscape. “That one is my favorite because I’d swear the Blue Ridge still looks like that even though it was painted over a hundred years ago when Georgia O’Keeffe spent her summers here.” Then he shifted toward the one with five children that the elderly woman had soaked in. “This one is so different, yet there’s something animated and energetic even as the children sit on that beach without faces we can clearly discern.”
“It is unusual.”
“Sort of like the O’Keeffe. People forget that she lived in Charlottesville at the UVA campus for a series of summers. She painted more than large flowers and stark southwestern art. I love how unexpected her perspective was of the campus and mountains. She favored watercolors here, a medium she strayed from later because it wasn’t perceived as real enough for a true artist.”
“I get inspired by Instagram and YouTube videos, but can barely get anything but a blob of gray when I attempt watercolors.”
“Look at hers and you’ll see what I mean about the detail she added while working in that medium.”
A young woman approached, dressed in a skintight minidress that looked very out of place among the more elegant dresses most women wore. “Carter, one of the board members is looking for you. Said something about needing to discuss something.”
“Thanks, Ariel.” He turned to Janae. “I’m sorry. I have to leave.”
“I should probably circulate anyway. It’ll be good to let people know I’m back and can solve their legal woes.” She clapped her free hand over her mouth again. “Why do I keep saying the first thing that pops into my mind?”
“I must bring out the best in you.” The edge of his mouth tipped in an adorable hint of a smile.
“Something like that.” She took a final sip of the juice and then looked around but couldn’t see a safe spot to deposit the glass.
