The Vanished, page 4
Her thoughts drifted back to the man she’d left at Java Jane’s. She’d noticed the way he interacted with others Saturday night. It had contained the same respect and concern she’d noted when he’d conversed with her.
She really had been a fool not to join him even if she couldn’t talk about her job yet.
She almost turned around and headed back, but he’d probably ignore her if she did.
Actually that wasn’t fair.
They might not have spent much time together, but she’d seen enough to discern he was a kind man.
Feeling stuck to the pavement, she forced her feet to move toward the firm, but then found the door locked. There was no note or sign to indicate when the office would reopen. This was lax even for a small town like Kedgewick, and a quick call confirmed the receptionist didn’t wait inside to take a call or unlock the door. She shivered and shoved her hands in her pockets, wondering which of the open shops she should slip into while she waited. Chapters and Sips Bookstore sat on Main Street between Val’s Boutique and A Second Chance Antiques. If it were warmer and she had better shoes on, Janae could head to the W&OD Trail and spend the lunch hour walking its path. Instead, after another look around, she entered the bookstore.
The bell over the door welcomed her as she stepped into the warm atmosphere of a shop filled with shelves of volumes, some new and others familiar, the mix of old friend and fresh acquaintance. And this shop was scented with orange and cloves from a diffuser by the door.
“I’ll be right with you.” A voice floated from behind the shelves and displays.
“Chloe?”
“Yep.” A small woman stepped around a table, arms loaded with books. “Janae?” She startled and almost dropped the pile. She quickly shifted them onto the edge of the table, then squealed and opened her arms. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Arrived over the weekend.” Janae wasn’t prepared to tell one of her high school friends about her life.
“Really?” She gave Janae a tight squeeze and then dragged her back to the counter. “Come have a seat and I’ll make you a chai latte. It’s my favorite and a specialty.” She wrinkled her nose at the coffee Janae still held. “Java Jane’s is fine, but wait until you have this chai.”
“How long have you worked here?”
Chloe shrugged as she pulled something from a small fridge under the old-fashioned counter and then poured it into a mug. “I don’t really work here.”
“You’re giving a good impression otherwise.”
“I’m only helping out a friend. It’s not full time but helps pay the bills.”
“You’ve always been quick to help.”
“Guess it’s who I am.” Chloe grinned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “How long has it been?”
“Probably two or three years. The law firm kept me busy.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I’m still finding my way.”
“I bet your debt load is lighter than mine. Seven years of higher ed added up.”
“You won every scholarship you applied for. And have your parents.” From anyone else that would feel like a weird statement, but Chloe had always eyed Janae’s family as the goal. Chloe had grown up with a single mom who couldn’t be present much, so Janae understood her desire. And the move to the horse farm must have seemed golden compared to the cramped apartment Chloe and her mom shared. Chloe shook her head as if returning from her thoughts and then frothed the liquid in the mug. “Sorry. Tell me what brings you in.”
“I’m locked out of Ashley and Ashby.”
“Why would that matter?”
“I started working there today.”
Chloe gasped and then grasped her arm. “Run. You do not want to work for them.”
“Considering the door’s locked right now, I can’t get inside.” Janae watched her old friend. “Why would you tell me not to work for them?”
She paled, a difficult feat when she already had porcelain skin. “It’s nothing.” She dumped the liquid in a to-go cup and put a lid on top before sliding it to Janae. “Just be careful.”
Janae nodded, and then her phone rang. By the time she looked up from the screen, Chloe had disappeared.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, October 25
WHEN JANAE REACHED THE OFFICES of Ashley and Ashby the next morning, she fought to keep a positive perspective. She’d worn jeans and a sweatshirt, planning to deep clean her office that masqueraded as a storage closet. The prior night, as she sneezed through dinner with her parents, she’d known the wells of dust hiding in all that paper made it impossible for her to work without dramatic changes. She hadn’t gone to law school for three long years to have this be her future. The small succulent she carried wouldn’t do much to change the space, but it was a first step to making it her own.
At least until Mark Ashby walked an old woman who looked slightly familiar by her in the hallway. His eyes widened and his posture stiffened as he spied her.
Had he forgotten about Janae already?
The woman looked at her with open curiosity, but Mark hurried her past and Janae rolled her eyes. Nothing like being completely obvious. Maybe he didn’t appreciate her more casual dress, but she wouldn’t wear a suit to clean her hidden office. She’d need to dry-clean her red suit thanks to being in that nasty space the prior day.
Why had he offered her the position?
He didn’t have a thing to gain from misleading her into thinking she had a place to land when she didn’t.
Maybe she should follow that older woman right out the door after her early meeting and then keep driving until she returned to Philly. It was a three-hour drive. She could make a quick stop at home and then walk into her old firm by noon, ready to pretend she’d never lost her mind. If only she hadn’t failed her last client in such a spectacular way. No one in Philly would let her move past the moment she’d filed a motion to dismiss in the wrong case. And then it had worked, dramatically ending the multimillion-dollar recovery claims of the firm’s most important client. The firm would recover, but she wouldn’t. So she’d left. Before they fired her.
Now she sorted boxes until her jeans and sweatshirt were covered with dust and her face flushed from the exertion. She couldn’t make decisions on what stayed or got shredded, but she could use the record retention standards of her old firm to make a first pass at what should happen to the files.
She noted many of the names on them. Mansur. Crowe. Roskha. Seeger.
As she had with the others, she rifled through the Seeger file looking for any original court orders. Nothing but some paperwork and letters related to art, but a quick scan didn’t show clearly what the firm planned to do. Then she paused as the name tickled at something in her memory.
Wasn’t that the name the attorney Jarod Shaw had used to address the woman at the museum? Could it be the same family? It might make sense since he had mentioned helping her reclaim something. They had stood in an art museum, so he could have meant art.
She grabbed the box and took it to the receptionist. “Who is that woman Mr. Ashby is with?”
The woman looked at her and mouthed something as she pointed at her headset.
Janae sighed and walked the files back to her closet. She set the box next to the door and got back to work.
After another sneezing fit, she looked at her watch. She needed a break from the dust, and it was about lunchtime, so she pulled out her phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.
When a slightly quavering voice answered, Janae spoke. “Hi, Grandma. What are you doing for lunch? Can I bring some soup by?”
“Why, Janae, that sounds perfect.”
Thirty minutes later she pulled into the driveway of the two-story stone house her grandparents had called home for more years than she had been alive. The green tin roof somehow merged modern with the stone walls that had stood since 1745. If it were a warmer day, she and Grandma would sit on the rocking chairs on the long front porch for lunch and conversation. Instead, Grandma stood inside the entryway, wearing teal nylon pants and a sweatshirt that had snowflakes embroidered on it and hung from her small frame. One look at Grandma, and it was no mystery where Janae had inherited her petite size.
The chance to spontaneously head to Grandma’s for a quick lunch was one reason moving home was the right call. Grandma was eighty-seven, and Janae knew she wouldn’t live forever. Philly had kept Janae from coming back as often as she’d hoped, and she didn’t want to miss more moments with her favorite human.
Janae held up the bag. “I picked up the broccoli cheddar soup from Flo’s.”
“My favorite.”
“I know.” She leaned in to give Grandma a hug, feeling the frailness of her bones. “After we eat is there anything I can help with before I go back to work?”
“Ashley and Ashby.” Grandma shook her head, then closed the door. “Were you that desperate?”
“Grandma.” Heat climbed Janae’s neck as they moved to the kitchen. “We should eat while it’s warm.”
“I have a microwave.” But Grandma followed her and pointed to the wooden table. “Everything’s set.” And it was. Placemats rested against the wooden table and underneath bowls and spoons. Napkins and glasses filled with iced tea completed the arrangement.
“You’re my hero. You know that, right?”
“Pshaw. You need to get out more. I only set the table. Let me get some crackers.”
A minute later both sat on creaky old chairs, crockery bowls filled with the warm soup in front of them. Janae carefully placed her feet in front of the storage tubs Grandma had stacked beneath the table. She remembered so many times she’d sat at this table, Grandma on one side and Grandpa at the other. She sighed, missing him with intensity.
Grandma set her spoon down and reached for Janae’s hand. “You okay, kiddo?”
“Yes.” Janae gave a quick nod that felt like a bobblehead. “Just missing Grandpa.”
Grandma swallowed and blinked a couple of times. “Me too.” She glanced around the kitchen with its exposed walls and cheerful clutter. “This place feels empty without him.”
“He always believed in me.”
“Sure did. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because sometimes I don’t.”
“We all have days like that. That’s why God gives us grandparents to cheer us on in our dreams. Grandpa was always so proud of you.”
Janae closed her eyes and let the words soak into her soul. “I don’t know that he would be now.”
“Whatever happened in Philly to send you running here wouldn’t matter to him. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m just glad you’re back where you belong.”
“But what if I don’t?”
“You’ll never belong at Ashley and Ashby. What a firm.” Grandma snorted and shook her head. “They fired Caroline for getting sick. Can you imagine?”
“I can. Wait, they fired her?”
“Yep. I moved my work the next day.” She shook her head. “Such a mean thing to do.”
The laws wouldn’t protect Grandma’s friend since it was such a small employer. Janae forced a brightness to her tone as she changed the subject. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
Quiet conversation flowed as Janae let the moment sink over her. Yes, this is why I moved. This moment might not last for years, but it made the changes matter. Janae hadn’t simply been running from her mistake. She’d been running toward something.
An hour later when Janae returned to the law firm, the receptionist had piled Janae’s items, including the little succulent, in a box on one of the tired vinyl chairs. The sad pile looked ready to topple from the box with a hiccup. “Mr. Ashby said to tell you that he wouldn’t need your help after all.”
Each word struck like a sharp rock tossed carelessly at her, hitting with force.
“He can tell me himself.” What a coward, but he would talk to her.
Janae headed to the hall, but the receptionist stood and blocked her path. “He’s in court.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s spending the whole day in his office.”
“Something came up. Emergency hearing of some sort.” The woman waved a hand vaguely.
“Sure.” Janae wanted to growl but decided that wouldn’t add to her professional image. “Can I at least confirm this is everything?”
“You worked here less than two days. It’s everything.”
Janae longed to stare down the woman, but instead she collected the box without a glance inside, feeling awkward and foolish. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“I’m sure.” Then the phone rang, and the woman returned to her desk to answer it.
Janae headed from the office, holding the small banker box. As she pushed through the door, she realized she’d never learned the receptionist’s name. The woman had refused it, and she’d been holed up in that stupid closet too long to keep trying to break through the ice.
Driving to her parents’ empty house would feel too much like admitting defeat, so she deposited her few sorry possessions in her Mazda, then closed the door and headed on foot down the square. There was something settling and beautiful about the historic downtowns so many Virginia towns maintained, and Kedgewick’s was vibrant.
Some shops had changed, and others were the same from the last time she lived in town. Java Jane’s was new. Val’s Boutique was old and the source of many enjoyable shopping excursions with her high school besties. Main Street’s Chapters and Sips was new. The Happy Cow Ice Cream Shoppe was old but with Froyo and popcorn added to the menu, if the display accurately reflected the products.
In a couple of blocks filled with sunshine yet a gentle bite of cold, Janae found herself back in front of the Elliott. She considered the facade, taking in the banners that hung on either side of the entry. One advertised the gallery opening she’d attended. The other highlighted community programming days. She scanned the QR code on the sign and then scrolled through the list. The museum hosted all sorts of regular events from tours to preschool workshops to something for those with memory issues. It was a sweet series that served the larger community and Monroe College campus.
She climbed the steps and walked inside. Many of the museum’s exhibits were free and open to the public, with a rotating series of special ticketed galleries and shows.
When she’d attended the opening, Janae hadn’t wandered to observe what had changed in the time since her last visit. Today she’d explore and discover what she could.
Walking through a museum had layers she hadn’t known to appreciate as a high school student. Then she’d attended because a teacher or her mother required it. Now she strolled the gallery with the insights gained in her art appreciation class, which allowed her to see the depth of skill used to create the old paintings, the cartoons that underscored many, and on up. The artists needed talent to know which mediums and paints to use in each project. Pigments. Brushes. Canvases. Stretchers. So many details created the masterpieces that hung on the walls. Even the choice of frame mattered. She remembered reading about a man who invested in antique frames in the 1920s and ’30s before donating them to a European museum, creating the trend of setting old masters in frames that would match their date of painting. He’d believed the frames should add to the experience of the art. All the details were fascinating.
“I see you’re back.”
Janae jumped at the deep voice and turned to spy the museum director standing nearby. She quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn’t hold her actions at Java Jane’s against her. “I didn’t hear you come up.”
“Didn’t mean to be stealthy.” He extended his hand, and she shook it. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you.” She tugged lightly to loosen his hold on her fingers. “I had some free time and wandered by.”
He glanced at her. “Looks like you were working hard and earned the break.”
Her cheeks heated at his comment. She hadn’t changed but instead wore the clothes from her morning spent cleaning that nasty storage closet. “I was busy this morning.” She ducked her head, then decided to address her rudeness. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Your offer to join you was kind, and I wish I’d accepted.”
His lips twitched, but she noted a faint relaxing in his stance. “Apology accepted. Maybe I’ll offer again.”
“I’d like that.” An awkward silence fell as she waited, but he didn’t extend a second chance. When he shifted, hands at his side as he scanned the room, but stayed silent, she hurried to fill the space. “Before the opening, it had been quite a few years since I walked the galleries. I’m calling this my reacquaintance tour.”
He laughed and it was a warm sound. “Nice turn of phrase. What would you like to see?”
“Nothing in particular. I wandered in unintentionally.” She turned back to the nearest painting. It looked like—yes, it was—a painting by Jackson Pollock. “I’ll admit I don’t quite understand how this is considered art, when I could set up in my parents’ backyard and create a similar arrangement of random black splotches on white with a red slash.”
“But did you? Think of it?”
His simple words settled over her. “No, you’re right, I didn’t. And probably never would.”
“That’s the hidden genius of the painting and what makes art special. There’s a creative magic that happens when artists take mediums and reimagine them. The art hanging in here is from creatives who actually did what the rest of us might but don’t. Then there’s the da Vincis of the world who are pure geniuses.”
“No one will accuse me of that.” She cleared her throat to get rid of the wistful tone that crept in. “Know anyone who needs an attorney?”
