13

“THANKS FOR DINNER,” DJ told Conner as they got back into his pickup.

“It’s nice we have similar taste,” he said.

“Well, I don’t always eat cheap greasy food.”

He frowned. “You mean you didn’t really like it?”

“No, I totally loved it, Conner. I was kidding, okay?”

“Oh, okay.”

DJ glanced at her watch. “Is it too early to go to the art walk?”

“Nah, I noticed some people were already walking around when I came by to pick you up. You know, the old-timers who can’t be out too late.” He drove through town and finally parked in a small lot behind The Mockingbird Gallery.

“Uh-oh,” said DJ as they got inside. She pointed to the lime green Vespa parked right out the back door.

“Taylor?”

“Yep.” DJ had already told Conner about Eliza’s plan.

“Do you think Rhiannon is here yet?” he asked.

“I don’t see Eliza’s car anywhere.”

“Or Harry’s Jeep.”

Conner pushed open the door, and the sound of jazz music floated toward them. But, other than the elderly couple admiring a bronze statue of a mother and child, the gallery looked fairly empty. Conner and DJ slowly made their way around the gallery, quietly talking about various pieces as if they were both art experts, which was so not the case. Finally the older couple left, and DJ started to giggle.

“Sorry,” she said trying to control herself. “But I feel like such a phony.”

“Hello and welcome to The Mockingbird,” said a woman with a heavy French accent. “I am Gabrielle Bruyere.”

“We’re friends of Bradford, Mrs. Bruyere,” said Conner, politely introducing them to her.

“But, of course.” She smiled warmly. “But, please, call me Gabrielle. Or even Gabbie. And know that any friend of my son is a friend of mine.”

“They’re my friends too,” said Taylor as she emerged with Bradford on her arm. “In fact, DJ, which is short for Desiree, is my roommate.”

“Ah, Desiree, that is French,” said Gabrielle.

“Yes,” admitted DJ. “My mother lived in France for a while. She loved their culture and language. But I think that Desiree Jeannette is a mouthful. So I go by DJ.”

“And you and Taylor are roommates? How much fun you girls must have! I can only imagine.”

DJ sort of laughed. “Yes, it’s pretty unbelievable.”

“And you are both so beautiful. Are all the Carter House girls such rare beauties?” Taylor chuckled. “You know what they say—beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.”

“Well, I am beholding you both, and I declare you are both beautiful.” Gabrielle pulled the two girls together and stared at them. “Look, boys, are they not beautiful? Such opposites…I would like to paint them together.”

“Do you want me to put this CD in now?” asked Bradford.

“Yes, of course,” said Gabrielle. She smiled at Taylor. “A signed CD from one of my favorite musicians—such a rare treat.” She turned to DJ. “Your roommate has a very talented mother, no?”

“So does your son,” said Taylor. “I’m still amazed at your art, Gabbie. I think I’m going to have to buy that oil of the koi pond for my mother for Christmas. It would be perfect in her bedroom.”

Gabrielle clapped her hands. “A piece of my art in Eva Perez’s boudoir? I could not be happier.” She put her arm around Taylor and squeezed her tight. “You are so adorable!”

Just then, the sounds of Eva’s deep, rich voice singing Latino jazz filled the room, and Gabrielle looked even happier. “Oh, this is going to be a wonderful evening. Desiree and Conner, you feel free to look around…have some wine and cheese…oh, wait, you cannot have any wine because you are too young.” She laughed. “But we do have sparkling cider as well. Be at home, my young friends. Enjoy!”

Before long, the gallery was overflowing with visitors, and DJ started to feel claustrophobic. Eliza, Rhiannon, and Harry had arrived a few minutes ago, but DJ hadn’t been able to make it over to them without risking knocking over something very valuable. Finally, she decided to resort to her cell phone. It was obvious that Eliza had spent some time dolling up Rhiannon. Her hair, clothes, and makeup had never looked better. And DJ could tell by the sparkle in Rhiannon’s eyes that she had high hopes for this evening. DJ felt certain those hopes included Bradford.

“Hello?” said Eliza from across the room, although DJ could barely hear her on the phone.

“It’s DJ,” she said, waving past the crowd.

“Oh, there you are.” Eliza waved back. “Is Bradford here?”

“Yes, but—”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know…maybe in back, but I need—”

“Do you see how great Rhiannon looks?”

“Yes, but I—”

“We’ll go look for him. I think a behind-the-scenes rendezvous is just what they—”

“Eliza,” said DJ, “We need to talk.”

“Of course, we do. But not like this. Gotta go, sweetie.” Then she hung up.

DJ continued to wave from where she was cornered between a bronze Viking statue and a barrel-chested man who smelled like tobacco. But Eliza, totally oblivious, simply waved back as she guided Rhiannon through a door that led into the back. DJ waved to Conner now. He was only about ten feet away, but there must’ve been three people between them. Somehow he pressed toward her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Rhiannon’s here. I was trying to head them off at the pass, but Eliza hung up on me.”

He sighed. “Oh, DJ, there’s really not much we can do. Bradford and Taylor really seem to like each other.”

“But I feel so badly for Rhiannon.”

“We all do, but she’s going to have to get over it.”

“But Eliza was so sure she could fix this.”

“You girls and the games you play,” he teased.

“Not me,” she protested. “The only games I play usually involve balls and nets and tennis shoes.”

“Wanna get outta here?”

She nodded. “Yes, please, before I pass out from lack of oxygen.”

It felt wonderful to be out in the fresh air again. DJ took in a long, deep breath. “Ahh…”

“Want to look at any of the other galleries?”

“I don’t know…not if they’re packed like that,” said DJ.

“There’s one down there that probably won’t be. It’s not the most popular, but I like it.”

“Which one?”

“The Grotto.”

“The one with the fishing nets and stuff outside?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of tacky, but I’ve always liked it. My grandpa used to bring me there when I was a kid. They only have art that’s related to fishing and boats and the sea.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Conner was right. It wasn’t crowded at all. But the owner, a tall, lanky, bald man named Jack, recognized Conner and made them both feel just as welcome as Gabrielle had done. Perhaps even more so since he actually gave them a personal tour, explaining about the various pieces and the artists who’d created them.

“And what’s this you’re working on?” asked Conner when they got to the back of the room where an easel was set up.

“It’s called The Burning of the Black Prince,” he said, standing back to peer at his own unfinished painting.

It was a dark painting, and although it was unfinished, DJ could see the frame of an old-fashioned ship surrounded by smoke and with orange flames shooting up and reflected on the water. “It’s kind of eerie looking, isn’t it?” she said and then wondered if that sounded bad. “I mean I actually get a chill down my spine when I look at it.”

He grinned at her. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“What’s it about?” asked Conner as he stared at the unsettling image.

“The Black Prince was a schooner built in the early 1800s. It was built to carry cargo, but the way it was outfitted—pierced for eighteen cannons—it was rumored the ship would make an excellent privateer.”