CARLY spent the next six days reading, making notes, sketching out the last half of Carolina’s biography, and making changes to the order of the paintings as they’d appear in her exhibit. To show them in chronological order, arranged by subject, or by medium? She still couldn’t decide. Any way they were shown would be fabulous, she knew. Chronological order might best show off the woman’s incredible talent as she sampled the different media, searching for the best fit. Then again, the thought of hanging those dramatic land- and seascapes along the same wall made Carly’s heart beat just a little faster. On the other hand, the oils would make such a statement, all those dark brooding colors lined up side by side along a stark white wall.
She made a note to have the gallery walls repainted a whiter white before she announced her exhibit.
Then again, it was difficult to completely plan the layout of the paintings when she wasn’t sure what else was out there to be bought, or borrowed. More oils? Landscapes? Who knew what masterpieces Carolina had seen fit to give away to her friends and neighbors over the course of her lifetime? Had the list she’d left in her journal reflected the entirety of her gifts, or were there others that she had forgotten to include?
Carly shot off an email to Ellie inquiring on the status of her efforts to pin down Grace Sinclair to see if she knew any of the recipients of Carolina’s largess as noted on the list, then waited expectantly for a response. When a full half hour had passed and no reply had been forthcoming, she dialed Ellie’s number. Disappointed when the call went directly to voice mail, she left a brief message (“Call me”) and disconnected the call. She tried to get back into the rhythm of reading, but was so distracted watching for an email or anticipating a call that she finally gave up. She’d no sooner closed her notebook and turned off the desk light than the phone rang.
“So what’s going on?” she asked. “Please tell me you spoke with Grace.”
“Yes, I did. As a matter of fact, I was with her when your call came through, but we were at a meeting and we’re supposed to have our phones turned off. I left mine on vibrate because my sister was at her friend’s house and was going to call me when it was time for me to pick her up. I’ll be happy when that kid is old enough to drive.” Ellie had been granted custody of Gabi, her fourteen-year-old half sister following the death of the girl’s mother and the incarceration of their father.
“So what happened? Tell me already. I’ve been going crazy trying to put this exhibit together. I will need to integrate the new paintings—assuming we find them—into the collection of the ones I already have. And you know, I need to decide how they’re going to show—”
“Carly …”
“I’m going to have the walls in the gallery painted stark white. You know, so there’s no color to compete with, but any way I show them, it’s going to be absolutely glorious. I can’t wait to see—”
“Carly.” Ellie interrupted Carly. “There’s something you need to know.”
Carly fell silent. Something about the tone of Ellie’s voice made her stomach churn.
“I told you that Curtis Enright had given his home and property to the town, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. Why?”
“Did you get the part where I told you that he was hoping that an arts center would be part of the plan?”
“Yes, I said I thought every town should have an art center. So what?” Carly fought an urge to bite a fingernail, a habit she’d ditched in seventh grade but one that always threatened to sneak back when she was under stress.
“I’m on the committee that was putting together some suggestions for the town council to review. The art center was voted on, as were several other proposals that we don’t need to talk about right now.”
“I’m not sure where this is going, but I have the feeling I’m not going to like it.”
“Yes and no. Here’s the deaclass="underline" there will be an arts center in the mansion. But the council wants a grand opening that would include an exhibit of works by St. Dennis artists.”
Carly’s mouth went dry.
“Car? You there?”
“Shit, yes, I’m here.” Carly sank into the nearest chair. “They want your paintings.”
“Yes. They want my paintings.”
“Wait. How did they even know about your paintings?”
“My great-aunt Lilly knew everyone in town, and at one time or another practically everyone she knew had paid her a visit. A lot of people saw the paintings hanging throughout the house, but they don’t know about the ones from the attic. Then someone did a Google search for Carolina, and found out that two of her paintings have sold for big bucks over the past few years, and that two or three are hanging in big-time museums. Grace had written an article about the auction in New York where two of Carolina’s paintings together fetched over two hundred thousand dollars. Grace said she even had several in the inn and that the town was welcome to borrow them as long as they could guarantee their security.”
“So why can’t they just show those paintings? The ones from the inn and the ones that everyone knows about?”
“For one thing, they’re trying to make this as big as possible.”
“So …?”
“So when they asked me if I had any other paintings, or if I knew of any others …”
“You couldn’t lie, could you.”
“No. It just came out.”
“Aren’t there any other artists in St. Dennis?”
“Of course, and they’re going to be invited to show their work as well. But once they latched on to the idea of showing Carolina’s stuff, the idea exploded.” Ellie sighed. “It was like, ‘Yes! An art center! Yes! An art center with a gallery! We’ll have a grand opening! We’ll do exhibits! We’ll showcase St. Dennis artists.’ Then Grace brought up Carolina’s name and turned to me right there in the meeting room and asked if I’d be willing to let the town borrow whatever paintings I had for the grand ribbon-cutting dedication.” Ellie’s voice was glum.
“So now everyone in the world will know about the paintings before I even have a chance to show them. Swell.” Carly blinked back tears. “So what did you tell them?”
“I said I’d have to think about it and that I’d get back to them.”
“What’s the worst thing that could happen if you say no?”
“If I say no, they will work on me. They’ll all work me over until I cave.”
“Grace didn’t strike me as the brass-knuckles type,” Carly muttered.
“You know what I mean. Everyone will be asking if I’ve changed my mind. Everyone I run into will want to talk about it. You know how small towns are. The next thing you know, people will be talking about how I have paintings by the only really famous artist to come out of St. Dennis and how I won’t let the community see them.”
Ellie’s frustration was clear.
“You have to let them have the paintings,” Carly said reluctantly.
“I feel so horrible even having this conversation with you. I know how happy you were—how excited you were the day we found them and how much you were looking forward to rocking the art world when you announced your find and your exhibit. I hate to take that from you. But you’ll still be able to exhibit them after the showing here, you’ll still be the exclusive broker when I’m ready to sell them,” Ellie promised.
“I just won’t be the one to spring it on the rest of the world.”
“I’m really, really, sorry, sweetie.”
“I know you are, and I appreciate that, El.” Carly took a deep breath to push back against the huge lump that was forming in the middle of her throat. Ellie obviously felt terrible and the last thing Carly wanted was to make her friend feel even worse. But she had to be honest. “I’m not going to lie, El. I had that exhibit space planned out and have lived and breathed those paintings. I’ve studied them and I know every inch of Carolina’s work by heart. I’ve imagined the articles in the Times and the New Yorker and the Washington Post and every influential art magazine that exists. But I understand the position you’re in. I’m really disappointed, but I’ll get over it.”