“But surely the man needed an income. To allow foreclosure on his home, when he had plenty of assets . . . I just don’t get it.”
“Again, part of the legend. I’ve heard that he got so attached to his paintings that he actually threw his one-time manager out—this was years ago—when the man suggested that Cantone sell something. He would not let go of anything.”
She thought about that. She’d heard of people who began to hoard as they got older. In fact, she’d been assigned a couple of caretaking properties where she’d actually had to get a roll-off to haul away huge amounts of clutter. But Cantone’s house had not been nearly that bad. Apparently his clingy tendencies applied only to his art. And there seemed something more deliberate about Cantone’s approach, she thought as she remembered the hidden sketchbook she’d found in the wall.
“Well, Rupert, maybe it’s understandable. He was getting older, maybe not producing a lot of new work, so he didn’t want to let go of what he had.”
He mumbled an acknowledgement.
“Of course, the big gossip tonight was about this nephew who suddenly showed up on the scene,” he said. “I mean, no one’s heard of this kid and now all at once he’s the heir to everything.”
Sam thought about what Beau had said about a will and probate and estate taxes, but didn’t want to bring it up with Rupert. As much as she loved the guy, he truly was a gossip of the highest order. The legalities of the artist’s estate didn’t need to become cocktail party prattle.
Besides, she still wanted to find out the truth about the will, and if everyone in the art world began talking about it the odds were good that word would get back to Bart Killington. That might be the very thing to send him south of the border.
They chatted on about nothing in particular for another three minutes, then Rupert said he ought to get back to his latest manuscript, which his editor had returned for some changes. She hung up, still reflecting on the question of Cantone’s last will and testament.
Sam’s alarm went off way too early the next morning and she groaned at the intrusion. She’d set it because she had far too many things on today’s calendar to indulge in her usual leisurely wake-up routine. Much as she felt tempted to hit the snooze button, she didn’t. She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a little circulation into her face, thinking she was getting too old for this.
Why am I chasing around, she wondered, trying to start a business, taking jobs that send me running all over the county, and then nosing around to check out the death of a man I didn’t know much about less than a week ago?
Resisting the energy-drain of so much analysis, she dragged herself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, which served only to give her a wet face—no magical energizer. Patting dry, she brushed her teeth, gargled the strongest mouthwash in the house, and brushed her hair until it flew straight up in electric spikes. She still didn’t feel very awake.
In the kitchen she started the coffee maker, brewing the stuff with an extra scoop of dark roast. The birthday cupcakes sat on the kitchen table, covered with a plastic shell. She rummaged for her invoice book and wrote out a bill for the customer, taping it to the plastic cover so she wouldn’t forget it. The short-notice wedding cake also had to go out today.
While the coffee dripped she went back to her room and searched for her black slacks and white blouse, her quasi-uniform when she made deliveries to places like Casa de Tranquilidad. She laid the clothes out on the bed. They needed to stay clean until she was ready to drive to Santa Fe this afternoon.
For the morning, her duties were to get back to Bertha Martinez’s place and do some yard trimming. For that, she could get by with jeans and an old shirt. She donned them quickly and returned to the kitchen where she poured a large mug of the strong black brew. Sitting at her dresser, she was rummaging through a drawer in search of sunscreen when she heard a vehicle pull into the driveway.
Beau’s cruiser stopped with a slight squeal of brakes.
Oh god, she was in no shape to be seen by a man that she didn’t want to scare away. She set the sunscreen aside and gave her face a couple of swipes of blusher and a dash of lipstick. Rubbing her lips together, she headed for the back door and met him in the driveway.
“Hey there,” he said. “I was afraid I might be too early. I was only going tap lightly on the door in case you were still asleep.”
Sam worked up a bright smile, hoping that she looked more alert than she felt.
“Coffee?”
He glanced at his watch. “Sure. A quick one. I’m on duty in ten minutes.”
Before they’d quite reached the back door, he grabbed her hand and turned her around. His kiss went right to her center. She was glad she’d brushed her teeth first thing.
“Um . . . nice,” he said.
Her mood shot up at least twelve points. They indulged in another kiss.
They stepped into the service porch and gave themselves over to a full-fledged full-body hug and what was about to become a real make-out session before she remembered that they both had places to be, very soon. She pushed back reluctantly and slid her hands over his muscular shoulders.
Beau straightened quickly, looking over Sam’s head.
“Mom?”
Chapter 19
Sam felt her eyes go wide. Kelly was never awake this early. She tugged at the front of her shirt and turned toward the open kitchen door.
“Sweetie.” How much had she seen? “I’d like you to meet Beau Cardwell.”
He held out his hand to her pajama-clad daughter. At least Kelly had the good grace to take it.
“Deputy Cardwell is investigating the death I told you about—the artist who was buried on private land.”
“Uh-huh.” Kelly turned toward the coffee carafe and Sam swore she saw a little smirk on her face. She filled a mug and carried it to her room.
Sam poured a mug for Beau, topped off her own and came up with a smile. “Well. That was a little awkward.”
He leaned against the counter beside the sink, drinking from his mug. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .”
“Hey, not your fault. I enjoyed it. Kelly’s a big girl. She can’t pass judgment on me.”
“Well, we like to think they can’t. But kids always do.”
“I’ll talk to her later.” She ran a finger along the buttons on his shirt.
“So. I stopped to see if you’re available tonight? I could make dinner for us at my place?”
“Meet-the-mom time?”
“Well, I just met your daughter. Looks like the time is right.” He took another sip. “Hey, let’s make it a family gathering. Bring Kelly and everyone can get to know each other.”
Sam ran through the list of things she had to accomplish today, including the fact that she probably wouldn’t get back from Santa Fe until late afternoon. He didn’t seem to mind, so they said seven o’clock and he gave her directions out to his place.
They sneaked another quick kiss on the porch and she watched him climb into the cruiser. No denying that despite her early resistance she was suddenly lusting after this guy.
She shoved that thought aside as she went back inside and peeked into Kelly’s room.
“Yes, I’m interested in him. Yes, I believe he’s also interested in me. Get used to it. We’re going to his house for dinner tonight, where you and I will meet his mother. Get used to that, too. No attitude, okay?”
“Mom, why on earth would I have ‘attitude.’ He seems very nice.”
Sam’s suspicion meter jumped a few notches. During her growing-up years Kelly had done everything possible to chase off any man who came around. But she’s an adult now, Sam reminded herself as she walked through the house, with relationships of her own and maybe she’s come to realize that mom deserves the same. Even so, she knew she better brief Beau to expect anything.