Chapter 8

I got home about nine feeling flush and elated from the best day of my life. As I stepped out of my shoes and hung up my jacket, Mom asked, "So how was your pizza date with Andrea?"

"It was great! We went to Gino's out by the truck stop."

My mood must have been written all over my face because she looked at me with her eyebrows arched and said, "Yes, I can see it must have been a good time. How's the portrait coming along?"

"Um, pretty well, I think. I'll start doing facial detail tomorrow. Oh, by the way, I'm going over early to do some things for Mrs. James. I still haven't heard any more about her brother."

As if that comment had stimulated some sort of psychic phenomenon, my cell phone rang and I saw it was Mrs. James. Something told me it was bad news.

"Hi, Mrs. James. What's the news?

I heard a sniff and a catch in her breath and knew what the news was. "Hello, Terry. Just called to let you know that Emile passed away this afternoon. The pneumonia was just too much for his heart."

She had to stop for a few moments to regain control. "Uh, well, the funeral is going to be on Tuesday and I'll have a lot of things to clear up, all his personal affairs, you know. I'm his only relative so it's up to me to see to all the legal odds and ends that need to be done. My best guess is that I'll be home sometime Friday or Saturday."

I felt so bad for her that I almost cried over her grief. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. James. Is there anything I can do?"

"What you're doing is very helpful, Terry. It's a load off my shoulders not to have to worry about things at home."

"Yeah, well if you think of anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"I won't. Did you have your pizza date with Andrea?"

"Yeah, I just got home." I wasn't feeling nearly as up as I had when I came in the door.

"Good! She's really a very nice young lady, isn't she? Well, you say hi for me and I'll call you on Wednesday to let you know what my schedule will be. Sorry to end your day with sad news."

"Oh, no. Thanks for letting me know. Bye Mrs. James."

Mom got up from her chair and put her arm around my waist. "That's so sad. We'll make sure there are some nice roses waiting for her when she gets home."

"Yeah, OK. I'm going to bed. Night!"

I went over to her house about ten to get the bed linens washed. While I was at it, I looked around the house for anything else to toss into the washer like towels and everything in her laundry hamper. While that was working, I got out the vacuum and did the carpets, cleaned up the kitchen and took out the trash.

I kept thinking about what I'd seen in the wooden box in the closet. I know I'm no super sleuth and I knew I might have got it all wrong but from what I could deduce, Emile and Mrs. James were more than brother and sister. Losing Emile and her son probably meant she'd lost everyone important in her life.

Andrea got to the studio a few minutes early all smiles and enthusiasm and wanting to mess around some before we got started on the session. I told her I didn't really feel up to it and gave her the bad news.

"Oh, how sad! Do you want to pass on today's session?"

"No, I want to paint. It just wouldn't feel right to be, you know, using her house for our own, uh, pleasure."

"Sure, I can see your point. OK, let me get dressed and we can get started."

She stepped behind the backdrop to change while I uncovered the canvas and got my palate ready. I don't know if it was the mood or what but I stood back and looked at what I'd done and knew it needed to be different. I'd worked hard to paint everything in a clean, crisp, true-to-life rendition and, while it was well executed, I could see it was going to turn out as sterile as some of those paintings I'd seen in Mrs. James' book. I didn't want to try to imitate the style of the Van Gogh portrait but I really wanted to paint Andrea in that same bold, aggressive way to reflect her personality.

As Andrea settled into her pose, I laid big globs of paint on the palate. I was going to go back over what I'd already done and start laying it on thick with heavily loaded brushes and a palate knife. Once I was under way, I couldn't seem to stop. I worked furiously for two hours before Andrea cried 'uncle' and told me she needed a break.

"Sorry, Andrea. I guess I wasn't paying attention to the time. Yeah, that's enough for today. Let me get cleaned up here and we can go in and make some tea. Maybe you could help me make up her bed and put away all the clothes in the dryer."

"You did her laundry? Well, aren't you sweet?" She started walking toward me and said, "So let's have a look at what you've been sweating over."

"NO! I mean not right now. I'd rather you waited until I was farther along. You don't mind, do you?"

"Ooh, Le temperamental artiste, eh? OK, I'll wait but now you've got my curiosity peaked. I'll go put the water on."

Later, she insisted on a kiss before we left the house. We weren't sure we'd be working the next weekend; it would probably depend on how Mrs. James was feeling but I felt pretty sure she'd want to get on with her life. It's just the kind of person she is.

Mrs. James called on Wednesday and told me she'd be home early Friday afternoon. She asked if I could have dinner with her so we could catch up and talk about my portrait.

"Sure, if that's what you want to do. I thought you might want to take some time off to, uh, get over Emile's death."

"Death is part of life, Terry. It happens, we grieve, we get over it. Now, for dinner on Friday, do you want real food or should I order in a pizza?

"You can never have too much pizza. What time should I come over?"

"Whenever you want but I'll plan to have the pizza delivered at six, OK?"

"See ya Friday, Mrs. James."

The first thing I noticed when she opened the door was that she looked a little older and very tired. I guess grief does that to a person. But she wasn't all weepy or anything; she had a big smile on her face and hugged me when I stepped in the door.

"I ordered a medium with everything except anchovies. I hope you're hungry because I'm only good for one piece. Come on into the kitchen; I was just making a pot of coffee."

"Coffee? I thought you were strictly a tea person."

She stopped and gave me the strangest look. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Terry. On the other hand, maybe you know more than you should."

That had kind of a cryptic sound to it and I wondered what she was getting at. I hoped it wasn't what I was feeling so guilty about.

When she poured the coffee, she set out a container of cream and some kind of natural sweetener that didn't have any calories and wasn't supposed to affect your blood sugar. I'm not normally a coffee drinker but I liked it.

As we sat across the table from each other, Mrs. James looked at me for a while without saying anything, like she was thinking about how she wanted to begin. The silence was deafening and I began to get twitchy. Finally, she put her hand on my arm and said, "Terry, before we go out and look at your painting, there are some things we need to discuss."

Uh oh, here it comes, I thought to myself.

"First of all, thank you for keeping my house in order. I really appreciate your doing the laundry; including my bed sheets."

I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she had me dead to rights but I couldn't imagine how she knew. She told me.

She smiled and said, "I see that struck a note. I was stripping the bed because I always change the sheets on Friday and I hadn't done it before I left. When I pulled off the duvet, I could see that they'd already been changed. How, you might ask? Because I always do hospital corners and the foot of the top sheet was just jammed under the mattress. Would I be guessing right that you and Andrea made a bit of a mess?"

I couldn't look her in the eyes. Feeling the heat of a blush on my face, I looked at my hands folded in my lap and nodded my head.

"Don't feel bad about it, Terry. I don't really mind and it was good of you to clean up your mess. There was something else that did bother me, though and that was looking through my personal things in the closet. Was it just you or did Andrea have a look as well?"

I almost felt like crying for betraying her trust. I looked up and saw the disappointment in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. James. It was just me and I know I had no right to do that. Andrea doesn't know anything about it." I shrugged my shoulders and added, "I don't know what else to say."

"So you saw the photographs of my dead son and the leaflet from his funeral. I knew someone had gone through the box because the funeral notice was on top. I keep it on the bottom to remind myself that Frederick is dead and buried."

"That makes sense. Um, did he paint the pictures in the hallway?"