Sweet Masterpiece - The First Samantha Sweet Mystery (13 page)

She didn’t want to admit that she’d scarcely
thought of Beau in the last twelve hours, with everything else on
her mind. And she certainly didn’t tell Rupert that only an hour
ago she’d felt hopeless over her looks. He was right. The woman
staring back at her now was a younger, slimmer version of herself.
Glowing. He picked up her hairbrush and with a couple of deft
flips, got the shaggy strands to behave perfectly.

Sam stared at the little wooden box and swore
that the colored stones were more brilliant than she’d ever seen
them.

They finally got away from Taos at
nine-fifteen, Rupert driving them in his Land Rover. Ivan, at
Mysterious Happenings, had stared at Sam, clearly unsure what to
make of the changes. She brushed it off by saying that they were on
their way to a masquerade. He knew Rupert well enough that he
probably believed it.

By the time they waltzed into Carolyn
Hildebrant’s small gallery at eleven o’clock, Rupert had coached
Sam sufficiently to set her nerves to rest—let him do most of the
talking; if Hildebrandt wanted Sam’s opinion on anything, just say
‘it’s a very interesting piece’ or ‘I’m considering it.’

“Mrs. Knightly,” the art rep gushed.

Knightly? Where did—? Sam glanced at Rupert
who gave a tiny shrug. What else had he left out of his briefing?
She smiled coolly at Hildebrandt, as she imagined someone named
Mrs. Knightly would do.

“I understand you are interested in the work
of Pierre Cantone,” Hildebrandt said, leading them to a secondary
room where she offered tea and some exquisitely decorated cookies.
Sam looked them over and swiped a couple of decorating ideas from
them.

The room was a combination of a private
viewing space and study. Deep leather wing chairs faced a wall
where one painting at a time could be displayed. Whatever currently
hung there was covered at the moment by drapes. Shelves lined one
wall, filled with books on art, botany and nature, along with small
but pricey objects. One statue of a sleek cat polished to a
gleaming black finish caught Sam’s eye.

“. . . such a shock, wasn’t it?” She realized
that Ms. Hildebrandt had asked her a question. Somehow, she didn’t
think ‘interesting’ or ‘considering’ were the right answer.

Rupert stepped in. “Yes, the art world lost a
great man with the passing of Cantone.”

Sam nodded, turning her mouth downward and
biting her lip a little.

“Of course, his work immediately tripled in
value,” Hildebrandt said. “We’ve placed two pieces with Sotheby’s
and another privately, just in the last week.”

Quick work. Sam wondered exactly when Carolyn
Hildebrandt had become aware of Cantone’s demise. Certainly before
the discovery of the grave last Tuesday.

“I wasn’t aware that there were any Cantones
that weren’t already in private hands,” Rupert said. “I wonder who
is offering theirs for sale.”

“Well, of course I can’t give details. But
there are family members.”

Sam soaked all this up while feigning
interest in another piece on the shelves, a crystal globe with a
miniature flower garden of glass inside. Family members. Rupert had
uncovered only the one sister.

“Ah, Sophie’s young son,” Rupert said, with
just the right amount of sorrow in his voice. If she hadn’t known
better, Sam might have believed that he was best of friends with
the mother and her offspring. Hildebrandt fell for it.

“Yes. Hobart. I understand that was a family
name on the Killington side of the family.”

“It was,” Rupert said. His acting was better
than Sam ever imagined. “What’s Bart up to these days?”

“Actually, he’s recently moved here to Santa
Fe. He’ll be stopping by here later.”

“And he is the seller.”

A slight nod. “Well, I know you must be eager
to see the piece.” Ms. Hildebrandt stepped to the side and pulled a
hidden cord. The drapes slid back to reveal a painting about
eighteen inches wide, framed in a dark wood that brought out the
deep colors in the pastoral scene. Sam immediately recognized the
style.

Rupert actually gasped. He recovered quickly,
though. “They never fail to impress, do they?”

Hildebrandt looked at Sam.

“Interesting piece.”

Rupert gave her a look. Maybe she should have
gushed a little more, but she
was
following his
coaching.

“You have an excellent eye,” Carolyn
Hildebrandt said. “It truly is one of Cantone’s more interesting
pieces.” She walked over to it and Sam sent Rupert a ‘ha-ha’ look
behind her back. “Note the use of cadmium red right here. No other
artist of his time would have thought of such a move. It just pulls
the eye to that particular section of the tree, doesn’t it?”

“Brilliant,” Sam said, picking up a new word
for her art vocabulary.

The art dealer smiled at her. “It truly was a
brilliant move on his part. The very thing that turned Cantone into
a legend.”

Sam nodded as if she had a clue.

“This piece will go to New York on Thursday
unless I have a buyer for it here in New Mexico.”

Sam stared at the painting for what seemed
like the right amount of time. “I’m considering it. Very
seriously.”

Rupert stepped in. “Mrs. Knightly is only in
town on business for two days. We’ll have a decision for you
soon.”

He turned to Sam. “My dear, shall we?”

She took his arm and nodded to the dealer.
Out on the sidewalk he raised her fingertips and kissed them. “Well
done, Sam.”

They walked to the lot where he’d parked and
it was all she could do not to kick up her heels. She’d pulled off
her first acting job.

“So, we know we’re looking for Hobart
Killington, but I’m guessing he’s not going to have a listed phone
number,” she said, once they’d settled into the car.

“True, but did you catch Carolyn’s comment
that Bart would be coming to the gallery this afternoon?”

“But she clearly didn’t intend that we meet
Hobart, and we don’t even know what he looks like.”

He pulled a laptop computer from the
backseat. “We will pretty soon.”

They parked outside a café that boasted free
wi-fi and within five minutes had found a web page for one of the
major auction houses, recently updated with a photo showing the
nephew who had re-introduced the great Cantone’s work to the world.
Bart Killington could pass for any age from twenty to forty. Based
on her previous research Sam guessed that he must be in his
mid-thirties. A high forehead, dark brows, thin face with a
prominent nose. He wore his dark hair combed straight back, a trim
dark goatee, a tuxedo.

“The only problem is, talking to him without
the nosy art dealer right there,” Rupert said.

Sam had been thinking about what to say when
they got the chance to speak with the nephew. And the more she
thought about it, the more she wanted to see him in his element, at
home. She had some suspicions that needed to be confirmed.

Chapter 16

Sam was getting hungry and the whole Mrs.
Knightly outfit was beginning to make her itch—she didn’t do
dresses very often. Luckily, she’d thought of that and brought a
change of clothes. She suggested to Rupert that they go inside the
café for some lunch. While he ordered her a Reuben sandwich she
slipped into the ladies room where she traded the dress and silk
jacket for jeans and a soft pullover from her roomy shoulder
bag.

“Better,” she told him when she came back to
the table. “I’m glad I could fool Carolyn Hildebrandt with the Mrs.
Knightly getup, but it’s better that I talk to Bart Killington as
myself.”

They devoured their sandwiches and headed
back toward Hildebrandt’s gallery. Parking was at a premium on the
narrow street but they found a spot that gave a decent view of the
front door from about a half-block away. Then came the wait. They
had no idea what time Bart would be coming, provided he didn’t
change his mind and not show at all. Two hours dragged by.

“What if he came and went while we were
eating?” Sam said.

“Patience, my dear. The lady said he was
coming this afternoon. We were back here at twelve-thirty, so the
odds are in our favor.”

Sam wasn’t very tolerant with this kind of
thing, but resisted twitching in her seat. There were so many other
things she could be doing this afternoon—checking on her
properties, pre-making more decorations for that wedding cake,
nagging her daughter about getting a job.

To amuse herself she pulled an old receipt
out of her bag, smoothed the eight-and-a-half by eleven page, and
began sketching ideas for her pastry shop on the back. Someday
Sweet’s Sweets would become a reality, not merely a sideline
business run from a cramped kitchen, represented by a name on a
business card.

“Sam, look up. I think that’s him,” Rupert
said.

The dark-haired man was a block away, walking
toward them, on the shady side of the street. Just before he
reached the gallery he passed through a shaft of sunlight and Sam
got a clear look.

“You’re right.” They both sat straighter in
their seats.

Bart stayed inside for nearly thirty minutes
and Sam was starting to get impatient again but Rupert told her
stories from some of his more memorable book signings to keep her
from jumping out of the car and invading the gallery. Before he got
to the one about the male cover model and the romance writers
convention of 2004, Sam spotted Bart on the sidewalk.

“There he is—be ready!”

He cranked up the Land Rover and started a
slow maneuver out of the tight parking spot. Bart got into a dark
green Jaguar with the dealer sticker still on it.

“Don’t let him see us,” she said.

“Honey, I’ve written enough stalker scenes to
know how to handle it.”

She had no choice but to believe him. They
stayed back a few car lengths but she still worried that only a
blind guy wouldn’t notice the hulking SUV.

Apparently Bart didn’t. He drove through the
city without making any sort of evasive moves. By the time they got
on Highway 285 northbound, she began to wonder just how far away he
really lived. But then he exited near the opera and wound his way
through one of those exclusive neighborhoods where each house has
its own little hilltop, some game of king-of-the-mountain, Santa Fe
style. At least the Land Rover wasn’t out of place here, as Sam’s
big red pickup truck might have been.

Rupert did a good job of maneuvering—staying
just one curve behind the Jag, but catching up in time that they
didn’t lose him on an obscure lane or something. When the Jag
slowed she realized he was about to turn in at a driveway on the
right. Rupert let the SUV coast nearly to a stop until the car
began the climb up the steep drive. A territorial style adobe sat
at the top of the rise, a massive thing with a few gables and some
stained glass thrown in for good measure.

Sam hadn’t thought about what their actual
approach would be. Rupert handled it by bringing the Land Rover up
to the driveway entrance and simply letting it coast to a stop. By
the time Bart was out of his car in front of the huge house, Rupert
had slammed his door, stalked to the front of his vehicle and
raised the hood.

“Damn it all!” he shouted.

Bart fell for it. He came to the top of the
drive, peering curiously down at the stalled vehicle.

Sam got out and joined Rupert at the front of
his car. He pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open and then made
a gesture of disgust and jammed it back into his pocket. “Follow my
lead,” he said through clenched teeth.

Pretending to have just noticed his
surroundings he glanced up the driveway and feigned surprise at
seeing Bart standing there.

Maybe Rupert should have stayed with the
theater.

Sam stood there like she didn’t have a clue
what to do, which wasn’t far off the mark.

“Oh, say—” Rupert began walking up the
driveway and she followed along. “Might we borrow your telephone?
My cell seems to be dead.”

With the big SUV blocking his driveway, Bart
didn’t have much choice. Rupert kept up the chat as they crossed a
wide circular drive. “I just don’t know about these maintenance
shops anymore. Just had the thing worked on. Here we are, down from
Taos for the day, supposed to have tea with the Rutledges—” He
waved vaguely up the road.

“Sure, no problem,” Bart said. “Come on
in.”

Piles of dirt and several large landscaping
boulders sat beside the driveway and nearby front entry.

“Pardon the mess,” he said. “I’ve just moved
in and there’s a ton of stuff to do.”

He opened the heavy, carved front door and
ushered them inside. Pride of new ownership was evident. He
couldn’t resist pointing out a few features of the home as he
showed them into the kitchen (which Sam would have killed for), all
granite tops and stainless appliances.

Rupert made a show of punching in some
numbers and demanding to speak to the service manager. Sam sent a
weak smile toward Bart.

“Samantha Sweet. Sorry, we should have
introduced ourselves sooner. My friend is Rupert Penrick.” She
glanced through an archway into a dining room. “Oh my, is that a
Cantone?”

She walked toward it without exactly waiting
for Bart to offer.

“We heard that Cantone recently passed away.
In Taos. The whole town is in shock.”

From the kitchen Rupert called out. “What’s
your number, Mr . . .?”

“Killington.” He rattled off the number
without a pause.

How naïve was this guy? Inviting total
strangers in and then giving his number?

Before he had the chance to realize his
blunder, Sam pulled at his arm. “Is that
another
one?” She
pointed to a second framed painting on the opposite wall.

“Rupert, you won’t believe this,” she said as
he came walking in from the kitchen, muttering about how the shop
would need to call him back in a few minutes.