The Gallery (14 page)

“Does anyone live here with you?” Detective McPhearson asked. Maybe he felt she might need some support on hearing about Eric's problems.

“I live alone by choice, Detective. Eric came to Bellponte last fall, claiming to be my nephew. He wanted to live here but I said no. He was rude and I didn't like him. One doesn't always have to like relatives, you know. I assume he is my sister's second daughter's child, and if so, he's been in trouble off and on all his life, so speak out. I won't be surprised at anything you have to tell me. Is he hurt?”

“No, it's not that. We're holding him as a suspect in the recent murders on campus. I'm sure you've read about them in the newspaper.”

“I don't take a paper—nothing but bad news these days. Don't have TV either, young man. Television is for dimwits. Shame no one can see the potential there for educating these young people with too much time on their hands.”

LaDonna liked this woman. Her heart went out to her, having to hear that any relative, even distant, had gone as bad as Eric. LaDonna glanced around the dim room they had entered.

She gasped.

Everyone looked at her. She jerked away from Johnny and ran to the far wall to look at the painting hanging there. Her hand moved to gently touch the picture.

“Don't touch that!” Mrs. Flores was beside her in a second.

“I—I'm sorry. I know this work, this artist, Mrs. Flores. I was startled to find one of his paintings here. Where did you get it?” LaDonna's eyes met those of Mrs. Flores. The tiny woman barely came to her shoulder, but she had a powerful aura that held LaDonna captive until she could look her over good.

Her face finally softened. “Do you like it?”

What to say? “I—I've been very influenced by this man's work. How do you know him?”

Mrs. Flores took LaDonna's hand and led her into the next room. Her fingers reached for the wall switch, throwing soft spots onto several paintings around the patio room.

“Ramon Flores was my husband, young woman.” Mrs. Flores stopped in front of a portrait, surely her many years ago. She studied the picture while she spoke. “He had just started to attract the world's attention when he was fatally injured in a fire at the college sixty-five years ago. The world lost an incredible talent, and I lost a dear, gentle companion. I suspect that a great many paintings were also lost in the fire. I have not been able to share these few, and yet I know I must before I die. Eric Hunter had the nerve to ask me to leave them to him in my will. Today's young people think of nothing but money.”

“Are they worth a lot of money?” Johnny had followed LaDonna.

“I suppose they are, but money means nothing to me at my age. Ramon and I were poor for so long, and then he decided to teach—I'm sure for my sake, since all he wanted to do was paint.”

LaDonna found that she was speechless. She moved from painting to painting slowly, studying each.

Detective McPhearson had been patient as long as he could. “I must have a statement from you, Miss Martindale. I think we're finished here. But you'll need to come to the station with me and tell us what happened tonight. Would you like to call your parents?”

“Can Johnny go with me?” LaDonna looked at Johnny. She needed him more than she did her father.

He nodded. “I go with you or you don't go.”

“And Detective McPhearson, I need a few more minutes with Mrs. Flores. Can't you go ahead and let Officer Simms give me a ride? I promise I won't be long.”

Detective McPhearson looked impatient, but not unreasonable. “I guess so.”

The police left together, talking, while LaDonna and Johnny stayed behind with Mrs. Flores.

LaDonna took the old woman's hand in hers. Her skin was so soft but her grip firm. LaDonna could feel a bond forming that hadn't been there before.

“Mrs. Flores, your husband's paintings weren't destroyed in the fire. I know where they are, and I'll see that you get them as soon as possible.”

Mrs. Flores looked at LaDonna with disbelief. Before she could say anything, LaDonna continued. “And one more thing. I know the man who heads up the art gallery on campus. I'm working for him.” And I've made a discovery greater than he would ever have expected, she added to herself. “I can't make any promises, but Mr. Flores's work does need to be shared with the public. If I can persuade Mr. Walker, I think a show is in order. And then perhaps a room in the gallery honoring your husband's work—named for him.”

“I have been wondering what to do with my small estate, Miss Martindale.” Mrs. Flores found her voice. “If what you tell me is really true, then I will endow this room for my husband's work.” The tiny woman clasped her hands together, stared at one of her husband's paintings—one that reflected the joy that LaDonna was starting to feel—and smiled. LaDonna could see why early artists painted gold aura's above the head's of special women. It took little imagination to see this light around Mrs. Flores.

LaDonna knew she would never understand what had happened to her in her basement gallery. She could never explain how Mr. Flores had come to her and had worked with her. But right now, and maybe never, she didn't have to understand.

Nothing could balance out the deaths of three young, talented women on the campus, but LaDonna swore she was going to bring some beauty and art to the world to help compensate for the way life swings from darkness to light.

She had one more thing to say to Mrs. Flores before she faced the rest of this night. She put her arms around the woman, hoping it wasn't the wrong thing to do. When she stepped back, she saw an even stronger light around this beautiful woman.

Before LaDonna could say more, Mrs. Flores spoke. “I would like you to be my friend, LaDonna, if you are open to being friends with an old woman.”

LaDonna knew she was only going to be able to say one more thing before she broke into tears. To say yes, we are already friends, she took both of Mrs. Flores's hands in her own.

“And I want you to know one more thing, Mrs. Flores.” LaDonna swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “Your husband, Mr. Flores, was—is a very fine teacher.”

About the Author

Barbara Steiner (1934–2014) was an acclaimed author known for her books for children and young adults. Steiner authored over seventy titles, including picture books, early chapter books, mysteries, young adult thrillers, historical novels, and romances. In her lifetime, Steiner visited more than ninety-four countries and all seven continents, and many of her books were inspired by her travels. She lived in Boulder with her family until her death in January 2014.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1995 by Barbara Steiner

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-4976-1129-0

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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THE DARK CHRONICLES

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA

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