The Art of Love and Murder (4 page)

“You should try it again. Great food.” Her tea would be cold if she didn’t break away soon, yet her feet stayed planted.

“Would you like to join me at a table?” The question started while he scanned the tables and ended with his gaze coming to rest on her face.

“I can’t.” She wanted to shower and smell good, brush her hair out of its pony, put on eye makeup and oil essence before sharing a table with this man.
How perfectly ridiculous
. “I’ve got some phone calls to make before I head out.”

“Are you leaving Flagstaff today?”

“I meant head out around this area.” Her stomach did a little flutter at the tinge of regret she heard in his question. Or imagined. “No, I’ll be around for a few days. I’ve got some places to go, people to see.” She laughed at the cliché.

“Are you visiting us for business or pleasure?”

“Hmmm. I guess a little of both. I’m doing some family research for my daughter. Flagstaff is my birth place, but I haven’t lived here in over forty years.”

“Really? Welcome home.”

The richness of his tone warmed her. “Thank you.”

“And today you’re off to visit the old homestead?”

“I have no idea where that would be. My main research is on an artist. My first stop is The Uptown Gallery.”

She didn’t imagine the cloud this time; a shadow bathed his face, and his eyes grew dark.

The music of her cell phone ended the sudden silence. She hesitated, but he nodded and made a hand gesture for her to answer. Her lawyer’s voice greeted her.

“Hey, Mark. Can you hold on a moment?” She looked at Chance with an apology she hoped he could interpret.

“Okay, then, Lacy Dahl.” He waved a hand of understanding. “No walking down dark breezeways or side streets tonight.”

“I’ll be careful.” She smiled, tucked her phone in the crook of her neck and stuck her hand out. When he touched her, the cloud moved off. His hand held hers a beat longer than necessary.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again before you leave.”

A slight smile, and his copper eyes, now a deep shade of amber, tantalized her.

“I’ll be here...er, yes.” Part of her hoped they would—eyes were telling, and this man had much to share—but her practiced reserve dismissed the notion as foolish. She nodded with a wave, then put the phone to her ear and turned to go to her room.

With a deep breath, she cleared her throat and shook off the effects of yet another encounter with the most alluring man.

“Hey, Mark.”

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, that’s fine. I’m headed to my room with my tea and muffin. What’s up?”

“Thought you might like to know, you’re an Austrian landowner.”

Lacy stumbled on a step. “You’re kidding.”

“At least part owner.”

“How? I mean, did I inherit it or what?”

“It’s a bloodline inheritance.”

“What is it?” She passed her door, flustered, then gained her bearing and found her room.

“The last filing shows a restaurant, a chapel and an estate. Unless something has changed.”

She gasped. “That sounds sizeable. And I have living relatives in Austria? Have you spoken to them?”

“Not yet. I’ve just been dealing with records. Do you want me to contact them?”

“Hmm.”
Relatives
. “I should probably do that myself.” She set her breakfast on the bureau. “Mark, how would it work? My parents never married.”

“Have you ever seen your original birth certificate?”

“No.” The birth records she possessed only named her adopted parents.

“Something we’ll have to get and see if Hartmut Luschin is named as your father.”

“Wow.” She ran a finger over the handle of the mug. Her mind raced, overcrowded with new possibilities. “This is turning into
way
more than researching some sketches that may or may not be drawn by Kaya.”

“What more would you like me to do at this point?”

“My head’s spinning. Let it rest until I get back down to the valley.”

“Whatever you want, Lacy.” His offer sounded more accommodating than a typical lawyer to client did, but then, he’d been her parents’ friend for years.

“If you can get me names and numbers, then I’ll handle it when I get back home. I can probably see about my birth certificate while I’m here.” Even as her mind whirled with this development, she didn’t know what to think.

“When are you coming home?”

She appreciated his less than lawyerly phrasing. They’d been acquaintances for several years, and Lacy considered him a friend more than a professional acquaintance. She kicked off her running shoes. “I’m not sure.”

“Have you found any answers about your mother, er, birth mother?”

“Nothing yet, Mark. And the sketches are my main concern. I have some appointments today. Although now...” The visit to the stepsister could prove to be more important than she’d thought.

“Anything I can do?”

“I’ll let you know.”

She said goodbye, ended the call and sat staring at her reflection in the mirror above the bureau. What a strange morning. Before she’d even begun the search for the unknown artist, she sank deeper into the family research. This weekend trip, less than three hours from home, presented her with a mystery and new possibilities.

Chance’s amber eyes came to mind. Her chest tingled, which wouldn’t be relieved with a deep breath. The attraction couldn’t be denied, and she frowned at her reflection. Apparently her body had a mind of its own. Whatever pulled her toward him held a bit of foreboding, danger. Dark. She shook her head and sighed. But so handsome.

Oh, Phoebe, if you could only hear me now.

She tugged off her leggings. A strange morning, indeed. Answers about her father might be easier to come by than about her mother. Maybe she should have gone to Austria first.

But Chance Meadowlark doesn’t live in Austria
.

****

Chance stood sipping his coffee on the sidewalk outside the Grand View, not sure of where he wanted to go. A newspaper stand stood next to the door. He could buy a paper and go back in the coffee shop. Or he could go back home and read the paper that waited on his front step. Would it be awkward if she passed by on her way out and saw him again?

Not engaged. A widow. They had that in common. Why the hell had he shared that piece of personal information? Talking to Lacy Dahl about anything came more naturally than he thought possible. He didn’t need that kind of connection, couldn’t open that part of his soul again.

She’d be gone in a matter of days anyway. Just because he felt drawn to her, compelled to seek her out, didn’t change the fact she lived in the valley. And probably with someone, maybe Mark. His life wouldn’t change from a brief encounter...

The Uptown Gallery. Born in Flagstaff and going to the gallery for answers.

His insides churned, but not from coffee on an empty stomach. Chance shook his head. His past had nothing to do with her.
Flag is a small town. Uptown is a prominent gallery. No connection.
He drained the coffee from his cup.

She had looked good in her running clothes, pants so tight nothing was left to the imagination. Leggings, if he remembered what his daughter called them. The way some of her hair had strayed from her ponytail, damp and clinging to her forehead, created an earthy attraction about her. Classy lady, but approachable. Something she said made him think she wouldn’t mind being approached.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

He smiled at the passerby. “Morning.” Most folks knew him by sight even without his uniform.

Across the street at The White Wolf Spirit
,
no lights could be seen coming from the back of the shop. Probably too early for Chief to be in his store. Chance tipped his coffee container. May as well get a newspaper and a refill, relax for a bit before heading home to finish painting the back fence.

He chose a table away from the door, seated himself back to the wall and facing the lobby. The articles held only half his attention. Eventually, Lacy strolled by. She darted a glance, stopped to adjust her purse and a khaki bag in her hand and looked toward the coffee shop again. This time she saw him, and he raised a hand in greeting. She’d let her hair loose, and it fell dark and shiny past her shoulders. Lime green slacks hugged her hips, swaying around her ankles while a cloud of a blouse dipped low on her breasts. The color of her slacks competed with the color of her eyes, and he locked on to the vision of those hypnotic eyes and enticing hips.

Her lovely smile in his direction did more for the coffee shop than the sun streaming in the windows.

Something inside of him loosened.

****

Lacy walked the two blocks to the Uptown Gallery. The sun heated her bare arms, but not so much the cool breeze couldn’t blow the warmth away in intermittent gusts. She glanced at the San Francisco Peaks rising above the city to the north about seven miles. She’d heard on a clear day you could see all the way to San Francisco from the top of the peaks. Not a cloud marred the blue sky. On the highest peak, the sun glinted off patches of snow and richly colored copper rocks.
Not as rich as Chance Meadowlark’s eyes
.

She hadn’t meant to drop a clumsy hint to see him again. The words had blurted from her mouth before her mind had a chance to stop them. And there he sat in the coffee café; she’d waved and wisely moved on. Phoebe would not be pleased.

Her cell rang, and she snickered when she saw the caller’s ID.

“I was just thinking of you, Phoebe.”

“How boring for you. Any more sightings of Paul Bunyan?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. His name is Chance Meadowlark.” His name, said aloud, played on her ears poetically.

“Oh, I love it! Wait. That name sounds familiar. Hmm. I can’t place it. Humph! And when will you see him again?”

An old Jefferson Airplane song played behind her friend’s question...a song about needing somebody to love. She shook her head, looked both ways and crossed the street. “Phoebe, you’re a hopeless romantic.”

Her friend’s hand thumped something loud enough for Lacy to hear. “You mean to tell me you haven’t set up a date or anything? You at least got his phone number, didn’t you?”

“I haven’t decided about him yet. He’s got this quiet, dark side that could be dangerous or something.”

“Every woman needs a bad boy once in her life.”

Lacy shivered, the thought a bit enticing. “He knows where I am.”

“Judas Priest, woman. I should be there to instruct you. I may be a hopeless romantic, but you’re just hopeless.”

“I’ll do better next time we meet.” Lacy laughed.

“
If
you meet. Hell, hon, you can’t leave your love life to chance. Or maybe you can.” Her friend giggled at her pun. “If he’s hot, track him down, lady. You can give your progress reports on the art to August. I want the hot man reports.”

“Then I guess you don’t want to know I own an Austrian estate, so I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Ha. I know all about that. Well, not all of it. You know how lawyers are. Mark called you from your café this morning, and I happened to overhear a piece of the conversation. We had a nice little chat.”

“If I remember right, you find him stuffy. Whatever did you chat about?”

“Oh, he’s still stuffy. He did remember me from the funeral service though, and we passed a few pleasantries, as they say. Whoever the hell
they
are.”

She stopped a doorway short of the gallery. “And you flirted to weasel information out of him?” Her question teased, although her friend would be capable of the accusation.

“No such thing. My eavesdropping was enough. He’s not half-bad, actually. Hazel would’ve liked me to keep him around longer. She can’t figure out why you don’t jump his bones.”

“Yeah, Hazel has a thing for suits, graying temples and dazzling smiles. Her words, not mine.”

“She thinks if you’d just flirt a bit, he’d have a thing for you. I told her even if he did, you’re as tone deaf to a man’s interest as Bob Dylan’s singing voice.”

“We’re friends, but watch it. I like Bob Dylan.”

Phoebe laughed. “I do, too.”

“Hey, I can’t talk right now. I’m almost at the art gallery.”

“Okay. Next check-in better have some progress for me in the hot man story.”

“Right.”

She tucked her phone away. Although deserving of Phoebe’s impatience, she could never keep up with the social life of her friend. Divorced for nearly twenty years, her experience with the opposite sex far exceeded Lacy’s. Conrad had been her only relationship. Phoebe had a new love every few months. But then, she hadn’t met the likes of Chance Meadowlark.

A serious man. Or, not so much serious as mysterious. She’d not felt such an attraction, or challenge, since Conrad died. Chance drew her in, but held her at arm’s distance. Maybe her attitude rather than his caused the distance. How could she trust her feelings about a total stranger when she’d been so mistaken about her husband, a man she supposedly knew as well as she knew herself? Her stomach still clenched with nausea at the revelations of his cheating and lies that had come after his death.

She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth, took a deep breath as she grasped the door handle and entered the Uptown Gallery.

The door opened with the slightest touch, and once inside, the mixed scents of wood, leather, paint and fine furnishings replaced the cool, mountain air. She paused to scan the offerings. Carpet the color of buttermilk met identically colored walls. An alcove to her left held a photography exhibit, and two plush, black leather chairs stood back to back in the middle of the small room. To her right, a few pieces of what looked to be stone or marble sculptures stood on pedestals as well as a sign-in book. The long, wide room ahead of her looked much larger than she’d anticipated from the street. Paintings of all sizes adorned the walls with sculptures scattered about. In the rear, a glass counter took up a portion of the back wall, and there appeared to be another room to the right.

A blonde woman emerged from said room. “Good morning. Are you Lacy Dahl?” She extended a manicured hand as she strolled to meet her.