Blue Flower Red Thorns Page 8

  For about the hundredth time, Cindy regretted ever getting involved with these people. Every single one of them seemed to be at least a little off-center. Then the front door opened.

  “Hello, is anyone here?”

  “Ilse!” Bente raced toward the entry.

  “Ah, mother, good. Get someone to help Bobby with the damn luggage, will you? What kind of place is this? Isn’t there anyone to help us get checked in?”

  “Where have you been? I’ve been calling for days! And now you just pop in and start to be so fucking annoying. You get someone to help with your damn luggage.” Bente started to cry and ran down the hallway.

  “Nice to see you too, mother,” Ilse said, to no one. Then she noticed Cindy. “Do you work here? I need some help with my things and I need to get checked in. Now, if you don’t mind?”

  Cindy almost screamed. Welcome to artistic hell.

  Cindy helped Ilse and her guest register, and showed them to one of the casitas. They’d originally slotted Ilse into the room next to her mother, but under the circumstances it seemed best to put them some distance apart. Plus, the boyfriend was a surprise, and the two-bedroom casita helped to sidestep awkward questions. Vincent and Bobby managed the luggage in two trips. For his trouble, Vincent got a very generous tip.

  “Thanks for your help. I think she’s a little nervous, but she shouldn’t be so rude. I’m sure she’ll be better after a little rest. Could you have someone bring us some tea, and maybe some sandwiches? We barely stopped on the way down from Denver, and a little food might help calm some nerves.” Bobby smiled.

  Vincent smiled back. Guy seemed okay. “Sure. I’ll have Mary put together a tray for you, and I’ll bring it around in just a few minutes.”

  “More room service?” Jerry wasn’t happy. “Better not let Cindy hear that. I think she’s ready to kick the whole damn bunch out into the parking lot, the mother included.” He paused, then slowly broke a smile. “No problem. I’ll have Mary put something together. I’ll take it to them—you don’t have to do that.”

  Vincent pulled the twenty out of his pocket. “This was the tip for carrying the bags. I think he could be even more generous for food.”

  “Vincent—are you telling me that you can be bought off with mere tips?” Jerry threw his arms up in mock disbelief, and they chuckled.

  Mary worked her magic, putting together an impressive tray of sandwiches and baked goods, with tea and coffee. Vincent put the tray on a cart and headed back to the casita. Bobby was delighted, and seemed to cheer up a little more. He pushed another twenty into Vincent’s hand, and thanked him profusely. As Vincent left, he marveled at the extra forty dollars he’d made in a matter of minutes, thanks to nothing more than hunger. He thought it might look strange if he started following Bobby around. But he was definitely going to stay close.

  The next unwelcome visitor was Clive Walton, who hemmed and hawed over the placement of the paintings, eyeing each one for an extended period, and asked Hector to make many minor adjustments to the position of each. Finally, he nodded several times and declared them perfect.

  Cindy came in just as the process was wrapping up. “Mister Walton, is everything okay with Anna? We haven’t heard from her in several days. She was so anxious about getting everything right for the reception, and now she’s just disappeared.” She shrugged.

  “Well, she’s been busy. To tell you the truth, I haven’t seen her today, either. That’s unusual, but she can be a little weird sometimes.”

  Cindy thought Clive was venturing onto dangerous ground. “You need to let her know that Ilse is here. She arrived just a while ago, and she’s in her room, resting.”

  “Well halle-fuckin’-lujah! The princess has decided to grace her own show with her presence. Aren’t we all honored? I’ll let the queen know.” Clive made a disgusted face and left.

  Hector, who’d been standing in the back, remarked, “That little guy has a lot of anger in him.”

  “You aren’t wrong, Hector,” Cindy said. “So far, all these art people seem to have a screw loose.” She smiled, and together they laughed a little.

  Just then they heard Mary yell from the kitchen, and ran to see what happened. They found her hugging a handsome young man with all her might.

  Hector laughed. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” Hector shook his son’s hand, beaming with pride.

  “Sorry, Dad. It was a last-minute thing, and I thought I’d just surprise you. Hey, this is a great place. Mom has told me so much about it, I couldn’t wait to see.” Rick was talking to his parents, but his gaze mostly settled on Mariana.

  Hector noticed. “Rick, I want you to meet Cindy Oliver. Miss Cindy and her husband own the Blue Door Inn.”

  Rick crossed to Cindy and shook her hand. “My parents say you are the most wonderful person in the world. It’s a great honor to meet you.”

  Cindy dropped his hand and gave him a hug, smiling. “Well, you’re a very handsome young man, Rick, and maybe a little bit of a tease. We’re very glad you are visiting. We were all worried about you and the situation in Durango.” She paused, then glanced from Rick to Mariana. “Your parents are very important to us, and we’re lucky to have them here. Let me introduce you to our newest employee.” She took his arm and walked him over to a blushing Mariana. “Rick Flores, I’d like to introduce Mariana Garcia.”

  Rick barely seemed to hear Cindy while he took Mariana’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. Your mother has said many nice things about you.”

  “Okay,” Cindy said, breaking the spell. “We still have a few things to do before our guests arrive. Sorry, Rick, but we have a reception here this afternoon with a large, and very demanding group, so we need to get back to work.”

  “Sure. Can I help?”

  “Kitchen work or bar setup?”

  “I didn’t inherit my mother’s skills in the kitchen. Maybe I shouldn’t say too much about setting up a bar, but it might be something I could do.” He grinned.

  “Great. The bar’s outside in the gazebo. My husband—his name is Jerry—he’s out in back there somewhere, along with Vincent, who I think you’ve already met. Find Jerry and introduce yourself, and he can get you started.”

  “Perfect.” Rick squeezed Mariana’s hand and went outside.

  Mary came over and gave Mariana a hug. “Don’t worry, Mariana. Rick’s a nice boy. And if he doesn’t behave like one, you just tell me, and I’ll fix it, immediately.”

  They giggled like little girls.

  “Where the hell is everybody? Hello! Is this place open or not?”

  “Sounds like Anna’s back,” Cindy said with a sigh. “I’ll handle it.” She headed toward the small lobby.

  “Oh, there you are.” Anna seemed relieved. “Cindy, everything looks wonderful. I’m so sorry I haven’t been around to help. The paintings look great, and I saw the tent before I came in—it’s just perfect. Thank you so much.”

  Cindy had been all ready to lay into Anna, even to toss her annoying behind out of the Inn, if necessary. Now she wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh. Thanks. Clive helped with arranging the paintings. We have them covered now, as Clive said to. The caterers will be here in just a few minutes to get set up. Everything will be ready on time.” Inwardly, Cindy was half apologizing for all the things she’d been ready to say, but hadn’t.

  “Clive tells me our favorite bad penny has turned up—that’s good. The reception will be a lot better if we don’t have to explain why the star’s missing. Thanks again, Cindy. I’ll be back in an hour or so, along with our guests. See ya then.”

  Cindy was beginning to feel like a ping-pong ball bouncing back and forth between the various players and their ever-changing emotions. She shook her head and went back to the kitchen. Everyone else had returned to their various tasks. She could see Vincent and Rick in the back yard.

  “While you’re here in Santa Fe, we should get that statement done.
How long are you going to be home?” Vincent wasn’t trying to be nosy—he just wanted to get the job done.

  “I quit my job in Denver, so I guess I’ve moved back permanently. Can’t live long with my parents. We love each other, but they don’t need me underfoot. Not sure what I’m going to do, exactly. Maybe look for a job in Albuquerque.” Rick looked thoughtful, but didn’t say anything further.

  “Does moving back have anything to do with Simpson and the Durango mess?”

  “Not really. Well, maybe. It definitely spooked me. And I know this is going to sound pathetic, but it made me realize how much my parents mean to me. I guess I had to be gone for a while to get that straight in my head. But I want to live closer. Not in the same house, but close.”

  Rick seemed reluctant to say more, and Vincent wondered if there might be more to his new love of being a homebody than just parental appreciation. He had always been good at picking up on fear, and fear was what he sensed in Rick. “Well, good. Still, let me set something up with a stenographer here in Santa Fe, and we’ll get what Tucker wants. Okay?”

  “Sure, I still want to do that—just in case something else happens.”

  There went Vincent’s antennae again. He would have bet his entire generous tip from Bobby that “something” had already happened, and Rick was running from it. Why wouldn’t he say so? More fear, probably. He had come home to hide out or get help, or both. Vincent wasn’t likely to figure out what it was right now. But eventually, he’d know.

  The arrival of the caterers set in motion a whirlwind of activity. They were like a well-drilled invading army, with delicious food in place of ordnance. Soon the new people had all the ovens working, and had arranged the first serving of appetizers, inside and out at the tent. A skilled bartender took over the bar with practiced efficiency.

  Cindy realized immediately that her best course was simply to stand back and let the caterers do their thing. She’d been told that they were the best and so far, that seemed to be true.

  Right on time, Anna arrived with two vans and a small bus full of buyers. The group of buyers were upbeat and in a party mood. Unnoticed by the growing crowd, Clive and Francis Mitchell were huddling in a corner, discussing something in private. Within thirty minutes of when the event was scheduled to begin, all guests seemed present. Bente Smit and Dirk Jensen mingled with the buyers, some of whom they seemed to know. There was a festive buzz as everyone enjoyed the company, the good food, and the generous drinks. Cindy smiled.

  The early evening weather was perfect, with a pleasant, mild breeze allowing the large doors to be left open so there was no barrier between inside and outside. The servers were efficient. And, based on samples Cindy snagged, the food was great.

  As if the event had been scripted, just as anticipation over the paintings reached its peak, Ilse and Bobby made a grand entrance. The small crowd broke into applause when they caught sight of her. She was clearly more relaxed and better rested than when she’d first arrived, wearing a stylish ensemble suitable for the Parisian catwalk.

  “Thank you,” she said to everyone and no one. “Thank you all so much for coming. Isn’t this place beautiful?” There was another round of applause. “Anna and her people have done a fantastic job. I owe her my deepest gratitude. Now, please enjoy yourselves and we’ll unveil the paintings in just a few minutes.” She smiled in a mischievous way. “Oh, and yes, they will be for sale.”

  The crowd gave a good-natured laugh at that. Not everyone was happy, though. Cindy noticed that Anna had gone into the kitchen when Ilse mentioned her name. It seemed an odd time to leave, but her thoughts were interrupted when Clive came up to her.

  “I’ll do the unveiling in about twenty minutes. After that, we’ll have a viewing period for about thirty more minutes, and then comes the bidding, which I’ll conduct. While I’m doing it, I don’t want the waiters in the room. But before that, they should serve as much liquor as people want. Once the bidding’s over, and the lucky buyers have been congratulated, we’ll close down after about fifteen more minutes, and clear everyone out.” He was doing his best to be all business, but it seemed obvious to her that he was upset about something.

  “Okay, that’ll work just fine,” Cindy said. “We’ll get all the food out now, so there’ll be nothing after the unveiling, except the booze. And nothing during bidding. Good luck!”

  She wasn’t sure who was more nervous, Clive or her. She badly wanted it to be over, but first, she had things to do. She returned to the kitchen and found Anna sitting alone at the small kitchen table, drinking. Cindy wasn’t sure what to say to her.

  “Can I get you anything, Anna?”

  Anna gave her a look that seemed threatening—and maybe a little bit crazy. “Maybe a fuckin’ gun! You should keep one handy, Cindy darlin’. Couple more belts of this vodka, and I’ll go out there and blow out the brains of our wonderful, talented little bitch of an artist. Might take out her new fuckin’ boyfriend, while I’m at it.”

  Cindy looked around to see at least ten people who heard that outburst. “Unless you want this sale to fall apart, I would think it might be best if you went out back and didn’t say anything more.” Cindy had lowered her voice to a whisper.

  Anna glared. It seemed clear it was fortunate for Cindy that Anna didn’t have the gun she’d been fantasizing about. But the moment passed. “You know, Cindy darlin’, I think you’re right. I’ll kill her after the sale.” She tipped her glass as if in a toast, and went out the back door.

  Cindy looked around at the collected group. “Tension and booze. Probably not a good combination.”

  She smiled, and not happily. Why did all her guests want to kill someone? Come visit the famous Blue Door Inn, B&B and psycho ward. If she’d been alone, she might have cried.

  There were audible gasps as the first painting was unveiled. Before the crowd could collect themselves, the second painting was exposed, eliciting more appreciative noises, and a quick round of applause. Clive Walton could feel the room’s excitement, and immediately went to the final work, stopping with his hand on the drape that covered it.

  “Ready?”

  People laughed and cheered and yelled, “Do it!” Clive knew they had a hit. Of course, he’d seen the paintings, and thought they were Ilse’s best work by far. Like many people, he thought she was a spoiled brat who should be locked in her room most of the time, but she was also the most gifted contemporary artist he’d seen in years—maybe decades. Shapes and colors jumped off the canvas and seemed to demand attention with images that were comfortable and disturbing at the same time. She was a vast talent wasted on a petulant woman-child.

  “The best for last.” He pulled away the cover, and the crowd broke into applause. The buyers they’d assembled for the reception were some of the most knowledgeable—and influential—around, and he could tell they were impressed. Anna’s money problems would be over soon. This kind of enthusiasm meant big checks.

  “We will start the bidding in approximately thirty minutes. Thank you.”

  The crowd turned their attention to Ilse, congratulating her on her work. Everyone was excited, and for once even Ilse looked pleased. But she wouldn’t let go of Bobby, clinging to him like a life preserver while the sea of admirers engulfed her with words of praise.

  Soon everyone was talking and drinking. Small groups formed, with people guessing who would bid on what, and how much, and remarking on what a special moment this was—a star being born.

  Ilse and Bobby went out back to take a break from the attention.

  “Well, looks like you’re a hit.” Anna’s drunken, bitter voice came from behind them. They turned to her. “You’ll be rich and famous, and you still won’t know shit.”

  “I don’t know what your problem is,” Ilse retorted, holding onto Bobby for security, but clearly livid. “You’ll get your money. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Have you told your new boyfriend about all of your sexual exploits? I’m sure he’d love to h
ear the details.”

  Ilse charged at Anna. Her target, being drunk, toppled over easily, falling to the ground and hitting her head. Ilse, now on top of her, beat at her with her fists. Bobby grabbed her and pulled her away.

  Vincent saw the encounter from a distance, but couldn’t hear what was said. He ran over and tried to take care of Anna, but she cursed him with as much venom as she did Ilse.

  “You evil little bitch,” she howled at the artist. “You think you can treat me this way and then just walk away, all rich and happy? Think again, you piece of shit. I can keep all the money until all the events are over. And then I can do an audit to determine how much you owe me for the expenses we agreed to share. And then, maybe a few months later, I might release some of the money to you.”

  “You can’t do that! I never agreed to sharing the expenses—that shit comes out of your commission.”

  “Little Miss Know-It-All didn’t read the fine print, did she? Too bad, princess. I can keep the money until I decide everything’s accounted for—you can let your new boyfriend support you and mom for a while until I decide how much you get. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Ilse broke loose from Bobby and got close enough to Anna, even with Vincent blocking her path, to kick her hard in the knee. Anna went down again. There was more shouting and name-calling. Bobby dragged Ilse back to the house. Anna pushed Vincent away, and headed toward the parking lot.

  “Now for the final—and, I would suggest, most impressive—painting of the night. Let’s open the bid at five hundred thousand.”

  Clive was energized by the prices the paintings were commanding. These three alone were going to top two million dollars, and they still had twenty-five more to sell in the three other venues. Everybody was going to get rich—except him and Francis, of course. He pushed the thought aside so he could deal with the auction, although his temper rose a little. Just as he was wrapping up, he saw Ilse and her new boyfriend come in from the back yard. He had the distinct impression something was wrong.