Page 10 of Whispers of Redemption

“Almost,” Zack replied with a smile. “I got distracted when she started giving me in-depth explanations about different ways to correct bloom.”

“Bloom?”

“Yeah, it’s a foggy white haze that you might see on a painting that’s been stored in damp conditions. Moisture penetrates the paint layers to create the effect. I can show you some pictures if you want?” he said, shuffling through papers on his desk.

“Uh, no. That’s okay, Zack,” Cassie said hastily. She knew he was just as passionate about ancient art as Olga was, and once either one of them got going, it was hard to get them to stop.

“Cassandra, is that you?” Olga’s lilting voice drifted from around the edge of the three-quarter-height half-wall that was topped with distinguishing tapered posts. Cassie smiled at the way Olga always used her full name.

“Yes, Olga,” she responded, walking through the main room and stepping around the wall to greet her. Just as the foyer served as an office, the space that would have been a dining room served as Olga’s studio. Light poured through large windows as well as the sliding glass door in a small bump-out that held a circular table and four chairs. Cassie gazed through the glass at the gorgeous countryside views they offered. Once farmland, the property now comprised gently undulating hills carpeted in verdant green and peppered with a profusion of colorful wildflowers.

Along one wall of the room were shelves filled with reference books. Paintings of varying sizes leaned against them, interspersed with easels and lamps. Additional glass-fronted cabinets were topped with containers of paintbrushes, and lined inside with colorful paint pots, aging pigment boxes, and jars of gelatinous liquids that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an old-time apothecary shop.

“Come here, beautiful!” she said in her heavy Russian accent. “Come see what I’m working on!”

Cassie obeyed, drawn by the vibrant energy that always emanated from Olga. Cassie wasn’t sure how old Olga was but placed her somewhere in her late sixties. Olga’s pale white-blonde hair swooped neatly back from her face into a traditional French twist. As always, her makeup was impeccable. Her walker stood parked beside where she sat in a chair before an easel that held a massive painting.

“Do you know who painted this?” Olga asked, blue eyes dancing.

“Ummmmm...” Cassie studied the abstract shapes and bright colors of the canvas.

“It’s a Kandinsky!” Olga said, not waiting for Cassie to figure it out. “I don’t normally handle the work of modern artists, but how could I resist?” Olga shrugged. “He’s Russian, like me!” Then she laughed, a melodic tittering as musical as her voice.

“That’s great, Olga,” Cassie said, finding herself smiling at the older woman’s obvious joy.

Olga then launched into a detailed explanation of the piece and Cassie listened attentively. While she didn’t know much about art, she couldn’t help but get caught up in Olga’s passion for it.

“Do you have time for a cup of tea?” Olga asked, as she nearly always did.

“Sorry, not today,” Cassie said. “I have another client pick-up and drop-off to squeeze in.”

“Ahhh, da, da!” Olga nodded. “Next time then.” Olga loved to make her package pick-ups a social affair. “Zack, do you have the crate ready for Cassie?”

“It’s all set,” he said, peeking around the edge of the wall.

Within minutes, Cassie was backing out of Olga’s driveway. She checked the van clock. Plenty of time to take care of Creative Solutions before heading to Grand Rapids’ international airport to ship Olga’s crate on the next flight.

She turned off Olga’s dirt road and back onto the paved road leading toward town. She was approaching Lakeside Latté again when suddenly the engine began rattling loudly.

“What the heck?” Cassie’s eyes flicked over the gauges, and she noticed that the check engine light was on. Braking gently, she steered the van off onto the shoulder and shut off the engine. She popped the hood and got out to peer closely at the van’s insides, trying to see where the trouble was.

“Everything looks fine, I don’t get it,” she muttered under her breath.

A shadow moved at the corner of her eye. She leaned to the side of the open hood and noticed that the van’s back doors were open. She frowned in confusion. Then a split second later, she saw a figure racing away, carrying Olga’s package! The figure ran across the coffee shop parking lot toward an idling black pickup truck. It was sitting at a strange angle on the dirt road she’d just turned off from. Whoever it was wore a ski mask and hoodie and was dressed completely in black. The thief tossed the wooden crate into the bed of the truck and hopped into the cab.

“Hey!” she shouted, running after the person.

But it was too late. The truck shot off in the opposite direction, tires spitting up dust from the dirt road and obscuring her view.

Cassie stopped running and stood there in bewildered shock, looking helplessly between her broken down van and the disappearing black truck. In seconds, she began running back to the van. She reached inside for her cell phone and hit 9-1-1.

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