“Mural for the kids. A favor for the Judge.”
“She’s hard to ignore.” He walked up to the painting. “Nice.”
“I wouldn’t touch anything. Paint’s still tacky.”
“Right.” He leaned closer and studied the child with long blond hair. “She looks like you.”
“Does she?”
“She looks sad.”
“She’s smiling,” I corrected.
“If you say so.” He nodded and shifted his gaze to the little boy with the torn pockets. “They’re all smiling. But they don’t look happy.”
His observation surprised me. “It’s meant to be fun. Bright and joyful.”
“But there are nuances.” He regarded me closely. “Risking the obvious, are you a professional artist?”
“I am. Primarily printmaking.”
“I’m Luke Kane.” He extended his hand. “Judge wants me to join the board of the center.”
I held up paint-stained fingers. “Scarlett Crosby.”
He lowered his hand as his gaze scanned me. I sensed he’d taken a mental picture of me and filed it away with my name, so that the next time we met, he’d connect the image and name. But we weren’t meeting again. “How long have you been working on this?”
“About four weeks.”
“I haven’t seen you.”
“I’m gone before the center opens.”
“Looks like you’re about finished.”
“Ready for the opening reception tonight.”
He shifted his gaze from me to the mural. “Lots of undercurrents, Scarlett Crosby.”
Frowning, I stared at the smiling cartoon faces. “I thought I was being subtle.”
He leaned forward a fraction, as if sharing a secret. “I’m paid to pick up on hidden messages.”
“What do you see here?” I challenged.
He slowly pulled his gaze from mine. “The kids are trying to be happy. They’re trying to feel normal, but it’s hard.”
“Wow.”
“The work is great, and I don’t think the average person will look past the bright colors. Your secret messages are safe.”
Secret messages. I was sending out a warning that the world wasn’t what we wanted it to be.
“Will you be at the opening?” he asked.
My focus shifted from bright-pink polka dots back to him. “The Judge has requested it.”
Even white teeth flashed. “Command performance?”