Page 114 of Sparking Sara

Ollie: I’m just saying, I know a lot about you. Your past. Your indiscretions. I have a lot of connections. People who will believe a reputable art dealer over a wet-behind-the-ears artist.

Me: Are you saying you’ll try to ruin my reputation?

Ollie: I’m saying I’ll go to great lengths to protect what’s mine.

Me: Those paintings aren’t yours, Oliver. And neither am I. Now, what is it you always tell people? Sod off. Don’t ever contact me again.

Ollie: You’ll be sorry.

Tears drip onto the phone, blurring the screen as I read the last bits of the conversation. I can’t catch my breath. My body shakes with sobs. Mostly because I’m confused. My first inclination is to storm into Oliver’s room and show him the texts. But if he’s really as bad as those texts make him out to be, would he even admit to any of it? Would he tell me the truth?

I scroll through the screen shots again. Then I text Denver.

Me: Can you see if I have the number for Benny Klutner in my old phone?

Denver: That’s a good idea. I’ll check and send it right over.

A minute later, Benny’s contact info appears in a text. I immediately call the number.

“Who the fuck is this?” a man with a German accent answers the phone. There is a lot of noise in the background.

“Benny?”

“What’s it to you? And how in the hell did you get this number?”

“This is Sara Francis.”

I hear some shuffling around on the other end of the phone. Then a door slams. Then, silence.

“Sara? Is that really you?”

“Yes.”

“I heard you were in an accident.”

“I was. I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of time, Benny. But I need some answers.”

“How can I help?”

“I … lost my memory. I don’t remember you. But I just read some texts between me and Oliver Compton. Did I ever call you and tell you … and tell you …”

“That the fucking idiot stole my paintings and sold knock-offs?”

I close my eyes. “I guess I did. What happened after that? Did you call the police? I mean, he’s still a practicing art dealer.”

“Now why would I do that, honey? Oliver and I came to a mutually-beneficial arrangement. I heard you were engaged, so I thought you’d have known that.”

“No. I don’t know anything about an arrangement.”

He laughs. “Still up to his old ways, then, isn’t he?”

“Please tell me, Benny. What arrangement did you make, and did it have anything to do with me?”

“No. Well, not directly. But I suspected it might hurt your commissions since he agreed to work primarily as an agent for my paintings.”

“What?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

---