Page 93 of Fresh Canvas
Kendra’s black skirt and blazer materialized beside my desk, making me jump. I swept my face into a mask of indifference and said, “Good morning, Kendra. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to talk to you in my office. Privately.” She turned on her snappy heel and strode into her office.
I sighed and followed after her. At this rate, my acting skills would be ready for the big screen any day now.
We both sat down, and the museum director knit her fingers together on the desk. I waited for her to begin, anxiety now accompanying the worried knot in my stomach.
Her obsidian irises scrutinized mine, glimmering and unreadable, before she said, “I’m very pleased with your work lately, and I’m looking forward to seeing your plans for the opening soirée.” Kendra didn’t sound excited at all. If anything, a hint of suspicion laced her voice.
“Thank you.” My forced smile came easier now that Val wasn’t in sight. Kendra stood and took slow steps around her office, trailing her fingertips on the desk.
“I just wanted to ask if you found any”—her eyes scaled to mine again—“inspirationduring the Felix Andreas gala?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Inspiration?” The innocent question slid from my lips, shockingly cool and collected.
“Yes.Inspiration. Anything come to light that evening? Anything memorable?”
It all garbled into a loose translation:I know about the forgery and need to make sure you don’t.While I had assumed Kendra’s hands were dirty, the confirmation of my suspicion was almost frightening. The woman in front of me was involved in criminal activity, for goodness sake. I decided it best to play dumb.
“The galawasinspirational. I think it was Blythe’s finishing touches that made it spectacular, like the chilled champagne glasses, for example. I’ll make it my muse for sure.”
After an agonizingly slow moment, Kendra nodded and said, “Good. Please let me know if I can assist you in any way.” Her glittering eyes followed me as I excused myself with a smile.
My wild thoughts picked up speed as I walked toward The Spiral. Cold sweat slicked my palms. Kendra, the museum director herself—the person responsible for the success of the museum—had stolen from it. Anger simmered amidst my panic.
I swung the employee door open to greet the skylight’s refracted light spotting the walls of The Spiral, though I barely noticed. Gripping the steel handrail, I forced oxygen into me.
Kendraknew.Of course she knew. Did she have the real painting, or had it disappeared into the black market by now? Had she worked alone, or did she have an accomplice?
I opened my phone to text Val, but through my panic, I had completely forgotten about the knot still lingering in my stomach. Gritting my teeth, I decided the dirt on Kendra took priority. Ithadto. We’d have plenty of time to talk later.
AMANTHA: Regardless of what’s going on with us, Kendra just implicated herself with the forged painting. Rick’s closet. NOW.
Thankfully, the closet door had been propped open, since my keycard only had clearance for the office wing. As I waited for a reply, I slipped inside the closet.The door sealed shut, darkness rising around my body. I tapped the heel of my left foot in a rhythm of impatience. Pressing an ear to the surface of the cool metal door, I listened for his footsteps. My phone buzzed, the ghostly light of the screen illuminating my face.
VAL: I can’t do this anymore.
The knot exploded.
Each letter Val had strung together to make that sentence was unrecognizable. I reread the message through my blurring vision. My fingers quivered as I strung together foreign letters of my own.
AMANTHA: What does that mean, Val? The investigation? Or us?
An ellipsis appeared as the oxygen in the closet dissipated entirely.
VAL: Both.
twenty-five
AMANTHA
Idropped the duffel bag with a carpeted thud. Mechanically, I removed my clothes and slipped into a pair of ratty pajamas. The silky sheets billowed around me, cool, soft, and smelling like home.
Drawing the fluffy comforter up to my chin, I finally let my tears flow freely in the darkened room. A soft meow slipped through the cracked door, and Mr. Fluff Buttons curled up by my feet. My cozy bedroom may as well have been a sterile hospital room with how comforted I felt.
My chest had been gutted like a fish. Wrenching anguish routinely washed over me like a sadistic nurse on rotation, insisting that I replay each and every interaction I’d ever had with Val. How could I have misunderstood? Why wouldn’t he justtalkto me?
Val had even ignored my pitiful barrage of questions and pleading texts. My pathetic calls went straight to voicemail. It was as though I had never existed to him. That I didn’t matter.
