Love Starts with Elle(63)

Oh, let it ring. Then an odd, pinging thought. What if it’s Jeremiah? She reached back for the phone lying on the edge of the tarp. “Helloooo.”

Oops, she’d swiped the side of Julianne’s new beige cabinets with paint. She psssted at Jules to wipe it off. Not surprisingly, Julianne muttered a few blue words before and after Elle’s name.

“Is this Elle?” Crisp, pristine, foreign.

“Yes, it is.”

“This is Mitzy Canon of 821 Gallery in Manhattan.”

Elle held the phone away from he ear, reviewing the number, but the screen read PRIVATE. “Excuse me, I thought you said Mitzy Canon.”

“Listen, I’m pressed for time, but a friend suggested I review your work.”

Her heart pumped blood so fast her arms went limp. “Did Darcy Campbell call you?”

“I’m speaking of Heath McCord, married to the reporter who died, Ava. What a tragedy. She was beautiful. Can you send me a résumé and samples of your work? There’s a possibility of featuring you as a debut artist in our spring show.”

“T-this spring?”

Mitzy rattled off her personal e-mail so quickly Elle’s only writing implement was her paint brush, her only writing surface Julianne’s wall.

[email protected].

“How soon would you like—”

“Yesterday.” End of conversation.

Elle closed her phone, trying to comprehend what had happened. Mitzy Canon? Heath knew the artist maker?

“Who was that?” Julianne gathered up the paint-stained paper towels, the cabinet wiped clean. “Elle, you look green. Is everything okay?”

“I just agreed to send Mitzy Canon—the Mitzy Canon—samples of my work. Oh my gosh.” She rose off the floor. “And I harassed Darcy Campbell for inviting Ruby Barnett to write reviews during the Summer Art Walk.”

Julianne mashed the dirty towels on top of the over-stuffed trash can. “Mitzy Canon? The artist maker woman?”

“Yes, the Mitzy Canon.” Elle’s voice echoed down the salon and back. “Somehow Heath knows her, and because of him or something, she called for samples of my work.”

Julianne’s eyes popped wide. “Go Heath.”

“I don’t know, Jules, why would I—”

“Uh-uh, no you don’t, Elle. You’re not backing out.” Julianne gripped her shoulders. “You are strong and brave about everything, it seems, but this. Forget college and the cranky professor. Go for it.”

Elle made a face. “She said with no risk to herself.”

Julianne went back to unloading boxes. “It can’t hurt to send them, right? You already think you stink. What’s one more opinion?”

“What a comforting notion, Jules.” Elle smacked back down to the floor, facing her mural. “It’s enough to believe I stink, why not have the top voice in American art agree with me?”

Elle dipped her brush in the marsh grass paint. Heath, what’d you do to me? Leaning back for her phone, she autodialed him.

“Did you talk to Mitzy Canon? Why? Um-hmm . . . thank me?

Heath, I was just being a good neighbor . . . like I’m not going to go with you to the ER . . . You took me to dinner.” She chewed the tip of her thumbnail. “I’m not sure I want Mitzy . . . right . . . I know . . . got to start somewhere, sometime. But this is Mitzy Canon, top of the food chain . . . I do know my own work and talent, Heath. I live in my skin . . . um-hum . . . Okay, okay, don’t get testy. I’ll send her something. Dinner?” Elle checked the salon’s new wall clock. “About an hour? Want to go to Luther’s? Okay . . . bye.”





TWENTY

At five o’clock, Heath came out of the bedroom slipping his wallet into his jean’s back pocket. Elle knocked on the kitchen door. “Heath, you ready?”

“I was just about to get you.” He opened the door to let her in, raking back his damp hair from his eyes. She carried a large canvas board. “Another Elle Garvey masterpiece?”

“No, the first Tracey-Love McCord.” Elle turned the canvas board for him to see. “Your daughter’s handiwork.”

Heath picked his watch off the coffee table, snapping it on. “Incredible. How’d you do this?” He took the board from her, studying the swirls of paint.

“Filled pans with tempura paints and told the girls to have fun. Julianne hung Rio’s in the salon.”

Heath ran his fingers lightly over the dried surface of red, blue, and green, and all the shades in between. “This is a true gift. Thank you. I’ll hang it in my office.” He set Tracey-Love’s masterpiece against the wall, motioning to a check on the coffee table.

Elle read the number, then peered at him. He liked the surprise in her eyes. “Five hundred dollars. For what?”

“My first Elle Garvey. Coffin Creek Fog.”

“Heath, you said a hundred. I can’t take this. You’re raising TL alone and not working.”

“You can and you will.” He whispered, “Sadly, death comes with high dividends.”

“Now I know I can’t take it.” Elle thrust the check at him.

“You will. I bought your work and this is the price I’m paying.

Besides, Ava loved art and would be thrilled to discover a new artist and pay for an original piece.” Heath angled to see down the hall. “Tracey-Love, did you get lost in there?”