He laughed. “Got me there.”
“In case you’re worried about the cop part, my drugs of choice for the last decade or so have been weed—I’ve got a prescription for it—and alcohol. No illegal substances stashed around.”
“Good to know. I should let you get back to work.”
“Before you do, tell me what you think.” She gestured to the canvas on the easel in front of her.
He stepped over and his heart gave three hard thuds.
The woman stood in some sort of glade full of flowers and butterflies and sunlight. She looked at him over her left shoulder, a half smile on her lips, in her golden eyes.
A sinuous vine grew up the center of her back, spread its arms over her shoulder blades.
Light and color saturated her, but it was that look in her eyes that made him wish he could step into the canvas and go with her.
Anywhere.
“She’s … beautiful’s not strong enough. Compelling?”
“It’s a fine word.”
“You wonder who she’s waiting for, who she’s looking at, and what the hell’s taking them so long. Because who in their right mind wouldn’t want to walk down that path with her?”
“No matter where it leads?”
“No matter. Who is she?”
“In this portrait? Temptation. In reality, my granddaughter. Simone.”
“I have a photo of her in my files, but…” It hadn’t struck him, not like this. “She looks like you. She has your eyes.”
“That’s a fine compliment, to both of us. That’s Natalie, my younger granddaughter.” She gestured to another canvas.
Softer colors here, he noted, edging toward pastels to complement a different sort of beauty, a different sort of mood. Fairy princess, he decided, with the jeweled tiara over the gold halo of hair. Eyes of quiet blue in a lovely face that radiated happiness rather than power, and the slim frame draped in a long white gown thin enough to hint at the body beneath.
“She’s lovely, and looking at someone who makes her happy.”
“Very good. That would be Handsome Harry, her fiancé. I’m going to give this to him for Christmas. She’d never let him hang it if I’d done a nude, so I compromised.”
“You love them a lot. It shows.”
“My greatest treasures. I’m going to want you to pose for me.”
“Ah, well, hmm.”
“I’ll ease you into it. It’s hard to say no to Mick. Just as hard to say no to CiCi.”
“I bet,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“What do you say to cocktails at five?”
“I say I’m there.”
*
She didn’t bring up the posing business over the next couple of days—a relief. When he came back, worn out, from physical therapy, she had her acupuncturist waiting. He balked—needles, for God’s sake—but she’d spoken truth.
It was hard to say no to CiCi.
He concluded he’d fallen asleep during the acupuncturing because the PT wore him out and not because of weird-ass needles and aromatherapy candles.
She roped him into sunset yoga on the beach with a group of others. He felt stupid, awkward, stiff—and nearly drifted off during shavasana.
He couldn’t deny he felt stronger and clearer of mind after his first week, but that’s what he’d come to the island for. He didn’t argue about the next acupuncture session, especially after neither his physical therapist nor his beloved Tinette dismissed it as hooey, which he’d counted on.
When CiCi talked him into a bike ride, his ribs and shoulder cursed him, but not as loudly as they had.
Fall had long since peaked, but he liked the Halloween look of the denuded trees, the way they rattled in the wind. He spotted pumpkins in gardens, and others already carved on porches. The air carried that spicy scent the earth sent out before it went to sleep for the winter.
CiCi stopped her bike in front of the other house he’d admired as a child.
All those rooflines, he mused, and the fussy trim, the spreads of glass leading out to odd little decks, and those double porches. All topped by the ridiculous charm of a widow’s walk.
“The silvery gray works,” CiCi declared. “And when the lupines and the rest of the garden blooms, it’s the perfect backdrop for them. Me? I’d paint those porches orchid.”
“Orchid?”
“But that’s just me. Cody painted them and the trim that dark gray because it’s safer for selling. Can’t blame them. Anyway, they’re expecting us.”
“They are?”
“I called Barbara Ellen yesterday.”
He studied the house, yearned. Shook his head. “CiCi, I can’t buy a house on the island. Cops have to live where they work.”
“But you want to see it, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I really do. I just don’t want to put them out.”
“Cody’s had his mother nipping at his heels for weeks now. They could both use the distraction.” Once they parked their bikes, she took his hand, tugged him along a flagstone walk.
She crossed the porch that should be painted orchid, knocked on the door—then just opened it and walked in.
“Barbara Ellen, Cody! It’s CiCi and friend.” She called out over the sound of hammering from up the staircase tucked to the right of the living room.
The living room boasted a wood-burning fireplace and wide-planked floors he guessed were original, freshly sanded and sealed. It opened straight back to the kitchen, where he expected they’d put a lot of effort into modernizing. The peninsula, the prep island, the counters—sticking with gray in granite—and definitely new cabinets in a clean, simple white.
He didn’t know why anyone who wasn’t a cooking maniac needed a six-burner stove or double ovens, but they looked impressive.
“Go ahead and wander,” CiCi told him. “I’ll call them again.”
He couldn’t stop himself and walked back toward the kitchen, noted the double barn-style doors, slid one open. He definitely couldn’t buy the house, he reminded himself. Not only for obvious reasons, but because he wasn’t worthy of a kitchen with a pantry big enough to hold enough supplies to withstand an alien invasion.
Why had they put those cool Edison lights over the peninsula? He really had a weak spot for those lights.
He turned as he heard someone coming down the stairs, chattering all the way.
“CiCi! I barely heard you with all the noise. Cody’s redoing one of the bedroom closets. I don’t know what I’d do without that boy.”
She was a tiny woman, and made Reed think of a busy bird as she gave CiCi a hug, still chattering.
“He’s staying a whole month this time. And he’s going to come back this winter to finish up, if need be, so we can get the house on the market come spring. Spring’s the best time, everybody says, though I had my heart set on listing it before the first of the year. I’m going home with him when he leaves, to start looking for a little place, maybe a condo. I don’t know, but I know I just don’t want to spend another winter here alone.”
“We’ll miss you, Barbara Ellen. Come meet my Reed.”
“Oh my goodness, of course! How do you do? CiCi’s told me all about you.” She put her little hand in Reed’s, smiled up at him with dark brown eyes through dusty glasses. “You’re a policeman. My uncle Albert was a policeman in Brooklyn, New York. CiCi said you remember my house from when you came to the island as a boy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s some different now in here. Cody’s been working like a mule.”
“It looks great.”
“I hardly recognize the place. It’s just not mine anymore. But I will say the kitchen’s a treat. Let me get you some tea and cookies.”
“Now don’t worry about that.” CiCi patted her hand. “Cody tucked a pretty little powder room under the stairs here, didn’t he?”
“He did. That boy’s so handy. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Singing Cody’s praises, Barbara Ellen—nudged by CiCi—showed off the first floor. Reed had to steel himself against the views of the woods, the water. With CiCi leading, they headed upstairs.