Broken Angels

72

The Art Ark was a small weather-beaten store at the end of the block, on the one and only main street in the small town. The display in the window was a cleverly arranged collage of brushes, paints, canvases, watercolor pads, along with the expected silo-and-barn landscapes of local farms, produced by local artists, painted by people most likely instructed by-or related to-the proprietor.

A bell over the door announced Jessica and Nicci's entrance. They were greeted by the aroma of potpourri, linseed oil, and a subtle undercurrent of cat.

The woman behind the counter was in her early sixties. Her hair was pulled into a bun and held in place by an elaborately carved wooden pick. If they were not in Pennsylvania, Jessica would have placed the woman at a Nantucket art fair. Maybe that was the idea.

"Afternoon," the woman said.

Jessica introduced herself and Nicci as police officers. "Doug Pren- tiss referred us to you," she said.

"Good-looking man that Doug Prentiss."

"Yes he is," Jessica said. "He said you might be able to help us."

"Do what I can," she replied. "Name's Nadine Palmer, by the way."

Nadine's words promised cooperation, even though her body language had tightened up a little when she'd heard the word "police." It was to be expected. Jessica brought out the photograph of the farmhouse. "Doug said you might know where this house was."

Before Nadine looked at the photograph she asked, "Might I see some ID?"

"Absolutely," Jessica said. She pulled her badge, flipped it open. Nadine took it from her, scrutinized it.

"Must be exciting work," she said, handing the ID back.

"Sometimes," Jessica replied.

Nadine picked up the photograph. "Oh, sure," she said. "I know the place."

"Is it far from here?" Nicci asked.

"Not too far."

"Do you know who lives there?" Jessica asked.

"Don't think anyone lives there now." She took a step toward the back of the store, yelled, "Ben?"

"Yeah?" came a voice from the basement.

"Can you bring up the watercolor that's leaning up against the freezer?"

"The small one?"

"Yes."

"Sure thing," he replied.

A few seconds later a young man came up the steps carrying a framed watercolor. He was in his early to mid-twenties, right out of central casting for small-town Pennsylvania. He had a shock of wheat- colored hair that fell into his eyes. He wore a navy blue cardigan, white T-shirt, and jeans. He was almost feminine in his features.

"This is my nephew, Ben Sharp," Nadine said. She went on to introduce Jessica and Nicci and explain who they were.

Ben handed his aunt the tastefully framed and matted watercolor. Nadine put it onto an easel next to the counter. The painting, realistically rendered, was almost an exact duplicate of the photo.

"Who painted this?" Jessica asked.

"Yours truly," Nadine said. "I snuck out there one Saturday in June. A long, long time ago."

"It's beautiful," Jessica said.

"It's for sale." Nadine winked. From the back room came the sound of a teakettle whistling. "If you'll excuse me a second." She walked out of the room.

Ben Sharp looked between his two visitors, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rocked on his heels for a moment. "So, you guys are up from Philly?" he asked.

"That's right," Jessica said.

"And you're detectives?"

"Right again."

"Wow."

Jessica glanced at her watch. It was past two. If they were going to track down this house, they had better get going. She then noticed a display of paintbrushes on the counter behind Ben. She pointed to it.

"What can you tell me about these brushes?" she asked.

"Just about anything you'd like to know," Ben said.

"Are they all pretty much the same?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. First of all, they come in different grades-master, studio, academic. All the way down to economy, although you really don't want to paint with economy. They're more for the hobbyist. I use the studio, but that's because I get a discount. I'm not as good as Aunt Nadine, but I'm coming along."

At this, Nadine reentered the shop with a tray bearing a steaming pot of tea. "Do you have time for a cup of tea?" she asked.

"I'm afraid we don't," Jessica said. "But thanks." She turned to Ben, held up the photograph of the farmhouse. "Are you familiar with this house?"

"Sure," Ben said.

"How far away is it?"

"Maybe ten minutes or so. It's kind of hard to find. If you like, I can show you where it is."

"That would be very helpful," Jessica said.

Ben Sharp beamed. Then his expression darkened. "Is that okay, Aunt Nadine?"

"Of course," she said. "Not exactly turning away customers, it being New Year's Eve and all. I should probably just close up and pop the Cold Duck."

Ben ran into the back room, returned wearing a parka. "I'll bring my van around, meet you out front."

While they waited, Jessica glanced around the shop. It had that smalltown atmosphere that she found appealing of late. Maybe that was what she was looking for now that Sophie was getting older. She wondered what the schools were like around here. She wondered if there were schools around here.

Nicci nudged her, dissolving her daydream. It was time to go.

"Thanks for your time," Jessica said to Nadine.

"Anytime," Nadine said. She came around the counter, walked them to the door. It was then that Jessica noticed the wooden box near the radiator; the box contained a cat and four or five newborn kittens.

"Couldn't interest you in a kitten or two, could I?" Nadine asked with a hopeful smile.

"No thanks," Jessica said.

As she opened the door and stepped into the snowy Currier amp; Ives afternoon, Jessica glanced back at the nursing cat.

Everyone was having babies.