Bad Road to Nowhere Page 6

  “Says here that they’re celebrating Golden Autumn Day,” Mariah told him, studying her phone.

  “And that is?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. A celebration of autumn. There’s going to be a big county fair tonight on the outskirts of town with a potluck and everything.” Mariah sounded almost excited about it. Looked like she was just going to love America. Smiling, she shut the phone and put it down on the console. “All right, Will, the first thing we need to do is go down there on Main Street, mingle with the townspeople, hang out in some of the stores, maybe, and chat up the locals. See what’s what around here. I saw several bed-and-breakfasts down close to the main drag. And we’ve got to visit the art museum and see that painting I told you about. Or did I tell you? I found online that one of her paintings is in this town’s art museum. Now, that’s not coincidence, is it? So let’s park this truck and walk the rest of the way down to the parade. Good way to meet people who know their way around this little town.” She stopped, grinned at him. “Want to be my date? Hold hands and buy some homemade fudge? That sort of thing?”

  Novak was beginning to wonder if Mariah knew what the hell she was doing. If she really was an investigative reporter, she was a damn pitiful excuse for one. “Better to hole up somewhere and stay invisible. Just a couple of tourists passing through town and on our way to somewhere else. Don’t want to draw undue attention to what we’re doing here. People get nervous if strangers start asking a bunch of questions about their neighbors. Feel threatened by people who show up out of nowhere and act nosy. Especially strangers with thick Australian accents. That will cause talk.”

  Mariah laughed, and it did sound contemptuous. “What? You don’t look threatening enough for the both of us? What are you anyway? Two hundred fifty pounds, something like that? Good luck with that invisible thing. You’re the kind who gets noticed no matter where you go. People see you, get scared, and step back out of your way. You are definitely intimidating. You always have been. Even back when we were young. Maybe it’s got more to do with that fierce expression you’ve always got plastered all over your face.”

  “Yeah. And that’s why it’s better for me to keep a low profile. You should, too.”

  “I’m hardly threatening. People won’t worry about me. You’re the problem.”

  “You are noticeable, trust me. For your good looks. So dress yourself down. Go easy on the red lipstick and all that black eye makeup. Flirting with guys won’t get you anywhere in a town like this. All it will get you is some angry wives. And trust me, Mariah, it’s not gonna get you what you need if we’re gonna find your friend. Remember the reason we came up here. This isn’t a holiday or some kind of weekend getaway.”

  “I don’t flirt with men.”

  Novak scoffed at that. “Well, that’s not the way I remember it. So don’t make a spectacle out of yourself. Keep your head down and don’t ask too many questions. Be subtle. And we don’t need to be seen together much. I’m gonna find out what I can about that club named on the matchbook. I don’t want anybody to notice what I’m doing. Not until I get the lay of the land. This looks like Mayberry R.F.D. But looks can be deceiving.”

  “What’s Mayberry R.F.D.?”

  “Forget it. Just stay in your room tonight and let me case out this place alone. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Damn it, Will. I am not hiding out at some motel. Look, I told you—this is my investigation, my story. You’re not going to cut me out of the action.”

  “Then why involve me in the first place?”

  “I told you why.”

  “Well, sorry, but I’m gonna cut you out of anything I need to. I work better alone. Always have. You will get in my way.”

  “Oh, all right. But I still think you’re being overly cautious. Look around, these people are friendly and welcoming. They will receive us here with open arms.”

  “Don’t be naïve, Mariah. We don’t have time for it.”

  Mariah got quiet, peeved, no doubt. But that didn’t last long. “Oh, all right, we’ll do it your way. But let’s at least go to the art gallery and look around. Nobody will be there because they’re all downtown. I researched the place. Maybe we’ll get lucky and figure out where her painting came from.”

  “Are you sure it’s hers? And why didn’t you tell me about that before now?”

  “I thought I did. I guess I forgot. And yes, it’s hers. I’m almost positive.”

  Novak thought she was forgetting to tell him a lot of stuff. But he couldn’t think of a reason to argue about checking out the painting, so he told her to get him the directions and away they went.

  As it turned out, the town’s art museum was situated on a quiet street about two blocks west of the parade route. It was housed in an elegant old home with beautiful convex curved front windows and a curved portico with intricate carving around the top and twin round white pillars flanking the front door. It was made of cut glass in diamond patterns. The museum sat up from street level, and there was a low gray stone wall out front set with a spiked black iron fence atop it. An old-fashioned sign was swinging on a fancy metal stand out front. When they got out of the car, the air felt a lot colder than it had in Mobile. Crisp autumn temperatures had reached north Georgia early. The big oak trees in front of the museum were already turning red. A big difference from the sweltering days down on his bayou.

  Novak opened the iron-hinged gate and allowed Mariah to precede him up the steps and onto the front sidewalk. Mums were planted everywhere. It must be the town’s favorite flower. Or maybe it was just popular in the fall. They strolled up the walk together and climbed onto the half-moon-shaped front porch. A small brass plaque was affixed beside the door. WELCOME FRIENDS. COME RIGHT IN!

  So right in they went.

  A ribbon of silver sleigh bells attached to the inside of the door tinkled and sounded like Christmas as they entered. The front room was not large. An oak staircase on their right turned midway up to the second floor. There was a round table just in front of them with a white marble top and a blue-and-white decorative urn planted with more yellow and bronze mums. Not much else was inside the room. All the walls were filled with artwork, each with its own special spotlight blazing down and lighting it up for all to see. Otherwise, there was a ceiling chandelier, but turned down low.

  Two minutes passed before a handsome young man walked into the front room from somewhere in the back. He was tall, not as tall as Novak, but at least six feet. He was lean, clean cut, and showing them some incredibly straight white teeth. Almost as white as Mariah’s. A nice-looking kid. Maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. Blond hair gelled up in front. Straight up. Big friendly smile. Wearing a pullover red wool sweater and navy dress pants. With white Nikes. Novak glanced at Mariah to see if she was salivating yet. If all went according to her past behavior, she would be working up some serious charm right now. The kid was a male, after all. It didn’t take long. Mariah was beaming at the kid like he was cherry cheesecake or something equally tasty.

  He beamed back and said, “Hello. Welcome to the Sikeston Art Gallery.”

  The boy had a Georgia drawl that almost equaled Mariah’s thick Sydney one.

  “Hello, yourself,” Mariah said, giving him a thousand-watt smile. She was coming on to him, and three seconds had yet to pass. The guy looked up at Novak, and yeah, he looked wary, probably thinking they were a couple, husband and wife, maybe, and that Novak just might put him on his back on the floor any second. It was pretty obvious the young guy knew what Mariah was doing as well as Novak did. Men usually recognized an easy lay when they saw one. Nope, Mariah had not changed.

  “I’m Richard Rosland. I’m the assistant curator here at the gallery. Our curator’s on holiday in the Bahamas.”

  “Nice to meet you, Richard. I’m Mariah Murray, and he’s Will Novak. My great big brother.”

  The guy’s face revealed obvious relief. Now he could jump right onto her come on. He reached out and shook both their hands. Ve
ry polite. But he held on to Mariah’s hand for a few extra seconds. He didn’t smile, and Novak understood the way he was staring at her. She was a beautiful woman. It would be hard for a man not to let his gaze linger on that face. How many times had he seen the same thing happen with Sarah? He hadn’t liked it much when it had been other men staring at Sarah. Mariah, though? All power to them.

  “Well, you’re in luck today. We have several new acquisitions that we have just received this past week. One was done by a local artist by the name John Hamilton. He creates the most magnificent landscapes, all of our own Blue Ridge Mountains. He likes to do sets of them, portraying all the different seasons. They’re truly wonderful. The other piece of artwork was bequeathed to us by a patron. It’s by another local artist. Marnie Anne Sutton. She is quite talented as well. She likes to concentrate on wildlife, especially birds native to Georgia. Would you like to see them?”

  “Oh, yes, Richard. Please lead the way.” Mariah grabbed his arm and held on, and the kid grinned all over his face, pleased as punch.

  Poor guy. If he only knew.

  Novak stood back politely and let him have her. Happily. Richard led them into a large room that looked as if it had been two rooms at one time, the middle wall knocked down for added gallery space. Same scenario. Cream walls, dark oak woodwork. Lots of spotlights and glass cases. He glanced around on the walls, looking for a painting that resembled the photographs that Mariah had shown him. Mariah saw it first.

  “Oh, my, Richard. Look at this one.” She walked up to the painting displayed in the middle of the wall. The obvious place of honor. Two spotlights, one on either side. “This one is truly spectacular.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, it certainly is. We are quite pleased to have it here.”

  “Who’s the artist?” Novak asked. Small talk just wasn’t getting it done.

  “It came to us unsigned, oddly enough. It was donated maybe about two years ago. It’s really quite unique in its own right. We believe that it might be an original piece of Emma Adamson’s work. Are you familiar with her? She has quite a reputation down in Australia.” He grinned at Mariah. “I noticed your accent. I really like it. It’s awesome.”

  “Why, how sweet. Thank you, Richard. Yes, I know of her. I’ve seen her work before. In Sydney. She was in the news not so long ago, if I recall. I’ve been working in Tokyo for the last few years, so I’m a little out of touch with what’s going on back at home. Does Ms. Adamson live around here?”

  Clumsy, but effective. Maybe.

  “Well, no. But I did some in-depth research on her when we received this piece. Apparently, she disappeared from her home in Sydney. I don’t remember all the details.” He kept up the smiling at Mariah, no doubt thinking that today was his lucky day. A gorgeous woman who just walked right in his door, and she liked him already. “Are you staying in town long, Mrs. Murray?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m here visiting this big lug of a brother for a while. But this painting? It’s just exquisite. Did you say someone donated it to you? How generous of them.”

  “It was donated anonymously. It just came here in the mail one day. No card. No explanation. It was postmarked down in Atlanta.”

  “You know, I do believe this is a legitimate Adamson. I remember because her work is really quite different, is it not? This one might be called Sea Blues, I think. Wasn’t there a whole series of her work in a Blue Seas collection?”

  Richard nodded. “You’re quite right. All of the paintings in that collection are done in various shades of blues and purples and lavenders. She’s quite wonderful, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Oh, yes, I surely would.” Mariah had ratcheted herself up into high gear now. She was going to start batting her eyelashes any time now.

  The whole conversation made Novak sick to his stomach. He ignored the obvious flirtation going on between them and stepped up closer to the canvas. The painting was very good. Even he knew that, and he wasn’t into art, not at all. He knew that he had some priceless stuff on the walls at Bonne Terre, stuff that had been in the family for generations. It had been insured forever, too, in perpetuity through the family lawyers in France, but he didn’t know who painted what or how valuable any of it was. Didn’t really care, either.

  Novak turned to the curator. “Did you say that Emma Adamson disappeared?”

  “Yes. It was very strange. I don’t believe they ever found her. Drowned at sea was the final explanation, I believe. That’s why we’re so thrilled to have this piece in our collection. The value of her work has increased exponentially.”

  “And you have no idea who donated it?” Novak asked.

  “No. I have some suspicions, but I can’t really know for sure.”

  “Oh, how intriguing. Please tell me, please do,” begged Mariah.

  Oh, brother. If Richard fell for an act this cheesy, he wasn’t the brightest curator on the block. But he didn’t know Mariah. Novak did. Richard fell for her line, all right. Hook, line, and scarlet lipstick. He was smiling down at Mariah, liking the way she was hanging on to his arm.

  “Well, there was a man who moved to town around that time. His name is Barrett Wilson. He’s also from Australia, I think.”

  “Really? What a strange coincidence.”

  “Yes, isn’t it now? I’ve just got a hunch that he might be the one who donated it to us. He seems quite wealthy, and has bought up acres of land in the mountains northeast of here.”

  “Where?” asked Novak. Now they were getting somewhere.

  “Oh, just up the road a spell. But come, Mariah, let me show you our local artists’ work. They are really all quite good.”

  Novak watched the pair move off, arm in arm, wondering how Mariah managed to charm people the way she did. But only those fortunate ones who didn’t know her well.

  He examined the painting more closely, looking for a signature but didn’t find one. Emma Adamson had done it, though, he was almost positive. It looked like the photos of her work. She had given the paint an almost three-dimensional effect with swirls of color built up in ridges, all in cool blues. It almost hypnotized the eye and made it hard to look away. But six figures a pop was pretty damn steep for a twelve-inch-by-nine-inch canvas. He wondered what else the woman painted. If she was still alive somewhere. Novak still wasn’t convinced that Mariah wasn’t on a wild goose chase, looking for a woman who’d been dead at the bottom of the sea for the last two years.

  Novak browsed around some more while Mariah continued to throw herself at charmed but stupid Richard. Before they left, he had asked to show her around town. They exchanged phone numbers. Mariah was really robbing the cradle this time.

  “You need to tone things down about three dozen notches. You’re coming on too strong,” Novak advised Mariah once they were back outside on the front walk and headed for the gate.

  “Rich didn’t think so. You just need to loosen up and let me handle things.”

  “So you think that painting in there proves that Emma’s alive and living around here somewhere?”

  “Yes, I do. And I think this Mr. Barrett Wilson fellow is our first good lead. Problem is, Rich didn’t know anything else about him.”

  “Like I just said. You need to lay low. Let me figure things out. That’s why you brought me up here.”

  “I’m just trying to help move things along.”

  “You’re making a damn spectacle out of yourself. People will notice you first thing, especially people in a town this size. Then they’ll talk about you. We do not need that kind of notice. I do not want that. I want to proceed slowly and carefully, without raising suspicions. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with yet.”

  “You are such a damn grouch all the time. You should be thanking me for finding out the name of the guy who donated Emma’s painting.”

  “We need more than his name,” he said, getting into the truck.

  Mariah slid into the passenger seat. “Oh, don’t you worry, sweetheart, I’ll find that out, too. Ne
xt time I talk to Rich.”

  Novak was very sorry he had come. She wanted to do this job herself, that much was obvious. So why had she brought him along? One thing was for sure—they did not want to draw attention to themselves, not yet, and not from anybody in town who was important. Mariah was already breaking two primary rules of Novak’s rules of engagement. Either she had to come around and follow his lead, or he was going back to Bonne Terre alone.

  Chapter Seven

  After they left the museum, nothing much else was said. Mariah fumed and frowned and pouted as Novak drove back to where they’d gotten off the interstate and located a cheap motel that he deemed nondescript enough. The Avalon Motor Lodge. The place had been around for a while, a long while; the name alone told him that much. It still had the old-fashioned VACANCY/NO VACANCY sign lit up out front in bulb lights, one circa 1948 or thereabouts. It said VACANCY at the moment. And it looked like it really meant it. There were only a couple of cars parked at the long, low rectangular building. There was another building directly behind it, also with lots of rooms that looked basically deserted. The few guests registered at the Avalon wouldn’t give a shit who was holed up in the next room or what they were doing there. Most likely, most of the rooms were rented out on an hourly basis. The place was perfect for Novak’s purposes.

  Mariah sat silently, apparently still enjoying a nice long sulk, judging by the flush darkening her face. When he stopped in front of the office, she got out, slammed the door harder than necessary, and stalked inside. She had not grown up, not at all. She booked two single rooms, side by side, with adjoining doors, which Novak didn’t particularly care for. She should have put them in separate buildings. Personal fraternization was not gonna happen. Not at the Avalon or anywhere else.

  But she did have enough sense to book their accommodations in the rear building. There was a paved parking lot both in front and behind their rooms, which was good. A pretty good setup, actually. They could come and go without being seen by anyone, including and especially the front desk clerk. The more he had learned about Emma Beckenridge Adamson and her husband-dominated life, the more his gut had told him that there was more going on with her than Mariah had dug up.