Kate reached for the paper again, her finger running down the list of names. Shaking her head, she said, “No. There’s no one on this list with that name.” Lowering the paper she asked, “Maybe she pled out?”
I shook my head, “No, the cop in the suit—the police chief—said that they would make examples of anyone who didn’t cooperate. He said they couldn’t sweep this under the rug and deal with it quietly because the press already latched on. That’s why Jack and I, and everyone else, were all arrested publically. He made a big deal about the public part. If Emily was implicated, her name would be on that list.”
Kate dropped the paper, turning toward me on her seat, “So what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that everyone has been keeping an eye on the wrong girl.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
After some research a la Google, I found that Emily was still on Long Island. She didn’t have a husband, well, not one that was living, and she didn’t move.
“Well, strike one against Emily,” Kate said, reading the screen over my shoulder. “Her husband died a while ago too. Even if she deluded herself, twenty years is a long time to keep the facade up.” She glanced down at me, “So what are you thinking?”
Staring at the screen, I shrugged, “I have no idea. She seemed nice.” I turned to Kate, draping my arm over the back of the chair, “She was there the first day I assisted Jack. Thinking about it, she seemed protective of him. She told me how important it was to keep an eye on Jack. That one word could bring his career crashing down.”
“So? That doesn’t mean she’s the evil bitch that orchestrated this whole thing. What she said was true. Everyone in the art world knows Jonathan Gray and his erotic paintings. The thing that made them worth millions was his reputation. He was abstinent for so long that people thought he was gay.”
“What?” my eyes flew open. It felt like my eyeballs were going to roll out of my head. Kate didn’t seem to realize what she said.
Shrugging, she answered, “Everybody knows that, Abby. Jack didn’t date anyone, which is why people were suspicious of him. He had very few relationships over the years. We were chomping at the bit, waiting for him to get caught with his pants down. No one is that good.”
I stared blankly ahead. As she spoke, Jack’s paintings appeared in my mind, one by one. The longing, the loneliness, the haunted sensation of being lost. I rubbed my hands over my eyes, “Kate. His paintings... it’s all in his paintings. He’s really been alone all this time? He said he had a relationship with Belinda, though.”
Kate shrugged, “It wasn’t long enough for the press to pick up on it. Abby, we’re getting off track. I realize this probably looks very romantic to you, but it’s a feeding frenzy for the press. That’s why they sunk their teeth into him—he’s different, damaged, and the perfect way to boost ratings. They’ll run with this till Doomsday if he goes to trial. If you sign those papers, Phil can plead him out.”
“Where’d you hear that?” I asked. Phil didn’t say that while he was here.
“The TV. Abby, the longer you hold out, the worse this gets. He told you to sign. Are you seriously going to keep this going?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m not.” Turning back to the computer, I hit print. Emily’s address and phone number were on a sheet of paper within seconds. “I’m going to check this out. Call Phil for me? Tell him I’ll drop the papers by later tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Kate thought I was insane, and told me so, but I had a feeling about this. Emily wasn’t just an old lady. She lied like a sociopath. There wasn’t a trace of remorse or an indication of anything when she spoke to me. She felt like the awesome aunt I never had. I looked at the address and then up at Emily’s front door. She lived in a little cape, cute as a button, on a street in Cutchogue. Stepping out of the car, I grabbed my purse and slid my iPhone into the plastic holder on my jeans. It was bulky and messed with the outfit, but I didn’t want the phone in my purse.
Before I knocked on the door, it swung open, “Abby, honey!” She smiled widely, gesturing me inside. “Come on in. It’s so nice to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Emily.” Her house looked picture perfect. It was classic old lady, doilies and all. “I thought you were moving? I was so glad when I realized that you were still here.” I tried to sound sweet, and wasn’t sure how I was doing. I was a horrible liar.
She nodded, and I followed her into the living room. “Well, you know men. They say one thing, then do another.” She turned suddenly, her fingers on her lips like she said something she shouldn’t have. “I’m sorry, dear. That was thoughtless of me.”
I shrugged it off, although the comment instantly made me think I was on the right trail since she was referring to husband again like he was alive and currently making decisions. A cold chill ran through me. I really hoped she wasn’t the Norman Bates type of crazy. “It’s all right. There isn’t much you can say that would upset me these days. The press has been horrible.” We sat at her oak table. She handed me a doily placemat.
“How about some tea, dear?”
I nodded, “Thank you very much.”
As she started the kettle and grabbed two ancient tea cups, she asked, “So, what brings you up here?”
Distracted, I noticed a painting on the wall. It was small, but it was clearly one of Jack’s. “I was hoping to speak to you about Jack, but Emily,” she turned hearing the question in my voice, following my finger pointing at the painting, “is that one of Jack’s?”
She laughed, nodding like a crazy old coot. “Yes, an early finger painting. Nothing more. Not worth anything. It’s just a memento he gave me before I left.” The painting was in a gold gilded frame. I wasn’t an art connoisseur, but I knew better than to think it was worthless, even now. She added, “Nothing like the painting he made of you, or so I hear.” She placed a tea cup in front of me. I picked up the bag and dipped it into the cup, watching the tea snake through the steaming water.
I blushed slightly, “Oh, that. It’s nothing. He’s made so many paintings. I don’t see how that one would matter.” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Did she suspect me? Or did she think I was the innocent idiot the news made me out to be?
“Oh, honey!” she laughed, touching my hand. “Jack’s paintings are all monochromatic, didn’t you notice?” I shook my head like a moron. Duh, Abby no notice nothing. Wide-eyed, I looked at her over the top of my cup as I took a sip. I briefly wondered if she was crazy enough to poison me, but since she was drinking it too, I thought the tea was okay. “Well, that one is different. It’s the last in his collection, the only one in color, and the only one that feels—hopeful. One day that’ll fetch a pretty penny.”
“Really?” I asked, shocked that she seemed to know anything. She rambled on like Kate, and the only reason Kate knew stuff was because of her connection to MOMA. “But the scandal. You really think it’s still worth something?”
She shook her head. “Just between us girls, not in this lifetime. Even if Jack clears his name, which would be a miracle, his reputation will remain damaged. People don’t forget things like this.”
“No, they don’t.” Sipping my tea, I thought fast, or I tried to think fast. My brain felt like it was submerged in cement that was rapidly drying. Something was wrong here. Doilies, crazy old bat, Jack’s painting, knowledge of art... I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“I’m so sorry that this affected you too. Jack can be quite the charmer. I had no idea he was capable of something like this.” Her shrewd eyes were on me. This was a test. I could feel it.
I played the too-innocent-to-be-alive card, “Neither did I. That’s why I came out here. I wanted to ask you what I should do. They told me I can sign something that will damn Jack, but it’ll get me off. I don’t really have anyone to talk about this with.” Emily watched me carefully. I threw in, “I really need someone to bounce things off of—someone who’d understand—someone who knows Jack.” I put my cup down and buried my face in my hands. I was so going to Hell. Real tears streamed down my face. When Emily patted my shoulder, I glanced at her. She seemed to make up her mind.
“Oh, you are the most foolish girl I’ve ever met. No wonder your mother’s dead. She probably wanted to get away from you.” Her sweet old lady façade splintered as she spoke, more venom spewing from between the cracks as she talked.
My jaw dropped as more tears lined my face, “How can you say that?” My voice became thin and shrill.
Emily stood, and ripped my cup out of my hands. “If you have half a brain, do as I tell you. I know you’re screwed and I feel kind of guilty for taking down a minister. I thought you’d fold first, not be the last moron standing.” She yanked my chair out from under me, shoving me toward the door while she spoke. “Settle. Sign the damn papers. Then when Jack’s things are put up for auction, go get one. This is my good deed for the day.” She stopped me in front of the screen door, talking to me like I’d taken too many shots to the head. Hands on my shoulders she said, “Get yourself a few hundred dollars and buy a painting. That’s all they’ll be worth at the auction. Then hold onto it. People have short memories, and Jack’s work defines a new movement in art. His pieces were the first in the post-modern Evokism Movement.”
“What?” I gasped, jaw open. I wasn’t playing dumb, anymore. I had no idea what she was talking about.
She shook me once, hard. “If you’re too stupid to follow my directions, you deserve what you get. It’s called Darwinism, Abby—or did they fail to teach you that concept at seminary. Now pay attention. Jack’s name is mud, but in a few years it won’t be, and his paintings will be in limited supply and high demand. Sell it then. Pay off your loans and go find some happy farmer to marry you.” She tried to push me through the screen door, but I dug my heels in.
“Why did you do this to him? He trusted you. He thought of you like his mother! And you used everything you saw against him. How could you?”
A wicked smile spread across her lips, “Because I could. Jack didn’t watch his back. It was his own damn fault. All those models were all too happy to comply after their arrests. Jack’s auction will look like a group of misfits bidding on his crap so they can destroy it. And I hope to God that they do. That will make the paintings I have worth more. And we all know, money talks, darling. So do yourself a favor, and remember what I told you.” She shoved me through the screen door.
Tripping over the threshold, I yelled, “I’ll tell the cops what you did! That you set Jack up.” I was seething. I spit the words between my teeth at her, my hands balled into fists at my sides. She destroyed Jack. She nearly destroyed me.