The spires of St. Vincent De Paul's rose like gloomy watchtowers over the shotgun shacks of the Latin ghetto. In the waning light of day, the sun cast shadows on the gargoyles and flashed menacingly off the rose window. The parking lot was crowded for early evening Mass, but Joe found a spot near the edge of the lot and made his way to the heavy double doors. He stepped inside, pausing a moment so his eyes could adjust to the dim light of the vestibule. In the main chapel, he could hear the priest intoning the words of Communion.
The familiar words about drinking the blood of Christ gave Joe an uncharacteristic shiver, but his business wasn't in the main chapel. Quietly slipping his keys into his pocket, he turned toward the smaller devotional chapel, dabbling his fingers in the holy water and crossing himself before entering.
The chapel was oppressive with incense, quiet and darkness, except for a faint bit of light coming from a side window and an array of candles in red glass votives clustered around the feet of a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. Joe took a few steps toward the statue but hesitated when he noticed an elderly woman in black kneeling in front of her, whispering a rosary.
He sat on one of the half dozen pews and waited for her to finish, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax. Finally the woman rose to her feet and made her way up the aisle, silent as a ghost. Had Joe not opened his eyes at just the right moment, he might not have noticed her departure.
Looking around to make sure the chapel was really empty this time, he made his way toward the saint again. First he stood at her feet looking up at her. Then he climbed the broad pedestal to examine her more closely. He spotted a few nicks on her hands and rubbed them thoughtfully, but other than that, he was satisfied. She was free of dust and the wood had been well cared for. Almost as an afterthought, he examined her velvet robes. From farther back in the chapel he had noticed silver spangles adorning her gown, but closer examination proved them to be little tin hearts, keys, cars, houses, animals, and just about anything else the pedestrian human mind could think of, pinned to her robe by adoring parishioners. She had become a Virgin of Lost Things.
Amused, Joe stepped down from the platform and turned as if to leave. But a few steps from the door, he stopped. He returned to the saint's feet and glanced around the empty room as if someone might have wandered in during the time he had been there. Then he solemnly lit a votive, knelt and bowed his head. After a few moments, he got to his feet. He cast a hopeful look at the face of the Virgin, then with a shake of the head at his own superstition, he turned again to leave.
This time he got into the vestibule before being stopped, this time by a real person. Mass was letting out, and as he worked his way through the crowd, someone called his name.
"Urgulano, is that you?"
Joe scanned the faces of the people milling around him.
"Over here!"
Joe spotted a thin, gnarled man in a worn leather blazer and he made his way over to him. "Chále!" he said, gripping the man's hand, "Or should I still call you Cholo? How are you, man?"
"Menos mal. What brings you back to the old 'hood? Once you get out, you're not supposed to come back. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"Can't help returning to the scene of the crime, I guess."
"Hey, I heard that. How've you been? You're the last person I thought I'd see hanging around here."
"I'm in town on other business," Joe said vaguely. "I had a little time to kill and thought I'd check up on a couple of my statues." He motioned with his head toward the Virgin's devotional chapel. "But what about you? This church, or any church for that matter, is the last place I'd expect to find you."
Chále looked abashed. "Well, you know how women are. They have expectations and Inéz just loves the church. She'd be here for every Mass and probably start a few of her own if I gave her half a chance." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back on the heels of his boots. "I come with her and the kids once or twice a week. Keeps the home life peaceful, if you know what I mean."
Seeking to avoid a discussion of home life, Joe made a show of looking around. "So where is Inéz?" he asked. "How's she doing?"
"She's picking the kids up from the nursery. She's doing great. Gonna have another kid in the spring."
"That makes how many now? Three?"
"Three?" Chále laughed. "You've been gone way too long, man. "We're up to five now, and the new one will make six."
"That's a lot of mouths to feed," Joe said.
"Sure is. And work isn't always easy to find, either."
"So things aren't so good?"
"Oh, they're all right I guess. Could be better, but hey, what couldn't?"
"True enough."
Chále scoffed. "'True enough.' Listen to you, Mr. Famous Artist! As if you'd know anything about that any more."
"I do all right," Joe said. "But just because a few people know my name doesn't mean I'm out buying yachts. I have my problems just like anyone else."
"Well, you sure don't look it." He gave him a playful punch on the arm. "You in town long?"
"I hope not. I'd like to leave tomorrow, if I can get my affairs wrapped up by then."
Chále's face fell. "That's too bad. I was thinking if you had a little time, we could go get a beer, hang out, maybe shoot a little pool. It would be like old times. That is, if you're not too fancy for your old friends."
Joe grinned. "I'll never be too fancy for my friends, and I could stand to take my mind off a few things."
"You free later on? I gotta get Inéz and the kids home, but after that I usually head to the ice house for a couple cold ones. Gotta wash away the taste of those communion wafers, you know."
"I'll meet you there. Just tell me when."
Chapter Twenty
Brent sat on the desk chair in Joe's room. "I don't think she called. She's making up a story to keep us here."
"It's plausible enough that Elise wouldn't want to see us right now. Besides, there's not a whole lot we can do. Cece is the only one who knows where she is and we don't have any other good leads. I don't think we've got much choice except to humor her unless we can track down that Perry Clyman guy, who gave her the fake ID."
"I’m going to do a web search on him, now that I have reliable wi-fi service, but in the meantime maybe Sylvia knows something. Maybe Elise told her where she planned to go next."
Joe scoffed. "As if that druggie friend of yours would tell us anything."
"It's worth a shot." Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out the blue post-it they found in Elise's office. "Do you want to call this number, or should I?"
"She's your friend, if you can call her that."
Brent took out his cell phone and punched in the number. He listened a little while, then hung up. "Went to voice mail."
"Well, if we're not going to see Elise tonight, it looks like I'll have to find something to do, or else spend the night stretching canvases for Cece."
"What's wrong with that?" Brent gave a little half-smile. "Since she's such a big fan of yours and has no interest in you in any other way, I would think you'd be glad to do her a favor. Maybe you can weasel some information out of her."
"Not likely. She'll just talk my ear off about the local art scene. Besides, maybe I can think of more exciting things to do on a night in my hometown than play with canvas and wooden frames, okay?"
Brent shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry if you can't take a joke."
"I put up with you, don't I?"
Brent stood up. "I think I'll look up an old friend tonight, since it looks like we're stuck here. And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and run into someone who's seen her."
Joe nodded. "I've got a couple churches I'm going to check on. It'll keep me busy to get out and see how some of my statues are doing. Better than hanging around this place."
"Especially since the hostess can't wait to jump your bones."
"Will you stop that? You're pissing me off even more than usual."
"Okay, but when she shows up at your door in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a negligee, don't say I didn't warn you." Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and left the room.
Joe reached for his jacket and keys. On his way out, he stopped to talk to Cece, who he found sprawled across a hulking green sofa, flipping through a book. She looked up when Joe walked in and removed her reading glasses. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, everything's fine."
"Are you sure? You're welcome to watch TV, help yourself to anything in the fridge, whatever you want. And later, if you don't mind, I'd love to have your help with those canvases."
"I've got a few artworks I want to go check up on and I don't know what time I'll be back."
Cece sat a little straighter. "I'm often up late."
"We'll see."
Cece faked a smile. "If I learned anything from being married, it's that when a man says 'we'll see,' he means no." She sighed. "How late will you be out? I can have Lupe fix you something to eat or draw your bath when you get in, if you like."
"I don't want you or her putting yourselves out on my account. You've been very generous, and I appreciate it."
Cece waved a hand. "Friends should always be there for friends."
Joe frowned. "So do you think she'll really want to talk to me tomorrow, or was she just putting me off so she can get away again?"
"I think she means it. She's got some things she needs to sort out first. A woman's instincts are often right, you know."
"I think she's wrong in this case. She shouldn't have run away. It's not going to solve anything."
Cece shrugged. "It might solve more than you think. Even if it doesn't, it's what they do in her family and it's worked before."
"I'd hardly say that."
"Don't you think so? Cece's eyes widened in surprise. "It got her mother out of the trailer park and into a middle-class home with a reliable breadwinner."
"Yeah, real reliable. Abandoned his family to take off to God knows where."
"But it turned out okay. Her mother found herself another man. Elise may not have liked him, but at least he stuck around. And he did pay for all that dance training."
"As if that was the most important thing."
"It got Elise a scholarship so she could leave that hick town and go someplace where her talents would be appreciated."
"So she could get mixed up with weirdoes in a city she didn't hardly know," Joe pointed out.
"But it also got her to a place where she could build her own future. Here she had friends, even when they weren't the best influences. She found people who were willing to look out for her."
"If you can call it that."
"I do call it that. What about me? What about that dancer friend of hers, Lamia? What about you and Brent--"
"Don't remind me about him."
"I'm sorry," Cece said, her green eyes wide with sincerity. "That was tactless of me. But he did help her out in school, you know. And after she gave up her dance scholarship, it was Brent who got her that job at the art supply store so she could finish college. It was also because of him that she ended up in the passion play at the cathedral, or didn't you know that? If Elise hadn't ended up playing Mary Magdalene that night, you two might never have met. Please don't tell me I misremember."
"No, you're right. I had done some sculptures for the church, and they unveiled them during a big Easter celebration." He smiled, remembering. "I almost didn't go, even though I was the guest of honor. I don't like to go where people are going to fuss over me. But when I saw Elise playing the Magdalene that night I just knew she had to be the one to model my next statue."
"That girl is blessed with good bone structure," Cece admitted.
"I don't even think Elise realized she did so much for me. She thinks all she does is just stand under the lights in my studio, but it's more than that. She inspires me. I've had other models, but none like her. She never wanted things from me like all the other girls, and the funny thing is that the less she wanted from me, the more I wanted to give."
"So you see?" Cece said, returning to their original topic. "Running away from home did her a lot of good. If she hadn't, would she have met someone like you who would treat her right?"
"Maybe not. But we're talking about something different here. She's running away from people who love her. She's running nowhere."
Cece sighed. "You have a good point, but if you go pressuring her right now she'll just keep running."
"I know. It's hard, though."
"If there's anything I can do--"
"Thanks," Joe said. "But right now all I really need is to get out for a little while, check on my statues and clear my head a little."
"That's the best thing," Cece agreed. "Get a different perspective. If I go to bed before you get back, I'll tell Lupe to wait up for you."
"That won't be necessary."
"Don't be ridiculous. I pay her very well not to mind."
"Thank you, then. I'll try to be quiet when I come in."
Cece laughed. "Make as much noise as you want, Joe. It's good to have a man around the house for a couple of days. Noise comes with the territory." She picked up her book and settled back into the depths of the sofa. "You just go on and amuse yourself, and don't worry about putting us out. That's what we're here for."
"It's plausible enough that Elise wouldn't want to see us right now. Besides, there's not a whole lot we can do. Cece is the only one who knows where she is and we don't have any other good leads. I don't think we've got much choice except to humor her unless we can track down that Perry Clyman guy, who gave her the fake ID."
"I’m going to do a web search on him, now that I have reliable wi-fi service, but in the meantime maybe Sylvia knows something. Maybe Elise told her where she planned to go next."
Joe scoffed. "As if that druggie friend of yours would tell us anything."
"It's worth a shot." Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out the blue post-it they found in Elise's office. "Do you want to call this number, or should I?"
"She's your friend, if you can call her that."
Brent took out his cell phone and punched in the number. He listened a little while, then hung up. "Went to voice mail."
"Well, if we're not going to see Elise tonight, it looks like I'll have to find something to do, or else spend the night stretching canvases for Cece."
"What's wrong with that?" Brent gave a little half-smile. "Since she's such a big fan of yours and has no interest in you in any other way, I would think you'd be glad to do her a favor. Maybe you can weasel some information out of her."
"Not likely. She'll just talk my ear off about the local art scene. Besides, maybe I can think of more exciting things to do on a night in my hometown than play with canvas and wooden frames, okay?"
Brent shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry if you can't take a joke."
"I put up with you, don't I?"
Brent stood up. "I think I'll look up an old friend tonight, since it looks like we're stuck here. And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and run into someone who's seen her."
Joe nodded. "I've got a couple churches I'm going to check on. It'll keep me busy to get out and see how some of my statues are doing. Better than hanging around this place."
"Especially since the hostess can't wait to jump your bones."
"Will you stop that? You're pissing me off even more than usual."
"Okay, but when she shows up at your door in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a negligee, don't say I didn't warn you." Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and left the room.
Joe reached for his jacket and keys. On his way out, he stopped to talk to Cece, who he found sprawled across a hulking green sofa, flipping through a book. She looked up when Joe walked in and removed her reading glasses. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, everything's fine."
"Are you sure? You're welcome to watch TV, help yourself to anything in the fridge, whatever you want. And later, if you don't mind, I'd love to have your help with those canvases."
"I've got a few artworks I want to go check up on and I don't know what time I'll be back."
Cece sat a little straighter. "I'm often up late."
"We'll see."
Cece faked a smile. "If I learned anything from being married, it's that when a man says 'we'll see,' he means no." She sighed. "How late will you be out? I can have Lupe fix you something to eat or draw your bath when you get in, if you like."
"I don't want you or her putting yourselves out on my account. You've been very generous, and I appreciate it."
Cece waved a hand. "Friends should always be there for friends."
Joe frowned. "So do you think she'll really want to talk to me tomorrow, or was she just putting me off so she can get away again?"
"I think she means it. She's got some things she needs to sort out first. A woman's instincts are often right, you know."
"I think she's wrong in this case. She shouldn't have run away. It's not going to solve anything."
Cece shrugged. "It might solve more than you think. Even if it doesn't, it's what they do in her family and it's worked before."
"I'd hardly say that."
"Don't you think so? Cece's eyes widened in surprise. "It got her mother out of the trailer park and into a middle-class home with a reliable breadwinner."
"Yeah, real reliable. Abandoned his family to take off to God knows where."
"But it turned out okay. Her mother found herself another man. Elise may not have liked him, but at least he stuck around. And he did pay for all that dance training."
"As if that was the most important thing."
"It got Elise a scholarship so she could leave that hick town and go someplace where her talents would be appreciated."
"So she could get mixed up with weirdoes in a city she didn't hardly know," Joe pointed out.
"But it also got her to a place where she could build her own future. Here she had friends, even when they weren't the best influences. She found people who were willing to look out for her."
"If you can call it that."
"I do call it that. What about me? What about that dancer friend of hers, Lamia? What about you and Brent--"
"Don't remind me about him."
"I'm sorry," Cece said, her green eyes wide with sincerity. "That was tactless of me. But he did help her out in school, you know. And after she gave up her dance scholarship, it was Brent who got her that job at the art supply store so she could finish college. It was also because of him that she ended up in the passion play at the cathedral, or didn't you know that? If Elise hadn't ended up playing Mary Magdalene that night, you two might never have met. Please don't tell me I misremember."
"No, you're right. I had done some sculptures for the church, and they unveiled them during a big Easter celebration." He smiled, remembering. "I almost didn't go, even though I was the guest of honor. I don't like to go where people are going to fuss over me. But when I saw Elise playing the Magdalene that night I just knew she had to be the one to model my next statue."
"That girl is blessed with good bone structure," Cece admitted.
"I don't even think Elise realized she did so much for me. She thinks all she does is just stand under the lights in my studio, but it's more than that. She inspires me. I've had other models, but none like her. She never wanted things from me like all the other girls, and the funny thing is that the less she wanted from me, the more I wanted to give."
"So you see?" Cece said, returning to their original topic. "Running away from home did her a lot of good. If she hadn't, would she have met someone like you who would treat her right?"
"Maybe not. But we're talking about something different here. She's running away from people who love her. She's running nowhere."
Cece sighed. "You have a good point, but if you go pressuring her right now she'll just keep running."
"I know. It's hard, though."
"If there's anything I can do--"
"Thanks," Joe said. "But right now all I really need is to get out for a little while, check on my statues and clear my head a little."
"That's the best thing," Cece agreed. "Get a different perspective. If I go to bed before you get back, I'll tell Lupe to wait up for you."
"That won't be necessary."
"Don't be ridiculous. I pay her very well not to mind."
"Thank you, then. I'll try to be quiet when I come in."
Cece laughed. "Make as much noise as you want, Joe. It's good to have a man around the house for a couple of days. Noise comes with the territory." She picked up her book and settled back into the depths of the sofa. "You just go on and amuse yourself, and don't worry about putting us out. That's what we're here for."
Chapter Nineteen
Cece breezed into the dining room as Petra was setting plates of roast beef sandwiches and potato salad in front of her guests. Her face fell. "You didn't want the shrimp salad? Well, roast beef is more manly, isn't it?" Her hand trailed across the back of Joe's chair as she passed behind him. "Petra!" she called after seating herself at the head of the table. "Bring me a cup of chamomile. Té manzanilla." She cast a glance toward the men as they wolfed down their sandwiches. "And are the cookies done? Galletas?"
Petra nodded.
Cece waved her hand, shooing her back into the kitchen. "Gracias, Petra."
After the maid scurried away, she rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. "So," she asked Joe, "What do you think of my studio?
Joe looked up from his sandwich and started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth before remembering he had a napkin. "Very nice. Hard to beat something like that, with so much natural light. I like it."
Cece seemed pleased. "You know, you're welcome in there any time. In fact, maybe you can give me a hand. I need to stretch some canvases, and I could use some help."
"I've never made a canvas before."
"Really? Your wife never asked you to help with hers?"
"No, Elise likes to do things on her own. That way she's sure they get done her way."
Cece considered. "Well, I say why make a job harder than it has to be, although there's really not that much to it. It helps to be strong, so I know you'll be great help. Maybe tonight or tomorrow?"
Brent spoke up before Joe could answer. "We won't be here tonight or tomorrow. You're going to call Elise, remember?"
Before Cece could speak, Petra reappeared with a steaming cup of tea and a matching plate piled high with shortbread cookies. Cece directed her to put the plate in the center of the table and accepted her cup of tea, making a show of stirring and blowing on it so she wouldn't have to speak.
"So when are you going to call?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's sharp kick under the table.
Cece turned wide green eyes on him. "Just when I said I would, and no sooner. You really don't need to be so anxious. She's not going anywhere right away."
"That's what she told you last night," Joe said in conciliatory tones, "But we wouldn't put it past her to change her mind, especially if she thinks we might be getting close to finding her." He pushed his empty sandwich plate out of the way and reached for a cookie. "It seems like whenever we get close, something happens and she gets away."
"And I don't have all the time in the world," Brent said testily. "I walked away from a job and a wife to come here. If I don't go back pretty soon, I may not be able to go back."
"Call and explain why you're delayed, if that's all you're worried about," Cece said. "This is a nice big house, plenty of privacy."
Brent hesitated. "That's not really the issue."
Cece reached for a cookie and dunked it in her tea. "Is it your accommodations, then? You're welcome to stay as long as you like, no pressure. Eat what you want, drink wine from my wine cellar, watch satellite TV, use my wi-fi...I'm a woman of substance, in case you hadn't noticed, and I want you to consider this your own home."
"We appreciate it," Joe said, not allowing Brent to respond. "But we really can't stay. We just want to know where Elise is so we can get her."
"Of course. She's a lucky woman to have two men who love her so much." Cece stifled a giggle as Joe and Brent exchanged quick, hostile looks. "Why don't I go upstairs right now and call? Then once we've got that behind us, maybe we can talk about more pleasant things." Cradling her teacup and saucer, Cece left the room.
Petra nodded.
Cece waved her hand, shooing her back into the kitchen. "Gracias, Petra."
After the maid scurried away, she rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. "So," she asked Joe, "What do you think of my studio?
Joe looked up from his sandwich and started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth before remembering he had a napkin. "Very nice. Hard to beat something like that, with so much natural light. I like it."
Cece seemed pleased. "You know, you're welcome in there any time. In fact, maybe you can give me a hand. I need to stretch some canvases, and I could use some help."
"I've never made a canvas before."
"Really? Your wife never asked you to help with hers?"
"No, Elise likes to do things on her own. That way she's sure they get done her way."
Cece considered. "Well, I say why make a job harder than it has to be, although there's really not that much to it. It helps to be strong, so I know you'll be great help. Maybe tonight or tomorrow?"
Brent spoke up before Joe could answer. "We won't be here tonight or tomorrow. You're going to call Elise, remember?"
Before Cece could speak, Petra reappeared with a steaming cup of tea and a matching plate piled high with shortbread cookies. Cece directed her to put the plate in the center of the table and accepted her cup of tea, making a show of stirring and blowing on it so she wouldn't have to speak.
"So when are you going to call?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's sharp kick under the table.
Cece turned wide green eyes on him. "Just when I said I would, and no sooner. You really don't need to be so anxious. She's not going anywhere right away."
"That's what she told you last night," Joe said in conciliatory tones, "But we wouldn't put it past her to change her mind, especially if she thinks we might be getting close to finding her." He pushed his empty sandwich plate out of the way and reached for a cookie. "It seems like whenever we get close, something happens and she gets away."
"And I don't have all the time in the world," Brent said testily. "I walked away from a job and a wife to come here. If I don't go back pretty soon, I may not be able to go back."
"Call and explain why you're delayed, if that's all you're worried about," Cece said. "This is a nice big house, plenty of privacy."
Brent hesitated. "That's not really the issue."
Cece reached for a cookie and dunked it in her tea. "Is it your accommodations, then? You're welcome to stay as long as you like, no pressure. Eat what you want, drink wine from my wine cellar, watch satellite TV, use my wi-fi...I'm a woman of substance, in case you hadn't noticed, and I want you to consider this your own home."
"We appreciate it," Joe said, not allowing Brent to respond. "But we really can't stay. We just want to know where Elise is so we can get her."
"Of course. She's a lucky woman to have two men who love her so much." Cece stifled a giggle as Joe and Brent exchanged quick, hostile looks. "Why don't I go upstairs right now and call? Then once we've got that behind us, maybe we can talk about more pleasant things." Cradling her teacup and saucer, Cece left the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Brent rubbed his eyes and looked around at the unfamiliar room. Light streamed in the window, suggesting that it was well past noon. His attention was drawn to his overnight bag and laptop by the small desk. Reassured, he stood up, remembering now where he was. He wandered over to his bag but found it empty.
He noticed the open closet door, his change of clothes on hangers and his shoes neatly shined. Scouring the room now, he located his underwear, socks and belt inside a dresser drawer. He found his comb, toothbrush and razor neatly laid out for him in the bathroom, along with a stack of fresh towels and a clean terry robe. Amused but pleased, Brent started the water for his shower.
After he had showered, shaved and dressed, he tapped on the door of the next room. Getting no answer, he pushed it gently. He found the bedclothes in disarray and Joe's few belongings unpacked. Brent headed down the stairs and found Joe in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee.
"How'd you sleep?" Brent asked, sitting down.
"Fine."
"How long have you been up?"
"Not long."
A young Mexican woman, a different one from the night before, set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Thank you," Brent told her. "What's your name?"
The woman didn't answer and walked to the other side of the kitchen and began stirring something in a bowl.
"This one doesn't speak much English," Joe said.
"I see." Brent blew on his coffee. "Where's Cece this morning?"
"You mean this afternoon?"
He looked at the clock on the wall. Two o'clock. "Okay. Where is she?"
Joe shrugged. "I haven't seen her since last night."
"Does the maid know? I thought you spoke Spanish."
"I do."
"Then why don't you ask?"
Joe drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down with a thump. After casting an annoyed look at Brent, he went to where the maid was greasing a cookie tin. "Dónde está Cece?"
The young woman gestured toward the back door. "Está en el studio, segundo piso del edificio de atrás."
Joe thanked her and returned to the breakfast table. "Says she's in her studio. It's the upstairs floor of some building out back."
"Let's go have a look," Brent said, standing up.
Joe shook his head. "Didn't anybody ever tell you it's bad manners to go barging in on someone in their studio? She might not want to be disturbed. I know I sure don't want people just wandering in when I'm working."
"But she could be in there all day."
"Hey, I want to get this over with, too. I just also know I get pissed when people interrupt me when I'm working. I don't want her getting mad at us and refusing to help. This has to be handled carefully."
"Cece doesn't strike me as the kind of person who gets mad about much of anything," Brent said. He motioned with his head toward the door.
"I don't know how you've become the expert on women around here," Joe grumbled, following him out the door onto the patio.
"And I don't know why you're in such a bad mood today."
"I've got a lot on my mind, okay? You, of all people, should know that."
Brent looked around the back yard, taking in the shaded wrought iron benches and a few pieces of old and crumbling statuary amid dense shrubbery carved into vaguely animal shapes. A small building to the left caught his eye-- a tiny iron-columned replica of the main house, its spires and narrow diamond-paned windows glittering in the weak winter light.
When they got to the door, they found it locked. Joe pushed Brent aside and pulled on it hard. Finding that he couldn't open it, he looked around and spotted an outside staircase leading to a door on the second floor.
At the top of the steps, Joe tapped on the door and a woman shouted for him to come in. They stepped into a large expanse of wood flooring and paneled walls lit by windows and skylights. In the middle of the room sat Cece at her easel, dressed in cuffed jeans and a billowing man's dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She set down a sable brush and smiled. "Good morning, gentlemen. How did you sleep?"
"Just fine, thank you," Joe said. "I hope we're not disturbing you."
"Of course not." Cece stood and spread her arms in welcome. "I love having visitors to my studio. I get so few, especially persons with great artistic talent. I'm afraid my own mediocre efforts must suffer by comparison." She indicated with a sweep of her arm the canvases, finished and unfinished, hanging about the room and leaning against the walls.
Joe's lips curled in amusement. "I'm hardly some great talent. I've just been lucky." He walked over to a painting of hyacinths in a bowl, done in broad brushstrokes and vivid yellows and reds. "I sure can't paint."
"I bet you just haven't tried," Cece said, hovering at his elbow. "I'm surprised Elise didn't get you hooked on it. Someone with your ability to capture emotion in wood must be able to transfer that talent to other mediums."
When Joe answered with a disbelieving look, she put a hand on his arm and went on. "I've seen so much of your work, you know. That one at St. Catherine of Siena's took my breath away the first time I saw it. Such a fine, gentle expression on her face and such delicate features. It makes you think she loves you enough to pray you straight into heaven."
"That sounds a little sacrilegious," Joe said. "But I'm glad you like it."
"I've always been a fan of your work, even your early metal works. But I especially love your carvings. I'm on one of the committees at the contemporary arts museum, you know, and I've been trying for over a year now to convince them to add one of your pieces to the collection."
Joe, clearly flattered, was about to respond when Brent, who had been standing uneasily to one side during this exchange, cleared his throat. Cece glanced sharply at him.
"We were wondering," Brent said, "If you've had a chance to get in touch with Elise yet."
Cece blinked in surprise. "What time is it?"
"A little after two."
"Oh dear. Where does the time go? I meant to call at noon." She glanced around her studio as if looking for something. "I can't call from up here," she pointed out. "I refuse to bring my phone in here because I don't want any distractions." Her gaze fell on her palette of fresh oils and her dirty brushes lying on a rag next to a cup of linseed oil. "Why don't you two go inside and ask Petra to make you some sandwiches. There's some delicious shrimp salad that she made yesterday. I'll clean up here and be inside in a few minutes. I'll call Elise right after we eat."
After casting a quick warning glance at Brent, Joe gave a semblance of a shrug. "That'll be fine. We'll see you downstairs in a few minutes." They went down the staircase and made their way toward the house.
"She's stalling," Brent said.
"I know."
"Why didn't you call her on it?"
"What was I supposed to do? Demand she drop everything and take us to where Elise is staying?"
"That wouldn't be such a bad idea."
"Sure. And she either calls ahead and tips her off, or else gets pissed and refuses to help us at all." Joe gave a grim shake of his head. "Women stick together. If Cece was lying to us last night, we're out of luck, anyway. And if she was telling the truth that Elise is staying put for a few days, we'll have to play the game her way for awhile. Soften her up a bit."
Brent let out a chuckle. "Well, it won't take much. That woman is crazy about you."
"I don't know what you're talking about. If she seems friendly, it's just because she likes my work. A lot of people like it, you know."
Brent scoffed. "Enough with the humility bullshit, okay? As if I didn't know you've been featured in at least half a dozen magazines. Elise loves to brag on you, you know."
"No, I didn't know."
"Well she does. Did. Anyway, Cece has a lot more than art on her mind."
"She seems sincere enough."
"Oh, I don't doubt her sincerity," Brent said. "I just think that if I were you, I'd be a little more careful. If you'd given her half a chance she would've been all over you back there in the studio."
"Don't go judging other people by your own weak moral standards," Joe snapped. "She's just an old friend of Elise. Of course she's going to be nice. That doesn't mean she's the kind of woman who'd have designs on her friend's husband. I'm sure she's got better character than some people. People like you."
"All I'm saying is it looked like she might have a little more than art on her mind. This could be good, you know. Maybe you could use her interest in you to try and get her to tell us where Elise is."
Joe stopped. "You know, for all your brains, you can really say some stupid things sometimes. If Cece does like me as something more than a fellow artist, that would make her less likely to want to tell us where Elise is, don't you think?" He turned and started back up the path. "So it's a good thing she doesn't like me that way."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "Whatever you say."
He noticed the open closet door, his change of clothes on hangers and his shoes neatly shined. Scouring the room now, he located his underwear, socks and belt inside a dresser drawer. He found his comb, toothbrush and razor neatly laid out for him in the bathroom, along with a stack of fresh towels and a clean terry robe. Amused but pleased, Brent started the water for his shower.
After he had showered, shaved and dressed, he tapped on the door of the next room. Getting no answer, he pushed it gently. He found the bedclothes in disarray and Joe's few belongings unpacked. Brent headed down the stairs and found Joe in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee.
"How'd you sleep?" Brent asked, sitting down.
"Fine."
"How long have you been up?"
"Not long."
A young Mexican woman, a different one from the night before, set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Thank you," Brent told her. "What's your name?"
The woman didn't answer and walked to the other side of the kitchen and began stirring something in a bowl.
"This one doesn't speak much English," Joe said.
"I see." Brent blew on his coffee. "Where's Cece this morning?"
"You mean this afternoon?"
He looked at the clock on the wall. Two o'clock. "Okay. Where is she?"
Joe shrugged. "I haven't seen her since last night."
"Does the maid know? I thought you spoke Spanish."
"I do."
"Then why don't you ask?"
Joe drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down with a thump. After casting an annoyed look at Brent, he went to where the maid was greasing a cookie tin. "Dónde está Cece?"
The young woman gestured toward the back door. "Está en el studio, segundo piso del edificio de atrás."
Joe thanked her and returned to the breakfast table. "Says she's in her studio. It's the upstairs floor of some building out back."
"Let's go have a look," Brent said, standing up.
Joe shook his head. "Didn't anybody ever tell you it's bad manners to go barging in on someone in their studio? She might not want to be disturbed. I know I sure don't want people just wandering in when I'm working."
"But she could be in there all day."
"Hey, I want to get this over with, too. I just also know I get pissed when people interrupt me when I'm working. I don't want her getting mad at us and refusing to help. This has to be handled carefully."
"Cece doesn't strike me as the kind of person who gets mad about much of anything," Brent said. He motioned with his head toward the door.
"I don't know how you've become the expert on women around here," Joe grumbled, following him out the door onto the patio.
"And I don't know why you're in such a bad mood today."
"I've got a lot on my mind, okay? You, of all people, should know that."
Brent looked around the back yard, taking in the shaded wrought iron benches and a few pieces of old and crumbling statuary amid dense shrubbery carved into vaguely animal shapes. A small building to the left caught his eye-- a tiny iron-columned replica of the main house, its spires and narrow diamond-paned windows glittering in the weak winter light.
When they got to the door, they found it locked. Joe pushed Brent aside and pulled on it hard. Finding that he couldn't open it, he looked around and spotted an outside staircase leading to a door on the second floor.
At the top of the steps, Joe tapped on the door and a woman shouted for him to come in. They stepped into a large expanse of wood flooring and paneled walls lit by windows and skylights. In the middle of the room sat Cece at her easel, dressed in cuffed jeans and a billowing man's dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She set down a sable brush and smiled. "Good morning, gentlemen. How did you sleep?"
"Just fine, thank you," Joe said. "I hope we're not disturbing you."
"Of course not." Cece stood and spread her arms in welcome. "I love having visitors to my studio. I get so few, especially persons with great artistic talent. I'm afraid my own mediocre efforts must suffer by comparison." She indicated with a sweep of her arm the canvases, finished and unfinished, hanging about the room and leaning against the walls.
Joe's lips curled in amusement. "I'm hardly some great talent. I've just been lucky." He walked over to a painting of hyacinths in a bowl, done in broad brushstrokes and vivid yellows and reds. "I sure can't paint."
"I bet you just haven't tried," Cece said, hovering at his elbow. "I'm surprised Elise didn't get you hooked on it. Someone with your ability to capture emotion in wood must be able to transfer that talent to other mediums."
When Joe answered with a disbelieving look, she put a hand on his arm and went on. "I've seen so much of your work, you know. That one at St. Catherine of Siena's took my breath away the first time I saw it. Such a fine, gentle expression on her face and such delicate features. It makes you think she loves you enough to pray you straight into heaven."
"That sounds a little sacrilegious," Joe said. "But I'm glad you like it."
"I've always been a fan of your work, even your early metal works. But I especially love your carvings. I'm on one of the committees at the contemporary arts museum, you know, and I've been trying for over a year now to convince them to add one of your pieces to the collection."
Joe, clearly flattered, was about to respond when Brent, who had been standing uneasily to one side during this exchange, cleared his throat. Cece glanced sharply at him.
"We were wondering," Brent said, "If you've had a chance to get in touch with Elise yet."
Cece blinked in surprise. "What time is it?"
"A little after two."
"Oh dear. Where does the time go? I meant to call at noon." She glanced around her studio as if looking for something. "I can't call from up here," she pointed out. "I refuse to bring my phone in here because I don't want any distractions." Her gaze fell on her palette of fresh oils and her dirty brushes lying on a rag next to a cup of linseed oil. "Why don't you two go inside and ask Petra to make you some sandwiches. There's some delicious shrimp salad that she made yesterday. I'll clean up here and be inside in a few minutes. I'll call Elise right after we eat."
After casting a quick warning glance at Brent, Joe gave a semblance of a shrug. "That'll be fine. We'll see you downstairs in a few minutes." They went down the staircase and made their way toward the house.
"She's stalling," Brent said.
"I know."
"Why didn't you call her on it?"
"What was I supposed to do? Demand she drop everything and take us to where Elise is staying?"
"That wouldn't be such a bad idea."
"Sure. And she either calls ahead and tips her off, or else gets pissed and refuses to help us at all." Joe gave a grim shake of his head. "Women stick together. If Cece was lying to us last night, we're out of luck, anyway. And if she was telling the truth that Elise is staying put for a few days, we'll have to play the game her way for awhile. Soften her up a bit."
Brent let out a chuckle. "Well, it won't take much. That woman is crazy about you."
"I don't know what you're talking about. If she seems friendly, it's just because she likes my work. A lot of people like it, you know."
Brent scoffed. "Enough with the humility bullshit, okay? As if I didn't know you've been featured in at least half a dozen magazines. Elise loves to brag on you, you know."
"No, I didn't know."
"Well she does. Did. Anyway, Cece has a lot more than art on her mind."
"She seems sincere enough."
"Oh, I don't doubt her sincerity," Brent said. "I just think that if I were you, I'd be a little more careful. If you'd given her half a chance she would've been all over you back there in the studio."
"Don't go judging other people by your own weak moral standards," Joe snapped. "She's just an old friend of Elise. Of course she's going to be nice. That doesn't mean she's the kind of woman who'd have designs on her friend's husband. I'm sure she's got better character than some people. People like you."
"All I'm saying is it looked like she might have a little more than art on her mind. This could be good, you know. Maybe you could use her interest in you to try and get her to tell us where Elise is."
Joe stopped. "You know, for all your brains, you can really say some stupid things sometimes. If Cece does like me as something more than a fellow artist, that would make her less likely to want to tell us where Elise is, don't you think?" He turned and started back up the path. "So it's a good thing she doesn't like me that way."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "Whatever you say."
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