5 Blue Period Read Free

immediately. Raphael had also recognized him and had aided her in her efforts to avoid the agent, but they had retreated as far as they could without locking themselves into the bathroom.
    “We’ll make nice for a moment and then go,” Raphael promised. “I’ll pretend to swoon or something.”
    “Good.” But Juliet found herself smiling at the idea of Raphael pretending to faint.
    “Now smile pretty for the rich man.”
    Juliet obeyed.
    Arrogant Carl Owens she knew how to handle, but the woman was baffling. She wouldn’t want ego-stroking from Juliet. Which was good because Juliet was at a loss about what to say or where to look. The creature wasn’t fat—far from it—but her pronounced ovoids, top and bottom, were suspiciously and unfashionably lush. While she was busy removing all expression from her face she had probably asked the doctor for JLo’s butt and Dolly Parton’s breasts. Juliet wondered if she were vain or just stupid. And would it be better for her if the creature were intelligent enough to converse, or as dumb as a post and just as uncommunicative. One thing was for certain and that was that her sense of smell had to be dead. To breathe around her was to invite suffocation by perfume.
    Carl Owens dropped a stain ed napkin on the table. There was writing on it, blurred by the wine stains. The message was upside down but Juliet could make it out: Meet me at the old door . Somehow it came as no surprise that Owens was being chased by some ill-advised female who thought that being near men with money could buy happiness. Wealth made even unpleasant men acceptable to some women. It also would not surprise her if he kept the assignation.
    Equally, it would not surprise her if he ignored it. Sex wasn’t Owens’ vice.
    “Raphael, so glad that you could make it. You had no trouble negotiating the path?” Carl Owen s asked as he extended his hand. That meant Raphael was deemed important. Which he was. His reputation in the art world cast a long shadow.
    Juliet gave Owens credit for not ignoring Raphael’s wheelchair and for caring that his guest had had no difficulties getting to the party. His smile also seemed genuine if aided by porcelain veneers.
    “May I introduce my present wife, Carissa?”
    “Soon to be ex if he has his way,” she muttered.
    Carl ignored her but Juliet could tell that he was annoyed that she was airing their business in public. Juliet knew that she could learn more about this impending divorce if she cared to. Relationships of the rich were community property in a small town and gossip popped up like gophers in a vegetable garden.
    “ Carissa, this is the famous painter Raphael James and—should I call you Miss Henry? Miss Henry is also an artist and my champion partner at the grape stomp.”
    But not a famous artist. She was not being wooed to paint a mural in the visitor center. At least she rated a title in front of her name and recognition for an ability to squish grapes.
    “We have shared a vat and are stained purple to the knees by the juice of the same grapes. I don’t think formality is called for. Please call me Juliet.” She used her work smile on both of them. It had been mothballed for a couple of years but it was still serviceable.
    Owens looked mildly amused. Carissa’s returned smile was all teeth and no charm. She did not offer to shake hands. Possibly she was germophobic, but Juliet suspected that she had dismissed Raphael because he was an artist and in a wheelchair and was ignoring Juliet because she did not perceive her as a threat to her meal ticket. Or soon to be ex-meal ticket.
    In that she was correct. Juliet had no designs o n Carl Owens. She’d sooner bed a shark. In the dark places of her heart, she even hoped that Jeffry Talbert—or whoever he was pretending to be—was going after the vintner.
    Since she was not expected to have any opinions about wine making or about anything else of importance, Juliet let her mind wander while Owens