Art and Arsenic (Veronica Margreve Mysteries Book 2) Read Free Page A

followed me down the street.
    As we walked, he asked:
“Are you interested in art?”
    “Yes, but I don’t know much. I really like the paintings you have.” I said honestly. “They seem so full of light inside somehow.”
    “Yes, well, I especially like finding stuff that no-one had really seen before, and giving people a good value – an investment for their money that will appreciate, and meanwhile something very pleasant to look at.” I could see his sizable chest puff up with pride as we walked. “I did a lot of research on art and art history. I put so much effort into establishing the gallery four years ago. It’s very successful now, it’s really found its niche in the Seattle art market, I'm happy to say. And my daughter, Pauline, works here too. She’s from my first marriage. She lived with her mother in Missouri and moved here after high school.”
    I decided it must have been her voice that I heard in the main gallery space this afternoon.
    “That's nice. Does she do anything else art-related?”
    “Oh yes, she’s also in college part-time, studying art and art history.”
    “So your gallery is a real family business then.”
    “Yes, my current wife – she’s still my wife, although we are separated – works here too. We are starting the divorce – my third.” He nodded to himself in a self-satisfied manner, as if that were some sort of an accomplishment. I didn’t know what to say to that – replying “I’m sorry” seemed out of place with his self-important demeanor. So I kept quiet.
    “I must say, it is an honor and such a pleasant surprise to meet a beautiful and intelligent woman! When you came in today to fix my website, I just knew that all of my problems would be solved!” He winked again. He was hitting on me, in spite of my gray hairs! I mumbled something incoherent again, and was thankful when we’ve arrived at my red car.
     
    “Thank you for your help, again.” Fred extended his hand to me. “You will come to the exhibit opening tomorrow, won’t you? The event starts at 4:30. The owner of the collection will be there, and lots of my clients. There will be plenty of art talk, if you’d like to learn more about 19 th -century British landscape painters, and food, and champagne!” His blue eyes looked intently at me.
     
    I felt ambivalent. I disliked what I inferred from overhearing the conversation with Alex earlier, and being hit on by a much-older still married man had little to recommend it, in my opinion. On the other hand, technically, I would still be on his payroll tomorrow. And from what I’ve seen of the gallery, I liked the stuff on the walls. And I had been trying to go out and do stuff more often, not keep to myself so much. Also, I was still curious about what provoked a rival art gallery to attack the Nordqvist Fine Art website. Maybe I could find out more about that tomorrow.
    All together, that spoke in favor of going. I decided to do the polite thing:
    “I’ll try to make it. I’m sure it’s going to be fun.”
     
    I opened the car door to get in. Fred took my left hand, bowed and kissed it. That almost made me change my mind about coming to the party the following night. I frowned at him as I drove off.
     
    I got home to what seemed like cascading echoes of loud meows bouncing off the walls. My little black panther was hungry, and she wasn’t shy about letting me know it. I put some turkey giblets into her dish and watched as she inhaled them.
     
    Being done with my obligations for the day so early, I decided to actually generate some plans for my evening, so that my statement to Fred wasn’t a lie. I got out my personal phone and dialed a number.
     
     

 
    3
     
    I got into my car and headed towards downtown Seattle. I now had a ticket to the Sounders FC game that night, to watch the local soccer club with a loyal fan base. My ticket was courtesy of Vinay, an entrepreneur friend I met about six months ago at a housewarming party (where