Page 6 of Haystacks and Hoaxes

“And a semester of shop class,” she added, unable to hold back a smile. She’d been nursing a crush on a classmate, who’d graduated and gone into his family’s furniture making business. “Oh, and a master gardening class one summer.” Her smile faded. Her beloved friend, Mr. Monty, had taught the class at Chester Farm. His sudden passing a few months ago still made her heart ache like it was yesterday. He’d been the only real father figure in her life during her high school years, since her stepfather spent more time on the road than at home.

“Do you still garden?” The skin around the edges of Rock’s eyes crinkled a little.

The question pulled her out of the mire of melancholy she’d started sinking into. “As much as possible, despite living in apartment-ville.” Puttering through her urns, window boxes, and hanging pots was her happy place when she wasn’t sketching. “I’m known by my neighbors as the balcony-farming queen.” A few of them complained about the bees her blooming plants attracted each spring. So far, though, her landlord hadn’t put an end to her green thumbing. “It’s truly amazing how plants will grow in any direction you point them.” By mid-spring each year, she had tomato plants literally climbing the spokes of her balcony railing. They seemed happy there and produced a generous harvest all summer long.

“That I would like to see.” An inexplicable emotionmomentarily softened Rock’s features, but he moved right on to the next topic. “Why’d you take shop class?”

She spread her hands, chuckling with embarrassment as she gave him the only answer that popped into her head — the truth. “My first serious crush on a boy.”

His brown eyebrows rose expressively.

“It went nowhere.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this. “The guy never looked up from his bandsaw. Not once.”

Rock said something beneath his breath that she could’ve sworn sounded likeidiot.Or maybe her ears were playing tricks on her. Getting called in for a last-minute interview had her senses all tangled up.

“My biggest takeaway from shop class,” she concluded, “was the repair I was able to make on my TV stand a few months ago. It saved me the cost of a replacement stand.” As soon as the confession left her lips, she hoped the inadvertent reference to her struggling finances didn’t make her sound desperate for a job. Which she totally was.

“Crafty.” Though Rock’s expression didn’t change, his eyes smiled unabashedly at her.

He doesn’t dislike me.After a lifetime of failing to live up to her family’s expectations, it was a wonderful feeling.

“I bet you learned some great life skills in there.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Which begs another question. When did you find time to draw around all that other stuff?”

“I made time. Still do.” Like an addict, she got downright twitchy if she went too many hours without making a few pencil marks on paper. Becoming a makeup artist had scratched that itch somewhat, but not entirely. She’d especially loved learning theater makeup — how to turn a perfectly normal human face into something entirelydifferent, like an elf or a zombie. As much fun as it was to let her creative juices fly with makeup, it had never given her quite the same rush as drawing.

He nodded in approval. “How often do you draw?”

“Every day.”

“When? Where? Why?” he pressed.

“Anytime and anyplace the inspiration strikes.” She restlessly drummed her fingers on the cover of the sketchpad she’d brought with her.

His gaze followed her movements. “What’s that?”

She wordlessly picked it up and handed it to him.

He opened the cover and straightened, looking arrested. He slowly flipped through the pages, finally settling on the one she’d drawn right before heading to his office. “You were feeling nostalgic when you drew this. Maybe even a little sad. Why?”

She blinked in surprise. “That’s an interesting detail to pull out of a sketch.”

It was his turn to look surprised. “You’re the one who put it there. All I did was point it out.”

“True.”Wowsers!Something warm and wonderful blossomed inside her at the realization that she was speaking to one of those rare people who truly understood art. “I guess it’s because I was parked outside the gates of Chester Farm. Heart Lake will never be the same without Mr. Monty. May he rest in peace.” Her heart ached over not having the chance to say goodbye to him. According to the obituary notice she’d read after the fact, his memorial service had been a private graveside affair.

“So the locals keep telling me.” Rock closed her sketchpad and handed it back. “I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting him.”

“You would’ve liked him.” She hugged her sketchpadagainst her chest. “He was a good man.” Her words ended on a thready note. The obituary had made some vague reference to a heart attack.

He nodded sagely at her. “Thank you for sharing some insight into your process.”

She hugged the sketchpad tighter. “I wasn’t aware it was called that.”

“Call it whatever you want.” He cocked his head at her. “You make whoever is looking at your sketches feel like they’re present. You can feel the nip in the air. Smell the rotting hay. Taste the gritty dust.”

She wrinkled her nose playfully at him. “My apologies.”

His hard mouth twisted with humor. “Some of the crime scenes we’ll be visiting will smell far worse. Having you there to capture them in such visceral detail will be a tremendous asset to our firm.”

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