Page 39 of Easton Island: A Wedding to Remember

“Not if they’re collecting two hundred dollars. They’ll be here all day.”

“I refuse to be blackmailed,” Elizabeth insisted. “He and his band of agitators can march until the cows come home.”

Grady patted his pocket. “If they harass customers or disrupt your business in any way, call me. I can charge them with disturbing the peace.”

While Grady and Elizabeth talked, Morgan noticed a figure lurking nearby, camera in hand. She began to feel lightheaded when she realized it was Priscilla Finkpin.

Quinn, who was standing next to her, nudged her arm. “Do you see who I see?” she whispered in her ear.

“Priscilla holding a camera,” Morgan whispered back. “Don’t mention it to Grandmother. I’ll take care of it. I need to get going.”

Grady left first, passing by a customer who was on their way in. The distraction of a new arrival gave her the perfect excuse to slip out of the gallery.

A quick check confirmed the protestors were still out in full force, marching up and down the sidewalk, yet careful to steer clear of the gallery. Edward Ryze stood on the curb a few feet away, cell phone in hand, recording the scene.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Morgan’s stomach. She had little doubt he’d pulled a similar stunt before. Veering off in the opposite direction, she cut between cars and crossed the street.

Picking up the pace, Morgan and Chester trekked down the sidewalk to the Easton Harbor Beacon. With a quick check inside, she noticed Priscilla was seated at her desk, her back to the door.

She gave the receptionist a friendly wave as she crossed the room. “Hello.”

Priscilla spun around, a look of surprise on her face. “Hello, Morgan.”

Morgan offered her a tentative smile. “How are you feeling?”

“One hundred percent better.” She lifted her leg and rotated her ankle. “I’m still getting an occasional twinge, but it’s not nearly as painful as it was the other day.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

Morgan pulled out a chair and perched on the edge. “I noticed you standing in front of Grandmother’s gallery a few minutes ago. I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going on.”

Priscilla tapped the side of her forehead. “The reporter’s inquisitive mind never rests,” she joked. “Based on the signs theprotestors were holding, my guess is someone is unhappy with a purchase and claiming it’s a fake.”

Morgan briefly filled her in, starting with the sale of the piece, including the part about the Toronto art gallery who had been through a similar situation with Ryze and had paid him off. “Grandmother needs time to compare the piece she sold to the one the customer is trying to return. The bottom line is we think some shenanigans are going on.”

“I bet Elizabeth is fit to be tied, having them picket near her place.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Morgan sighed. “The protesters have offered to leave…for a price.”

“A price?” Priscilla arched her eyebrow. “Instead of blackmail, the customer is asking to be paid off to go away?”

“In a nutshell. He wants two hundred dollars per protestor.”

“I can’t imagine Elizabeth giving him a dime.”

“Nope. She refuses to reward bad behavior.” Morgan nodded toward the camera sitting on the desk. “I’m here to ask you not to print a story about this.”

“Because it won’t look good.”

“You have written some pretty unflattering stories about us Eastons in the past, so I guess this might be asking for too much,” Morgan said.

Priscilla leaned her elbows on the desk. “I have.”

Their eyes met.

“I won’t do it.”

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