Page 44 of Just Beachy

We laugh again as I get up and pour myself a cup of tea.

After a long appreciative sip, I set down my cup. “I just realized that there hasn’t been any mail delivered since I got here. Have you filled out a change of address card?”

“No, I just had it put on hold when I came down to visit Myra.”

“Because you were already planning to stay longer than you let on?”

“No.” Grand shakes her head. “Because I wanted to keep my options open. And because I can release the hold online and arrange to have the held mail and future mail shipped here whenever I want.”

“Do you need me to help you set that up?”

She gives me the second eye roll of my day. “I’m not the incompetent scatterbrain your mother thinks I am. I can manage.”

“I know that. And I was wondering…” I hesitate.

“Wondering what?”

“Grand, are you absolutely certain you didn’t know Brian Boyer or his wife in New York?”

She sighs but doesn’t avoid answering. “I’d heard of Camille because she’d given Phillip a show back in the early days of his career, but I never met either of them. And before you ask, I also never heard that either of them ever suspected thatThe Madonnawasn’t Phillip’s work.”

“You’re sure.”

“Cross my heart,” she says, miming the gesture. “In my experience, people tend to see what they want or expect to. And what reason would they have to suspect Phillip would ever try to pass off someone else’s work as his own? Especially the work of an art student no one had ever heard of?”

I watch her face carefully as she says this because I really, really want to believe that she’s telling the truth when she insists she never met the Boyers in New York. Or had any idea that Phillip and Camille had had an affair.

But given everything else she’s admitted to, I can’t help wondering if these are just things shewantedto believe.

• • •

Three days laterthe reno/refresh of Myra’s bookstore is finally complete. All that’s left is to get the books on theshelves and the signage in place. At the moment the three of us are sitting at Grand’s dining room table, where Myra and Grand stuff envelopes with grand opening announcements and Sandcastle Books bookmarks, while I tweak the website and schedule grand opening posts for social media.

Later, Luke and Brian Boyer arrive for a celebratory dinner that Grand has prepared. Myra, the guest of honor, sits at the head of the table while Luke and Brian are careful not to sit next to or directly across from each other, which isn’t easy, given the size of the table and the small number of people sitting around it.

When Grand raises her glass of sangria, we join her in a toast to Myra and the grand opening to come. We chat, some more comfortably than others, while we consume the Ensalada Mixta. Then I help Grand carry a huge platter of her duly famous arroz con pollo, a basket of crusty Cuban bread, and a bowl of green beans to the table.

Between mouthfuls of my favorite meal, I fix my attention on Brian, eager to see whether his answers will jibe with the ones my grandmother gave me.

“So, Brian,” I say, “Grand tells me that your wife owned a gallery in New York.”

“Yes,” he answers almost tentatively.

“Did she really put on one of Phillip Drake’s first one-man shows?”

“Why…yes.”

“And was she one of the first gallery owners to call attention to hisMadonnathat later went missing?”

“Yes,” he says more firmly as his eyes narrow.

Luke’s gaze is fixed on Brian. In fact, Luke’s been watching Brian since he arrived.

“So you knew Phillip Drake personally,” I continue. “And you were familiar with his work.”

“Yes, of course. But I knew most of the important or up-and-coming artists in New York at that time through my wife.” Brian’s brow furrows. “But I have to admitThe Madonnawas very different from his body of work at that time.” He dabs at his chin with his napkin. “But surely this is ancient history. Why does it matter now that he’s gone?”

“Oh, I don’t know if it does or not,” I admit. “I guess I’m just curious why you didn’t already know my grandmother.”

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