I hadn’t brought my money. “I’m afraid I don’t have money with me. Would you be willing to hold the painting for me? I promise that I’ll come back.” I looked from him to his teacher.
“Yes,” he said, more confidently than he’d spoken before. As if the idea of a sale was enough to imbue him with self-assurance.
His teacher took the painting. “I will put it away for your return. May I ask your name?”
“Jenna Murphy. Do you have a card?” I asked the student.
He laughed and shook his head.
“I will give you one of my cards and will write his name,” the old man said.
“Thank you. And when I come back, I’d like to see other students’ work, if I may. And yours, of course.” I looked around the courtyard at the smiling boys, all happy for their friend. An idea had come to me as I looked at his works, but I needed to run it by my museum’s shop buyer before I acted on it. When I returned I’d bring my camera and hopefully greater opportunity for these children.
“Certainly.”
8
“A good breakfast?” Seth asked as we passed, me on my way to my room and him toward the breakfast pavilion.
“Very. Quite a spread.”
“We’ll just grab a quick bite and be ready in about half an hour. Does that suit you?”
“Fine. See you in the lobby.” I walked off the path toward the mango tree so that I could look at the offerings, then remembered I needed to call the Searles Museum as my deputy director had asked. Arthur Philen wanted to keep tabs on me. He wouldn’t be happy that I’d stumbled onto a dead body. He seemed to think I looked for trouble.
“Report in,” he’d said. A ridiculous notion, but I’d agreed. Even my mother didn’t ask me to check in. I didn’t want to have to communicate with Arthur about the murder. I wanted to speak with a friend. I’d call Brian, the curator of Western art and my closest friend, and have him tell Arthur that he’d heard from me.
I PULLED up Skype, clicked on Brian’s direct line, and went into the bathroom to finish brushing my teeth. “Hello, hello,” said Brian “Are you there? Jenna?”
“Just a minute,” I said, putting away my toothbrush.
“Did you call me while you were in the bathroom? That’s crude.”
I held up my hands, palms forward. “I was only brushing my teeth.”
“Sure you were. So did you meet the long-haired womanizer?” He was tearing open a letter as he spoke.
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? What? He passed by in a car and waved? I thought you were having lunch with him. Or is that today?” He thought for a moment. “What time is it there, anyway?”
“No, it was yesterday. I went there and found him dead.”
There was a pause, as if the connection delayed. “Dead? You’re serious?”
I told him all that had happened.
“What will you do?”
“Try to find his killer. I have my doubts about the police department here. You should have seen them at the crime scene.”
“No, I mean, what will you do about your research?” He put down the letter and leaned forward. “And really, it isn’t a good idea for you to try to find his killer. Once a year is enough.”
“My research will go fine. I’ll try to get introductions to other people. I do know a family here.”
“The detective you just mentioned?”
“Yes. I’m hoping that he can help.”
“Jenna, seriously, I know you. You’re curious to the point of recklessness. You should let this detective do his job and you can do yours, which is researching art. And you can take your vacation, do the things you want to do—the snorkeling, the bike riding, the sightseeing. All the pleasures you’ve been imagining.”
“Right. Could you do me a favor?”
“Seriously, Jenna. Don’t get involved.”
“I am involved. I was the one who found the body. I feel . . .”
“What? You feel what?”
“I feel responsible in some strange way. As if finding him means I need to find his killer.”
“You don’t. Promise me. This could end up worse than the last trip to Southeast Asia. Didn’t you learn anything from that experience? Stop meddling.”
“I didn’t meddle.” I changed the subject. “The favor I have to ask?”
“Tell Philen you called?”
“Yes. I don’t think I can bear talking with him today.” I looked at the clock next to the bed. “Some people are waiting for me to go sightseeing. I better go.”
“Sightseeing?”
“Yeh Puluh, Klungkung, Goa Gajah, some nearby sights. They’re staying here at the hotel.”
“A man, right? Really, Jenna. There is a perfectly agreeable man right here in Marin who wants you. A terrific man. Why can’t you be satisfied with him?” Exasperation flooded his face.
“I’ve told you why.”
“One man you couldn’t trust does not make the rest of us lying, cheating womanizers.”
“I was vulnerable.”
“I know.”
“I was young and it made an impression.”
“I’ll say. Jenna, you’ve got to move on. That was a dozen years ago.”
“I’ll talk with you soon,” I said as I closed the connection, knowing he was right, but unable to do as he said.
As I entered the lobby, I heard Randall say, “Why don’t we get a car? There are three of us and it won’t cost much more than the motorbikes. Then we can leave our stuff in the car while we walk through the sights.”
“Are we renting motorbikes?” I asked. We hadn’t decided the night before what mode of transportation we might take. Though I prefer bicycling, the speed of a motorcycle almost makes up for the lack of sweat and muscle crunching. “Sounds good to me.”
“But there are three of us,” Randall repeated.
“The receptionist recommends getting motorbikes from the guy down the road.”
“I’m in.”
Randall groaned but stopped
