an I-told-you-so look. “Her art has sentimental value. You can’t just discard it.”
Logan rocked his jaw back and forth. “I’m trying to update this place and make both of you some money.”
“I don’t want it at Miri’s expense.”
Miri laid a hand on Jessie’s forearm and gave her a squeeze. “You’re a dear and I love you for thinking of me, Jessie. But I want to help you. Truly, I do. And if you’re as good an artist as Logan says, this exposure could be good for you—even if I have to buy easels to display them. Please, bring your paintings.”
Miri’s encouragement fanned the ember Logan had lit. How could she make this a win-win situation? “I have an idea. Follow me.”
Jessie grabbed a clean rag, dampened a corner of it, then led them to the oil of one of Key West’s historic Victorian homes that hung behind the cash register. “Tell me about this one.”
Miri’s face softened. “That’s the bed-and-breakfast where Jack and I honeymooned. It’s the first piece of real art he bought me.”
“Then it definitely should stay. It’s a quality piece. But I’m guessing these have been here since the days when smoking was allowed inside restaurants?”
Miri nodded.
Jessie gently rubbed one side of the frame where it wouldn’t be visible to guests, then displayed the sooty residue for Miri to see. “All it needs to revive the original colors is a professional cleaning. I could hang one of mine while yours is out for restoration. I’ll help you find someone reputable to do the job, at minimal cost. It’ll come back as good as new.”
She knew how to do it because she’d interned at an estate auction house her senior year of high school, but she couldn’t volunteer to do the job without giving too much away.
Looking sad, Miri shook her head. “I never even noticed the grime. All I see is the memory. Thank you, Jessie. That’s a grand suggestion.”
“Miri, the alcohol delivery’s here,” one of the kitchen workers called.
Miri held up a finger. “Be right there. I’ll take this one down tonight after we close if you’ll bring one of yours in tomorrow morning for our weekend crowd to enjoy.”
Jessie’s heart quickened. “I’ll do it.”
Then Miri left Jessie alone with Logan’s blue gaze lasered on her. “How did you know about the soot?”
“My dad used to be a smoker.” True, but not the whole truth. “Excuse me. I need to set up for opening.”
“Why can’t we clean them?”
“Because restoration takes skill, patience and the right chemicals. Doing it wrong will irrevocably damage the work. The process varies with the condition of each piece and type of paint.”
When his eyes narrowed, she wanted to slap a hand over her mouth for revealing too much, but teaching was as natural to her as breathing. She made her escape before he could ask more and hoped Logan didn’t pick up her slip.
JESSIE GRABBED THE tray of salads, turned and almost slammed into Sue. The older waitress blocked her path. “You do know who your birthday party guy is, right?”
“A friend of Logan’s?” She’d seen the man at the oyster bar with Miri’s nephew that first night. Miri clearly didn’t like him, so Jessie had kept her distance and she didn’t ask questions.
“He’s a private investigator who sometimes works for Logan.”
Invisible spiders climbed Jessie’s spine. Had Logan hired a PI to check up on her? “Why does Logan need a PI? I thought Miri said he was an accountant.”
“He is now, but he used to be a big-time financial adviser before his ex-wife and his ex–business partner ran off together. He was devastated by the betrayals of the two people he trusted most. Came here to lick his wounds, I suspect.”
No wonder Logan was so distrustful. “Thanks for the heads-up, Sue.”
“Just watching your back, sweetie. Us gals need to stick together.”
“Hush puppies,” called the cook, and Sue hustled off to get the sweet cornmeal appetizers while they were still hot.
As Jessie made her way across the dining room, she realized Miri and Sue must have discussed her. Approaching the table warily, Jessie noticed the unhappy faces. Logan’s PI nervously pleated his napkin. His daughter appeared resigned to a miserable meal, and the girls looked bored out of their minds. In her experience, bored kids created trouble. If Jessie didn’t intervene, they wouldn’t be here long enough to cut the beautiful cake Miri’s friend had delivered. She detoured by the hostess stand and grabbed a few items.
At their table she served the adults their salads, then set crayons and extra place mats beside each girl. She received identical you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me looks. “I know you’re too old to color a kids’ menu, but some of the fish swimming by the windows are too cool not to sketch.”
“I can’t draw,” the older girl grumbled mulishly.
“Sure you can.” Ignoring the folded arms and pouty bottom lip, Jessie tucked the empty tray under her arm and flipped a place mat to show its blank back.
“First, pick your fish. Then get his basic overall shape in your head. See if you can guess which one I’m drawing.” She used her order pen to draw an elliptical shape. “Then just add to it.” She filled in fins, eyes and a mouth. It was a fast, rough sketch, but good enough to identify which type of fish she’d chosen.
“That one!” the younger girl cried out, pointing.
“Right. You’ll be surprised how easy drawing something is once you break it down into its separate parts.”
“You’re pretty good,” the older girl said, showing interest.
“I’ve had a few years of practice. And you know the secret?” Jessie leaned down but whispered loud enough that both girls could hear. “Nobody starts out good.”
The younger girl grabbed a crayon and pointed it at a barracuda. “I’m drawing the long one. I like his teeth.”
“I’ll bring over more place mats if you run out.” Filled with satisfaction for the first time since her exile, Jessie looked up and caught the woman’s grateful smile, then the PI’s speculative gaze.
Nerves twisted her stomach. That was twice today that she’d unintentionally revealed something that could blow her cover, but her love of art—specifically, sharing it with children—was hard to suppress. She had to be more careful.
* * *
JESSIE GLANCED IN the rearview mirror and caught sight of the picture of the Key deer in the backseat of her rental car Friday morning. Another wave of guilt swamped her.
She’d
