1
“LOOK!” Tanya Taylor blew dust from an old canvas, then sneezed.
“Bless you,” called May. The proprietress of Finders Keepers clambered toward Tanya. “What did you unearth, honey?”
“A painting.” Propping it on a player piano, beside an oil lamp and brass candlesticks, Tanya stepped back to admire it. “It’s of a duel!” she exclaimed, a delighted shiver zipping down her spine.
In a shadowy, grassy clearing, golden, orange and red leaves burst like suns over stately trees. The air looked strange, somehow. “Haunted,” she said as May sidled closer. “Mystical.” As if a spell had been cast on a fairy glen.
May tugged down a blouse calculated to hide her girth, and as she surveyed the work, she removed a pin from a russet chignon, then stabbed it in again. “If memory serves me, I found it leaning against a trash bin outside a brownstone on Bank Street.” She thought a moment. “Yes…it was about forty years ago, around the time I moved to Sag Harbor to open the shop.”
“Why would someone throw away a picture that’s so…” Tanya searched for a word, as she took in the gilded chipped frame, “…captivating.” Everything about it drew her like a magnet, although it wasn’t large, only about two by two feet.
“Oh,” said May. “You know how rich people are, down in the West Village,” she sniffed. “No taste. Maybe somebody died and their family pitched it. Who knows? Anyway, it’s been in the attic with things I never tagged.”
“It’s so real,” Tanya said. Soft, liquid mist moved on the same breeze that rustled the tree leaves, and for a second, Tanya could swear she heard skirts swishing in dark hallways, wind chimes, and a foghorn. Between the trees, she glimpsed waters that churned dangerously, frothing with whitecaps, and suddenly, the energy of the current seemed to enter her own bloodstream with the promise of a coming storm.
In the clearing were two men. One was tall, thin, blond, and dressed in white; the other dark. The blonde was running forward, his musket aimed at the darker man. But now Tanya discerned a flash of fire coming from the trees, as if a third party was shooting the darker man’s attacker.
“That dude’s star quality,” said May.
She meant the dark guy. Definitely. There was something off-center about his face; the nose was too pronounced and aquiline, the face too rectangular and drawn, the dust of his mustache and rakish spray of beard too unkempt. Long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he was dressed in a dark tailored coat worn over tight breeches. His eyes seemed green, but it was hard to tell, since the canvas was dirty, and yet, whatever the color, the eyes had the unnerving quality of always watching the viewer. No matter how Tanya moved, the gaze followed.
“I could use a date with a guy like him,” May said.
“Me, too. Next week,” Tanya returned, trying not to think about her friend, Izzie’s, art opening. Tanya had to go, of course, which meant running into Brad, and since she was still stinging from their breakup, she’d rather stay home. Even worse, a week later, Brad would be reviewing Tanya’s own art opening, and she had a sneaking suspicion her ex-lover wouldn’t be kind.
Glancing toward a beveled mirror in a corner, she surveyed herself and winced. On impulse, she’d bleached her hair again after the breakup and, as luck would have it, her mother called, so by the time Tanya had managed to rinse, her knotty curls had turned bleach-white. Even Izzie, and their other best friend, Marlo, had agreed that it looked as if Tanya was wearing a shoulder-length wig of cotton balls.
At least she’d been blessed with good skin. But she was so pale that no matter how much mascara and liner she used, she’d never been able to form eyelashes or brows. At any rate, she’d bought dresses, both for her and Izzie’s openings, and now she didn’t want to wear either one, since they looked too young. Brad’s new babe, Sylvia Gray, was one of those sophisticates born in the perfect black dress, and while just two years shy of thirty, Tanya was still wearing platforms, confections such as the jeans skirt she had on, and too many strands of mismatched beads. A lump formed in her throat. Just two months ago, she’d been on top of the world. Brad hadn’t been great in bed, and all the boring sex had hammered her self-esteem. Still, she’d thought things were improving, right up until he’d dumped her.
Too bad he’d been the first boyfriend lately to pass muster with her folks. But Brad was gone now, and her paintings still weren’t ready. Plus, she’d eaten so much postrelationship chocolate that the new dresses probably no longer fit. Every day, she’d been staring at her canvasses, second-guessing herself, feeling something was missing…
“That aliveness,” she whispered now, her heart squeezing tightly. Whoever did this painting had that quality. It was a gift. She was a better painter, technically, but this artist had breathed life into the work.
“He’s conceding the duel,” she heard May say, “but the guy’s going to shoot him anyway, and then somebody shoots from the trees, but we’re not sure who.”
“Yes,” murmured Tanya, stepping closer. The canvas was filthy, the paint chipping, but she could discern shadowy figures in the woods now. A man wearing a cloak, maybe. A woman in white. Or was she a ghost? And who was shooting the blonde? What had happened afterward? Had he died?
This was only a painting, yes. But she could almost swear it was alive. She felt the heat of the dark man’s gaze. He was admiring…desiring. Everything Brad hadn’t been. Warmth flooded her skin, and her cheeks burned. Beneath her top, her nipples were affected, and while the idea was crazy, she was sure the man was watching her….
“That hottie’s all yours for three hundred dollars,” said May.
It was more than she could afford. Buying two dresses had left her broke, and her boss, James, had been dropping hints that she needed to leave her apartment above Treasured Maps, the shop which he owned, and where she worked, so he could renovate. Besides, she did need a better place, if only because her folks kept threatening to visit. After years of living in suburban Short Hills, they’d never comprehend why their daughter was living in an apartment with paint-splattered floors, much less why the shower stall, toilet and bathtub were in separate locations. James charged her next to nothing, however, and she could paint without fear of ruining anything, a luxury she’d never have in another apartment. Besides, the security in the building was top-notch, and she loved working for James, even if showing clients rare maps didn’t pay much. Still, she did have to move soon.
“I can’t buy it,” Tanya forced herself to say. “I just came in to pick up the maps.” Months ago, James had wandered in and seen some maps hanging in May’s office. Although they weren’t valuable, he’d liked them, but May had decided not to sell, saying they were part of her office decor. A few days ago, she’d changed her mind.
“Two-fifty,” May countered.
Tanya’s gaze drifted over the man, taking in the bunched muscles of his thighs, then she startled. She could swear she’d seen the muscles twitch, just slightly. Shaking her head to clear it of confusion, she blinked. Her throat felt strangely tight. “Two-fifty?”
“I take credit cards, if that helps,” said May.
Trying not to think of her balance, Tanya slipped a hand inside her purse, pulled out the card and gave it to May, who headed for the cash register. Gingerly Tanya lifted the picture. It wasn’t any more valuable than the maps in May’s office, but suddenly, it meant the world to her. To the touch, it was warm, the varnish smooth beneath her fingers, almost like velvet.
“Sorry,” May said when Tanya reached the register. “Your card’s not going through.” Seeing Tanya’s stricken expression, she assured, “It’s my machine, not your card. I took the number, and I’ll complete the transaction later. I met you, and I’ve met your boss, so I know where to find you two if there’s a problem.”
The relief