down the street as though the heavy Maglite banging against the right hip didn’t equally balance the weight of the gun resting just above the left hip. Today, he wasn’t in uniform but wore a loud Hawaiian shirt covered by yellow pineapples over a pair of wrinkled brown shorts.
Returning her attention to the art, Olivia only took a brief glimpse at the watercolor landscapes hung above a row of small cafe tables. With their soft illumination and pastel hues, the pictures of gardens, shorelines, and children playing on the beach were fine, but didn’t hold her interest. The next pair of paintings was very large and looked to be oils.
The first showed a row of boats tied to the dock. Their sails were unfurled and it appeared as though their bowlines were about to be set free from the cleats holding them in place. Rows of colorful flags streamed from the masts, reminding Olivia of medieval pennants. People moved about the boat decks and the surface of the dock with a tangible energy. The picture conveyed a feeling of happy anticipation as well as an invitation to freedom. It was as if the boats were only waiting for the viewer to board before being launched into the sun-drenched water. She found herself wishing to be among the sailors waiting to embark.
The second painting was a contrast in calm. An old-fashioned bicycle, the kind Olivia had once pedaled into town as a young girl, had been left on a solitary stretch of beach. The kickstand kept it propped upright and its front tire was pointed very subtly toward the surf. Again, the painting conveyed an invitation to the viewer, a promise of leisurely days and a release of responsibility. Olivia felt infused by serenity by simply gazing at the scene.
“We’ll take these too, Wheeler!” Olivia shouted over her shoulder to the hearing-impaired shop owner. “They’re just what I was looking for,” she murmured happily to herself.
Without having been asked, the chief plucked the canvas of sailboats from the wall. “I painted these, so the least I can do is take them to your car. After you, Ms. Limoges.”
“You’re the artist?” Olivia glanced at the initials in the lower right of the painting left on the wall in surprise. How can someone wearing such a horrid shirt create such appealing art? she thought, puzzled.
Rawlings slid the painting into the back of the Range Rover. “I’ve only been at it since my wife died. Jeannie thought it would do me good, but you’re only the second person to buy one. Maybe you’re just trying to get on the good side of the law.” He pretended to glower at her. “After all, I saw where you parked the other day. You’ll have to explain your handicap to me sometime.” He then gave her a friendly wink and ducked back inside the coffee shop to retrieve the rest of Olivia’s purchases.
“Oh Lord, is he flirting with me?” Olivia whispered to Haviland and the poodle cocked his head to the side. “I think he winked at me at the last Planning Board meeting too.”
Somewhat discomfited by the chief’s attentions, Olivia quickly told Rawlings that she needed to stop by the new bookstore before heading back home to meet the furniture truck. The lawman placed the rest of the paintings in the SUV and gently closed the hatchback.
“Through the Wardrobe,” Rawlings said as he leaned an elbow on Olivia’s side mirror. “Good name for a bookstore. I was there earlier,” he informed her. “You’re mighty busy these days, Ms. Olivia. Rumor has it you’re remodeling the lighthouse keeper’s cottage—even offering it to our local writer’s group to use. That’s quite generous of you.” He gazed at her through the open window, his brown eyes glimmering with humor. “Are you planning to join those folks? Pen the next bestseller?”
Now Olivia was certain the chief was being more friendly than necessary. “I’m mulling it over, Chief. But right now, I need to get these paintings home. Thank you for loading them, but if
Returning her attention to the art, Olivia only took a brief glimpse at the watercolor landscapes hung above a row of small cafe tables. With their soft illumination and pastel hues, the pictures of gardens, shorelines, and children playing on the beach were fine, but didn’t hold her interest. The next pair of paintings was very large and looked to be oils.
The first showed a row of boats tied to the dock. Their sails were unfurled and it appeared as though their bowlines were about to be set free from the cleats holding them in place. Rows of colorful flags streamed from the masts, reminding Olivia of medieval pennants. People moved about the boat decks and the surface of the dock with a tangible energy. The picture conveyed a feeling of happy anticipation as well as an invitation to freedom. It was as if the boats were only waiting for the viewer to board before being launched into the sun-drenched water. She found herself wishing to be among the sailors waiting to embark.
The second painting was a contrast in calm. An old-fashioned bicycle, the kind Olivia had once pedaled into town as a young girl, had been left on a solitary stretch of beach. The kickstand kept it propped upright and its front tire was pointed very subtly toward the surf. Again, the painting conveyed an invitation to the viewer, a promise of leisurely days and a release of responsibility. Olivia felt infused by serenity by simply gazing at the scene.
“We’ll take these too, Wheeler!” Olivia shouted over her shoulder to the hearing-impaired shop owner. “They’re just what I was looking for,” she murmured happily to herself.
Without having been asked, the chief plucked the canvas of sailboats from the wall. “I painted these, so the least I can do is take them to your car. After you, Ms. Limoges.”
“You’re the artist?” Olivia glanced at the initials in the lower right of the painting left on the wall in surprise. How can someone wearing such a horrid shirt create such appealing art? she thought, puzzled.
Rawlings slid the painting into the back of the Range Rover. “I’ve only been at it since my wife died. Jeannie thought it would do me good, but you’re only the second person to buy one. Maybe you’re just trying to get on the good side of the law.” He pretended to glower at her. “After all, I saw where you parked the other day. You’ll have to explain your handicap to me sometime.” He then gave her a friendly wink and ducked back inside the coffee shop to retrieve the rest of Olivia’s purchases.
“Oh Lord, is he flirting with me?” Olivia whispered to Haviland and the poodle cocked his head to the side. “I think he winked at me at the last Planning Board meeting too.”
Somewhat discomfited by the chief’s attentions, Olivia quickly told Rawlings that she needed to stop by the new bookstore before heading back home to meet the furniture truck. The lawman placed the rest of the paintings in the SUV and gently closed the hatchback.
“Through the Wardrobe,” Rawlings said as he leaned an elbow on Olivia’s side mirror. “Good name for a bookstore. I was there earlier,” he informed her. “You’re mighty busy these days, Ms. Olivia. Rumor has it you’re remodeling the lighthouse keeper’s cottage—even offering it to our local writer’s group to use. That’s quite generous of you.” He gazed at her through the open window, his brown eyes glimmering with humor. “Are you planning to join those folks? Pen the next bestseller?”
Now Olivia was certain the chief was being more friendly than necessary. “I’m mulling it over, Chief. But right now, I need to get these paintings home. Thank you for loading them, but if
Similar Books
