Frame Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 5) by Joe Reese, T Gracie Reese

engulfed her. English, French…it all flowed over her:
    “It was so beautiful!”
    “How did you do it?”
    “C’etait merveilleuse! Vraiment merveilleuse!”
    “What––what was it, how did you make the light be so––so…all over!”
    “Your French is so wonderful Are you born in Paris? Where did you learn this?”
    “When will it be again? Does it happen for all paintings?
    “When will you do this again?”
    And on and on.
    Nina could only stand, fascinated, at the back of the crowd, while this young woman answered question after question, all with perfect aplomb.
    Until finally there was Margot standing nearby, bending, whispering harshly:
    “Nina, we’ve got to get her out of here; she’ll collapse with exhaustion.”
    “She seems,” answered Nina, “to be doing all right.”
    Margot shook her head:
    “Yes, but that has to be exhausting. Let’s spirit her away on some excuse of other. We’ll depend on Alanna to take over hostess duties, and we’ll go…I don’t know, maybe to a restaurant or something. Maybe to Elementals.”
    “No, let’s go to my place.”
    “You’re certain?”
    “Sure I am. Carol’s a painter. She’ll love sitting out on my deck and looking out at the ocean by night.”
    Margot nodded:
    “You may be right.”
    And so the matter was decided.

    And within half an hour, the three of them––Margot, Nina, and Carol––were, in fact, sitting ensconced above the incoming tide, a half moon glowing above them, cold Chardonnay simmering in three glasses in front of them, and Carol speaking of the water in the same amazed tones that the crowd had been speaking of her presentation only a short time before.
    “How long have you had the place, Nina?”
    “Several years now. Ever since my husband passed.”
    “My God, how I envy you! I have a little efficiency apartment near the Montrose stop on the Brown Line. It’s all right, but, when I look out my one barred window, I see streetcars. You see this. I can’t imagine why you’re not constantly painting portraits of it.”
    “Well, in fact I…”
    “Ummm,” interrupted Margot.
    There was an uncomfortable silence for a time, then the crashing of a particularly large wave, then Nina:
    “I’m probably better as an English teacher than a painter.”
    This led Margot, who obviously wished to speak of Nina’s painting skills as little as possible, to say:
    “But we want to hear more about you, Carol. Some friends called me two weeks ago to tell me about the multi media grant. How much is it, exactly?”
    Carol sipped her wine and said quietly:
    “It’s a quarter of a million dollars.”
    “My God. And how are you planning on using it?”
    “I don’t think that decision has been made yet.”
    “Well, I’d assume some of it will go to pay you a much higher salary than you’re getting as a docent.”
    “My salary is going to change, that’s true.”
    “Are you getting a new title? You won’t be a docent anymore, I assume.”
    “You’re right again. No more docent.”
    “Nina, when Rebecca Simpson first interviewed Carol for the job, she asked her how much she’d expect to earn, and Carol answered…”
    “I’m fired, Margot.”
    The world stopped for a second.
    The sea froze.
    A flock of gulls that had been thinking of flying overhead and defecating on the deck, petrified and remained thirty-five feet above, awaiting instructions on what to do next.
    Margot’s mouth was open; Nina’s mouth was open.
    Furl crept onto the deck, looked up at Carol, who had not changed expression, and asked:
    “What?”
    (This was asked in cat, and so it came out something like ‘rrrrgggghhh?’ But everyone pretty much understood it.)
    Margot, having heard her cue, repeated:
    “What?”
    “I’m fired.”
    Now, for the first time, Nina could see tears shimmering behind the black horned-rim glasses.
    “That’s impossible!”
    A shake of the head.
    Now the glasses off, being wiped by the napkin on which the wine glass