mean?”
“I’m not putting her down, don’t get that idea. It was the sixties. Kids were loosey-goosey back then. Make love, not war. All that stuff. Kaya hobnobbed with the artsy-fartsy community, and she lived the life. Saw her and the professor one day, smooching in broad daylight on the sidewalk out front of Babbit’s.” Her attention drifted off above Lacy’s head, and the scowl saddened. “First I knew of it.” She cleared her throat and set her lips again. “They got real thick.” She drummed fingers on the coffee cup. “Then next thing I knew, the Austrian guy came to town and you were born.”
“My father, Hartmut.” His photo flashed across her mind—the attractive man with light green eyes.
“Yeah. She did good and never looked back.”
“You didn’t see much of her?”
“She had her artist friends in town and a place of her own. I never saw you.” She paused with one brow cocked. “Until now.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
The woman continued to lay a thick blanket of guilt on her. She shrugged it off, but felt more sorrow for her mother because of it.
Carol set her coffee cup on the table. “Long time ago. You and her art live on, right?” Steely eyes stared through her.
She looked away, concentrating on spreading the sketches. “Do these look at all familiar?”
With apparent measured words, the elder woman answered. “Not really sure. How many are there?” She thumbed through them, not interested in the sketches, only the number.
“Twelve.”
Not looking up, she blinked rapidly, darted a scan over the stack of sketches and licked her lips.
“Did you ever see her sign her art with these initials?”
“Like I said, her family didn’t see much of her.”
She sensed Carol knew something more. But what?
“Have you heard of an artist called Muuyaw?”
“No.” Her answer came abruptly with a flicker of her eyelids. “Why do you ask that?”
“It’s possible these aren’t Kaya’s handiwork. They may have been drawn by Muuyaw. Perhaps she was a friend of Kaya’s?”
“A friend?”
“Yes, you said she had artist friends.” Lacy fingered the ribbon that bound the sketches and studied Carol whose face became taut. “Maybe you heard Kaya mention her?”
“No. Never heard that one.” She set her jaw.
“Well, I appreciate the information.” Damn. Whether truth or a lie, she’d exhausted her avenues of questioning. She rolled the sketches and wrapped the ribbon around them. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I better get going.”
“Now, it’s not been any trouble at all. We’re practically family.”
Lacy cringed. Being part of this family would not be a blessing. “I appreciate it all the same.” She tucked away the art, stood and hefted her bag over her shoulder.
Clark came from the kitchen to stand in the living room doorway.
“Goodbye, Clark.”
His mute stare didn’t surprise her.
“And you said you have a room at the Grand View Hotel?” Carol followed her to the door with Clark on her heels. “Room two eighteen?”
“Yes, that’s right.” She hadn’t said, and Carol had already left her a message so the hotel must have told her. The Grand View’s lax attention to privacy and the disgruntled stepsister’s attitude didn’t help her sense of unease. But if Carol would actually think of something helpful and contact her, a little discomfort might be worth it.
“It’s a lovely old hotel. Hope you aren’t scared by all the ghost stories.”
Lacy edged out into the yard. “The hotel does like to play that up.” And everyone else in this city.
“Lots of locals swear they’re true.” She pulled her grandson to stand beside her. “I sure hope we get to see you again, Lacy. Don’t we, Clark? How long will you be staying?”
“Probably a couple of more days.”
“Call me, and we’ll get together for lunch or something.” The smile that didn’t touch her eyes came again.
“I’ll try. Bye.”
Behind her, the
“I’m not putting her down, don’t get that idea. It was the sixties. Kids were loosey-goosey back then. Make love, not war. All that stuff. Kaya hobnobbed with the artsy-fartsy community, and she lived the life. Saw her and the professor one day, smooching in broad daylight on the sidewalk out front of Babbit’s.” Her attention drifted off above Lacy’s head, and the scowl saddened. “First I knew of it.” She cleared her throat and set her lips again. “They got real thick.” She drummed fingers on the coffee cup. “Then next thing I knew, the Austrian guy came to town and you were born.”
“My father, Hartmut.” His photo flashed across her mind—the attractive man with light green eyes.
“Yeah. She did good and never looked back.”
“You didn’t see much of her?”
“She had her artist friends in town and a place of her own. I never saw you.” She paused with one brow cocked. “Until now.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
The woman continued to lay a thick blanket of guilt on her. She shrugged it off, but felt more sorrow for her mother because of it.
Carol set her coffee cup on the table. “Long time ago. You and her art live on, right?” Steely eyes stared through her.
She looked away, concentrating on spreading the sketches. “Do these look at all familiar?”
With apparent measured words, the elder woman answered. “Not really sure. How many are there?” She thumbed through them, not interested in the sketches, only the number.
“Twelve.”
Not looking up, she blinked rapidly, darted a scan over the stack of sketches and licked her lips.
“Did you ever see her sign her art with these initials?”
“Like I said, her family didn’t see much of her.”
She sensed Carol knew something more. But what?
“Have you heard of an artist called Muuyaw?”
“No.” Her answer came abruptly with a flicker of her eyelids. “Why do you ask that?”
“It’s possible these aren’t Kaya’s handiwork. They may have been drawn by Muuyaw. Perhaps she was a friend of Kaya’s?”
“A friend?”
“Yes, you said she had artist friends.” Lacy fingered the ribbon that bound the sketches and studied Carol whose face became taut. “Maybe you heard Kaya mention her?”
“No. Never heard that one.” She set her jaw.
“Well, I appreciate the information.” Damn. Whether truth or a lie, she’d exhausted her avenues of questioning. She rolled the sketches and wrapped the ribbon around them. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I better get going.”
“Now, it’s not been any trouble at all. We’re practically family.”
Lacy cringed. Being part of this family would not be a blessing. “I appreciate it all the same.” She tucked away the art, stood and hefted her bag over her shoulder.
Clark came from the kitchen to stand in the living room doorway.
“Goodbye, Clark.”
His mute stare didn’t surprise her.
“And you said you have a room at the Grand View Hotel?” Carol followed her to the door with Clark on her heels. “Room two eighteen?”
“Yes, that’s right.” She hadn’t said, and Carol had already left her a message so the hotel must have told her. The Grand View’s lax attention to privacy and the disgruntled stepsister’s attitude didn’t help her sense of unease. But if Carol would actually think of something helpful and contact her, a little discomfort might be worth it.
“It’s a lovely old hotel. Hope you aren’t scared by all the ghost stories.”
Lacy edged out into the yard. “The hotel does like to play that up.” And everyone else in this city.
“Lots of locals swear they’re true.” She pulled her grandson to stand beside her. “I sure hope we get to see you again, Lacy. Don’t we, Clark? How long will you be staying?”
“Probably a couple of more days.”
“Call me, and we’ll get together for lunch or something.” The smile that didn’t touch her eyes came again.
“I’ll try. Bye.”
Behind her, the
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