No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7 (42 page)

“It gets better with time,”
she offered, as she processed us through. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Outside the cruise ship
terminal, we grabbed a cab to a small boutique hotel in Murray
Hill. Bob wanted to make sure we hadn’t picked up a tail before
sending us to our new home. He had arranged for us to be on the
fourth floor, with agents in the rooms on either side and across
the hall.

“Don’t be nervous, Lucie,”
my companion told me as we settled into our room. “You’ll be fine.
We’ll be fine. And when you’re ready to be on your own, I’ll move
on.”

“I’ve never been in this
position before,” I confessed. “I don’t know where to start, or
even how.”

“I know how that feels. When
my Bernie died, I felt like the floor disappeared from under me. My
son was there for me, and so were my friends, but that didn’t mean
I felt confident about what would happen next. It took effort,
Lucie, to get myself moving forward again. Some days, I just didn’t
feel like it, but I did it anyway.”

“Bob said I’ll have help
setting up a business I can run, but I have to figure out what that
will be.”

“What would you be doing if
you never met Henri, if you never had these experiences?” Mary’s
eyes were kind as I looked into them. I thought back to that summer
just before I met my husband.

“I wanted to be an art
restorer, but I don’t have the training,” I admitted. “When I
thought Henri was dead, I wanted to paint again. I can see myself
as an artist.”

“What about opening a
gallery? You can display your own work and that of local artists
and craftspeople. I can set up your bookkeeping, and I’m certainly
able to manage the shop. What do you like to paint?”

“Landscapes.
Portraits.”

“Why don’t you wait until we
get there? Walk around in your new shoes for a bit. Get a feel for
the place. Don’t rush yourself. See if the place inspires you.
Remember, this is your new life, and you have to feel like it fits
you.”

“Have you ever been there?”
I wondered. She shook her head.

“No, never. But I am looking
forward to this adventure. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because I am going to enjoy
watching you blossom, Lucie. I see good things on the horizon and I
am glad that I get to be there for you. I’m delighted that, at my
age, I have something to give, to contribute. You will take this
opportunity and blossom. You will become Lucie Fairweather, artist
and business owner. You will find a place in this new community and
new love.”

I smiled, happy that Mary
was full of hope for this new start, not only for me, but also for
herself. In some ways, it seemed that she, too, would find healing
by pointing herself in a new direction. But a part of me was also
sad to say goodbye to Bob. I had felt a connection to him stirring,
and I was sorry to see it end. Before we said our final farewells,
I asked if I would ever see him again.

“You never know. Life is
funny. It could happen,” he replied, before giving me a peck on the
cheek. There was no commitment in his answer, and I felt cast
adrift, cut loose from his protection. Mary had watched our
goodbye, and once we were rolling down the gangplank, she broached
the subject.

“You know why Bob made you
no promises, Lucie?” I had a lump in my throat and it was hard to
respond.

“Not really,” I
admitted.

“He doesn’t want to hold you
back from embracing your new life. He wants you to make it your
own. If you feel tied to him, you may miss your calling. Don’t
forget, you are still healing from your relationships with Henri
and Declan. It takes time to find your inner strength, my dear, and
you can’t find it if your heart is entangled with wishful dreams.
When the heart is ready, you’ll find real love -- not a moment
sooner. But first you have to find your new life, and it can’t be
just a dream. It has to be real for you in a way your marriage to
Henri wasn’t.”

“Oh.” I knew it all made
sense. I just wished I could have gotten to know Bob better as a
man. There was something about the look in his eyes that drew me to
him. Would I ever see that look in another man?

Two days later, Mary and I
flew to South Carolina, picked up a rental car, and drove to
Beaufort. We checked into the Holiday Inn, unloaded our suitcases,
and headed back out for a tour of Habersham. Driving up and down
the tree-lined streets, I could feel an excitement rising in me.
Even before we met Doralee Fraken, the real estate agent, in front
of the loft condo, I felt like I belonged here. The town was full
of down home charm. Everywhere we went, there were neighbors
chatting and children playing. Most of all, it felt safe, far
removed from the reach of Henri, Declan, Grenois Financial, and
especially the cartel. As I stood on Market Street, eyeing the
architectural details of the buildings, I could imagine people
coming to the gallery in search of treasures.

Doralee, cheerful and
efficient, opened the door to the first floor retail space. She led
us into the front room.

“Oh, Lucie,” Mary cooed.
“This would make a perfect gallery area. And there’s plenty of
space for a work table back here. We wouldn’t even need much in the
way of furniture.”

Doralee led us to the back
door, where we saw a covered patio in the back, with room for a
table and chairs, as well as a half bath, before we headed up the
stairs to see the living space.

“As you can see, you have
the convenience of the retail space downstairs, and you also have a
lot of living space upstairs.

“Oh, this is nice,” I said,
as we found ourselves in the great room. I opened the door to the
covered porch overlooking the main street. I could imagine myself
sitting here with a glass of iced tea, reading, or even enjoying
the ever-passing parade of people on Market Street.

“I love the kitchen,” Mary
announced. I agreed. I could see myself cooking here, spreading my
ingredients out on the kitchen island. “And I love the balcony
overlooking the backyard. You could get a dog, Lucie.”

“A dog?” When I was growing
up, there was a constant parade of animals in my life. In all the
years I had been married to Henri, we had never had a pet. We spent
too much time traveling, and I could never be sure when he would
announce that we were off again on another trip. But now, here in
Habersham, I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “That’s an idea.
And maybe a cat, too.”

“Let’s head upstairs and see
the bedrooms,” Doralee suggested. At the top of the stairs, we
found two identical bedrooms, each with their own baths.

“This will do nicely,” I
decided, already picturing what I would do with my room.

“Does this mean you want to
make an offer?” Doralee was hopeful.

Chapter Nine --

“I think I do. What do you
think, Mom?” It was easy to call Mary that, because she was so
invested in helping me find myself. She offered wise counsel and
gentle concern, and I felt comfortable discussing things with her.
She made a great foster mom for a woman on the run, a good
substitute for the mother I was forced to leave behind when I
married Henri all those years ago. I wondered how long it would be
before I could see my real family again.

“I think you have to do what
makes you happy. Is this it?” she wanted to know. Mary gave me a
tug on the back of my shirt and a wink. “Remember, this is your new
life. Don’t just say yes, Lucie, unless you really love the
place.”

“It is the place for me,” I
decided. “And I really do love it. It feels like home.”

“That’s the important thing,
dear. It can’t just be window dressing.”

When it came to paying for
my new life, I was lucky. The Treasury Department had covertly
reclaimed my money, with the same techniques Grenois Financial used
in their money-laundering operation. At first, Henri tried to trace
the disappeared funds from his hideaway in Senegal, but when Declan
got a phone call warning him that the cartel suspected Henri was
still alive, he passed the information on and they all backed off.
They were led to believe that the cartel had set an elaborate trap
to catch Henri, using another cartel money-launderer, so they let
go of a little more than a million dollars. The Treasury agent
handling my finances assured me that the money came from legitimate
investments. The insurance company received the bulk of their two
million dollars when Declan arranged wire transfers to Henri and
Treasury agents rerouted it as part of the game plan to convince
the men that the cartel was after them.

We were able to close on the
loft place five days later because the unit was empty and I didn’t
need a mortgage. I had a cashier’s check, which I deposited in the
local bank, telling the solicitous manager that I had sold my home
after my husband passed away. He offered me a loan at competitive
market rates if I decided to expand my business in the
future.

Mary and I spent several
weeks shopping for furniture and seeking out potential gallery
clients, working from our hotel room. We took a trip up to the
North Carolina furniture mecca, High Point, and picked out enough
pieces to form the bare bones of my new home.

“There’s no need to rush,
Lucie. We can always come back for more. Rome wasn’t built in a
day. Buy only what you love. It will motivate you to find the
pieces that belong,” Mary told me as I hesitated over an end table
one afternoon.

It seemed odd to leave my
other life behind and begin with a fresh canvas. Since I could
bring nothing with me to South Carolina from my past, I decide to
forgo the formal style of the home I had shared with Henri and, to
a lesser extent, the New Rochelle condo. No more elaborate finishes
or embellishments. I wanted my new place to feel like the new me. I
chose a comfy sofa in a soft upholstery-grade peach velvet, and
paired it with a pair of side chairs in cheerful prints.

“Lovely,” Mary decided after
the furniture delivery men had left. “This feels homey.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I
found a little dining table and chairs for the back balcony at a
yard sale, and a pair of wooden rockers for the covered front porch
at a second-hand shop, which I painted in a light green.

“You know, I do a little
sewing, dear. I could whip up some window treatments,” Mary
announced one morning. We headed out after lunch to peruse the
fabric outlets. I felt like a kid in the candy store as we went
through bolt after bolt of fabric. The vast array of colors,
patterns, and prints awakened my senses.

“What about this for your
bedroom,” Mary suggested, holding up a casual foliage print in Low
Country style. We found a few more fabrics that would work with it.
“I can make a duvet cover and bed skirt.”

We left with more than
enough fabric to cover every window in the condo and make some
decorative pillows for the sofa. There was even enough fabric for
shades in the retail shop. Mary prompted me every step of the way
through the decorating process.

“Do you want to leave the
walls white?” she wanted to know once the living room drapes were
hung. “Those shelves would really stand out if the walls had a
little color on them.

Little by little, my new
home came together. I picked up paint chips and taped them to the
walls, watching the light change throughout the day as the sun
moved through. When I felt comfortable, I walked down to the
hardware store and picked up a quart or two of paint.

As Mary and I searched for
accessories for our living space, we also began to find unique
pieces that we could also offer in our retail shop. Our furniture
hunt took us up and down the southern coast of the Atlantic
throughout the summer months, and we often found ourselves at art
shows, community yard sales, and open-air flea markets. Mary began
to concentrate on building an inventory of unique, one-of-a-kind
pieces of Low Country furniture for the still-unfinished retail
store. I always brought my camera with me, in case I stumbled on a
nice local scene to paint. We stopped for picnics while on the
road, giving me ample opportunity to photograph the Spanish moss
hanging from the gracious old oak trees. Sometimes we took the long
way home, exploring our new world as we wandered from town to town.
At night, we would watch television together in the living room,
where I set up my easel and canvas. Mary often worked on her
crossword puzzles as I painted. In less than two months, I had
three large canvases painted of local scenes and two smaller
ones.

“You know, dear, it might be
nice to sell copies of your paintings as prints in different sizes.
We could even develop an online store,” Mary suggested. “What are
you going to call your gallery?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“I have to think about that. But I like the idea of doing
prints.”

That inspired me to continue
working on local scenes. On nice days, I headed out with my paint
box, easel, and a folding chair. The locals often stopped to chat
when they saw me at work. Sometimes people would suggest places I
should visit, or they would share local information on the best
time of the day and vantage point to watch the fishing boats come
in.