The Carousel Painter (30 page)

“With that I will not argue,” he said.

Keeping my gaze fastened to the tips of my shoes, I hurried toward the stairs before they could see my embarrassment. Other than the community picnic, this evening would be my first formal outing with Josef. Though Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren would also be in attendance, they’d mentioned several times that they would be sitting with the older folks close to the bandstand. “They’re mostly hard of hearing,” Mrs. Wilson had said.

I smiled as I remembered Josef’s invitation last Wednesday. He’d fumbled for the proper words and taken a backward step, as if additional space were needed to buffet my response. When I had immediately agreed, his jaw dropped and his mouth opened wide enough to capture a swarm of gnats. I had been required to clear my throat several times before he finally acknowledged I’d spoken.

He had expected to hear that I’d be spending another weekend with the Galloways, but he didn’t tell me that until the following day. I didn’t divulge that the Galloway family would be visiting friends at the New Jersey shore—all except Mr. Galloway. Nor did I divulge that I’d been invited to go along.

At Augusta’s insistence, Mr. Galloway had granted permission for me to miss several days of work, but I had declined. I thought the idea of seeking a special favor improper. Her father had appeared relieved. I’m certain he’d been worried how he could justify my absence to Josef or any of the other workers should they inquire. When I’d discovered Tyson Farnsworth was going with the family, I was thankful I would be in Collinsford.

I selected one of the simple dresses Augusta had given me, one that I particularly liked in a pale rose shade. Instead of frills or ruffles, the dress had been styled with an elegant simplicity that I thought understated and particularly flattering. This wasn’t a concert where the women wore fancy dresses or gowns like those I’d seen at the Galloways’ home. And I didn’t want to stand out in the crowd. The wives of the factory workers now tolerated the fact that I worked in the factory, but it didn’t mean they liked me.

I tied a black ribbon around my neck and placed two small flowered combs in my hair. Those, too, had belonged to Augusta. She discarded her clothing and accessories as frequently as petals dropped from flowers, and her mother encouraged the practice. Another glance in the mirror and I decided my appearance would have to do. We would be late if I continued restyling my hair.

Why was I fussing so, I wondered as I rushed toward the stairs. Josef saw me every day, and most of the time I was wearing a paint-spattered canvas apron with my hair in complete disarray. I didn’t worry over my appearance at the factory, so why now? Why did I want to impress him this evening?
Because you care for him
. The words were so clear that I spun around to see who had spoken them. No one was there, and I silently chided myself for such silliness.

Josef was waiting in the foyer when I descended the stairs. The evening sunlight shone through the front door and danced on his still-damp hair. His suit was the plain dark blue one that he wore to church each Sunday. The moment I neared the bottom step, he held out a small bouquet to me.

“Thank you.” I wondered if I would have to hold the stems for the entire concert. Spying Mrs. Wilson’s vase in the parlor, I said, “Why don’t I tuck one of these flowers in my hair and place the rest in water so they won’t die? That way, I can enjoy them in my room for several days.”

Josef concurred. “They will be better in the water. I should have thought . . .”

“No, please. I’m delighted with the flowers. They are perfect.”

He followed my gaze to the vase and hurried to retrieve it from the other room. “I will fill this with water, and then we will go.”

In a few minutes we were on our way. Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren had departed some time ago—to be certain they could sit up front with their friends. The park wasn’t far, and by the time we arrived, the members of the orchestra were warming up their instruments. “I’m glad I didn’t cause us to be late.”

“Being late for concert is not so bad. Not like being late for church.”

I nodded, remembering how Josef disliked being late for Sunday services. With a smile that spread from ear to ear, Mrs. Wilson waved her limp handkerchief overhead. She and Mr. Lundgren had secured seats in the second row, where they had an excellent view of the band shell. From that position, they wouldn’t miss a thing.

Josef stood beneath a large oak tree and looked toward the benches surrounding the front of the stage. “Would you like me to see if there are any seats, or would you rather remain here in the shade?”

Even from our distant vantage point, it was abundantly clear there were no remaining seats. People were packed in tightly together row after row.

“Right here is fine.”

I held two corners of the blanket; together we spread it beneath the heavy branches of the ancient tree. Josef extended his hand to assist me to the ground and then dropped down at my side.

“Not so fancy as the parties you attend at the Galloways’, ja?”

“No,” I agreed. “But this is very nice. I’m pleased to be here with you.”

“For sure, you are?”

I giggled at his surprised look. “For sure, I am.”

The conductor took center stage, welcomed the crowd, and announced the concert would now begin. From where we sat, I saw him turn his back to the audience, lift his baton high in the air, and with an air of authority, signal the musicians to begin. I had expected a makeshift group with little time to practice and little musical ability. I was mistaken.

When I scooted back to lean against the trunk of the oak, Josef signaled me to wait. He removed his suit jacket and placed it behind my back. “Your dress, it might get dirty or rip on the bark of the tree,” he said. “I would not want to be the cause of your beautiful dress being spoiled.”

Though I’m sure he wondered about my expensive clothing, Josef never inquired. I didn’t know if Mrs. Wilson had explained the gowns were Augusta’s castoffs. If she hadn’t, he’d surely assumed by now that I’d been the beneficiary of my friend’s outdated clothing.

The crowd remained seated and attentive until the intermission. When the musicians returned and began playing, the children were first to begin dancing on the covered wooden platform that surrounded the outer perimeter of the bandstand. Soon others joined them. I could feel Josef watching me, and my stomach tumbled with anticipation.

He lightly touched my arm. With his eyebrows arched high on his forehead like two question marks, he tipped his head toward the platform. “You like to dance, ja?”

At my slight nod he jumped to his feet, extended his hand, and with a gentle tug, helped me to my feet. Then he shrugged into his suit jacket and offered me his arm. While we strolled toward the platform, I was overcome by an inexplicable and strange sensation. I couldn’t understand my reaction. It was as if I were drawing strength from Josef’s sturdy arm. My feet seemed to float across the grass, and I felt safe at his side.
Is this
what love feels like?
I wondered.
Surely not.
I couldn’t love someone I barely knew. I ventured a sidelong glance at Josef’s profile. He possessed a quiet strength that I admired.
You simply respect him,
I told myself.

He slowly pulled me into his arms for the first dance. My pulse quickened, and a surge of heat coursed down my arms, leaving my palms wet and my body trembling beneath his strong hands. We circled the floor, and Josef held me close while my heart hammered a message that spoke of much more than respect—my heart spoke of love.
I must regain
control of my emotions,
I thought. Yet I knew I could not.

When our third dance came to an end, we were standing near Mr. Lundgren and Mrs. Wilson. I’d been surprised to see the older couple take to the dance floor, but they appeared to be having an enjoyable time. Mr. Lundgren suggested a change of partners, and when the music began, I circled along the platform with him. I’d been watching the small children and nearly toppled into him when he came to an abrupt halt.

I looked up and was struck dumb at the sight of Detective Lawton with his hand on Mr. Lundgren’s shoulder. “May I be so bold as to break in and finish this dance with Miss Brouwer?”

Mr. Lundgren appeared momentarily confused but quickly recovered. “She’s a fine dancer, but I’m in need of a glass of that lemonade.” Before I could object Mr. Lundgren strode off toward the refreshment booth on the other side of the pavilion. No doubt the detective’s sly use of my name had caused Mr. Lundgren to think I’d be pleased to dance with the man who’d cut in.

Although Detective Lawton held me at a proper distance, his mere presence at the concert set me on edge, and a shiver danced down my spine. There was no reason to play coy with the investigator. He was here for only one reason—me.

I worried what Josef would think when he saw me dancing with this stranger. If I could hurry the process, perhaps the detective would depart. “What is it you want, Detective? I’ve already answered all of your questions.”

“Lovely dress you’re wearing,” he replied. “I’m surprised you can afford such quality on the pay you receive at the factory.”

The inference as well as his tone annoyed me, but I wanted to be rid of him, so I explained where I’d gotten it. “If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to check with Miss Galloway when she returns from the shore.”

“So you know the family is gone?”

“Of course. I was invited to accompany them, but I couldn’t be away from my work.” I met the detective’s intense stare with one of my own. “Do you truly believe I stole Mrs. Galloway’s jewelry?”

“I’m not certain what to believe. You’re the most likely suspect. No one else who has had opportunity to steal the jewelry is in need of money. And you were in the house the only time the safe may have been left open.”

I wanted to point out there were members of the household staff who were in greater need of money than I, but I wasn’t about to point a finger at them. “I’ve heard tell that some people commit crimes not for the money but for the excitement it creates. And you surely know there are people who put on an appearance of wealth but are really suffering financial problems.”

“You are an astute young lady, Miss Brouwer. Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

“If I were in your position, I would be very interested in Tyson Farnsworth.”

He tipped his head back and looked down at me. His bulging eyes and rather flat nose put me in mind of a walrus. And his somewhat rotund figure added to the mental image.

“Really? And why do you think Mr. Farnsworth could prove to be a viable suspect?”

“For one thing, he lies. More than you can even imagine.” With fine-tuned precision, I enunciated the final two words. I wanted to make certain the detective understood Tyson Farnsworth didn’t merely experience an occasional slipup in his stories. The man was a well-seasoned liar.

When the detective asked for verification, I told him of Tyson’s expulsion from college and his concealment of that detail from Augusta and her parents. “Tyson told us he’d finished school a week earlier than Ronald Galloway, but Ronald told me Tyson had been expelled and forbidden to take his final exams.”

“Anything else?”

I bobbed my head, eager to continue. “He also lied about being sick in order to avoid church services. Then he feigned a miraculous recovery and told the maid he’d gone home to visit his parents. Oddly enough, the evening before he’d said his parents were traveling. In fact, that was the reason he’d given for coming to Collinsford unannounced.” I also cited Tyson’s departures on the two weekends when I’d been a guest at the home. “Did he mention those excursions to you?”

“Please remember that I am the one asking the questions, Miss Brouwer.”

I was pleased to see that the detective appeared taken aback by my revelations, and I decided to press my position. “If I were the detective assigned to this case, I would talk to Tyson’s family and inquire why he’s spending his summer in Collinsford rather than at home. At the very least, you’d think he would be working alongside his father in the family’s business, wouldn’t you?” I asked with arched brows.

He appeared to be considering what I’d told him, but when he didn’t reply, I grasped his hand a little tighter to squeeze out a response. He startled at the pressure and met my eyes. “Mr. Farnsworth has as many suspicions about you as you seem to have about him.”

“Can I assume you’ll investigate my theories as closely as you have his?”

He chuckled. “Mr. Farnsworth and his family are well acquainted with the Galloways, while you’re more of a newcomer into their lives. Except to confirm you don’t have the jewelry in your possession, I haven’t been able to investigate you very well, Miss Brouwer.”

I didn’t know how he had determined I didn’t have the jewelry hidden in my room, but I didn’t want to ask. No need to give him further reason to doubt me. But something in my demeanor must have revealed my interest, for he grinned and said, “I searched your room after you and Mr. Kaestner left the boardinghouse.”

Before I could discover how he’d acquired a key to enter my room, the music stopped and the crowd swirled around us. I’d begun to question his entry into the boardinghouse and didn’t see Josef standing nearby.

“This man is a friend, Carrie? I heard him say my name, yet I do not know him.”

I startled and glanced over my shoulder and into Josef’s eyes; they had turned ominously dark. I wondered if this meeting would bring my short-lived friendship with Josef to a halt.

Stretching forward, the detective offered his hand. “Detective Nelson Lawton, Collinsford Police Department.”

Josef wasn’t quite so quick to extend his hand, but he finally reached out when the detective took another step toward him. “Josef Kaestner, which you already know.”

The detective nodded. “Manager and part owner of the carousel factory.”

Josef glowered. “How do you know this?” He glanced in my direction.

“I didn’t tell him,” I said, feeling the need to defend myself.

“Mr. Galloway told me who you are and where you live—primarily because I was questioning him about Miss Brouwer.”