Runaway (Wolfes of Manhattan 3)

“Why?”

“Because it’s art, honey. Every piece should be unique.”

I nodded. “I get it. My brother’s an artist.”

“Oh? The one who lived here in Montana?”

Crap. First rule of disappearing—don’t volunteer too much information about yourself. “Yes. I only have one brother.”

Actually three, but that was way too much information.

“What kind of artist is he?”

“A sculptor.”

Rule number two of disappearing—if you inadvertently give away too much information, lie to cover it up. Roy was a painter. His preferred medium was oil on canvas. I doubted he’d ever sculpted anything in his life.

“What does he sculpt?”

Rule number three of disappearing—give only vague responses.

“A little bit of everything.”

“What’s his name?”

Rule number four of disappearing—never give names.

“He’s not well known. It’s really just a hobby.”

“Yeah, that makes sense, since he had to move to New York for work.”

Damn. Had I said that? I cleared my throat. “Yeah.”

“I see.” Matt gazed into my eyes.

I resisted the urge to look away. Not meeting a gaze was a sign of lying. I knew that. I was good at lying. Except lying to Matteo Rossi. Apparently I was really bad at that.

“Oh,” Matt finally said. “Still, he has a name, right?”

“Sure. It’s…Michael.”

“Michael Mansfield. Maybe I’ll google him.”

“He doesn’t have a website. He’s a teacher. Like I am.”

“Ah. An art teacher and a business teacher.”

“Right.”

“But he had to move to New York for work.”

What the heck was wrong with me? Major mistake. Why would an art teacher have to move to New York?

“A friend of his from high school recommended him for a job at a private school.” Nice save.

“I see,” Matt said again. “Did your lawyer parents have a problem with the two of you going into education?”

“No.”

“Good.” He nodded.

I braced myself, ready to answer more questions. Ready to give out more misinformation.

But Matt didn’t ask me anything else about my fake brother.

I was thankful, but surprised. Matt wasn’t the type to give up on a quest for information. I’d already learned that in the two days I’d known him.

Blue returned to the counter.

“I guess I’ll take you back to the cabin,” Matt said.

I nodded, though I was saddened. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Matt. I had no idea when I’d see him next, if at all.

“Can we walk around town a little first?” I asked.

“Sure, but I have a job in a couple hours.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Just some handiwork for another resident. This one pays me.” He smiled.

“What do you need to do?”

“Replace a pipe under the sink in her kitchen.”

“Don’t you have a plumber in town?”

“We do, but he’s not always available, so I take the easier jobs.”

“Replacing a pipe is an easier job?”

“It’s pretty cut and dried, honey, and Leena pays me a hundred bucks for most odd jobs I do for her, so I rarely say no.”

“I see.” Leena? Sounded like a stripper’s name to me.

“But I only need to get to that before six, so I can take a few hours to show you around town. What do you want to see?”

I smiled. “Everything.”

He laughed. “Your wish is my command. Where do you want to start?”

“It’s your town. What should I see?”

“All right.” We walked out of his little shop and turned to view it from the street.

“The Silver Shoppe. Cute name.”

“My mom suggested it.”

“Oh? I’d love to meet your mom.”

“You can’t, honey.”

“Does she live somewhere else?”

“No. She’s dead.”

“Oh.” God, what an idiot I was. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. She died when I was a teen. Her brother—my uncle—raised me after that.”

“What about your father?”

He cleared his throat. “Not in the picture.”

“I see.” Matt didn’t know how lucky he was. My mother was a bitch, but my father made her look like a saint. How I wished my father had never been in the picture.

I’d be a lot more whole if he hadn’t been.

“My uncle was a great guy. I think I told you I inherited the cabins from him. One gives me shelter and the other provides me with a nice income. All I have to do is pay the property taxes and insurance. And upkeep, of course.”

“But you do most of that yourself.”

“How did you know that?”

“You told me. You said you’d install a new garbage disposal when the one in the cabin finally died.”

He laughed. “That’s right. I did. No use paying a plumber for something I can do myself.”

“Not to get too personal, but did you work with silver as a teen? Because you said your mom suggested the name for the shop.”

He cleared his throat again. “She did, actually. It was always her dream to open up a shop, and that’s what she wanted to call it. She taught me everything I know. When I opened my shop, I wanted to pay her homage.”

“She was a silversmith too?”

“Yeah. A true artist, but she didn’t do it for a business. She had a kid to feed. She waited tables over at the truck stop in the next town. Lousy hours but good tips, so I spent a lot of time with my uncle anyway when Mom wasn’t around.”