“Says she wants to but can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I think whatever’s locked in her head is so bad she just can’t bring herself to retrieve it.”
“They got fancy doctors to help with that.”
“She says she’s seen ’em all. Nobody helped.” Challenge glistened from gray eyes. “Since when do you take no for an answer?”
Beck smiled. “Since never.”
Chapter 10
Friday, May 24, 10 AM
Most women relaxed when they walked into a beauty salon. It was their time to sit back and enjoy. But for reasons Lara could not explain, the shop set her nerves on edge. She wasn’t sure if it was the smell of the polishes, the searching eyes of the technicians, or the simple fact that this was a reminder of a world she’d left behind.
In Seattle, she’d adored being fussed over. She’d worried about her hair, her makeup, and her nails. She had looked good in those days and known men always gave her a second look, which had stoked her feminine pride. Maybe that was at the heart of her unease today. She didn’t want to be noticed by anyone, especially men, and primping would make her more noticeable.
Cassidy came through the door seconds after her and laid her hands on her shoulders. “You look ready to bolt.”
Lara glanced into the line of chairs and mirrors in the salon. “I am.”
“Good Lord, Lara,” Cassidy said, laughing. “This is supposed to be fun. You look like you are about to be shot.”
Lara dragged fingers through her hair. “It’s been a long time since I came to a salon.”
Cassidy arched a brow. “My point exactly. You need a cleanup before tonight.”
Lara huffed out a breath. “It’s not about me. It’s about the art.”
Cassidy laughed as she rolled her eyes. “You are the art. You are the brand. You need to be someone that people remember.”
“Please. You make me sound like a pair of jeans or a car.”
“Marketing is marketing.” Cassidy spoke to a redheaded receptionist wearing cat glasses and a sleek asymmetrical haircut and turned back to Lara. “They’ll take us in five minutes.” When Lara opened her mouth to argue, Cassidy shook her head. “Baby, just shut up, and let the ladies here do their magic.”
“Magic?”
Wooden bracelets jangled on Cassidy’s wrist as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “You know photography, and these girls know color and cut. And they are artists.”
Lara glanced toward the exit. “Will there be time for me to visit my studio before the show opening tonight?”
“No. If you go to that studio, you will pull out the nasty chemicals and mess up all the good work we are doing here today.” She grabbed a strand of Lara’s hair. “Maybe they can brighten up your hair as well. It still is a bit drab from that terrible dye job you attempted. Why you’d go brown is beyond me. It’s almost as if you didn’t want people to see you.”
That had been exactly the plan. “That’s not so bad.”
Cassidy cocked a brow. “You were such a show-off when we were kids and well into college. You craved attention and everyone knew your name. I’d get so sick of people asking me, ‘When is Lara coming home?’ or ‘Too bad Lara had to leave again.’ Everyone noticed when you were in town.”
“That’s not true.”
The light in Cassidy’s eyes never dimmed. “Of course it was. The house came alive when you arrived for your summer visit. I thought by now you’d be a fashion superstar, but then you dropped off the face of the earth.”
“I started traveling and taking pictures.” Which was true.
Cassidy caught the attention of her stylist and smiled. “I’ve never understood why. What changed? And do not tell me nothing.”
The truth danced on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t find the right words. “We’re here now. My show is about to open. Does it matter?”
Cassidy softened her voice. “Yeah, it matters. I always thought something pretty drastic must have happened to you.”
Lara glanced around at the receptionist, who was trying to get their attention. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Cassidy frowned. “It does if it’s still driving your life.”
“It’s not. It is not.” The conviction behind the words almost convinced Lara that she was just fine.
Cassidy hesitated. “Was it about your mom dying? I know when my mom died I didn’t feel like myself for a long time.”
“That was a little different. You were twelve when your mom died.” To the shock of everyone, Cassidy’s mom had committed suicide. “And I’ve long forgiven my mother for the demons that drove her to uproot us almost yearly.”
“Before Mom died, I used to be so jealous of you and all the cool places you lived. San Francisco. New York. Chicago. And then I was jealous because I couldn’t get out of Austin and away from the sadness.”
Lara glanced at her chipped nails. “San Francisco was a one-room efficiency that always smelled of garbage. The Chicago place was on the south side full of warring gangs. And New York, I think was a motel room. If anyone should be jealous, it was me who was envious of you and your mother.”
The light in Cassidy’s gaze dimmed for a moment. “Your mother left you for summers, my mother shot herself in the head and left me forever.”
For a moment neither woman spoke before Lara broke the silence. “How did this get so serious?”
Cassidy arched a brow. “Memory lane is not the smooth ride, is it?”
Lara shrugged. “The past is a done deal. It’s over. Time to move on.”
Cassidy leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “How can you move on when you’re not at peace with the past?”
Unease nibbled at the back of her neck. “What makes you think I’m not?”
Cassidy dug her BlackBerry out of her purse. “I know you. I know when you’re happy and when you are not. A dozen summers burned your moods into my brain. What’s eating you?”
Lara swallowed. “Maybe I’m just nervous about the opening. Maybe once I get that behind me I’ll be my old charming self.”
Cassidy looked as if she wanted to say more, but instead said, “After our morning of beauty, we have got an appointment at a dress shop and then a makeup artist.”
A groan rumbled in Lara’s throat. “Cassidy, does it have to be this involved?”
“Baby, your ass is mine until after the event.”
James Beck had never been to an art opening. Truth be told, he didn’t have much use for art. He appreciated the talent it took to create a painting, but art was about as interesting to him as watching paint dry.
The 101 Gallery wasn’t a good-sized piece of property in Austin. Three stories, the building had been around for sixty years, but it hadn’t always been a gallery. There’d been a time when it was a dress shop and before that a butcher shop. Henry said when he was a kid he and his dad had shopped here for steaks. And later when it was a dress shop his mother had shopped here, though he suspected she’d done more looking than buying in the high-end shop.
And now it was all cleaned up and painted white. Hanging in the window was a sign that read MARK OF DEATH.
The invitation had said the reception ran from six to nine, but he’d made a point to show up early, hoping to get a glimpse of the show and Ms. Church b
efore the crowds started to appear.
He removed his hat as he stepped into the gallery. Soft harp music greeted him. Small candles lined the center of a long, rectangular table in the center of the room. The table was filled with displays of dainty, well-garnished finger foods too pretty to eat. He supposed that was the kind of food the fans of art ate. Delicate and not nearly enough to stick to your ribs. Beyond the food were Ms. Church’s photographic images.
One more step into the gallery caught the attention of a woman at the food table. She had dark hair, lots of makeup, and she wore a blue ruffled dress that reminded him of a cartoon character. A plucked brow arched as she moved toward him.
“Now what brings a Texas Ranger to my doorstep? Are you a fan of the arts?”
“I met Ms. Church earlier this week. Thought I’d stop by and have a look. She here?”
The woman had assessed him in a blink. She’d be polite, but knowing he’d not buy one of the pieces shifted him into a different, less important category. “And your name?”
“James Beck. And you?”
A slightly pointed chin tilted up. “Cassidy Roberts. This is my gallery.”
“I don’t plan to stay too long. Mind telling me where Ms. Church can be found?” Though formed as a question, the words sounded like an order.
Ms. Roberts studied him, as if considering whether tangling with him was worth the trouble. “She’s in the back of the gallery getting herself centered before the show.”
Centered. Wasn’t the kind of word a gun-toting woman used. “Thank you, ma’am.”
As he started to move past her, she blocked his path. “This is not the best time. She’s got to be on tonight, all smiles, if you know what I mean. It would be nice if she’s not distracted in any way.”
“I’ve no intention of distracting her.” Though in fact that was exactly his plan. He wanted her to know he’d not forgotten about her or his need for her to remember.
Her gaze narrowed. “See that you don’t.”