FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes

Dylan stepped into the Bayside Art Gallery. The cool air and soft hum of classical music were a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. His eyes scanned the room, taking in various sculptures and paintings. He casually strolled from room to room, admiring a particular piece or painting and noting the artist's name and credentials.

As Jackson descended from the upstairs office, he instantly saw the well-dressed gentleman admiring an extremely high-priced piece. He hurried toward him, taking the stairs two at a time, hoping to make a sale.

"Good morning, sir. I'm Jackson Mayfield, owner and curator of the Bayside Gallery. Are we browsing today, or are you interested in a particular piece?"

"Hello, I'm Dylan Weldon." He extended his hand to Jackson, and they shook hands. "The local newspaper wrote a story about your gallery, and the wire services picked it up. I saw it and was interested in a painting."

Jackson puffed out his chest with pride. "You must be referring to the wonderful donation we received from a renowned artist, CJ Grey. To the locals, she was known as Eleanor Bennett. Sadly, she recently passed away."

Dylan fought to control his composure. His mind raced. Could this Eleanor Bennett be the woman Charles had been searching for? "I'm sorry. Did you say she had passed away?"

Jackson looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. "I shouldn't say anything, but the police say someone murdered her."

"Oh, how dreadful!" This couldn't be happening. His heart was beating erratically. He forced himself to remain calm. "Have they caught whoever did it?"

"No. Yesterday, when I was with Detective Donatelli, he said they had no clue who the murderer was. Of course, the gallery is behind our artists in every way, and I insisted he put Ms. Bennett as a priority case."

Dylan smiled. "That was very kind of you." He'd seen Jackson's type before and knew all the gallery owner was concerned about was publicity for his gallery.

"We're here for our artists in every way possible. CJ Grey has been displaying and selling her art with us for years. I believe she started painting in France but became well-known years later in the U.S. No one knows much about her private life. She preferred to remain a recluse. Even her family didn't know about her secret life." Feeling that he'd chatted long enough, Jackson shifted gears. "Are you interested in this piece? Or something by CJ Grey?"

"Yes — if you don't mind, I want to see the painting in the newspaper photo."

Jackson could feel beads of sweat popping up along his hairline. He cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry. We had to send that painting out for a little restoration. It's not available for viewing at the moment."

"I see." It was the response Dylan had expected after the conversation Garth had overheard last night, but it still sent cold chills down his spine. "If you don't mind, I'll just browse and see if anything else interests me."

"Of course. Let me know if you need my help or have any questions." Jackson mopped his brow with his handkerchief. "It's a bit warm in here."

Dylan nodded at Jackson and then walked away. It was only a short time before he came across an entire section dedicated to CJ Grey's work. He studied the paintings intently. Now that he suspected Eleanor Bennett and his uncle's love were one-in-the-same, the paintings took on another depth in his mind.

The brushstrokes, the use of light and shadow, and the emotional depth were all remarkably similar to his uncle's style, yet distinctly different. It had to be the woman his uncle loved so much; now, she was gone. How would he ever tell him?

A young woman around Dylan's age had been sitting on a bench nearby, watching Dylan's intense scrutiny as he studied Eleanor's work.

Finally, unable to contain herself, she approached him. "Excuse me," Jenna said softly. "I couldn't help but notice how closely you are examining these paintings. Are you a collector?"

Dylan turned to face her, his expression thoughtful. "In a manner of speaking. I'm here to find my uncle's stolen artwork. These paintings remind me of his style, especially the ones in the countryside. It looks like a place in France."

Jenna's eyes widened in surprise. "As a matter of fact, those two over there were painted in France while Eleanor was a nurse during the war. I believe another one is on display, but I don't see it now."

Jenna had answered any questions he might have had about Eleanor Bennett: "My name is Dylan Weldon. I'm from England, where I live with my uncle, who is also a renowned artist."

Jenna's mind raced. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? "Your uncle? Do you mind me asking his name?"

"Of course not." Dylan smiled. "His name is Charles Weldon. We've made the trip together before, but he's confined to a wheelchair. Traveling isn't easy."

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm Jenna, a very close friend of Eleanor." Jenna paused, knowing tears were threatening to fall. "She was a private person. We shared our love of painting, and she taught me so much." Jenna glanced away, biting her lip.

"So you paint?" Dylan hoped this lovely face wasn't involved with the missing art pieces.

"I dabble. I was more interested in listening to Eleanor talk about France and how she'd left a piece of herself there. She always wanted to go back, but life happens. Now — now, she never will."

"Charles — my uncle loved the French countryside too. He never talked of the war, but you couldn't stop him when he talked of the days he recuperated in France. His love shows in his paintings."

"Eleanor was very secretive about her influences. Her paintings were her private world, where she escaped when she was sad."

Dylan decided to take a leap, something out of character for the young man. "I could be wrong, but I believe your Eleanor was once my uncle's friend. In his mind, he saw her as much more than an acquaintance. Together, we tried to find her but unfortunately failed. To this very day, he still loves her."

Jenna's reaction wasn't quite what he'd expected. Several tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheek. She frantically tried to brush them away. "By the looks of Eleanor's paintings, she never forgot him, either." Jenna's eyes misted when she thought about how close her dear friend had come to finding Charles again.

Dylan leaned closer to Jenna. "I've upset you. Please accept my apologies."

Jenna tried to smile. "No apologies needed." She stared at Eleanor's paintings. "I loved her so much, and this is all that remains. They are beautiful, but it's not the same."

"I don't want to upset you, but I think one of your friend's paintings is missing. I came to the gallery because I thought it might be my uncle's painting being shown under a different name."

Jenna gasped. "How do you know it's missing?"

Dylan saw Jackson approaching and put his finger to his lips.

Oblivious to their exchange, Jackson said hello to Jenna and then turned his attention to Dylan. "Is there anything I can assist you with, Mr. Weldon? Maybe one of CJ Grey's paintings?"

Dylan shook his head, still looking at Jenna. "No, I think I've found what I needed. For now." Sensing there would be no sale today, Jackson turned his attention to another potential customer.

Jenna felt a warm flush as it crept across her cheeks.

Dylan whispered, "Let's get out of here so we can talk."

"There's a nice coffee shop across the street. Will that do?" Jenna smiled, wondering what Eleanor would think about this young man.

"Perfect." As they left, Dylan noticed a courier carrying a large package into the gallery. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the placard on the car's door and the license plate. He was sure Garth would be interested in it.

Confused, Jenna asked, "Are you shipping something? If you are, I can give you the names of reputable couriers. I've never heard of that one."

Dylan took her arm and crossed the street to the coffee shop. He might not have found the painting, but the afternoon had been very rewarding.

*****

"Sir! Sir! You can't go back there."

Garth tipped his Stetson away from his eyes and smiled at the young woman behind the desk. If she wasn't drowning in his blue eyes when he bent over her desk, his sexy smile and easy cowboy drawl had her melting in his hand before he finished his sentence. "Honey, this cowboy goes wherever he wants, when he wants, and with who he wants." As she teetered on the verge of swooning, he flashed his badge. "Detective Donatelli is expecting me."

"I'd be happy to tell him you're here."

"Don't bother your pretty little head. I'll mosey on back and surprise him."

He turned and strolled down the hallway, nice and slow, knowing she was about to fall out of her chair watching him. He hated the come-on, but it worked every time.

When he got to Donatelli's office, the detective was on the phone with his back toward the door. Garth leaned against the doorjamb, listening to the conversation.

Matthew was hot. "You're telling me the coroner told you she was poisoned, and no one in this entire department thought they should hightail it back there and look for the evidence. What were you thinking?" Donatelli took a deep breath. "People are going in and out of the house. It was never set up as a crime scene. Are you waiting for someone else to drop dead?"

He slammed the receiver into the cradle. "Idiots!"

Garth chose that moment to make Donatelli aware he had company. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Matthew spun his chair around, glaring at the cowboy. "Who let you back here?"

"Nobody." Garth grinned. "Sorry. I didn't know I needed to ask."

"You think that badge of yours gives you Carte blanche to anywhere, don't you?"

"Sort of! Don't you?" Garth couldn't control his laughter. "Don't bite my head off because you are having trouble in the house?"

"It's none of your business," Donatelli snarled. "I've got things to do." He picked up a folder, pretended to read, and then tossed it on the desk. "Mind telling me what you are doing here?"

"We need to talk," Garth said, closing the door behind him.

Donatelli looked up from behind his desk. "I doubt you have anything to say that would interest me."

Garth took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. "I believe Bayside's Judge Doyle is involved in both the art theft ring and Eleanor Bennett's murder."

"Judge Doyle? You're crazy. He's one of the most prestigious judges around here. I heard he's seriously thinking of running for the Supreme Court."

"Well, he'll be doing it from behind bars if I have anything to say."

Donatelli's eyes narrowed. "You're making a serious accusation, Garth. You better have more than just your gut feeling."

"I overheard a conversation last night at the bar," Garth began, but Donatelli cut him off.

"Oh, so now you're eavesdropping? That's your big evidence?" Donatelli's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Hear me out!" Garth could feel his temper rising.

"You never change. Do you think you can ride into my town and take charge? Don't bother answering because we both know that's exactly your MO."

Garth's frustration boiled over. "Listen, Donatelli, I know you don't want to believe it, but Doyle is orchestrating the thefts and laundering the art through the gallery. He's as dirty as they come."

Donatelli slammed his hand on the desk, standing up to face Garth. "You're out of line, Garth! Doyle is a prominent figure in this town. He's untouchable."

Garth stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "That's exactly what makes him so dangerous. Do you think he's above suspicion just because he's a judge? Open your eyes, Donatelli. Tango tailed him. He's sleeping with Eleanor Bennett's sister."

"Since when is that a crime? Married men do it all the time."

"Do they meet in abandoned warehouses and discuss making replicas of paintings?"

The detective shook his head, disbelief etched on his face. "This is just another one of your wild theories, Garth. You always have to be the hero, always have to win."

Garth's jaw tightened. "This isn't about winning. This is about justice. Expensive art is being stolen. Eleanor's dead, and you're too blinded by pride to see what's right in front of you."

Donatelli's face reddened with anger. "Get out of my office, Garth. Until you have real evidence, stay out of my investigation."

Garth turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Walking down the hallway, he muttered, "I'll get the evidence, Donatelli. And then you can eat your words."

The battle lines were drawn, and both men knew this was far from over.