FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 16by Begin Again

Dylan entered the small auction house. The air buzzed with the hum of conversations and the occasional sharp rap of the auctioneer's gavel. He wandered through the maze of items, scanning the antiques and collectibles while searching for paintings.

As he worked his way around the auction house, he glimpsed another room overflowing with boxes, antiques, and paintings. The door was slightly ajar, but his view was hampered. Curiosity piqued, he glanced around to ensure no one was watching and then quietly stepped toward the door. His heart quickened, and he gasped. From across the room, he saw several paintings that resembled his uncle's scenic countryside artwork.

Despite a large scarf draped over part of the pieces, the brushstrokes and vibrant colors were unmistakable. Checking the doorway, he edged closer, hoping to confirm his suspicions. Drawn to the paintings, he neglected to notice the footsteps approaching from behind.

A stern voice broke the silence, "Excuse me, sir, but this is a private area. Only authorized personnel are allowed beyond that point." He indicated the door. "There's a sign posted."

Dylan spun around to find a tall, imposing man standing in the doorway. His expression of annoyance was unmistakable. The man's gaze flickered to the paintings and back to Dylan.

"I apologize," Dylan stammered, trying to sound convincing. "I thought this was part of the auction, and the paintings caught my eye."

"You thought wrong! This section is off limits."

Reluctantly, Dylan nodded and stepped through the door, taking one fleeting look at the paintings. He noted mentally that he'd be back.

The man was losing patience. He snarled, "I've got things to do. Let's go!"

Dylan felt a chill as he edged past the disgruntled man and returned to the auction area. He hoped Jenna would arrive soon so he could tell her what he'd found—or what he thought he'd seen. The man shut the door and locked it. Dylan sighed. He couldn't sneak back in and take a second look, but something about it made him wonder what he'd seen.

*****

With each letter, Jenna felt closer to Eleanor, her dearest friend, and what she'd faced during the war, losing her husband and finding someone new. She'd become friends with the artist, but there was so much more to the woman she cared so deeply about.

She checked the time. Dylan would be waiting at the auction house, and she'd promised to meet him. Yet, the letters held her, each a fascinating glimpse into Eleanor's life. She was torn between her promise and her desire to read more.

"One more, then I have to go," Jenna promised.

She opened the next one and read the date — June 10, 1943. Two months had passed since Eleanor and Charles met. Eleanor had written about the suffering she'd seen as patient after patient entered the hospital, sharing their unbelievable stories of war and survival. But she'd also shared the moments of hope she found in the eyes of the survivors. Eleanor's words were a poignant reflection of her emotional struggle, torn between the past and the present, and the blissful yet conflicted moments she spent with Charles.

June 10, 1943

Dear Helen,

I hope this letter finds you doing well. And the garden, is it flourishing under your green thumb? I can only imagine the pies you made from all the berries you've grown. I inhale and imagine the aroma and dream of home.

Painting with Charles has become the highlight of my days. He's incredibly talented, and I see the world differently through his art. Regardless of his injuries, he is able to look past the pain and the destruction of the war. His visions add joy and life to the sad world we live in.

Helen, I wish you were here to hold my hand and tell me what I'm feeling isn't wrong. Our friendship has blossomed into something deeper. I see the world differently. Sometimes, when I think of the past, I am ashamed. It's scary and wonderful all at once. Last night, under the stars, we shared our dreams and our fears. It was magical. Is it wrong? I think I am falling in love with him. Is it too soon?

The war has taken so much, but it's given us each other — at least for now.

Yours, Eleanor

Jenna laid the letter in her lap, wondering if she'd been able to walk in Eleanor's shoes. She understood grief and losing someone, but how could it be wrong to want to grab the brass ring if you had the chance?

The ping from her phone jarred her back to reality. She read the message from Dylan — "Are you on your way? I might have found something. Hurry."

Jenna set the letters aside and slipped on her shoes. Grabbing a sweater, she hurried out the door, texting Dylan that she was on her way.

*****

Meanwhile, across town, in the receiving room of Bayside Gallery, Nick flashed a wad of bills in front of Peter's face. "Man, I know you need this cash. Your wife's medical bills must be going through the roof. I'm just asking for one little favor."

"But I'm working, Nick. I can't just leave without a reason."

"You aren't thinking straight, Peter. Do you think Jackson cares about your problems? But I do!" Nick reached into his pocket and added a few more hundred to the roll of money. "All you gotta do is tell him something has happened at the hospital, and you need to go. He won't stop you. If he does, there are always better jobs out there." He spread the money on the workbench. Peter's eyes widened as he calculated what it would do for his finances. "All I'm asking is that you go to the train station, get a package from Locker 13, and bring it to me. It's that simple."

"I don't know, Nick. It sounds like another one of your schemes."

Nick placed his hand on his heart and feigned pain. "Peter, you're stabbing me in the heart. You and my dad were tight. Do you think I would do anything to endanger that relationship?"

"Then why do you need me to do it? Can't you do it yourself?"

"For the umpteenth time, I told you I've got a meeting with the police about the missing girl, or I would go. Will you do this for me?" Sensing Peter's hesitation, Nick played his trump card. He scooped up the money and shoved it into his pockets. "If you don't need it, I'll get someone else to run my errand."

"Wait!" Peter couldn't tear his eyes off the cash. "I'll do it."

Nick smiled and patted Peter on the back. "Thanks, man. I knew I could count on you." He collected the cash and handed it to Peter. "Two o'clock at the train station. Locker 13."

With a sigh of relief and relying on Peter to take the blame if anything went wrong, Nick left the gallery through the back door, ensuring that he remained unseen.

*****

Traffic had been heavier than usual, and parking was at a premium. Jenna finally found a spot near the train station and was surprised to see Jackson a few cars away, hurriedly placing something into the trunk of his car.

Jenna called out to him, "Jackson!"

When he didn't appear to hear her, she called again, "Jackson!" And walked toward his car.

When he turned his head and greeted her, his face flushed. "Jenna, I'm sorry. My mind was on something else."

"No problem. I'm headed to the auction. Were you there?"

"No — I mean, I was at the auction house, but only to pick up something. I'd love to chat, but I need to get back to the gallery. Audrey's by herself this afternoon."

Surprised, Jenna asked, "Where's Peter? Did something happen with his wife?"

Jackson hesitated as he glanced nervously around as if he was expecting someone.

"Everything okay, Jackson? You seem agitated."

"No, no, everything's fine. I just need to get back to the gallery. Peter rushed off to the hospital. Something about the doctor needed to discuss an emergency surgery, and he needed to be there."

"Oh, dear. I hope she hasn't taken a turn for the worse. Cancer is a struggle."

Jackson opened his car door. "I've gotta go. Stop by the gallery later, and I can show you some new paintings that have come in."

Jenna nodded and watched him back out of the parking spot, waving and driving away. Jackson's demeanor puzzled her since Wednesday was always a slow day at the gallery, especially with the auction going on. Shrugging her shoulders, she walked toward the auction house, her mind wondering about Jackson and also Dylan's discovery.

Moments later, a man hurried between cars, colliding with Jenna and almost knocking her to the ground. His arms reached out to steady her, and Jenna found herself looking into familiar eyes.

"Peter?"

"Jenna, what a surprise."

"Yes, it is. I just saw Jackson leaving the auction house. He was in a hurry, and he mentioned you were at the hospital."

Peter glanced at his watch and ran his hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "I did, but it was a false alarm."

Jenna scowled. "Jackson said it was about an emergency surgery. That doesn't sound very promising. Is everything okay?"

Peter glanced at his watch again. It was ten after two, and he was supposed to be at Locker 13. "Listen, Jenna, I've got to go. My wife's fine, and I'm meeting someone at the train station."

Puzzled, but not wanting to pry, Jenna asked, "Oh, is there another art dealer coming to town? Anyone I know?"

Peter stammered, "No, it's just a friend. I should be going." He turned and hurried through the crowd, leaving Jenna wondering why her instincts told her something else was happening with Peter and Jackson.

*****

Eleanor watched from a nearby bench as Jonathan placed the package in Locker 13. She could tell he was nervous as he surveyed the area. She was nervous, too. She hoped Donatelli had believed her and was following Jonathan and that his instincts as a detective would put him on alert when he saw Jonathan at the locker.

She also noticed a young man wearing a ball cap sitting nearby. His eyes hadn't left the lockers. Could he be involved in Megan's kidnapping? Impossible! He must be one of Doyle's patsies in case anything goes wrong. Of course, he wouldn't do the dirty work himself. What had she been thinking?

She smiled when she saw the construction crew working nearby. The man in the hard hat and aviator glasses was Donatelli. She'd recognize those shoulders anywhere. Looking back at the young man, she realized he was gone. Her eyes shifted to the locker. It was standing open, and no one was around. She gasped. Had she missed the kidnapper?

Shouting to her left caught her attention. Donatelli was putting the cuffs on the young man in the ball cap. The rest of the construction crew were gathered around. "Now we are getting somewhere!" Satisfied, Eleanor faded away.

*****

The young man in the ball cap yelled at Donatelli, fighting the handcuffs. "You've got nothing on me."

Donatelli grinned. "Just a million bucks in ransom money. You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Nick snarled, "I've got nothing to say." His plan hadn't gone as he had hoped, and now he'd have to do some fast dealing or spend time behind bars.

Donatelli noticed the black SUV with the Mustangs on the side as his men led Nick to one of the unmarked cruisers. The tall cowboy was adjusting his Stetson and sporting a smug grin/ Garth's presence instantly irked him.

"Well, well, if it isn't Detective Donatelli." Garth sauntered toward the detective. "Looks like you've apprehended a criminal."

Donatelli nodded toward the car. "He's a small-time crook trying to get into the big time. Orchestrated a kidnapping of one of the locals. Caught him red-handed."

Garth tipped his sunglasses down, exposing his blue eyes. "You got the girl then?"

"Not yet, but when I get done interrogating this kid, he 'll be giving it all up."

Garth shook his head. "I hear that you haven't even shed the surface."

Donatelli bristled, his cockiness faltering slightly. "We'll find her. And when I do, it will be more important than your missing paintings."

Garth took a step closer, his tone laced with anger. "It's not about importance, Matthew. It's about results. You're chasing the small fry while letting the real bad guys roam free."

"If you're talking about Judge Doyle —"

"I am, but you just won't open your eyes. The man's got your town by the throat."

Donatelli squared his shoulders. His anger flared. "You can't ride your horse into my town and take over. You worry about your case and stay clear of mine."

"I'd like to do just that, but something tells me Doyle has his finger in every pie in town. Instead of chasing breadcrumbs, you should be chasing the one who bakes the whole loaf. And that's Doyle."

With that, Garth tipped his Stetson and headed toward the auction house, leaving Donatelli simmering with anger.

"That Cowboy isn't going to take away my win. The boy better be ready to talk."