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“Ginny Bell is definitely here tonight,” Duncan said as he tried to rebalance the painting he was carrying. “No way she’d miss our major fundraiser.” He looked around, nodded, and said, “That’s her over there. Ginny Bell’s the one in the black velvet blazer and long skirt. Talking to that older couple.”
Theodosia spotted Ginny Bell in the crowd. Besides looking a little Goth, she had a cap of short dark hair, arched dark eyebrows, and an angular face. Her complexion was pale and she wore not a speck of makeup except for a slash of red lipstick.
“Thanks,” Theodosia said to Duncan. “And do you always call her Ginny Bell?” She was amused that everyone seemed to call the woman by her full name. “Do you ever call her Miss Bell or even Ginny?”
Duncan shook his head. “Everyone always calls her Ginny Bell. I don’t know why, they just do.”
“Okay, thanks again,” Theodosia said. She turned to Drayton. “What do you want to do first? Go talk to Ginny Bell or indulge in some refreshments?”
“Refreshments,” Drayton said. “After you pepper her with questions we may not be welcome here anymore.”
They made their way to the bar, ordered two glasses of white wine, then found a tiny café table to sit at while they sipped their wine. Theodosia noticed it was mostly a twenty- and thirty-something crowd tonight with a sprinkle of well-heeled older couples added to the mix. Probably, the Arts Alliance was hoping the wealthier, serious art collector types would help run up the bidding.
“Theo?” Drayton was looking at her. “Appetizer?” He’d snagged a server and was wondering if she wanted a cracker with pâté.
“You know what, Drayton? No thanks.” Theodosia half stood and peered through the crowd. “I’m going to run over there and try to catch Ginny Bell. Ask her a few questions.”
“Good luck with that. I’ll hold on to your wine.”
Theodosia shouldered her way through a crowd that continued to grow in number. As she rounded a trio of Plexiglas ovals that held tall, graceful metal sculptures, she saw Ginny Bell up ahead. She was saying something to the coordinator, Duncan, who nodded and quickly moved off.
“Miss Bell,” Theodosia called out, giving a little wave. “Ginny Bell.”
Ginny Bell stopped in her tracks and looked around to see who was calling her name. When she noticed Theodosia heading straight for her, she smiled pleasantly and waited.
“I know you’re super busy tonight,” Theodosia said, a little breathlessly, but I need to talk to you.”
“Busy isn’t the word for it,” Ginny Bell said. “Can you believe this crowd? It sure pays to get the word out even if it means writing umpteen press releases and hitting the local talk shows until you’re blue in the face.”
“Whatever marketing you did, it worked like crazy,” Theodosia said. Up close she noticed that Ginny Bell was in her late thirties and that her skin appeared even more pale, almost translucent. Also, now that she was face-to-face with the woman, she was starting to lose her nerve.
“I’m not sure we’ve met before,” Ginny Bell said.
“We haven’t,” Theodosia said. “My name is Theodosia, Theodosia Browning. I own a tea—”
“And you’re an art lover,” Ginny Bell said, cutting her off. “Lovely.”
“I’d like to ask you a few quick questions because I believe our interests align somewhat.”
“Of course,” Ginny Bell said. “If you’d like to know more about the Arts Alliance, I can kind of quote you our basic mission statement—which is that we’re a nonprofit that exists to bring art and art education to humans of all ages who have a thirst for beautiful knowledge and imagery.”
“That’s wonderful,” Theodosia said. “But I’m afraid my questions are more of a personal nature.”
“How so?”
“You’re aware, of course, that Osgood Claxton was murdered two days ago.”
At the mention of Claxton’s name, it was as if a dark curtain dropped over Ginny Bell’s face.
“No,” she said, her tone crisp and almost defiant. “Anything to do with that man is extremely personal and I’m not about to answer any questions. I don’t care who you are.” She peered at Theodosia. “Who are you again?”
But Theodosia was not to be deterred. “Is it because of the heinous nature of Mr. Claxton’s murder? Or because the two of you recently broke off your, um, relationship?”
Ginny Bell’s red mouth contorted. “How very impertinent of you. What’s your interest in this, anyway?”
“Let’s just say I’m trying to run interference for my friends at the Imago Gallery.”
“And in so doing, you’re butting into my private life?”
