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“Your artists are going to be furious,” Philip said.
“If I explain it to them carefully, I think they’ll understand,” Holly said.
“That’s why you carry insurance,” Theodosia said.
But Philip suddenly slipped from Holly’s grasp, ran over to one of the ripped canvases, looked at it, and started weeping again. “This one was a Herman Becker,” he said.
“I know,” Holly said. Then to Theodosia and Drayton, she said, “Philip is very sensitive.”
Drayton nodded. “I’ll say.”
***
Five minutes later, Holly’s silent partner, Jeremy Slade, arrived at the scene. He was the cofounder of Arcadia Software, an up-and-coming tech company. He wore a navy blue sport coat, a pink polo shirt, and blue jeans. His feet were shod in Gucci loafers.
“What. The. Hell,” Slade said to Holly through gritted teeth.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Holly said, in an attempt to mollify him. As her silent partner, Slade had brought a much-needed infusion of cash to the gallery, so naturally Holly was on eggshells.
But Jeremy Slade remained tense and standoffish, even when the circumstances were explained to him.
“This is outrageous,” Slade fumed. “How could something like this be allowed to happen?” He looked directly at Theodosia and glared at her, as if she were at fault.
“It wasn’t exactly planned,” Theodosia shot back.
“What the Sam Hill happened?” Slade demanded.
“It was a direct assault on a single person that spun out of control,” Theodosia said.
Slade continued to stare at her. “On the politician? Osgood Claxton?”
“That’s right.”
“He never should have been here in the first place,” Slade said. “Why was he here, anyway?”
As Holly cowered from Jeremy Slade’s wrath, Theodosia said, “I believe he came as someone’s guest. Their plus-one.”
“That should have never happened,” Slade snapped.
“Not my doing,” Theodosia said. “I didn’t send out the invitations.”
“Well, neither did I!” Slade spat out. “What a disaster. This is going to be an absolute public relations nightmare.”
***
“Miss Browning.” A voice at Theodosia’s elbow, low and deliberate. She’d been trying to salvage as many teapots and teacups as possible, stacking them in the plastic bins they’d brought along.
She whirled around to find Detective Tidwell staring at her. He was his usual rumpled self, but his beady eyes were sharp and clear. There was an intelligence behind those eyes that, at times, could be quite frightening.
“What?” Theodosia asked. She was tired. Couldn’t wait to put this all behind her so she could go home.
“That fellow you were speaking to a few moments ago, the one who was so rude and agitated.”
“Jeremy Slade,” Theodosia said.
Tidwell shifted his bulk slightly to face her. “You know him?”
“Not really.” Then she reconsidered. “Well, maybe in passing. He’s the silent partner, the money behind the newly expanded Imago Gallery.”
