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“Of course not,” Rory said, giving me a small eye roll. My lip twitched as I resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Mrs. Ramsbottom had always been a snooty old snob who I hoped Rory wasn’t related to, for her sake. And though the initials at the bottom of the painting didn’t match the Ramsbottom name, just as I’d thought about my own father, we couldn’t rule anyone out yet as it was possible the artist used a moniker. “Do you, by chance have any idea where your old housekeeper might have gotten it?” Rory asked.
“One of those flea markets or antique shops she was so keen on, I imagine.” She paused a moment. “Does it appear valuable?” A note of interest had entered her voice.
“Perhaps,” Rory said. “The artist is very talented. Whatever else your housekeeper was, she was a good judge of talent.” Rory winked at me and my heart did a sort of flip/squeeze combination that made me want to massage my chest.
Mrs. Ramsbottom sniffed. “I suppose even a broken clock is right twice a day. But possession is nine tenths of the law as they say. Let me know what you discover about that piece and the others.”
“Oh, I certainly will. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome. By the way, I heard you’ve been kind enough to walk some of the local dogs.”
“Yes, that’s right. Do you have one you’d like me to add to the mix?”
“I do. His name is Elwood.”
Rory smiled. “I’ll pick Elwood up tomorrow at eleven if that works?”
“Wonderful. Good day, Ms. Castle.”
Rory disconnected the call and lowered her phone. “So, if Mrs. Ramsbottom knows her family as well as she thinks she does, a Ramsbottom didn’t paint that.”
“Which means you’re not a Ramsbottom.”
“I appreciate that. I try not to be.”
I shot her a wry smile. “So her twat of a housekeeper who probably isn’t a twat at all, picked it up at an antique store or flea market.”
“Do you know of any in the area?”
“There are a few.” I thought about it for a minute. My mom liked antiques, but she typically attended online auctions. And picking around at flea markets wasn’t really the style of most of the Calliope Hills community. I rubbed my lower lip. We could simply google the closest ones, or…“You know who could tell us which ones to go to first? Haven Hale.”
“Who’s Haven Hale?”
“She runs a nursery at the edge of town and is married to Pelion’s chief of police, Travis. And, from what I know, she frequents every flea market in a sixty-mile radius. Every time I run into her and Travis in town, they’re off to another one.”
Rory nodded. She tilted her head as she considered me. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I mean, it’s Saturday. Wouldn’t you prefer an off day sailing or whatever it is you do in your leisure time, rather than hunting around in antique stores?”
“You saw the photographs, did you?” I knew the reason she’d mentioned sailing. My mother had framed photos of me from every fleet race I’d competed in while I was a member of the high school sailing team. What my mother didn’t know—what no one knew—was that I’d hated fleet racing and I got seasick on the water. And yet I’d done it anyway because all the sons of Calliope’s wealthiest families did it, and my parents had loved watching me win. “My sailing days are over,” I said, the words clipped, and by the flicker of surprise on Rory’s face, I could tell she’d caught it. I pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I didn’t have any plans today, and like I said, I want to help. I’m invested in this now.”
She squinted at me. “Well, okay then, if you’re sure. Thank you again.” She picked up her purse and turned toward me. “Ready?”
As we walked to my car after locking up Faith’s bungalow, she asked, “Why are your sailing days over? For someone who lives next to a lake, I’d think you’d be out on the water all the time if you love it.”
“I don’t love it,” I said as I opened her door and she got in. I rounded the car and got in on my side and Rory was already turned toward me.
“If you don’t love it, why did you do it?”
I shrugged. “All my dad’s friend’s sons were on the fleet team. And I was good at it.”
“From the photos, it looked like you were better than good at it.”
I had been. I’d been the best. “I was on the rowing team in college too, but when I graduated, I turned my competitive spirit toward the business world.”
Her gaze moved over my face, a slight dent between her brows. “I didn’t know people could excel at things they didn’t like,” she said. “I would think that the commitment to being excellent would demand a certain level of passion.”
Passion. There was that word again. “I’m good at a lot of things I don’t like,” I said. Why did I say that? Was it true? I turned a corner a little too fast, and Rory grabbed on to the handle near her head and let out a short laugh.
“Why bother putting in the time to be great at something if it brings you no joy?” she asked. “I mean, I know people have to do jobs they don’t like sometimes out of necessity, but recreation?”
