25
There were often late-afternoon thunderstorms at summer’s end, but today’s weather looked clear and fine for the flight to Cleveland. Kate stood on the tarmac, greeting David Stewart, a regular client, who had a board meeting. An elderly man with sharp blue eyes and a full head of white hair, he and his wife summered on Fishers Island.
“Hello, David,” she said, and they shook hands.
“Kate, I haven’t had a chance before now to tell you we’re so sorry about your sister. Lainie and I are heartbroken.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“She was an extraordinary woman.”
“You knew Beth?” Kate asked, surprised.
“Yes, she and Lainie both volunteered on Thursdays at the New London soup kitchen.”
“Beth loved doing that.”
“She cared about the people so much. Lainie always said so. It didn’t matter who they were, where they came from. Drug addict or the artist down on his luck—she treated them the same way.”
“Well, she was known for helping artists,” Kate said.
“Yes, a true philanthropist. We really appreciated her recommending one fellow to teach art to our grandkids.”
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“Very talented young man. Beth introduced him to Lainie, knowing that we love art and that we’d enjoy helping him out—but it turns out, he’s done so much more for us than we have for him. As a matter of fact, he’s heading out to the island again today. Third time now. The kids love Jed.”
“Jed?” Kate asked. “I don’t think I know him.”
“Oh, I thought you might. Beth told Lainie she was considering a show for him at the gallery. He was at the soup kitchen too.”
“A volunteer?”
“No, a client. He takes his meals there. Lainie says he’s a brilliant artist, graduated from the Black Hall Art Academy, but is rather down on his luck. Literally a starving artist. She says he’s a master at line drawings. She’s already bought two of his drawings, to help him out.”
Drawings. Kate’s heart skittered. She pictured the nude, the signature, first initialJ.
“David, do you know Jed’s last name?” Kate asked.
“Hilliard, I believe. Yes, that’s it. Jed Hilliard.”
Kate was rocked by a full-body tremor.JH.
David took his seat, and Kate entered the cockpit. She heard Jenny offer him coffee. She and Charlie ran through the rest of their preflight checks. Kate had to pull herself together. Had the mystery of the drawing been solved?
Her hands were shaking. She knew she shouldn’t fly.
“Charlie, you want to take the controls today?”
“Sure,” he said, sounding happy. She rarely gave him the chance.
He called the tower, and they were cleared for takeoff. Charlie began to taxi to the runway. He released the brake, but Kate barely noticed. Her thoughts raced: Beth at the soup kitchen, JH drawing her nude. The plane accelerated at roughly the same rate as her heart, gaining speed along five thousand feet of asphalt into liftoff. Charlie banked left over Fishers Island Sound, giving David a good look at the island, then turned west.
The Citation X was a fast jet, powered by large Rolls-Royce engines, flying a mile in six seconds. They landed in Cleveland less than two hours after takeoff. The crew had four free hours before David would be ready to fly home. Sometimes they hung out together, but Kate left them in the airport; all she could think about was Jed Hilliard.
She texted Lulu:
I figured out who JH is. CALL ME.
