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“Cheer up. He sounds impressed with Art Center, so maybe he’ll attend in the fall.”
“Only if they come through with a full scholarship, but let’s hold that thought. Now, how are you doing over here?”
“Fine really. Toby’s behaving, and so is Dave.” She turned toward the sound of a car horn just as the dark green Ford convertible rolled through the intersection. She had her clipboard and made a quick notation of the license number.
Luke moved to read what she’d written. “What are you doing?”
“That ’50’s car cruises by here rather often. It could be members of a gang, or just a car buff who goes home for lunch, but it can’t hurt to make a note of the license number.”
“You want to keep track of license numbers, what about the tan sedan parked across the street in front of the auto supply?”
There were two people in the car, and while they were too far away to be recognized, she had a good idea who they were. “Garcia and Salzman on patrol?”
“Looks like it to me. I can’t decide whether to ignore them or go over and chat.”
“Let’s not tip our hands,” she whispered, “or they might resort to strange vehicles and bizarre disguises.”
“They could,” he agreed, and there was a twinkle in his eye he usually took care to hide when others were around. “I’ll get back to work without speaking to them, but I wish I could hang out here with you.”
“So do I, but there’s the grave risk I’d be so distracted that I wouldn’t watch the kids properly.”
“Now I really don’t want to leave.” He spent a few more minutes talking with the kids, then surveyed the scaffolding with Dave before he returned to Lost Angel.
Getting back to work, Catherine took a few photos as Toby and Rafael mixed paint. Much of the mural would be done in grays that ranged from a deep charcoal to a pale smoke. On the angels’ robes, the same grays deepened to a rich berry or lightened to sky blue. Some angels would have a peach-toned skin while others would be a burnished bronze.
Catherine still felt uneasy about Violet until it occurred to her that Ford’s absurd objection to the mural might finally inspire the pretty blonde to leave him. “And not a day too soon, either,” she muttered to herself.
“You talking to me?” Dave asked. He’d been helping to carry paint and was walking by with a bucket of sky blue.
“No, but you seem to be enjoying yourself, and the mural is going well.”
Dave left the paint on the porch for the teens to grab and knelt beside Catherine’s chair. “There are several places to eat within walking distance of here. When the kids break for lunch, instead of going to Lost Angel, why don’t we go elsewhere for a change?”
He had glanced back toward the mural as he spoke and merely made a casual suggestion rather than ask for a date, but she doubted that was his true intention. “The WWE doesn’t frighten you?” she teased.
“Not when the guy isn’t real.” Dave rose with an easy stretch. “What do you say? It’s just lunch.”
She would have twisted her wedding band had she still been wearing it, but it struck her as ridiculous to retreat behind her widow’s pose now that she was seeing Luke. “That’s sweet, Dave, but I really need to keep my focus here. If we were ten minutes late getting back and someone starting throwing paint, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Maybe when it’s finished, then,” Dave replied, his gaze again averted.
“Maybe,” she responded playfully, but she knew it was a lie and that hurt. “Say, are you any good with algebra?”
“Sure, but I don’t think we’ll need it here.” Dave shoved his hands into his hip pockets and regarded her with an amused smile.
Catherine had finally mastered the art of rising from the low chair smoothly and did so. “No, not here, but I want to take the CBEST test so that I can teach again, and I don’t remember enough about algebra to work the problems in the book I bought to help me prepare.”
“We could do algebra problems over lunch,” Dave offered, his grin spreading wide.
“I’m so slow we’d never get back on time, but if I brought the book tomorrow, could you give me a couple of tips while we’re here?”
Dave appeared intrigued, but still a bit puzzled by her request. “You’re serious. You really want help with your algebra?”
She’d been hoping for a way to be friendly without offering anything more, but now thought perhaps the whole idea had been stupid and began to back away. “I taught English, Dave, and I’ve never needed algebra to balance my checkbook.”
“Hey, that’s all right. I’ll be glad to help you. Let’s get everyone working in the morning, and then we can hit the math. If it looks like we’re having fun, it might even interest the kids.”
“The Tom Sawyer approach,” she mused, but if she were going back to teaching, someone else would have to set up the tutoring program at Lost Angel.
