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"That's the way I see you. Let me finish this. You'd be amazing done in chalk."
Abigail pushed herself up, brushing her hair from her eyes. "But only for you. I don't want anyone seeing me like this. They wouldn't understand. They wouldn't see this woman as Abigail."
''Maybe they should," he said, stroking the side of her face on the paper. Something about him caressing the sketch plucked a chord in her.
"I have to go."
"I know." He leaned down and kissed her so tenderly. "One day maybe you can stay and sleep beside me. I'd like that."
Abigail looked around for her lacy underwear. "Sure, you say that now, but wait until I start snoring."
"You snore?"
Abigail gave a soft laugh. "I'm not sure if anyone knows."
Leif wrapped her in his arms. "Next time I'll finish the sketch."
"We'll see."
"No, you're too beautiful not to draw. I knew it the first time I saw you."
Abigail arched an eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe not the first or second time, but definitely by the third."
Abigail scooped up her jeans from the hallway. "Well, they do say the third time is the charm."
17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
OVER THE NEXT few weeks, Leif worked on categorizing the art pieces submitted to the Laurel Woods Art Festival, completing the sketch of Abigail on a larger scale, and researching his potential father from the names Carla had given him. Abigail had managed to locate a list of the artists who'd stayed on the property over the years in some files she'd stored up in the attic, but the list didn't tell him much other than who lived in the other cabins while his mother was at Laurel Woods. Leif had tried to make an appointment with Bart, but the man hadn't returned his calls. With the festival right around the corner, his legitimate reason to meet with Bart slipped away.
So he'd started his investigation with George Dominique-the first guy Carla had mentioned his mother dating. He stopped by the garage the man's father had owned and asked a guy with a big belly and grease-stained hands about George. Big Willie seemed willing to chat in order to escape from beneath the hood of the car he was working on.
"Yeah, ol' Georgie boy is an accountant over in Mississippi. Jackson area. Bilked his daddy out of every dime in order to get through school, so I don't think much of 'im. Let me grab my book and see if I got his number. Might still be in there," the new owner said, hitching up his work pants and moving heavily to the garage office.
"Thanks," Leif said minutes later when Willie handed him a slip of stained paper with a number written on it.
"What you want with him again?"
“Just need to ask him something. No big deal." Leif held up his hand and moved toward his motorcycle, which the big man had already asked about. The gleam in Willie's eyes told Leif taking the bike to the shop had gotten him instant respect and the number he needed. Which was a relief since Big Willie had eyed his blond locks and hemp hoodie with suspicion when he first walked in the garage.
''Aw-w-right. Later, man," Big Willie said, tugging his ball cap down on his head and walking away. Leif hurried to his motorcycle and dialed the number.
"George Dominique," the man said. His voice was smooth, if rushed.
"Hi, Mr. Dominique. My name's Leif Lively, and I'm doing a biography on an artist who once lived in Magnolia Bend. Several folks around here said you knew her. Calliope- "
"Oh, yeah. I remember her. She came to town when I was a freshman at Ole Miss. Met her that summer."
"Yeah, well, according to a few of my sources, you two were an item." Leif waved at a woman who stuck her head out the door of the dry cleaners. She gave him a questioning look before waving and returning inside.
"We went out one time, and that's only because she felt sorry for me."
"Then the report someone gave me was wrong?"
"Yeah, she was such a fox. I asked her out, but I could tell she said yes only because she didn't want to hurt my feelings. We went to a place in New Orleans in my new Trans Am. Hot little car."
