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“Ms. Marsh, your room is ready,” the woman said.
Laurel stepped toward the desk pointing toward the piece. “Do you happen to know if the artist who produced this sculpture lives here?”
“No, I’m sorry I don’t.” The girl picked up a key off the desk and handed it to Laurel.
She wasn’t giving up. Someone in town had to know something. Laurel took the key. “That is a B. Wheeler piece.” By the blank look on the girl’s face, she had no idea who that was. “He’s an artist. This looks like one of his earlier works.” Laurel couldn’t help but gush.
The girl shrugged. “If you say so. It’s always sat there as far as I know.”
Settled in her room, Laurel checked her watch. It was still early for dinner. The girl had given Laurel a run-down on eating places in town. Laurel would ask around at the diner about B. Wheeler.
The artist had just disappeared. He hadn’t been seen for almost two years. He had skyrocketed to fame then walked away. Laurel had read everything she could find about him. His picture in an art magazine had captured her interest enough she’d cut it out and put it in her wallet like a teenager with a crush on her favorite rock star.
She’d never met him, but she’d seen him once at an art opening. Laurel had been tempted to introduce herself, but a beautiful woman wrapped her arm around his, stopping Laurel from making a move. He had turned during the evening event and their gazes had met, held for a heart-stopping moment, before the woman drew his attention again.
Laurel reached for her purse. Finding the picture, she studied it. Those eyes reminded her of the ones she’d seen recently. The man she’d almost hit. Could it have been? But the man looked nothing like the clean-cut preppy in the picture. She shook her head. Those two men couldn’t be the same.
The art world had no idea where B. Wheeler had gone. But her gut told her he was around here or someone who lived in the area knew him. She intended to find out. This was too good of an opportunity to ignore. She needed him as a client. Whatever it took.
Laurel looked around the period decorated room with its four-poster bed and floral satin bedspread and matching window dressings. Located on one wall was an armoire. On the other stood a dressing table, and next to the fireplace was a small bookcase.
She wandered to it. Maybe she could find a good book that would take her mind off her ills. She perused the books. Some were her old favorites. On top of a row, one book had been turned backward. She reached for it. The least she could do was put it on the shelf correctly.
Laurel ran the faded green cover with a couple of loose threads through her fingers. It felt old and appeared more used than she’d originally anticipated. That intrigued her. She read the gold print title Once Upon a Christmas Kiss on the cover. Opening it she found numerous notes like: The legend won’t let you down. True love does come at Christmas.
Laurel made a tisking noise. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not after what Joe the Jerk had done to her. She was finished with people like him. Letting someone take credit for her work then dump her when something went wrong. She deserved better.
Laurel sank into the only chair in the room. This might be interesting. She started reading about a boarding schoolteacher’s parents who found love. The author gifted her story to her friend, Charlotte when the author left the school. Whoever had the book at Christmas found true love. Laurel huffed. It sounded like a Sunday afternoon movie storyline.
Closing the book, she plopped it on the table beside the chair. She needed to get to the diner before it got late.
She bundled up, deciding to walk there. It wasn’t far and she could use the time to clear her head. Strolling along she became caught up in the allure of the place. The people she passed smiled and spoke to her. The town had everything. A Cut ‘n Curl, gym, and a sweet shop called Smart Cookie Bits – what more could a girl want in a place to live? Having cut her ties to the city, making a complete change to a place like this had its appeal.
In the next block, Laurel stopped in front of an empty storefront. She faced it and stepped back. This would make a wonderful place for an art gallery and agency. Her place. She could see it now: Marsh’s Art Agency and Gallery. Being her own boss would leave her free of people like Joe and Mr. Antwan. If only she could make it happen. With B. Wheeler as a client, she could.
At the Cordial Diner, she sat next to the window facing the street. A server came to her table. “Hi, I’m Felicity. What can I get you?”
Laurel gave the woman her order. As Felicity turned to go, Laurel stopped her. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure?”
“Do you happen to know a B. Wheeler? Or an artist who works with wood living around here?”
“I uh…” She glanced out the window.
Laurel followed the direction of the woman’s look. The same man Laurel had almost run over walked by. Her heart fell. It just couldn’t be.
“No, um I don’t.” The woman’s expression quickly sobered before she hurried away.
Could he be B. Wheeler? The way the server had stammered over her answer and the shocked look on her face, it might have been. Regardless of her trepidation, Laurel had to find out. Her career depended on it.
Pulling on her coat and grabbing her purse, Laurel hurried out into the cold evening air. Searching the sidewalk, she located the tall man with the knit cap a block ahead. She moved as fast as her three-inch heeled boots would allow. Her purse swung on her arm while her fingers worked the buttons closed on her coat.
The man’s long stride put more distance between them. She pushed herself to walk faster. When he turned a corner, panic bubbled in her. She mustn’t lose him. Still, she could be completely wrong about him. What if this was a wild-goose chase?
She went around the corner. Where had he gone? She groaned when she saw footsteps leading to a path into the woods. Looking around the area and seeing nothing, she had no choice but to follow if she wanted to find out if her hunch was correct. She’d been a city girl all her life and stomping around in the woods in the snow and cold wasn’t her idea of a good time. And her feet were already freezing. Her boots weren’t made for hiking. The heels stuck in the damp ground causing difficult walking. Still, she refused to turn back.
The tall trees blocked the light, making it challenging to see. And the sun was setting. If she didn’t locate shelter soon, she’d be in trouble. She thought about turning around and working her way back, then she stepped into an open area. To one side sat a small cabin. Smoke streamed out of the chimney. The appeal of a fire made her plod on.
