CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The long emerald evening gown Mandy wore to the Champaign reception for the opening of her show Friday night had once belonged to Grandma Mae, back in a time when a woman would never have been seen buying groceries without her face done. Candace had put Mandy’s hair up in a French twist and even decorated the boot in case it peeked out under her hem.
Mandy walked through the exhibit answering questions. The son of the gas station owner beamed as he pointed out details.
A minister from the denomination who owned the rundown church asked her questions about restoration costs that Mandy couldn’t answer. He didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t an architect or contractor.
Mr. Alexander stood next to Bonnie and pretended to be interested in an old house from the 1920s as he kept watch over the room. Mandy avoided talking to them. She didn’t want to talk about Grandma Mae’s house. It was what had started the project. The opening photo was the one she’d taken the morning after the tornado, when part of the chimney still stood, along with some of the lath-and-plaster walls.
Dr. Christensen introduced her to an executive from a software company, the tech guru complimenting her work. Then the dean came and whisked the executive away to see the old grain mill.
Candace’s natural-looking wig matched Abbie’s dark hair. The two chatted over hors d’oeuvres with Colin near the train-station shot.
A distinguished-looking gentleman who’d come in with Bonnie was examining the Crawford mansion and chatting amiably with her father. Her mother monopolized Principal Lee.
Mandy was still in some shock over her parents coming and declaring they would stay in the States through graduation, in late May. They hadn’t mentioned those plans during their weekly phone calls or emails and had planned the surprise for months and even left a dig for her—for an entire month. Of course they would be working on papers and research, but they were here.
Daniel sent a corsage. She’d worn it because it went with the dress. At least that was what she told Candace. The note indicated he was in London and asked her to make it “not yet” instead of good-bye.
A reporter asked her a few questions. None were about Daniel.
Later that night, as she hung up the dress and turned out the lights, Mandy would wonder how she remembered so little of a night she had worked so hard for.
And the smell of Daniel’s corsage would fill the room like a fairy tale. If only . . .
As Mandy walked around the room, taking one last look, the dean hurried in. “Miss Fowler, I am glad I caught you. We had a whole-show bid! That hasn’t happened for eight, no, nine years!”
“But the gas station man wanted some of those pieces.”
“Yes, I told the bidder that. He said he would sell a duplicate at a reduced price.”
Mandy stopped in front of her favorite piece. “What about the two I wasn’t going to sell?”
“That is the problem. This is an all-or-nothing deal. You can keep the files for personal use and for your portfolio, but you can never exhibit them.”
“There is one I don’t want ever displayed. I want to destroy it.”
The dean rung his hands. “Miss Fowler, perhaps you don’t understand the magnitude of this sale and what it will do for the college.”
“How much is Daniel Crawford paying you?”
“He isn’t the buyer. The buyer is British. Has the most calming accent I have ever heard.”
Mandy paused in front of a monitor. “Can I stipulate the bordello version of the Crawford mansion never be shown in public?”
“I don’t know. Come to the office. You can ask. I think it is midnight there, but he insisted I call back.”
The dean was correct. The man’s voice was calming. Mandy had already forgotten his name—Clarence? Or maybe Terrance? Whomever he was, he responded to her request with “Why do you not want that piece exhibited? It is an excellent piece of manipulation.”
“It was a mistake, sir.”
The line crackled. “I saw no errors in it.”
“No, an ethical mistake. It would have been better to turn the building into a haunted house.” Mandy didn’t want to explain further to some guy, no matter how soothing his accent.
Even the robust-sounding laughter that came over the line sounded British. “No house is better off haunted if one can avoid it. We have our share of ghosts over here.”
Mandy tried a different tactic. “Well, the fence is wrong in it. It still shows as fake in the detection programs.”
“Not an issue. You can tear the fence down or repair it on your copy. But if you insist, it will never be shown to the public. Only in private viewings.”
The dean studied her anxiously. Mandy knew how desperately the money was needed. “Thank you, sir. I will sign the papers.”
“Thank you, Miss Fowler. I am sure you have an exciting career in front of you.” His accent made the prediction believable.
When the dial tone filled her ears, she set the phone down and signed the forms.
On the way home, she picked up a burger and fries. As she walked into her kitchen, she realized she had forgotten her shake but then remembered the last time she’d had a shake and fries. She tossed the bag in the trash. Food was overrated.
For days Daniel had nightmares that the New York City decorator had gotten access to his other residences. Terrance and Bonnie laughed when he told them. But he didn’t believe he was safe until he stepped off the elevator into his Chicago penthouse Sunday afternoon.
Mr. Vandemark had sent him a note thanking him for trying to help Summerset. There would be no retaliation. Time to pull Hastings’s team off Amanda. He put in the call.
For a while he waded through emails and the reports he had set aside knowing if there were a real problem, some VP would have contacted him directly. Colin had the correct idea—focus on the parts of the work you love. The only reason Colin hadn’t made that stupid top one hundred list is few people knew Colin Ogilvie as the current O in C & O. Yes, he showed up at annual board meetings and kept up with the major dealings, but he spent most of his days surrounded by his computers, contributing to the tech end of the business by inventing new things. Daniel had been somewhat surprised he had left his little tech cave to see Mandy’s MFA show, even if he did want to try out his new button cam.
Daniel brought up the footage and watched it again. Colin had streamed the entire thing live. He had been gratified to see Mandy had worn the flowers he had sent, but her smile was tight and her laughter guarded. As suspected, Colin focused on Candace when he wasn’t showing the exhibit. He hadn’t noticed the first time he watched it, but the frequency with which Candace’s name entered the conversation made him look twice. During the live feed, Daniel had focused on Mandy, trying to assess the toll the last month had taken on her, hoping to catch her voice and wishing she would smile. He flipped off the computer. Even though he’d only recorded Mandy in a public place, he still felt somewhat dirty, like an old peeping Tom.
He turned the computer back on and deleted the files.