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"It sounds like Layana was the real threat—to the marriage, anyway."
"Tell me more about Gretchen. I know she worked for your father, but what's she like? Is she pretty? Is she ambitious? Is she artsy?"
"She's attractive and ambitious. She's never been an artist; she has always been about the business of art. I liked Gretchen well enough when I was a kid. She was friendly and enjoyed gossiping, which was fairly entertaining. She didn't treat me like an idiot, which Stephen always did. I also thought Stephen was shady. I caught him in my father's office one day, and he gave me some lame excuse about why he was in there. I told my dad about it, and he just laughed and said, 'Trust me, Flynn, I know exactly who Stephen is.' I have no idea now if that meant he knew Stephen was as big a thief as he was. But he certainly wasn't worried about him."
"It sounds like he should have been worried about both Gretchen and Stephen. They probably sold him out to save themselves."
"That's what I thought, but like I said, I couldn't prove it."
"How did Gretchen and her husband come to own the gallery? I thought you said your dad's assets were frozen."
"They were. The government sold the gallery at auction. Gretchen and Stephen found a way to buy it. They own the building now, which also includes an upstairs apartment where they live."
"Where did they get the money for that?"
"I don't know. I haven't dug into it. Something else I need to do."
"Or you could have someone on your team do it."
"Maybe."
As Flynn drew in a breath and let it out, she could feel his tension, and that tension increased as they neared the exit for Laguna Beach. She didn't think talking to Gretchen was the reason for his stress; it was the gallery.
"Have you been to the gallery since your dad left?" she asked curiously.
"I drove by once—a long time ago. But I didn't go inside."
"So this would be the first time…"
"Since my dad left, yes," he said tightly.
"Are you ready to face your past?"
"I have to be," he replied, flinging her a quick look. "And I will be."
Chapter Thirteen
He wasn’t even closeto ready, Flynn thought,as heparked the SUV near Gallery Row on the Coast Highway. He hadn't been to Laguna for the Sunday Art Walk in years. Seeing all the gallery doors open, the paintings displayed along the sidewalk, and the pop-up booths for wine tasting, brought back a lot of memories. He'd often helped out at the gallery on Sundays when tourists came to see the amazing art from both famous and local artists.
Art was as big an attraction in Laguna as the nearby beach, and there was tremendous competition between the galleries to have the best and most innovative artists showing their work.
"This looks fun," Callie murmured, as they got out of the car.
"We're not here for fun," he reminded her.
"I know. But it still looks like a nice event. I came here once a long time ago with my parents. I remember my dad bought this huge painting of a stormy sea and a ship battling the waves. In the far corner of the painting, the storm turns to sunshine. My dad said he liked the feeling of turbulence and then triumph. He thought it was a perfect representation of life. You fight your way through the storms, and on the other side, the sun is waiting for you. That painting hung in our living room for a very long time. I wonder what happened to it." She paused, giving him an apologetic look. "Sorry, that was my own little trip to the past."
"I like your trip better than mine."
"You'll get through this storm."
He grinned. "How long are we going to work that metaphor?"
"As long as we need to."
He barely heard her answer as they approached the gallery. There was a young woman on the sidewalk, talking to some customers. The front door was wide open. And inside he could see Gretchen's blonde hair.
"She's here," he murmured. "I need to do this alone, Callie. Maybe you should wander around, take a look at the art, have a glass of wine."