Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Read online

  A swift burst of satisfaction pulsed through his veins. “Thanks. I’ll do that.” He might not have learned anything new, but he had managed to garner an invitation to the gallery, along with an introduction to St. James, which might turn out to be worth a lot more in the long run. Plus, it gave him another legitimate opportunity to see Laurel, a thought that pleased him more than was smart.

  She drained her cup and pushed to her feet. “I work Tuesday through Saturday, ten to six.”

  Footsteps sounded on the outside stairs, along with the voices of Rafael and his sons. Coffee break must be over. He’d better quit chatting and get to work if he didn’t want to raise Laurel’s suspicions any further.

  ****

  The Fuentes men spilled through the door, talking so fast that, despite having taken four years of Spanish in high school, Laurel couldn’t begin to understand what they were saying. She shrugged and returned to her vent pipe project while Jake volunteered his carpentry skills to Rafael, who set him to work hanging drywall in the newly-framed bathroom.

  A couple hours later, Rosemary sent over a platter of roasted vegetable sandwiches on ciabatta bread, and the workers stopped for a picnic in what would soon be Laurel’s new living room.

  “You’ve got to come down and see the cabinets.” Angelica’s mouth was half-full of sandwich, and a fine mist of white paint frosted the lower left leg of her jeans and one sneaker. “We finished the sanding and sprayed on the first layer of paint. You won’t recognize them.”

  “I can’t wait to see them.” Laurel wiped her hands on a paper towel and glanced from one sister to the other. “Seriously, I can’t thank you two enough for giving up your Sunday to help with this.”

  Sage slapped her on the back. “We’re only thinking of Mom. The sooner you move in here, the sooner you’re out of her hair.”

  Laurel made a face and poked her shoulder. “Haha. Hey, I was going to ask if either of you knows a good vet. The doctor in Seattle said Rufus’s stitches should come out after about ten days, so I’ll need to find somebody soon.”

  Angelica took a long drink of water and set her bottle on the floor. “How’s he doing?”

  “Fine, I think, but he’s pretty sick of the cone, and I can’t blame him.”

  Sage glanced over. “There’s a good vet out in the valley near me—Dr. Hayward. My landlady and her dog love her, and she helps us with the animals at the farm. I’ll give you her contact info.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  After they finished eating, Angelica was anxious to show off their morning’s work, so the sisters trooped downstairs to the garage, leaving the men to their tasks.

  Laurel knelt to examine the row of gleaming white cabinets. “Wow. These look like new! How did you get them so smooth?”

  Sage tilted her head, viewing their handiwork with a critical eye. “They still need another coat or two, but they’re not half-bad.”

  Laurel jumped up and startled her sisters by embracing them both in a big hug. “They’re perfect.”

  Angelica returned her squeeze, then wiggled free. “Have you picked out knobs yet?”

  “I have to confess, I haven’t thought about them.”

  “I don’t know if you’d be interested, but I’d be happy to make some glass ones for you. Maybe in sea blue?” Angelica’s question was tentative but hopeful.

  “That sounds perfect. You could really do that?”

  A becoming pink rose in her sister’s fair cheeks. “I’ve been experimenting with a few designs, and they look pretty good. I’ve been trying to come up with more marketable products. I enjoy my job at the Aquarium, but someday I’d like to be able to support myself with my glass work.”

  Laurel understood. She harbored the same secret wish for her sculpture. “With all the beach houses around here, I bet lots of shops and designers would love to carry glass cabinet knobs made by a local artist.”

  Angelica responded with a perky smile. “I hope so.”

  “I guess I’d better get back to work. I don’t want Rafael to fire me.” Laurel headed toward the door and had her hand on the knob when Sage spoke up.

  “Did you invite Jake to the construction party?”

  Laurel turned. “No, Mom did. But I’m not turning down any help at this point, and he seems to know his way around a sheet of drywall.”

  “Jake’s a handy guy. He’s good with animals, too. Shortly after he moved here, he was driving down Carmel Valley Road past the farm one afternoon and stopped to help me round up a couple of goats who’d escaped from their pen.”

  A goat-herding, drywall-hanging FBI accountant. That has to be a first. “Is that how you met?”

  Sage nodded. “And then he discovered the restaurant. He’s become kind of a fixture around here.”

  “He sure has.” For better or worse.

  Sage turned away and ran her hand across one of the cabinet doors. “I think these are ready for a second coat.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.” Laurel closed the side garage door and headed back upstairs.

  Her new apartment was a beehive of activity. Three new glass fixtures hung from the steeply-pitched ceiling over what would soon be her kitchen, and Rafael was screwing the cover plate onto the switchbox near the door.

  He smiled at her and flipped the switch, sending light sparkling through the space. “What do you think?”

  Laurel grinned. “I love them!”

  “We should be able to install the cabinets in a couple of days, as soon as the paint cures.”

  When she turned, she realized a solid wall now separated the kitchen and bathroom. In the time she’d spent downstairs, Jake, Eduardo, and Luis had hung the drywall—complete with holes for the new pipes she’d installed—and were now mudding and taping. The whole space was transforming before her eyes. “This is all going so quickly.”

  Rafael chuckled. “I told Rosemary we could have this place ready for you in a couple of weeks. It might be even sooner.”

  “You guys are doing a fantastic job. I’m so grateful.” She pressed a quick peck on his weathered cheek.

  He grinned. “De nada.”

  “I assume everyone else has to go back to work tomorrow, but I have the day off, so I can keep the progress going here. What would you like me to do?”

  He glanced around the space. “You could start painting the walls in the main room. We still have to plaster and sand the new walls a couple of times.” Then his gaze zeroed in on the bathroom. “Have you ever set tile? If you could tile the shower, it would save us a lot of time.”

  “I can do that.” She’d never done tile work, but how hard could it be? A person could learn anything on YouTube.

  Rafael nodded and pointed to a box on the floor near the bathroom. “Good. I got a good deal on those plain white four-by-fours—just a few cents each. I hope they’re okay.”

  “Clean and white sounds perfect.”

  The rest of the day sped by, and by the time Rafael and his sons called it a day, Laurel was more than ready for a long soak in a hot tub. Jake’s jeans and shirt were streaked with plaster and sawdust, but otherwise, he looked as fresh as when he arrived.

  He lingered near the doorway after the others left. “The place is really coming along.”

  She surveyed the single room, with its vaulted wood ceiling and spectacular view of the ocean and the Big Sur coastline. “I’m pleased. It’s open and airy and plenty big for Rufus and me.”

  “Since you have Mondays off at the gallery, I assume you’ll be working here tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “I’m going to try to take Rufus to the vet in the morning to have his stitches removed, if I can get an appointment, but then I’m planning to tile the shower. Wish me luck.”

  “I doubt you’ll need it. From what I’ve seen, you’re remarkably adept at home improvement.”

  “Remarkably adept for a girl?” She batted her lashes but made no effort to keep the edge from her voice.

  “For anybody. I don’t kn
ow many guys who can solder like you.”

  She shrugged. “Plumbing could be considered a utilitarian form of sculpture.”

  “Rosemary told me you’re an artist. It must run in the family.”

  Her stomach tightened. Why had she mentioned sculpture? And why couldn’t her mother keep her mouth shut around this man? It wasn’t that her artwork was a secret, but it was private, something she hadn’t wanted to share with anyone outside the family until she’d had a chance to make a couple of practice pieces. “I fool around with metal a little.”

  “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

  She arched a brow. “So, you’re an art-loving, hammer-slinging, goat-whispering accountant?”

  His laughter echoed in the open space. “I’ve never considered it, but I guess you could say that.”

  When he laughed, his face relaxed and his eyes crinkled in a warm, inviting way. His entire being seemed to lighten.

  She walked to the door and switched off the lights, effectively ending the conversation. “Thanks for your help today. I really appreciate it.”

  He followed her onto the landing at the top of the stairs and waited while she locked the door. “I enjoyed it. I might stop by again sometime to see if Rafael needs a hand.”

  “According to him, the whole project will be finished in a week or two.” She headed down the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Count on it.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next morning, after a quick phone call confirmed an opening, Laurel and Rufus headed to the Mid-Valley Animal Clinic where Dr. Hayward removed his cone, snipped his stitches, and told him what a handsome boy he was. Rufus played the cheerful, middle-aged vet for all he was worth, nuzzling her hand and purring like a gas-powered generator.

  After she paid the bill, Laurel toted the kitty carrier out to her Beetle and settled it in the front passenger seat. “You’re nothing but a shameless flirt, you know.”

  Rufus narrowed his eyes and upped the volume of his purr.

  “I know. You’re glad to be out of that cone, and I don’t blame you.” She inserted the key, and the engine sprang to life.

  She spent the drive back planning her tiling project and thinking about the work that remained before she could move into the apartment. Cabinets, countertops, fixtures, plumbing hook-ups, painting, and floor refinishing. Rafael also wanted to see if he could rejuvenate the old heater. The list sounded long, but the space wasn’t huge. With hard work and a little luck, she might be able to move in by the week after Thanksgiving.

  Thanksgiving.

  She hadn’t given the day much thought, but a warm glow kindled in her chest. For the first time in years, she was deeply, achingly, sincerely thankful. She would be celebrating with her mother and sisters. She had a new apartment, a new job, a new life.

  Tiling turned out to be easier than she’d feared, and by dinnertime the shower was finished. Tomorrow after work she would grout it, then all that remained was to attach the showerhead and valve, and it would be set to go.

  The following morning the sky was a flat, pale gray, and tiny droplets of moisture hung suspended in the air, dampening her cheeks as she walked the four blocks from her car to the gallery. Despite the weather, Carmel-by-the Sea buzzed with activity. Parking was scarce, and groups of visitors clogged the sidewalks. Evidently, Martin had been right about the holidays bringing more tourists. Some locals might not be pleased by the crowds, but Laurel smiled at everyone she passed. More tourists meant more business, and even after such a short time, she felt invested in the success of Gallery St. James.

  When she walked into the back storeroom to hang up her coat, Victor called out from his adjacent office. “Oh, good. You’re here. I have a project for you this morning.”

  She hurried in and found him bending over a large painting on his desk.

  He glanced up and beamed. “It just arrived. Anna in Blue. Isn’t it terrific? I’ve taken it in trade for that small Gamble that’s been collecting dust in the Early California room for ages. If we market it right, we might be able to get double the price of the Gamble.”

  Laurel peered closer and sucked in a quick breath. Even upside down, she recognized the portrait, if you could call it that. The picture featured a woman in blue with one eye and three breasts, painted in a clunky, Picasso-wannabe, semi-Cubist style. She could swear Richard had sold that exact painting last year for an outrageously inflated price. She’d handled the paperwork and the packing and shipping, so she’d spent a good deal of time with the piece.

  The asking price on the Gamble had been forty-five thousand. Did Victor actually expect to get twice that much for this one? Laurel couldn’t claim to be an expert on the current market for Modernist painting, but artistically, the portrait was a piece of junk.

  He held out a handful of papers. “Here’s the paperwork. Would you get it catalogued in the system and ready for sale? You can work at the front sales desk and keep an eye on the shop at the same time. I have a collector from Santa Barbara due in a few minutes.” His eyes twinkled. “I hope to sell her that still life of peaches and grapes for her dining room.”

  Laurel picked up the painting and carried it to the desk near the front door. She decided to keep her opinion of the portrait to herself. She was essentially a newbie in the art world. According to her mother and Melody, Victor had been a fixture in the Carmel art scene for years, and Gallery St. James was very successful. What were the chances he’d let himself be bamboozled into trading a valuable painting for a worthless rip-off? The painting must have value invisible to her inexperienced eye. Hopefully, Victor had a few potential buyers in mind. The portrait looked jarringly out of place among the more traditional pieces in the gallery.

  She set the picture on the desk and gently lifted one side to peer underneath. The paper label from Richard’s gallery was still affixed to the back. Dealers and collectors bought and sold paintings all the time, but it was still an odd coincidence for the same piece to show up in Carmel a year later. She moved the picture so passing customers wouldn’t accidentally knock it to the floor, then sat down and began to sort through the paperwork Victor had given her.

  ****

  The old-fashioned bell over the door jingled when Jake Carlson entered Galley St. James a little before noon. He glanced around as his eyes adjusted to the lower light and spotted Laurel, head bent over her work, at a desk tucked against one wall of the main room. Her deep auburn hair shone beneath a ceiling-mounted can light, in striking contrast to the green, fabric-covered walls of the gallery.

  He approached the desk. “Hey.”

  Her head bobbed up like a cork in a pond, and her eyes widened. “Oh, hi.”

  “You suggested I stop by,” he prompted.

  “I did…yes…um—”

  “You offered to show me around and introduce me to your boss. Is he in?”

  She shot a quick glance through the entrance into what appeared to be another gallery. “Yes, but he’s with a client right now.”

  Jake leaned over the desk to get a better look at the picture she was working on. He was no connoisseur, but to his eye the thing was ugly as sin. “That’s okay. I’m not in a big hurry. I thought we might grab some lunch. Maybe Mr. St. James will be free by the time we get back.”

  She blinked a couple of times then returned her attention to the painting on the desk. “I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not sure I’ll have time to go out today. I need to finish cataloguing this piece.”

  “I can wait. Like I said, I’m in no hurry. I’ll just look around.”

  “Okay…I guess. I won’t be too much longer. I’m almost finished.” She swiveled in her chair and gave the computer mouse a quick jerk to bring the screen back to life.

  He walked around behind the desk and peered at the painting again, looking for the artist’s signature. “Is this a new piece?”

  Laurel continued typing. “Victor recently received it in a trade with a collector.”


  Jake’s attention sharpened. “Does he do that often—trade for paintings?”

  She stopped typing and twisted to face him. “I don’t know. I’ve only worked here a week. Why?”

  He straightened and eased back a step. “No reason. I just wondered. It seems unusual.”

  “It’s actually a fairly common practice in the business.” She turned back to her screen.

  “Interesting. Who’s the artist on this one?”

  “A contemporary painter named Wassily Kornikoff. Do you know him?”

  He made a mental note of the name. “I’m afraid not. Is he famous?”

  She made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a snort. “Not as far as I know, but Victor seemed pretty excited to get this. It’s called Anna in Blue.”

  His mind humming, Jake stepped out from behind the desk and wandered toward a small bronze sculpture of a dolphin on a pedestal near the front window. “I’ll leave you to your work and have a look around while you finish.”

  “That’s fine.”

  As soon as she turned back to her computer, he drew a small notebook from his coat pocket and quickly jotted down the names of the artist and painting. He strolled through the various rooms, taking his time and noting the artists’ names. When the names on a couple of pieces rang vague bells, he whipped out his phone and snapped surreptitious photos.

  As he worked his pulse thrummed, and an unusual lightness filled his chest. His job title might be Investigative Accountant, but the emphasis had always been on Accountant. This assignment was different. Normally he took satisfaction from the detailed, sometimes monotonous, work of following a money trail. Today, taking pictures in the gallery, he felt more like James Bond. Although field work wasn’t usually part of his duties, it hadn’t taken much effort to persuade his boss to authorize the action. Since Jake was the one with the in at Gallery St. James, he was the obvious choice for the job, and this was as close as they’d been to the major players in months.

  By the time he finished his tour, Laurel was wrapping up her work on Anna in Blue.