"And where are you?"

"In the middle of pig country, having the best time of my life."

The gorgeous world-famous author was serious.

"Hard to believe," I said. "I would've guessed that you've had more than your share of good times."

She looked at me. Her eyes had misted over.

"Then you'd be wrong."

Chapter 13

I wasn't sure what to do with that comment, and she didn't seem to want to fill it in any, so I left it and moved on. We had reserved the room for three nights, just to be safe, so we left our luggage, locked up the log and the papers, and headed out to find a store to buy raincoats.

An hour later, we were walking around the town square. There was a chilly drizzle coming down, but we welcomed it for its potential to keep us hidden from view. Of course, I thought, whoever was after us might not have the slightest clue that we were here and might be three states away. But somehow I didn't think so.

After my "good times" comment, Sabrina had been pretty quiet. I asked her if I had said anything wrong and she said no. She took my hand as she said it, so I was pretty sure it wasn't me. I did know, however, that whatever nerve the comment struck was a pretty deep one. By the time we went into our first art gallery, however, she was back to normal.

It was kind of a hole-in-the-wall gallery, and looked as if it had been there a long time. I liked the looks of it specifically for that reason. My guess was that the Simpson Gallery probably hadn't been much bigger.

A middle-aged woman sat behind a crowded counter.

"May I help you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Are you the owner?" I asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "I am, but I should warn you right now that I'm not looking to buy anything and I'm not looking to be saved."

Our raincoats matched. Did that make us look like missionaries or salesmen?

Sabrina took over. Laughing, she said, "No, nothing like that. We have a historical question that we're hoping you can help us with."

The woman softened. "Sorry. You wouldn't believe how often I have to deal with that. What can I help you with?"

"Back in the 30s…" I started.

"Wow, you are talking historical. Okay, go on."

"There was an art gallery in town called the Simpson Gallery. We were wondering if you had ever heard of it."

"Can't say I have. Do you know when it closed?"

"Not really." I decided to give her a part of the picture. "My great-grandfather had loaned the gallery a painting. He died, and when my grandfather went by to claim it, it wasn't there. Now, I don't know if he meant that the painting was no longer there or the gallery, so I couldn't tell you exactly when it closed."

"Was your great-grandfather the artist?"