The Midnight Tour

She knew he couldn’t be tempted. The amount of money Blaze was making with his paintings of Sandy, he would probably be willing to part with fifty percent if she gave him no other choice.

He seemed ready to begin, so she gazed intently into the distance beyond his left shoulder.

Not that there was much distance to gaze into.

About twenty feet behind Blaze was the side of a rocky outcropping. Sandy pretended it wasn’t there, and gazed through it as if trying to identify something a few hundred yards away. An approaching stranger, maybe.

Then she began to wonder how much Blaze would be willing to pay her. Maybe even more than fifty percent.

Without me...

At her first sight of Blaze’s estate, Sandy had assumed that he was an enormously successful artist.

Not so.

He’d bought the estate with inherited money. His artwork sold only modestly well, earning him just enough income for a comfortable living.

Until Sandy showed up.

For the first couple of years, he’d paid her no more than the fifty dollars per session. And she’d been delighted to get it. After posing, she would hurry around to a few stores, buying food and supplies, picking up treats for Eric. Then she would hop into the pickup truck and rush home.

Near the end of the second year, however, Eric had started spending most of his days roaming the wooded hills. He was often nowhere to be found by the time Sandy returned from town. So she began to wonder why she bothered to hurry back.

One day, she didn’t hurry back. Instead, she wandered the streets of Fort Platt, exploring the town, dropping into shops that she’d previously seen only from the outside.

Including the Beachside Gallery.

She entered the gallery feeling like an intruder. It was so quiet. Was she the only one here? Silently, hardly daring to breathe, she wandered among the paintings.

She half expected to be discovered and kicked out.

After all, at her age she could hardly be expected to have enough money to purchase much of anything.

She was well dressed, though. Blaze, that day, had outfitted her in tennis whites and she’d posed for him on a court behind the high school. She still wore the tennis skirt and pullover. She looked like a rich kid whose parents might belong to one of the nearby country dubs.

If they give me any crap, I’ll threaten to sick my parents on them.

Sure, she thought.

Just act as if you belong here, she told herself. Act like you own the place.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she wandered deeper into the gallery. She moved slowly and looked at every painting.

Many featured the surf crashing into rocky outcroppings. The surf crashed into them in daylight, at sunset, and in the moonlight. There were beautiful ocean vistas. Several underwater paintings depicted whales and dolphins. Sailboats glided into sunsets. She saw storm-tossed seas, a ghost ship with tattered sails, footprints in the sand along the shoreline, seagulls gliding through the pale sky.

And Surfer Boy, which showed a tawny, muscular young man wearing the skimpiest of swimsuits, posed on the beach with his surfboard. The sight of it gave Sandy a twist in the stomach.

Tyrone!

Stepping up close to the painting, she found Blaze’s signature low in a corner.

The price tag showed $450 with a slash through it, replaced by $150.

Sandy smirked.

Having some trouble selling it?

“It’s one of my favorites.”

She jumped, then whirled around.

A short, round woman gazed up at Sandy through huge round glasses with red plasic rims. Her gray hair was cut to an even dome of bristle. She wore huge, gold hoop earrings and a flowing moo-moo.

Offering a hand, she said, “I’m Megan Willows, proprietor.”

“Hi.” Sandy shook her hand. “I’m Ashley.”

'Ashley. A lovely name. I couldn’t help noticing your interest in our Surfer Boy.”

She nodded. “it sort of caught my eye.”

“You must have a very good eye, then. This is an earlier work by one of our fine local artists, Blaze O. Glory. His talent has absolutely bloomed in recent years.”

“Must’ve bloomed after he did this one,” Sandy said.

Megan chortled. “You do have a good eye. This is certainly not one of his more mature works. But it does have a certain raw power, don’t you think?”

“I guess so.”

“A lovely boy. Isn’t he just scrumptious? Wouldn’t you just like to eat him up?” Grinning, Megan clicked her teeth together.

“I don’t know about that,” Sandy said.

“A figure of speech, Ashley. But wouldn’t you just adore having him on your bedroom wall?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or are you considering this as a gift?”

“No. I’m looking for myself. I got a ton of money for...my birthday.” She had almost said “graduation,” but realized Megan might not believe it. Sandy looked mature for her age, but she might not pass for a high school graduate. She shrugged and smiled. “I thought I might want to spend it on some art.”

“That’s a very wise decision, Ashley. A good piece of art is not only a pleasure to the soul, but often a sound investment. You certain wouldn’t go wrong, on either count, by purchasing Surfer Boy. And it is a wonderful bargain at a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I don’t think it’s worth that much,” Sandy said. “Not to me, anyway.”

'Well...I suppose I would be willing to mark it down to...shall we say, a hundred dollars?”

“I don’t honestly think so,” Sandy said.

“It’s a steal at that price. You wouldn’t be able to touch one of his more recent pieces for...”

Sandy shook her head.

“Seventy-five dollars. I’m afraid that’s as low as I’ll be able to go. What do you think? That would include the frame, of course. The frame alone is worth fifty.” She blinked behind her goggles and grinned. “So, do we have a sale?”

“I’m afraid not. You know what? I don’t think my parents would approve of me buying a thing like that. I mean, it may be a just a little too risque. You can dam near see his unit, if you know what I mean.”

“Well...” Megan chuckled. “I suppose so. We wouldn’t want to upset your parents, would we?”

“Not much.”

“Maybe I can interest you in something else?”

“Well, I would like to see some of the more recent work by this guy. Flame?”

“Blaze.”

“Right, him. Could I see something else of his?”

“I’m afraid we only have one in stock just now, and it’s already sold. You’re welcome to look at it, however.”

“I’d like to. Thanks.”

Leading her toward the other side of the gallery, Megan said, “We do expect another one in, fairly soon. Perhaps in two or three weeks. We have a terrible time keeping his paintings in stock. Ah. Here we are.” Megan stepped aside, swept an arm toward the painting and said, 'Voila!