Flirting With Disaster. Sherryl Woods

a yes or a no?”

      “As much as I’m going to miss those little fruit garnishes, it’s a yes. But I balk at letting you anywhere near a circular saw.”

      Maggie was about to tell him that she was quite an expert with a circular saw, but decided to leave that battle for another day. She might as well savor one victory at a time. She had a feeling they were all going to be hard won.

       5

      After she closed Images on Sunday afternoon, Maggie decided she had time to pay that impromptu visit to Ellie to try once again to persuade the talented young artist to schedule a showing at the gallery. Until now Ellie had been reluctant to do anything more than bring in an occasional painting. Maggie attributed her hesitance to insecurity. She was determined to put that to rest and build her employee’s confidence once and for all.

      She knew that Ellie lived in a loft apartment that had been created in an old warehouse along the waterfront. Since it wasn’t that far from the shop and the humidity wasn’t too oppressive, Maggie walked over, pausing along the way to chat with neighbors and customers who were taking advantage of the break in the weather to get some work done in their gardens.

      It was nearly seven when she reached Ellie’s, but there was plenty of summer daylight left.

      As the creaky old elevator neared the top floor, Maggie could hear an unmistakably angry argument. It was loud enough and heated enough that she decided to go right back down and come another day when her visit wouldn’t wind up embarrassing Ellie.

      Before she could begin her descent, she heard a crash and the shattering of glass. That was enough to change her mind. Ellie’s embarrassment was a small price to pay to be sure that the young woman was safe.

      Locking the elevator so it would be available for a quick departure, Maggie stepped off, ran to Ellie’s door and pounded on it. “Ellie, it’s Maggie. Are you in there? Is everything okay?” When there was no reply, she pounded some more. “Ellie, open this door, dammit, or I’ll call the police!”

      The door swung open and a towering man stood there, his rugged face contorted with rage. “What the hell are you doing here?”

      Though she was trembling inside, Maggie defiantly stood her ground and tried not to let him see even a flicker of emotion on her face. She took a slow survey of his features—the dark eyes, thick golden brown hair, thin slash of lips. She wanted to remember every detail in case she ever had to describe him to the police. He wore jeans and a grubby formfitting T-shirt.

      “I stopped by to see Ellie,” she said more calmly. “Is she home?”

      “Now’s not a good time,” he said, and started to close the door.

      Maggie stepped over the threshold before he could stop her. “I’m not leaving till I’ve spoken to her,” she said, meeting the man’s angry gaze with an unblinking stare, even though she felt sick.

      He seemed thrown by her determination. “Look, lady, you can’t just come barging into someone’s home. It’s called trespassing.”

      “You could always call the police,” she suggested mildly. “In fact, I think that’s a very good idea. Why don’t we do that?” She extracted her cell phone from her purse and flipped it open.

      For a minute she thought he might snatch the phone right out of her hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he stormed past her and headed for the elevator.

      Maggie waited until the elevator doors closed and it began its creaking descent before she breathed a sigh of relief. “Ellie?” she called softly. “It’s okay. He’s gone. Where are you?”

      “Go away,” Ellie pleaded from behind a closed door. “I know you were trying to help, but you’ve only made things worse.”

      Maggie’s stomach churned at the quiet desperation she heard in her employee’s voice. “Ellie, please, come out here. Let’s talk about this. I want to help.”

      Slowly the door to what was apparently a bathroom opened.

      Maggie wasn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t Ellie looking shaken but otherwise unharmed.

      “Are you okay?” she asked, surveying Ellie closely for signs of bruises.

      “Brian would never hurt me,” Ellie said. “Not physically, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

      “From the elevator it sounded like a pretty violent argument,” Maggie said. “I was worried about you. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you by insisting on coming in.”

      Ellie sighed and sank down on a leather sofa. “It doesn’t really matter. He’ll calm down eventually. He always does.”

      “Then this has happened before?”

      “A couple of times, but not like tonight. This was the worst he’s ever been. I upset him when I told him you might do a showing of my art.”

      “I heard something break. Did he throw something at you?”

      Ellie shook her head. “Not at me. At one of my paintings.”

      Maggie heard a defeated note in the girl’s voice that spoke volumes. She finally understood that this was why Ellie was so reluctant to agree to a showing—she could never be certain if she would have anything to show. “He does that a lot, doesn’t he? Destroys your work,” she guessed.

      Ellie nodded miserably. “He says I have no talent, that he doesn’t want me to be humiliated.”

      Maggie felt her indignation rise, but she kept her voice under careful control. “Who is he? Your boyfriend?”

      “He was,” Ellie admitted, shamefaced. “He wasn’t always like this. He’s changed lately. I’ve been trying to break things off with him. I know Brian’s no good for me, but he was my mentor, you see, so it’s hard. There was a time when he encouraged me, when he taught me technique and composition, when he helped me settle on the right medium for my work.”

      “Then he’s an artist, too? How did you meet?”

      Ellie nodded. “He was my instructor. Everyone said Professor Brian Garrison was the most talented artist on staff. I was flattered when he took an interest in me.”

      “But eventually he realized that your talent was greater than his own,” Maggie guessed.

      Ellie seemed startled by her assessment. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

      “Oh, Ellie, I’m so sorry,” Maggie said, reaching for her hand. “Don’t let Brian or anyone else ruin this gift of yours for you. Let’s take a look at what you have here. You trust my judgment, don’t you? You know I’d never lie to you about anything this important?”

      “Of course I trust you, but I don’t think I can look right now. You go ahead,” Ellie said. “I don’t know how much damage he did this time.”

      Maggie moved into the huge open space that comprised the studio portion of the apartment, then winced at the destruction. Brian had obviously been at it long before she arrived and heard that crash. What she’d heard had apparently been a jar of turpentine that had been thrown at a huge still life of sunflowers. The style was reminiscent of Van Gogh, but Ellie had a unique vision that brought a touch of lightness and whimsy to the work. Of course, now the paint ran in distorted streaks, so it was impossible to get the full effect.

      Another canvas had been slashed, another splattered with paint. One had a giant X painted cross it in vivid red. Apparently he’d been indiscriminate in his rampage, choosing whichever works were most convenient, not those of any particular theme. Still lifes had been damaged, as well as street scenes.

      Maggie’s fury rose. Seeing such incredible paintings destroyed in a jealous rage made her almost physically ill. What a terrible waste!

      “How bad is it?” Ellie called out in a voice that trembled.