~ * ~
Madeline woke up, slowly drifting in and out of sleep. At least until she realized she was sleeping curled up on Gil. She sat up with a start. How did that happen?
The events of the night started to come back to her. She reached up to touch the bandage on her neck. It all came rushing back. Her heart beat a little faster and the fear crashed over her again. She fought back the memory, unwilling to trek through the horror of last night.
She slowly scooted to the end of the bed, trying not to disturb Gil. No luck with that. He rolled over and stretched his long arms above his head.
“Morning.” His deep morning voice greeted her.
“Good morning. I didn’t mean you needed to stay all night. I’m sorry.”
“It was no problem.”
Madeline stood up and retrieved her shoes. Stupid shoes for walking in the French Quarter. She wished she’d worn a different pair. These shoes had held nothing but disastrous stumbles, threatening her life. Who knew a pair of heels could bring such danger? She could see the headlines. Danger in High Heels.
Okay, maybe she was feeling better, she was writing headlines in her head.
At least until she glanced at the clock. “Oh, no! Look at the time. It’s after nine o’clock. We’ve got to get moving.”
Gil rolled over and looked at the clock. With one quick push he had levered himself off the bed. She almost smiled when she saw he had slept in his boots all night.
“I’ll go run to my room and get cleaned up.” Gil headed to the door but paused and turned to her. “You be okay alone for just a bit? I’ll hurry.”
“I’ll be fine. I can be ready in 10 minutes.”
Gil nodded and slipped out the door. She walked over and threw the deadbolt after he left. Now she needed to try and get cleaned up. Of course, there would be no makeup. That was in her purse. Along with her brush.
She crossed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She looked a fright. Her hair was an unruly mess of curls that she ran her hands through to try and get some semblance of order. She washed the last of the makeup off her face… along with the black streaks of mascara from her tears last night. The no-makeup look would have to do. She wondered how long it had been since she’d left her home, or anywhere without makeup? She couldn’t even remember a time.
She slipped on her traitorous heels and grabbed her jacket. She looked around for her purse, forgetting for a moment that it was gone. After they left the gallery today she was going to ask Gil if they could replace her cell phone and get a new purse. New shoes, too. This was the last time she’d ever walk the French Quarter in heels. Not that she’d much of a burning desire to come back here again. She knew a mugging could happen in any city, she read about it all the time. But this was different. It made her sound self-centered but this was about her. Her mugging. Her robbery. It had scared her senseless and rocked her false perception of security to its very core.
She heard Gil knock at the door, and looked around the room one more time. Well, it’s not like she could have forgotten anything. She just had the clothes on her back.
They went downstairs, checked out of their rooms, and headed out into the sunshine. She found herself checking around, looking for people hanging in a doorway. Though she had to admit, the streets didn’t look nearly as scary in the sunlight.
They reached the gallery in just a few minutes. Gil hadn’t put his arm around her like yesterday, which was good and bad. She was so busy watching the people around her, making sure they didn’t look sinister, but she still had to concentrate on the uneven sidewalks.
They walked into the gallery just as Mr. Loud Tie was unlocking the front door. His tie today did nothing to earn him a new name. It was even more colorful than yesterday’s.
“Come in, come in.”
They entered the gallery and the first thing Madeline noticed was the painting was gone.
“I have some bad news for you. You just missed Mr. Clark. He came in early this morning, before gallery hours.”
“No!” First the mugging and now they missed Paul. This trip was turning into a total disaster.
“Did you give him our message?” Gil’s calm voice of reason cut through her despair.
“I did give him your note, but he said he’d never heard of Comfort Crossing. I didn’t get the feeling that he was going to contact you. He just dismissed the note and crammed it into his pocket. He took the painting and hurried away. Didn’t even wait for me to give him his sales sheet on what paintings of his have sold recently.”
Madeline didn’t believe for a minute that this Mr. Clark wasn’t their Mr. Clark, though it appeared that he didn’t want to be found.