Page 43 of Breaking All The Rules
“Hey,” Bea returned, her gaze falling on the canvas that seemed a melting pot of color right now more than anything discernible.
It was an achingly familiar sight. One that both resonated deeply and evoked anxiety at the same time. So many memories Bea had purged from her brain over the years as effectively as her grandmother had purged her mother’s studio and the house of her art the day after the funeral.
Except they were still there. Not purged, just…buried. Waiting to be unearthed.
The other woman stood, her ponytail swishing. “I’m Suzanne,” she said but pronounced it Su-sahn.
Bea dragged her attention from the canvas. “I’m…” She stalled for a moment before deciding to just cut to the chase. “I’m the cat woman everyone’s talking about.” She held out her hand. “But you can call me Bea.”
Suzanne laughed as she shook, her fingers stained with paint. “So you’re the famous…infamous”—her brow crinkled like she was trying to decide which one best suited—“cat woman.”
Bea winced. “God, does everybody know about me?”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded cheerfully. “I would think so. I live at a ranch out of town and don’t hear a lot of gossip, but I heard about you. Do you really have a dozen cats who are your minions of evil?”
It was Bea’s turn to laugh. “Would you believe I have no cats?”
“I would, actually.” Suzanne shook her head. “The good people of Credence do love a mystery and to gossip, and from what I hear, you’ve kept them guessing. If they can’t find out the facts, they’ll fill it with fiction until otherwise directed.”
Bea had figured as much. Her eyes drawn back to the canvas, she asked, “You’re an artist?”
“Yes.”
The admission slipped so easily from Suzanne’s lips, and Bea envied her that. “Would I have heard of you?”
“Ha! Goodness no. I mostly do reproduction work for private clients and art galleries for insurance purposes.”
“That sounds…”
“Dull?”
“What? No…” Alarmed, Bea hastened to assure her. “I was going to say important.”
“It is, I guess, but lately I’ve been doing my own stuff. Portraits mainly. I’m working on one for the mayor at the moment. Grady, my husband, said good luck trying to make him not look like a pompous windbag.” She smiled and Bea smiled back. “Occasionally, I get inspired by a landscape or two.”
Bea looked around at the dazzling display of nature. “Not hard to be inspired by this.”
“No.” Suzanne sighed. “It’s not. This your first time out here?”
“Yep. I just came to check it out. Get back to nature for a while.” She lifted the packet up. “Eat some pie with a view.”
Suzanne laughed. “I see you’ve discovered the delights of Annie’s already.”
“Hell, yes, I’m only sorry it took me two weeks. Although my waistline is not.”
“Yeah, diabetes never tasted so good, right?”
Bea grinned. She couldn’t have put it better herself. “Well…” She took one last look at the painting waiting to emerge from the canvas. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”
“Don’t be silly.” Suzanne waved her hand dismissively through the air. “Stay. This pier’s big enough for the two of us as long as you don’t mind me working while I talk.”
“Umm…” Bea was torn between wanting to stay and watch Suzanne do her thing and the familiar urge to quash the desire. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. I can’t offer you a seat, but the boards are quite comfortable.”
Bea sat down cross-legged, the warmth of the wood heating right through the denim of her blue jeans to her backside, and she shut her eyes and sighed at the bliss of it for a moment. Suzanne resumed her chair. Between them was a voluminous wicker basket stained with splashes of paint and stuffed full of supplies. Bea opened the brown paper bag.
“Which one would you like?” she asked Suzanne. “I have peach cobbler and raspberry pie.”
