Chapter Three

Peter's words seemed to ease the worry lines in June's face.

"I'm sure you're right," she replied, then gave a gentle sigh. "I just worry about him, that's all."

Peter well understood. He'd felt a bit unsettled ever since they'd arrived and Neal hadn't come to greet them. He'd wondered how awkward it would be, Nathan Clay greeting Peter Burke. He knew it was a big deal, Neal inviting him here. Almost like some kind of rite of passage; allowing Peter Burke into his new world. So his not personally greeting them had felt off.

"So do I," he told her, "but my worrying about him irritates him to no end. Just last week he glared at me for saying he was looking puny."

"No one wants to be told they look bad," Elizabeth scolded. "No wonder he glared."

"I didn't say he looked bad," Peter said. "I just said he looked like he'd lost weight."

"That isn't as much of a compliment to a man as it is to a woman, Peter," Elizabeth pointed out. "And puny isn't very flattering."

Peter shrugged. "He knows I don't flatter; I just tell the truth. And the truth is he's been looking puny lately."

"I agree," June said. "I told him he was working too hard and missing too many meals. I've tried to get him to join me for dinner, but he kindly declined."

"Kindly declined," Peter pointed out. "I just got a glare."

"Well, I'm an old lady. He humors me. Plus," she added with a low chuckle. "I didn't call him puny." But her smile quickly faded. "He's been more distant than usual, too," she noted. "I've not seen him to really talk to him in I don't know how long," she continued. "Either he's coming home late, or he's not coming home at all." She frowned. "He's not been home once since last week."

"He's been the same with us," Elizabeth assured her. "He's not been to dinner in almost a month and even when he was coming," she glanced at Peter, "he seemed preoccupied. I know he's worked non-stop to finish this collection, but he loves to paint; I'm afraid it's this showing that's been stressing him. He even canceled his park date with Little Neal this week, and he never does that."

"That's why I hate he's missing this." June waved a ringed hand at the milling crowd. "They love his work. Even if they are a bit disappointed he's not here."

"That's especially true for the ladies," Peter mused, recalling the bit of conversation he'd overheard earlier. "I think the paintings were only part of what they came to view."

June laughed. "I don't doubt that for a minute. The reclusive Nathan Clay has piqued their interest, that's for certain. Hopefully, the mystery will just drive the bids higher. Oh," she said suddenly. "Did you find anyone else in his paintings?" She gave a beaming smile. "because I did."

"We found Mozzie," Elizabeth replied in excitement. "Playing chess in Bryant Park."

June's laughed. "He will be mortified."

June had been almost as happy to have Mozzie back in New York as she had been to have Neal. Peter only saw the bespeckled man on holidays or when one of his visits with Elizabeth went longer than planned. As much as things had changed over the past few years, some things remained the same. Mozzie's friendship with the ladies and his avoidance of him.

"It's only his back," Peter explained. "So there is no need for him to freak out." Granted, from his experience, it didn't take much for Mozzie to freak out. Especially when it came to being on the grid. "If you didn't know it was him, you wouldn't," he paused, realizing how stupid what he was about to say was going to sound, "well, know it was him." He quickly moved on "Who did you find?"

June beamed at Elizabeth. "You and me. I was having tea in Greenwich Village and you were shopping in Tribeca. Over there, in the three-point section."

"Show me!" Elizabeth said, taking his arm and starting toward the three-point section. A good move since the manager was already there, a small group gathered around her as she talked up the art of Nathan Clay. In spite of what he'd said, this so-called emergency had him worried and the only way to abate it was to get more information. "Mozzie was in the same section as Little Neal," Elizabeth was telling June as they made their way across the gallery. "The One-Point section." She looked at him. "That leaves the Two Point section for you, dear."

"If I make the cut," Peter mused.

She gave his arm a squeeze. "Have a little faith. We'll go find you in a minute."

"Mr. Clay mixes pigments with drying oils like poppy seed oil, walnut oil, linseed oil, and safflower oil," Ms. McBride was saying as they drew near. "This method gives him the versatility of creating a wide range of opacity and intensity in his art. It also allows him to create layers of different colors and blend them together, creating brilliant pieces such as this."

It seemed rude just to wander past as she was speaking and Peter did want a word with her, so the three of them joined the small group gathering in front of a painting of Trinity Church in Manhattan. He did see June nudge Elizabeth, then nod a the painting just to the left of a dress shop in Tribeca. Unlike the painting of the church, in which the viewer gazed up at the impressive spires, in this painting, one looked down upon the scene, as if from the vantage point of a higher floor of a building across the street. The dark-haired lady just exiting the shop, bags in hand, was most definitely Elizabeth even though her face wasn't in full view. She was turned slightly, starting to head down the sidewalk of the adjacent street. Again, he found himself amazed by Neal's talent, how he could capture a person's essence with a brush, even if the face was only partially visible, or not visible at all in the case of Mozzie. It was remarkable that he saw people in such detail, the sweep of their hair, their posturing, and their stance. But Neal's attention to the smallest detail and his ability to recall them had always been impressive; it had solved many a case for the FBI. He was just using his talent in a new way.

Judging by June's furtive looks, the painting she was featured in was on the other side of the manager who, at the moment, was droning on about perspective points, vanishing points, and creating depth.

Just as he often did when Neal and El discussed art, Peter tuned it out. His thoughts were more on the emergency keeping Nathan Clay away than on his art. He understood Neal's first call would be to his gallery manager but he was surprised not to have gotten his second call. Neal knew they would be there, would wonder at his absence, and then worry when news of an emergency was announced.

Especially the ladies. But there hadn't been a word from him and that caused Peter a growing sense of unease.

"...changing the color contrast between the background and the church, simulating the effect of the atmosphere. You will not this technique in each of the paintings featured tonight. Please be sure to view all three sections."

After winding down, the manager fielded a question about which oil bases Clay preferred and another about his brushstrokes, and the group began to disburse. Elizabeth and June moved to the left to view the Tribeca piece but Peter stayed, waiting for Ms. McBride's exchange with an elderly gentleman about linear perspective and some artist named Filippo to finish. When the man turned away, Peter approached the manager. stepped up before Ms. McBride could move to another group.

"Ms. McBride," he said, catching her before she stepped away. "I'm..." a slight hesitation as he elected to skip his usual introduction, "Peter Burke. My wife Elizabeth and I are very good friends of Mr. Clay's."

"Yes," she said, her eyes brightening. "He speaks highly of you both." Her voice lowered. "He insists we use Burke's Premiere Events for all our showings except for this one, of course." She smiled. "He wanted you and your wife to be honored guests tonight."

The contract with Nathan Clay Galleries was a big one. In fact, after landing it, Elizabeth had found the need to expand her business, hiring three additional event planners.

"We were looking forward to seeing him," Peter continued. "You said there was an emergency? Is he okay?"

Her public demeanor slipped at the question, but she quickly smoothed the frown lines that had appeared on her flawless face.

"I'm sure everything is fine, Mr. Burke," she assured, "but I haven't actually spoken with him. I've tried his cell, but he doesn't answer."

Peter felt a wave of unease. "When did you last talk to him?"

"When he was leaving yesterday afternoon," she told him. "In spite of how he feels about public appearances, he promised he'd be here tonight." The slight smile the memory brought faded quickly. "I didn't want to alarm our guests," she confided as a frown again threatened to mar her face, "but I am concerned that he isn't here. He could have been in an accident or something." She paused, a hesitant look in her eyes before she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratory level. "I know you are with the FBI, Mr. Burke. Maybe you could...?"

She didn't even need to ask-he was already ahead of her. "I'll make a few calls," he told her. "Don't worry; we will find him, Ms. McBride."

She straightened, a look of relief on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Burke. That eases my mind more than you know. Working with the FBI," she continued, "I imagine you are good at finding people."

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Peter couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Pretty good, yes."