“I’m not sure yet. I think a shell. Maybe a jewel. Probably a shell.”
“How much?”
“How much what?”
“How much do you want for her?”
“I haven’t thought about it.” Cleo shrugged as she cleaned brushes.
“I’ll buy her, so how much?”
Startled, Cleo looked back at him. “Are you serious? She’s not even finished.”
He shot her a look that wavered between impatience and amusement. “Have you ever sold a painting?”
All of a sudden, she felt he crowded her space. “Yes, but—”
“So how much?”
To flick him back, she grabbed a number out of the air. “Five thousand.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? No, stop. I just made that up. That’s gallery price—and inflated some at that.”
“What’s the difference? Gallery price?”
“If you show and sell at a gallery, they take a chunk. About sixty percent.”
“So direct sale’s more like two grand? Let’s call it twenty-five hundred.”
When Cleo just stared at him, Owen stared back. “I want her. I’ve got a place for her. Make a deal, Queen of the Nile.”
Cleo looked back at the canvas. She knew the instant sorrow of the sale. She’d felt it before, and knew it would pass.
“A deal. How much to build me a Sunfish?”
A different sort of interest flickered in his eyes. “You sail?”
“I’ve never had my own, but I rented a sweet little Sunfish a few times in the summer in Boston. I thought I’d do the same here, but I’d like my own.”
“You could buy a ready-made or used cheaper.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a wooden boat built by Poole for me to sail in Poole’s Bay, would it?”
Considering, he looked back at the painting. In his mind the mermaid was already his. “We can make a trade. I couldn’t start on it for a few weeks.”
“You haven’t asked me when I’ll finish the painting.”
“Will you finish faster if I bug you about it?”
“Absolutely not. In fact, I’d add time on just to spite you. I have a feeling you work the same way.” She held out a hand. “When the painting’s done, you can take her. When the boat’s done, I’ll take it.”
“Deal.” He took her hand, shook. “It’s a good trade.”
* * *
In the attic, Trey and Sonya removed any sheeting still in place.
“Do you think they got lost?”
She glanced over at Trey. “Cleo was painting, so it might take her a couple minutes to pull out. But maybe I should go check. It has been a while.”
“Let’s give them another minute. It’s quiet. The dogs are settled.”
“You mean you don’t think we’re going to find the mirror up here either.”
“Still gotta look.” When he reached the side wall, he tapped his way along it. “Maybe there’s a space.”
“Like a hidden door. Like the servant’s door. I did the same thing in the music room.” Willing to try again, she wound her way to the opposite side to tap.
“You said you remember standing in front of it. Nothing else?”
“Not about the where. I could see through it, through the glass. Movement, like shadows at first, then clearer. But the rest is blank, and frustrating. Because I notice details. It’s part of what I do. Does that sound hollow?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so either.” She reached for another sheet. The dogs’ heads came up, in unison. And she heard footsteps, then Cleo’s voice.
“We’re moving right along here,” Trey called out.
“Sorry.” Cleo brushed her hair back as they stepped into the attic. “We were making a deal. Apparently, Owen’s an art collector.”
Trey just frowned at him. “Since when?”
“I’ve got some art. Cleo wants a boat.”
“You do?” Surprised, Sonya bundled the sheet aside.
“I want a sweet little Sunfish to sail Poole’s Bay on summer Sunday afternoons. The chest I want is over in that section, by the way. You can’t miss it. It’s Davy Jones’s locker. Davy Jones!”
Laughing she bent down to rub Jones. “Now I get it.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes you just have to be obvious.”
“Why don’t the two of you take that section?” Trey pointed. “If we spread out, we’ll cover more ground.”