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"Unfinished Brushstrokes"


Prologue
Unfinished Brushstrokes

By Begin Again

THE PROLOGUE

World War II had a way of forging connections in the most unlikely places. Amidst the chaos, destruction, and call of duty, love blossomed where it was least expected.

As spring arrived in France in 1944, blooming flowers and the lingering smoke of war filled the air. Eleanor, a highly skilled nurse who had recently lost her husband, concealed her grief in a makeshift hospital near Normandy. Her hands, though weary, worked with precision and care as she tended to the wounded soldiers. Each face she encountered bore the scars of battle, and each life she touched was a testament to her unwavering spirit.

It was there she met Charles, a dashing pilot with a mischievous smile and eyes bluer than the sky. He lay on a cot, his head and legs bandaged, and his bloodstained uniform tattered and torn. Despite the pain, he grinned as Eleanor approached.

"How are we feeling today, Lieutenant?" Eleanor asked, her voice gentle yet authoritative.

"Better now that you're here, Nurse," Charles replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Their interactions were brief at first, mere exchanges of necessity. But as the days turned into weeks, a bond formed between them, unspoken yet undeniable. They found solace in each other's company, a reprieve from the horrors surrounding them. They bonded over their love for painting and spent hours sketching the peaceful countryside, trying to capture the beauty that still existed amidst the destruction created by the war. With each brushstroke, their connection deepened — a ray of light in the darkness of war.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, Charles found Eleanor sitting on the grassy slope outside the hospital. The distant rumble of battle faded into the background as he approached her. His heart pounded, not from fear, but from something far more profound.

"Eleanor," he began, his voice softer than she'd ever heard, "when this war is over, what do you dream of?"

She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the fading light of the setting sun. "I dream of a world where we can be free to live and love as we choose."

Charles reached for her hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Then let's make a promise. No matter where this war takes us, we'll find our way back to each other."

Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed into his, torn between her loyalty to her late husband and the man who had captured her heart. She hurried away, overwhelmed with guilt and unable to make the promise he needed.

She felt torn between conflicting emotions in her heart. Charles's words echoed in her mind, mingling with memories of her deceased husband. Late into the night, she grappled with guilt and longing, unsure of how to navigate the tangled web of love and loss. She longed to be back in Charles's arms, but her memories of what once was wouldn't release their hold on her.

The following day, she arrived at the hospital and discovered that they had shipped Charles back to England for further treatment. Heartbroken, she faced the abrupt and unresolved conclusion of their story.

In the quiet aftermath of her return to the United States, she accepted the stark reality of her life. Her husband, who had been her anchor before the war, died in action months before she met Charles. Her grief, still raw, engulfed her, making it difficult to reconcile the love she felt for Charles with the loss she had endured. To cope, she pushed her feelings for Charles behind a wall of denial, focusing on rebuilding her life from the fragments left by the war.

Soon, Eleanor discovered she was pregnant. Alone and with few options, she made the heart-wrenching decision to give her baby up for adoption. She wanted her child to have a chance at a better life, one she could not provide.

Charles, back in England, wrote letters that went unanswered. He, too, was a prisoner of his circumstances, bound by the responsibilities and expectations that awaited him.

Years later, Charles stood in his study, mesmerized by the painting on his wall. He traced the brushstrokes with his fingers, lingering on Eleanor's face, allowing a wistful smile to cross his lips. Despite the passing of time, their brief but intense love remained etched in his heart.

The flame within him never died despite the passing of time, distance, or Eleanor's silence. It flickered and dimmed but never ceased to exist. The memory of their love lived on in his heart. He often wondered if she remembered his promise to find his way back to her and if she might feel the same way.


Chapter 1
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 1

By Begin Again

The Channel 23 News Media team parked their van strategically across the street from Eleanor Bennett's one-hundred-year-old Victorian home, its weathered facade a testament to bygone eras. The scent of blooming lilacs wafted through the air, mingling with the distant city smells and the hum of traffic, as the crew spilled out of the vehicle with the precision of a well-rehearsed act. Their cameras gleamed in the sunlight as they quickly set them up, all pointed at Eleanor Bennett's house.

The television station's top reporter, Amy Lockwood, a journalist with a reputation for uncovering hidden truths, approached Trevor Ashley as he stepped out of his sleek sports car. Thrusting her microphone into his face, she asked, "Would you care to comment about CJ Grey donating $100,000 to the Bayside Art Gallery?"

Trevor scowled, his jaw tightening as he forcefully pushed the microphone away. "You've got the wrong house. There's no CJ Grey here. Show some respect, will you? This is Eleanor Bennett's home. My aunt passed away recently."

Refusing to back down, Amy persisted, "Your aunt — she was an artist, right?"

"Yeah, she slapped a paintbrush around a canvas now and then, I guess, but she wasn't anyone famous."

The reporter turned and shouted at a girl standing near the van. "Haley, bring that newspaper."

The young woman grabbed the newspaper, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she hurried toward the news reporter. "Here you go, Amy."

Amy took the folded newspaper from her and opened it, exposing the front-page headlines and the picture of a woman with a neatly coiled bun of gray hair, twinkling eyes, and a warm smile. "Do you recognize this woman?"

Trevor's eyes bulged in disbelief as he stared at the picture of his aunt. His voice quivered with shock. "Oh, my word!" Without uttering another sound, he grabbed the paper from Amy's hand and sprinted up the sidewalk into the house, slamming the door behind him. Gasping for air, he rushed into the study, where Eleanor's family had gathered.

Unaccustomed to sudden outbursts, Margaret gasped, "Trevor, what's wrong with you?"

He spread the newspaper on the large mahogany side table with his usual dramatic flair. "Have you seen this?" On the front page, the headline, accompanied by Eleanor Bennett's face, read "Renowned Artist Donates $100,000 to Local Gallery."

A heavy silence descended over the room as everyone leaned in to read the article, followed by loud, confused chatter.

"That's Aunt Eleanor's face, but the story says they tracked the donation to a C.J. Grey. They just made a mistake with the photo." Megan, Margaret's only daughter, gave her hair a casual flip and returned to her chair to continue filing her nails.

Trevor sneered, "Then explain that to the news crew outside."

"This is an outrage!" Jonathan's voice boomed, his face turning a furious shade of crimson. "I told you, Margaret — Eleanor was losing her mind. Holed up in this house alone except for that neighbor of hers." His words dripped with accusations.

Margaret collapsed into an overstuffed chair, muttering, "Sister or not, I never trusted her. She was always keeping secrets. Maybe we should have filed an incompetence suit."

Megan rolled her eyes and pushed a box of tissues across the side table toward her mother. "It's not like you ever tried to be close to her, Mother."

"You watch your mouth, Megan. I always talked to Eleanor as often as I could."

"Which was when?" Megan chuckled. "Last Christmas?"

"I'll have you know that Eleanor and I had a chat just last week. If you don't believe me, you can ask Jenna."

Jonathon spun around, his eyes scouring the room. "Where's our dear aunt's pet?" He pointed at the newspaper. "She had to know about this." Venom dripped from every word.

Megan laughed. "If you're referring to Jenna, I believe she's in the kitchen. But I assure you, if she were in on Aunt Eleanor's secret, she wouldn't share the fact with you."

Jonathon checked his watch for the third time as he answered Megan, "I suppose you're right. She's probably already taken anything of value from the house." He paced the room, snatching up the newspaper, rereading it, and tossing it on the table. "Why are we here? By the looks of this house, Eleanor didn't have anything I wanted except money, which appears to be gone. Even her jewelry box was empty."

Margaret sniffled as her fingers toyed with the diamond necklace adorning her neck. "We're her family. Why give what little she had to a nosy neighbor or an art gallery? I've never heard Eleanor once mention a CJ Grey."

Half listening, Jonathon stood at the window, his gaze fixed on the sleek black SUV as it cruised past the house for the second time. His every nerve screamed it belonged to Danny Veraci, the notorious crime boss who held Bayside in his iron grip through his thriving casino empire. Despite Channel 23's news crew still occupying space across the street, he knew this was no ordinary drive-by but a chilling display of intimidation.

"Where's the lawyer? Didn't he say we should all be here for the reading of the will at two o'clock?" With a noticeable trembling in his hands, Trevor searched his pockets, retrieving a pill bottle. He popped off the top, claimed two pills from inside, and quickly swallowed them. His head twitched from side to side as he leaned back against the chair, closing his eyes and waiting for the pills to take effect.

"Trevor, must you do that here?" Margaret sighed with disgust.

"Do what, Mother? Take a prescription drug?" Trevor's eyes opened, and he glared across the room at Margaret. He snarled, "You watch too many television shows."

"Watch your tone, young man. I am your mother, and you'll show me the respect I deserve."

Trevor laughed. "Respect! Tell that to the last three guys I saw sneaking out of your bedroom in the middle of the night. Are you charging them, or is it just something to keep you warm at night?"

"Shut up, Trevor!" Jonathan snapped. Now's not the time to air the family's dirty laundry. The lawyer's coming up the walk."

Megan peered around her uncle's shoulder. "If that dude with him is a lawyer, he can represent me any day." She licked her lips and gave her uncle a wink. "If you get my drift."

Jonathan chuckled. "Sorry, sweetie, if I'm not mistaken, the only place you'd be meeting that guy is across the table in an interrogation room. He's one of Bayside's finest, Detective Matthew Donatelli."

Jonathan's words piqued Trevor's attention, and he sat up straight in his chair. "A detective? Why is the lawyer bringing him to the reading of the will? It's not like Aunt Eleanor was someone rich and famous."

Hearing the uproar in the study, Jenna had stopped outside the door to listen. Her heart raced as she watched Eleanor's family discuss her with total disrespect.

"Oh, Eleanor, I'm glad you aren't here to listen to their bickering. Now I understand —"

She jumped and spun around as the doorbell echoed throughout the house. She was positive someone had touched her arm. At the sounds of Megan's stilettos tapping against the hardwood floor, Jenna hurried toward the kitchen, not wanting the family to know what she'd overheard.

Once in the kitchen, she slumped onto a chair, laying her head on the table. Her sadness at the loss of her friend was overwhelming. She wiped away the threatening tears, remembering her promise not to cry. She buried her face in her hands, mumbling, "Eleanor, I can't help it." She shivered involuntarily, her breath misting in the unusually cold air. "I wish you were here."

"But I am here," the voice startled Jenna.

She jumped out of the chair. Her heart raced as she spun around, her eyes checking every corner. The kitchen was empty, yet a faint aroma of lavender drifted in the air. She heard a soft, familiar chuckle, which caused her to freeze in place, her hand gripping the back of the chair.

"Eleanor?" Jenna whispered. Her eyes widened as she scanned the room. There was no one there. Shaking her head, she lowered herself into the chair. "Jenna, get a hold of yourself. Dead people don't talk."

"But they do. Remember what I told you — it's not over until it's over." The voice was unmistakably Eleanor's, pleasant but airy.

An orchestra of icy fingers strummed Jenna's spine, and her voice cracked as she stammered, "Eleanor?"

A soft, shimmering light materialized in the corner of the kitchen, growing gradually brighter. Jenna watched in awe as the light took on the faint outline of a familiar figure — Eleanor, her hair in a tightly coiled bun, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and her warm smile.

Jenna gulped, unable to move from the chair. "Is it — really you?"

The ghostly figure nodded, her expression warm but tinged with a playful hint of mystery. "I didn't mean to frighten you, child. I planned on doing this later, but I couldn't resist once I saw the show unfolding in the study."

"But —" Jenna stammered, her eyes wide.

Eleanor's spectral form shimmered with amusement. "Death isn't as final as we think. I have a few loose ends to tie up and secrets to reveal."

"How?" Jenna gasped. "Oh, God, I must be losing my mind, thinking I am talking to a ghost."

"Just think of me as your friend." Eleanor smiled, generating a warm glow as her ghostly hand reached out, almost touching Jenna's cheek.

Jenna's hand touched her face as she felt a faint tingle. She took a deep breath, letting her fear slowly ease. "What's happening?"

"I need you to be my eyes and ears. Stay close to them. Watch and listen. And Jenna, remember — you're not alone."

Megan's voice echoed down the hallway. "Jenna, the lawyer is here."

Eleanor's form faded as quickly as she appeared, leaving Jenna alone in the kitchen, her mind racing with questions. Still unsure what had happened, she took a deep breath, picked up the tray of coffee cups and the pot of coffee, and yelled, "I'm coming."

As Jenna reached the kitchen door, Eleanor whispered, "The adventure is just beginning, Jenna."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery

Magaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister

Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter

Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son

Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother

Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners

Craig Winslow - Attorney

Matthew Donatelli - Detective

Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett

Charles Weldon - a memory from the past


Chapter 2
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 2

By Begin Again

 After answering the door, Megan returned to the study with a man on each arm. Her smile, reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat, was as sweet as honey as she read the business card. "Family, allow me to introduce Aunt Eleanor's esteemed lawyer, Craig Winslow, Senior Vice President of the law firm of Winslow & Sons."

Unaccustomed to such flamboyant entrances, particularly at a solemn event like a will reading, Craig's face flushed with embarrassment. In his late fifties, he was distinguished with a tall, lean build. He had a full head of silver hair, impeccably styled, and mahogany brown eyes. Thin, wire-rimmed glasses rested on his aquiline nose, revealing his Mediterranean ancestry. His tailored charcoal suit stated he was a no-nonsense man who got things done.

Dropping Craig's arm, Megan turned her full attention to the other man, Detective Matthew Donatelli. The contrast in their appearances was striking. While Craig's appearance declared himself a businessman, Donatelli's couldn't be more opposite. He was in his early thirties, with a muscular build that he maintained religiously. He had jet-black hair, slicked back in a style that screamed confidence, and green eyes that twinkled with mischief. His wardrobe consisted of a navy blue shirt with indigo, designer jeans, and a leather jacket, topped off by a pair of aviator sunglasses.

Megan smiled at her family. "And this fine specimen of a man is Detective Matthew Donatelli."

Craig Winslow walked across the room, set his briefcase on the small table, and opened it. Megan steered the detective toward the settee and patted the cushion beside her as she sank onto her side. "Please, Detective, sit by me."

Matthew squeezed Megan's hand and flashed his million-dollar smile. "As much as I would enjoy sitting beside you, duty requires me to stand in the back."

Megan's ruby-red, lacquered lips formed a sexy pout as the detective moved to the far side of the room.

Wasting no time, Craig Winslow cleared his throat and spoke to the family. "Before I address the will, I would like to say that I had the privilege of knowing Eleanor Bennett for most of my life. I met her when I was in grade school. She volunteered — sharing her talent and teaching them how to paint."

Trevor muttered, "Like the blind teaching the blind." Megan snickered behind her hand while Margaret glared at her son.

"Eleanor was a complicated person. She kept her life as an artist private without revealing it to anyone. I'm sure you were surprised by today's headlines."

"We're her family, and she didn't share such an important decision with us? Any of us would have been thankful for the money." Jonathan sneered, adding, "Let's just get this farce over. By the looks of this house, she can't have much else to give away."

Craig glanced at Donatelli, who nodded, giving the lawyer the go-ahead. "I'm sure you are wondering why Detective Donatelli is here today, so we might as well get it out of the way before we continue with the will."

The detective eased his way through the chairs, noting the disgruntled faces, and joined Mr. Winslow. "Shortly after her death, Mr. Winslow and the coroner notified me that Eleanor Bennett had a clause in her will requesting an autopsy after her death."

A few gasps were heard as Donatelli scanned the room for their reactions. Margaret was braver than most and muttered, "Leave it to my sister to play up her death. Full of secrets while she was alive and a drama queen after her death."

Megan sighed. "A waste of money. She was old and dying of cancer. What more could an autopsy tell you?"

"Actually, Miss Ashley, it told us much more than we expected. The coroner has conclusively stated that Eleanor Bennett did not die of natural causes. She  was murdered."

Margaret screeched, "Murdered?" Her face turned ashen, far paler than her typical hue. She hadn't been prepared for that particular thunderbolt. The calm facade she'd been struggling to maintain cracked and crumbled.

Trevor jumped out of the chair he was lounging in, snarling, "What kind of trick are you trying to pull? Who would have murdered her and how?"

Audrey and Jackson, co-owners of the Bayside Art Gallery, had remained silent since the beginning of the gathering. Still, even they exchanged shocked looks of disbelief. Jackson leaned closer to his wife and whispered, "If nothing else, the value of her paintings will skyrocket."

Audrey's eyes widened as she shushed her husband. "Are you crazy? If someone hears you, they might think the gallery was involved."

"None of them even knew about us until today."

"You better hope not. You weren't discreet when you argued with Eleanor at the gallery the other day." The couple exchanged glares and belatedly checked to see if anyone had overheard them.

Having chosen a chair in the back, Jenna gasped in disbelief as she whimpered, "Oh, Eleanor, how could this be?" Unable to stop them, she allowed the forbidden tears to escape her eyes and buried her face in her hands.  

Craig Winslow and Donatelli exchanged glances as the room erupted in chaos. Craig raised his hand for silence and waited until the noise subsided. "Please, let us proceed calmly. I understand this news is shocking, but we must address it before we proceed with the contents of Mrs. Bennett's will."

Detective Donatelli stepped forward, his gaze steady and authoritative. "As I mentioned, the autopsy revealed that Mrs. Bennett did not die from her illness. The police department and coroner have determined that foul play was involved."

The murmurs in the room intensified, mixed with gasps of disbelief and concern.

"I understand this news is distressing, but rest assured, we are committed to uncovering the truth. I'll be taking statements from all of you."

"Statements! What for? Are you accusing one of us of killing her?" Feeling no pain thanks to the drugs in his system, Trevor charged toward the detective. "You have no right to come into this house and spread lies."

Ignoring Trevor's outburst, Detective Donatelli smiled. "I'm just doing my job. Mrs. Bennett did not die of natural causes, and an investigation is ongoing at this moment." His eyes met Trevor's glassy ones. "You have nothing to hide, do you?"

Trevor returned to his chair, muttering, "Let's just get this fiasco over with, can we?"

Megan laughed. "Chill, Trevor. Pop another pill and relax."

"Shut up, or I'll —" 

"You'll what?" Megan's eyes sparkled with merriment. "Kill me?" 

Margaret glared at her children. "Stop this nonsense now. Nobody killed or is going to kill anyone. We aren't animals." 

Attorney Winslow cleared his throat. "Detective Donatelli will arrange times and places to contact each of you before you leave today." He looked at the detective for confirmation and then continued, "Now, shall we proceed with the reading of the will?" 

Craig opened the papers in his briefcase, ready to disclose Eleanor Bennett's last wishes amidst the turmoil and uncertainty in the room.

"I want to thank you all for coming. As you know, Eleanor Bennett has left a will containing some—" He glanced nervously around the room. "There's some unexpected instructions and revelations. Eleanor felt things should be earned, not handed out freely without any expectations."

"I know it surprised most of you when you learned this morning that she painted under the name CJ Grey. Her paintings were widely acclaimed, and she has amassed a significant fortune through her artwork."

Gasps arose from every corner of the room. 

"You've got to be kidding. She lived in this run-down house —" Jonathan ran his fingers across the windowsill. "Which has seen better days." He dramatically brushed his hands together, blowing off the dust. As he did so, he adjusted the curtain and watched the black SUV drive by again.

"My sister was rich? I couldn't care less about her secret life, but to keep the money a secret when she was well aware, she could have reached out and helped her family. Guess she wasn't the loving sister she pretended to be?"

Unable to listen to their mean and spiteful remarks anymore, Jenna stood and addressed them all. "Eleanor was the sweetest and kindest woman I've ever known. If she didn't share her secrets with you, then she had a reason."

Megan scoffed. "Bet you were one of them."

"We were friends, not because she had money. I shared her love for painting. We spent hours together, and I will be forever grateful for those times."

"I bet you will. How much did you shove in your pockets when the old woman wasn't looking?" Trevor snapped.

His words stung, and Jenna couldn't stop the tears from flowing. "I never —" She collapsed onto her chair, burying her face in her hands.

Having heard more than enough, Eleanor's invisible spirit floated across the room, knocking things over and emptying the bookshelf. Several books hit Jonathan, and a large vase toppled from a shelf, barely missing Trevor's head.

Amidst everyone's terrified screams and wide-eyed expressions of shock, Jonathan yelled, "Is the house collapsing?"

The detective wasn't sure what had happened, but he knew the house wasn't going anywhere. "It might have been a tremor."

Margaret scowled. "We don't get earthquakes around here." Eleanor shook her sister's chair, and another scream erupted from Margaret's mouth.

"Earthquakes can happen anywhere. Whatever it was, it's over now."

Eleanor, perched on the mantel, smiled and thought, "It's not over yet, not by a long shot." Her eyes shifted to Jenna, wanting to comfort her, but she knew she'd be exposing herself if she did.

*****

Rubbing his eyes, Craig Winslow waited for the commotion to subside, though whispering continued around the room. He'd expected some discontent, but not the fiasco he was witnessing. The terms of Eleanor's will told him she'd been well aware of how her family would react, except for her murder. Like Jenna, he couldn't imagine anyone hurting such a sweet, charming woman. However, Detective Donatelli had other thoughts.

"Could we get back to the reading of the will, please?" Craig waited a few moments, then continued, "Eleanor has left specific tasks for each of you to complete."

"Tasks?" Trevor snarled. "We aren't in school. Just give us the stuff and get it over with."

"Trevor, show a little tact, okay?" Jonathan snapped. "Your complaining isn't going to get this over any faster. Let him talk."

Megan chuckled. "Somebody's going to make you jump through hoops, and I can't wait to see it happen."

"I'm sure she has something planned for you as well." Trevor glared across the room at his sister.

Having had more than his fill of their colorful antics, Donatelli stepped closer to the lawyer. He slammed his fist on the table in his official interrogation voice and yelled, "Shut up, all of you! Let the man get this whole charade over with, and then you can moan over spilled milk after he's gone."

Everyone stared at him icily, but the room became quiet. The detective glanced around the room, smiling, and then nodded to the attorney. "Floor's yours."

Craig took a deep breath. "Thank you. As I said, Eleanor has left specific tasks for each of you to complete. These tasks are designed to promote personal growth and community involvement. I'll begin with —"  

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery

Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister

Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter

Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son

Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother

Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners

Craig Winslow - Attorney

Matthew Donatelli - Detective

Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett

Charles Weldon - a memory from the past


Chapter 3
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 3

By Begin Again

 
Jonathan's temper, past the stage of mild irritation, was a pressure cooker about to explode. In three swift steps, he left the window and seized the lawyer's shirt in his fist. His voice, a low growl, filled the room. "I don't know what this personal growth crap is all about. Get to the point or —"

Michael Donatelli had stepped away, but within seconds, he'd crossed the room and lifted Jonathan off his feet, tossing him into a nearby chair. One minute, his face was crimson red like a demon's mask at Halloween, and the next, he was the calm, collected detective again, but his voice told a different story. "Sit there. Shut up and listen, or I will personally show you the door."
 
Taken aback by the sudden change in the situation, Jonathan stuttered, "You can't —"
While the flustered attorney tried to compose himself, Donatelli pointed his finger at Jonathan. "I can, and trust me, I will do it with pleasure."
 
Margaret and Megan sat open-mouthed, gaping in disbelief. Trevor chuckled and immediately hid his face behind a magazine. Everyone else in the room fell silent except Eleanor, of course. At that precise moment, she became a one-person cheering section for Detective Michael Donatelli. She floated about the room, dancing a waltz she suddenly remembered, dipping and swaying with enjoyment.

From Jenna's vantage point in the back of the room, her eyes bulged, but her excessive grin spoke volumes as she watched. It was then that she realized only she could see Eleanor.

The detective nodded at Craig. "Sorry for his rude interruption. Please continue."

Still rattled, Craig cleared his throat while he shuffled the papers in his hands, trying to gain his composure. Finally, he spoke, "As I was saying, Eleanor hopes that each of you will grow —" His eyes darted toward Jonathan and decided on a different tactic. "Eleanor Bennett was a woman who wanted to help others and see her community prosper. Though she was very private and kept her art abilities a secret, she accumulated an overwhelming amount of money with her success. You learned of the donation to the art gallery under her assumed name of CJ Grey this morning, but she has been responsible for laying the foundation for many other struggling businesses in our town. For everyone gathered here, she has made a very special allotment. Each of you will inherit one million dollars."

Eleanor and Donatelli watched their faces as the room erupted into shock, followed instantly by exuberant cheers.
 
As the room buzzed with excitement, Megan had tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. She shouted, "We're rich! We're rich, Mommy!" She sprang from her chair and grabbed her mother into her arms. "Our troubles are over. Even though you were so mean to Aunt Eleanor, she still gave us a million dollars."

Visions of regaining her status in the community as the Queen of Society filled Margaret's thoughts, but knowing her sister as well as she did, she sat patiently, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Trevor leaned back in his chair and mused aloud, "Ferrari? Jaguar? Or perhaps a bright yellow Porsche?" His mind was already racing with thoughts of luxury cars and extravagant purchases, his fingers flying across his phone screen in search of his dream vehicle.

And amidst the chaos and jubilation, Jonathan remained silent, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his mind raced with thoughts of a poker table and high stakes. With a subtle nod to Donatelli, he quirked an eyebrow and asked the lawyer, "What's the kicker?"

A bit confused, Craig Winslow scowled. "The kicker?"

"Yeah, what happens before we get this money?"

"Oh, that! As I was telling you and everyone else, Eleanor has designated another $250,000 for each of you to help the community. Giving back was the term she used."

"What? We take the $250,000, hand it over to some charity, and then you give us the million?"

"Well, it's not quite that simple. Everyone will work as a team, but each of you will be in charge of their task. For example, Margaret, your task is the soup kitchen on Hayward Street."
 
Hearing her name, Margaret straightened her back and leaned forward, eager to know more about the inheritance. Yet, when Craig mentioned a soup kitchen, a look of confusion replaced her grin. "Soup kitchen? My sister knows I don't know the first thing about cooking. Why would she want me to go into this business and take over? Am I supposed to find recipes or something? Or do I hire someone to redecorate?"
 
 Megan snickered. "Mother, Hayward Street is on the far side of the train tracks."

 "Oh dear, me, that won't do. None of my friends would dine anywhere near that place."

Trevor couldn't resist adding his two cents. "Do you know what a soup kitchen is?"

"Of course I do. It's a restaurant that serves different types of soup. The first thing I'd do is broaden their menu. Eating just soup would be boring."

"You've led much too sheltered of a life, Mother. The homeless and other unfortunate people eat in a soup kitchen daily."

"Oh, dear me, we won't make any money that way? One of you boys must chase them away so my friends won't feel disgusted."

Trevor shook his head. "The soup kitchen is meant for them. I believe Aunt Eleanor wants you to use a little elbow grease and make it a better place."

Margaret's face turned sour at the thought. "She expects me to do dishes, scrub things, and serve food to — these people? That's preposterous," she huffed, crossing her arms and sinking back into her chair. Her eyes darted to her children and then to the lawyer. "You can't be serious?"

Still twirling and gliding across the room with infectious joy, Eleanor paused mid-spin and fixed Margaret with a meaningful gaze. "This is your chance to make a real difference, Margaret. Embrace it," she urged, her voice wistful, carrying a note of encouragement that no one except Jenna heard.

Craig nodded his head. "I'm afraid she intends for all of you to pitch in and resurrect the crumbling facility."

Megan's laugh disappeared. "Crumbling, like falling down? Are there mice or rats?"

Enjoying his sister's distress, he added, "There're disgusting urinals and layers of vomit on the bathroom floors. You probably can smell the place blocks away."

"I won't," Megan wailed. Glancing at her perfect manicure, she asked, "Do you know what it costs to get these hands looking this way? Manual labor won't do. Maybe I could welcome people at the door. Yeah, that would work."
"I'm afraid not. This is a hands-on job with Margaret leading the charge."

Megan wailed, "Mother, tell me I do not have to do this."

"While Mother and Megan fret and stew over the thought of working, I'd like to know what other tasks my sister expected us to do."

Craig shuffled through the papers and found Jonathan's task. "Eleanor thought you had a mind for financial things."

"Me? I currently don't have two nickels to rub together, sir. What financial things did my rich sister think I could do?"

"I believe she mentioned setting up a crisis center of some sort, where people can come for help, work through their problems, and learn how to build a strong financial foundation."

"If I knew how to do that, don't you think I would be in a better position than I am?"

"I'm sorry, Jonathan. These were your sister's stipulations. Maybe you could come to my office, and we could discuss your options."

"My options? I don't understand. Are you saying I could skip the task?"

"No, that's not possible. I'm saying together we might find a solution or the right approach to solving the task."

Eleanor moved closer to her brother. She had known this would be a struggle, especially with his gambling. She hadn't thought about how he'd get started, now she knew that would be a priority. She'd have to do some thinking herself.

The drugs were wearing off, and Trevor was becoming antsy to get this meeting over with. "Can you tell me what Aunt Eleanor wants from me so I can get out of this place?"

"Eager to get started, Trevor?" Craig asked.

"Not really. I need some air to clear my head." His hand went to his coat pocket but came out empty. He immediately checked under the chair, around the cushions, and his other pockets.

"Lose something, Trevor?" Donatelli asked.

Trevor's head snapped around to see the detective standing in front of him. "My — my keys. I was looking for my keys."

Donatelli picked up a set of keys from the light stand. "Are these your keys?"

Trevor grabbed them out of the detective's hand. "Yeah! Can't believe I didn't see them there."

"You're not a very good liar, Trevor." Eleanor tucked the pill bottle into her pocket. "You're so intelligent, and you are wasting it by popping pills. What comes next? If you get the money, you'll overdose. If you don't get the money, they'll probably find you dead in some alley trying to get the drugs." Eleanor sighed. "You are going to need watching."

"I've got to get out of here. What did she say I have to do?" Trevor snapped.

"I believe you must establish a rehabilitation center."

"For addicts? That's crazy. I don't want to hang out with people who live their lives popping pills or slamming down cheap booze. I'm out of here."

"You've plenty of time, Trevor. Think about it and then come see me at the office."

Trevor stood and glared at the lawyer and then at Donatelli. "There's nothing to think about." He started toward the door and called back to his uncle, "Jonathan, are you coming or staying?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Yeah, I've heard enough for today. Let's go get a drink."

Donatelli watched from the window as the two men stormed out of the house. He'd seen the dark SUV circling the block and wondered which of the two men had rubbed Danny Veraci wrong.

Audrey and Jackson approached the front. "Audrey and I are wondering why we were asked to come today. Certainly, we don't fit into the same qualifications."

"Eleanor loved art and wanted to see the gallery thrive."

Audrey raised her eyebrow. "While I appreciate her concern, the gallery is doing fine. And now that we have the $100,000 donation, things will be even better."

"That's nice to hear. For some reason, I thought the gallery might be having some financial difficulties."

Jackson looked around the room and snapped, "I don't know where you got your information, Mr. Winslow, but you are mistaken. As my wife said, the gallery is doing fine."

"Well, Eleanor has made a provision in her will for $250,000 to you as well."

At the sound of more money, Jackson perked up. "She did. I'm surprised after receiving the other donation."

"Before her untimely death," Craig smiled, "I had already set in motion the plan to give the gallery the first donation. I guess you can consider it a bonus."

"What do we have to do?" Audrey wondered what Eleanor might have wanted for the gallery.
"She wants a studio for underprivileged children to master the craft of painting. She wants the gallery to establish a school where the gallery will pay all expenses."

Jackson choked, "All expenses."

"You are receiving quite a large sum of money to get your project off the ground. Maybe you could use some of it for a benefit to raise additional funds."

Jenna approached the group and said, "You can have an auction using one of Eleanor's paintings. I'm sure it would be a big draw."

Jackson's temperature shot up. "Eleanor's paintings?"

"Yes, I believe she has several of them on display at the gallery."

 "Yes, yes, of course. There's been a lot to take in today. Audrey and I will consider it and let Mr. Winslow know about our decision." Jackson grabbed his wife's hand. "We've got to get back to the gallery."

Bewildered at Jackson's abrupt exit, Audrey struggled to stay upright as he hurried out the door.

Jenna stared at the couple as they left, wondering what had set Jackson on edge. She searched the room for Eleanor, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Is that all, Mr. Winslow?"

"Well, Megan has a task, too, but she seems too distraught at the moment, so I think I'll save it for another day. And then, of course, Eleanor has also made provisions for you."

"Me? You must be mistaken. I'm not family."

"According to Eleanor, you, my dear, were much more than just family."

Jenna blushed. "I loved her very much. Hearing her family talk about her in such a way broke my heart." A tear trickled down her cheek.

"Let's call it a day, Jenna. I have another appointment, and I am sure Detective Donatelli wants to get his investigation underway. Maybe we can talk some more tomorrow."

Donatelli extended his hand to Jenna. "Yes, your friend deserves to have her murder solved, and by the looks of things, I've got quite a few suspects."

"You don't think one of the family —" Jenna's eyes widened as she looked at Margaret and Megan huddling on the settee.

"I'm not paid to think. My job is to find the suspect and solve the crime." Donatelli squeezed Jenna's hand. "And trust me, that's exactly what I am going to
do."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery

Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister

Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter

Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son

Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother

Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners

Craig Winslow - Attorney

Matthew Donatelli - Detective

Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett

Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss

Charles Weldon - a memory from the past


Chapter 4
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 4

By Begin Again

After leaving Eleanor's house, Craig and Matthew stopped at The Working Man's Bar for a cold beer and a chance to compare notes.

"What do you know about the couple from the gallery?" Donatelli tipped his beer back and took a long draw, sighing as he felt the cold liquid run down his parched throat. "Did it seem like the husband was in a big hurry to get out of there after Jenna mentioned auctioning one of Eleanor's paintings?"

"I'd never met them before, but Eleanor always spoke highly of the gallery. But about a week ago, she seemed upset."

"Upset? About what?"

"I don't know. But she'd been at the gallery earlier and then stopped at my office to sign some papers. She wasn't her usual perky self. When I asked, she said she didn't want to jump the gun, so she'd tell me about it later after she'd checked things out."

"She wasn't having second thoughts about giving them the money, was she?"

"I don't think it was that because she included them in the will to receive even more." Craig sipped his drink. "But she was upset about something."

"Maybe I'll visit the gallery and see what they have to say."
*****

Meanwhile, things were heating up inside the Mayfield's vehicle.

"Jackson! Slow down." Audrey gasped as her hands flew to the dashboard. "That was a stop sign."

"Sorry! I didn't see it." Beads of sweat formed on Jackson's forehead, his eyes focused straight ahead, not glancing side to side. Even when Audrey screamed, he didn't look at her.

"What's going on? Ever since that detective said Eleanor was murdered, you've been upset. Are you afraid someone will rescind the money?"

"Of course not! Eleanor or CJ Grey gave us that money, which was fair and square. It's all legit." Jackson's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white.

"Well, something has spooked you. Tell me what's bothering you."

Jackson sighed. "It's the painting."

"The painting? I don't understand. What painting? One of Eleanor's paintings?"

"Yes, the one where the man and woman are sitting on the grassy knoll staring out at the puffs of black clouds in the distance."

"Yes, I remember it. Is that what you and Eleanor were arguing about last week?"

"Yes. She noticed it wasn't hanging in its usual place and wanted to know where it was."

"That's simple. Did it get moved?" Audrey was still confused. "Did you put it in another part of the gallery?"

Jackson swallowed hard. He swerved the car, barely missing an oncoming vehicle.

"Jackson. What's wrong with you?" Audrey's voice quivered.

"Nothing!" He shook his head and glanced at his wife. "Everything!"

"You're not making sense. Just tell me what's wrong."

Jackson pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park, turning to face his wife. "I don't know where the picture is."

Audrey's eyes widened as she choked on her saliva. "You — don't — know."

"That's what I said."

"Jackson, is that what Eleanor was so angry about? She trusted us with her paintings, and we lost one. Why didn't you tell me? We've got to call the police."

"No! We can't do that." Jackson pounded his fist against the steering wheel. "No police. At least, not just yet."

"But Jackson, if we wait and someone else discovers it is missing, they'll think we took it."

"I did!"

"You — you took the painting." Audrey's heart was beating so hard she thought she'd throw up. "Jackson?"

"Remember the huge storm we had a few weeks ago. There was a leak in the roof, and the picture was damaged. I didn't want to tell Eleanor since she'd just told us about the donation, and I thought she'd change her mind."

"A leak in the roof?" Audrey's face twisted in confusion. "So, water dripped on the painting?"

"More than water. It was dark and rusty-looking. I took it down, thinking I could clean it off, but nothing I did helped. I sent it out for repair."

"That was a good idea, though I think Eleanor would have understood. She might have wanted to fix it herself."

"I didn't think of that."

"You might have mentioned all of this to me, Jackson. I am your wife and co-owner of the gallery. I don't understand why you were so secretive. Who is fixing it? Did you send it to Leonardo's or Pamela's shop?"

"Neither. Do you remember a few weeks ago when that guy stopped in with some paintings and said he could help us with repairs at half the cost of Leonardo's?"

"Yes, and I told him we were very satisfied with the people we do business with."

"Leonardo's said it would cost between $1000 and $1500."
 
"Wow! Why so expensive?"
 
"Someone had done something to the painting a long time ago, and now the mixtures of oils were different."

"Okay, that makes sense, I guess."

"Anyhow, we still had outstanding bills with both shops, and both wanted their money upfront. We didn't have it."

"Of course we do. The checking account has enough money to run the business for months. You just told me last week that —" Audrey stared at her husband's face as the color drained. "Jackson, we have money, right?"

He shook his head. "After fixing the roof, we are broke."

Audrey gasped, "Broke! We can't be."

"I'm afraid we are." Jackson stared out the windshield. "What's worse is I called that other guy. He sent a courier for the painting. When the story broke about CJ Grey, he called and demanded more money."

"That's robbery. We've got to tell the police, Jackson."
 
"No! If this story gets out to the press, it will ruin the gallery.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Take the money from Eleanor's donation and pay the man."

"How much?"

Jackson closed his eyes and mumbled, "Three thousand dollars."

"Three thousand dollars!"

"It's either that or he keeps the picture and leaks the story to the press."

Tears streamed down Audrey's face. "Oh, Jackson, this is a mess!"

Jackson laid his head against the steering wheel. "And it gets worse."

"Worse? What do you mean?"

"I thought I could reason with the guy. Maybe give him half now and the other half in a few weeks. I drove over to the address on his business card. The storefront had a for lease sign. It was empty."

Jackson shifted the car into gear and pulled back into traffic while Audrey leaned her head against the door, sobbing.

*****
Thousands of miles away in Southampton, England, two men were also discussing the painting. A renowned artist, Charles Weldon, sat in his wheelchair, staring at the half-finished painting of the woman he loved. His nephew and protege, Dylan, stood nearby, admiring his uncle's collection. Their recent discussion hung heavy in the air as they awaited their guest.

The last notes of Beethoven's Ode to Joy filled the interior of the silver Jaguar as the Inspector drove onto the Weldon Estate. The manor made a massive impression with its high-pitched gables, ivy-covered brick, and double oak doors. Inspector Charlie Morgan climbed out, inhaled the fresh country air, and approached the front door with confidence.

Dylan opened the door, hesitating as if expecting someone else to arrive. Charlie Morgan smiled and extended her hand. "I'm Inspector Morgan from the Metropolitan Police. I believe you were expecting me."

Dylan looked sheepish. "My apologies. I thought you —"

"Were a man." Charlie laughed. "It happens all the time. My birth name is Charlotte, but Charlie suits me just fine."

"I'm Dylan." As he closed the door, he couldn't help but admire the car in the driveway. "That's quite a ride."

"It belonged to my father when he was the Inspector. He passed it along to me when he retired. It attracts some attention, doesn't it?"

"It's beautiful."

"I enjoyed the ride here while listening to classical music. Couldn't do that in one of those modern compacts, now, could you?"

"Charles would love it." Dylan smiled. "Speaking of my uncle, he's impatiently waiting in the solarium. Please come with me."

As they entered the solarium, Charlie couldn't help but notice all the paintings, especially the one nearest Charles. It was a portrait of a woman, her eyes filled with a haunting sadness, her lips curved in a bittersweet smile. "She's beautiful,"

"Thank you. Her sparkling eyes and soft lips greet me every morning."

"Oh, is it a picture of your wife?"

A sadness filled Charles's eyes before he spoke. "No, just an old memory."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weldon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all. Life often serves up cherries, only to leave us with the pits." Charles motioned to a chair. "Please sit down."

"Yes, we do have some business to discuss." She directed her next question to Dylan. On the phone, you mentioned you saw one of your uncle's paintings in Germany. It was being shown under a different name. Is that correct?"

"That's right. It was unmistakably my uncle's work, but it was credited to someone else. I thought it was an isolated case until I saw this." He handed the Inspector the local art newspaper, pointing to the article about CJ Grey's donation to a local gallery in the States.

"It's a monetary donation. Artists do it all the time, don't they?"

"It's not the donation that caught my attention. Look at the picture in the background. There's a painting that resembles my uncle's style."

"The picture's a little blurry. But you believe the painting might be part of an art theft ring?"

"It's too much of a coincidence," Dylan said, pointing to another picture hanging on the wall. "When he convalesced in France during the war, my uncle painted that," Dylan said.

"It does have a lot of similarities, especially the grassy knoll and the clouds."

"My uncle's paintings have been stolen before, and now they're showing up in different countries under various names, selling at very high prices. Charles and I believe it merits an investigation.

Inspector Morgan stared at the news bulletin and the picture on the wall. "I agree." She opened the folder she'd brought and spread several photographs on a nearby table. "Here are some images from recent theft reports in some prominent galleries. Look and see if you recognize any of these as your uncle's work."

Charles rolled his wheelchair closer to the table. His eyes were drawn to one painting. Dylan peered over his uncle's shoulder. "That one! It's definitely your painting, Charles."

Charles nodded and then turned away, his eyes misting over.

"He painted it years ago." Dylan pointed at the painting the Inspector had admired when she arrived. "It's her — looking forlornly out the window."

"This confirms our suspicions. We need to start with the gallery in the U.S. I can contact my counterparts."

"I'm planning to travel to the U.S. to investigate."

"That's unnecessary. I know people with the FBI who are investigating international theft rings. They can do all the work for you."

For the first time since her arrival, Charles spoke, "No! I want Dylan to represent me since I'm unable to travel. He knows my work and will spot a forgery or if someone represents my work as theirs."

"Of course, sir. I meant no disrespect."

"None taken, Inspector. Please notify your people in the U.S. and ensure they know of my arrival."

"Of course. Meanwhile, gather any documentation Charles has on his artwork—receipts, photographs, anything that can help us prove their origin. These people are smart and will have their bases covered."

"We understand."

Charlie extended her hand to Charles. "As art theft is a serious crime, we will ensure that those responsible are brought to justice."

After shaking Dylan's hand, she added, "Let me know your flight plans, and I'll have someone meet you at the airport."

"Thank you. I'll see you out."

"No need. I'll be fine."

As she left the room, Charles looked at his nephew with a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I have faith in you. Bring them back, Dylan. Bring my paintings back."

Dylan hugged his uncle and whispered, "I will. I promise."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery

Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister

Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter

Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son

Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother

Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners

Craig Winslow - Attorney

Matthew Donatelli - Detective

Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett

Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss

Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past

Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege

Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England


Chapter 5
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 5

By Begin Again

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into Chicago O'Hare International Airport. Please fasten your seat belts, return your seats and tray tables to their upright position, and stow all carry-on luggage."

Dylan glanced out the window at Lake Michigan and the vast areas of tall buildings. "Here we go, Uncle Charles." He took one last look at the photograph of Charles and Eleanor together, then tucked it into his jacket pocket.

The flight attendant continued her prepared speech. "We will be landing shortly. The local time is 4 p.m., and the temperature outside is 85 degrees. Thank you for flying United, and welcome to Chicago."

Dylan leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and waited to feel the landing gear touch the ground. The last time he was in Chicago, he'd been with Charles. They'd come in search of Eleanor, met with his uncle's friend who was involved in law enforcement, and followed leads, but unfortunately, they went home sad and empty-handed. Dylan prayed this trip would be more fruitful.

*****

Dylan stepped off the plane, his nerves taut like piano wires. The bustling airport was a maze of hurried travelers, announcements blaring overhead, and the faint aroma of coffee wafting through the air. He glanced around the area, searching for the FBI agent he was supposed to meet.

He didn't know what to expect. Would he wear a blue jacket with the FBI's letters blazoned in yellow or dress like any other citizen, hiding his identity?

Unbeknownst to Dylan, a pair of cold, calculating eyes followed his every move from a discreet distance. News travels fast, and people other than the FBI knew of Dylan's travel plans and were one step ahead of him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he quickly checked the message. It was a restricted number. It read, "Gate 7." He'd arrived at Terminal B — Gate 24.

As he navigated through the crowds of people, he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He brushed it off as paranoia, telling himself there was no way anyone would know he would travel to Chicago.

As he approached Gate 7, he wished the agent had given him more information. How was he to recognize this person?

His anxiety eased when he spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man near the coffee kiosk, with his black Stetson tipped down over his eyes and his cowboy boots propped against a silver suitcase.

Dylan weaved through the crowd, calling out, "Garth!"

The cowboy slowly pushed his hat away from his eyes, exposing a faint smile. He brought his lanky frame to a standing position and drawled, "Howdy, partner. Good to see you again."

Dylan laughed. "You were the last person I expected to see. Inspector Morgan never mentioned who her contact was."

Garth smiled, "Charlie plays her cards close to the vest."

"You know the Inspector?" Dylan asked, quickly smiling. "Of course you do!"

"You might say we've passed a little time together on a case or two." A fleeting glimmer sparked in his dark eyes. "She called and said you might have a lead on this art ring. The minute she mentioned your uncle, I knew I was in."

Dylan's eyes scanned the area. "Where's your sidekicks? Don't they always travel with you?"

Garth chuckled. "If you mean Tango and Poppa, I assure you they are closer than you think."

The young man looked around at the crowd. "I don't see any familiar faces?"

"That's the point. You aren't supposed to see them. Let's go somewhere that's a little quieter so we can talk." Garth dusted off the brim of his hat and returned it to his head.

"You're forgetting your suitcase."

Garth gave Dylan one of his big Texan smiles. "It's not mine. It was a convenient place to rest my feet for a while. Come on. I've had enough of this rodeo."

As they moved away from the gate, a man in a dark blue coat and sunglasses lingered a few feet behind, blending seamlessly with the crowd. His hand rested casually in his pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of a concealed weapon recently reclaimed from the men's janitor closet.

Further away from the gates, they found a secluded corner near an empty sandwich shop. Garth was eager to hear what Dylan had to share and to match it with the information his team had collected.

"We believe your uncle's paintings are part of a larger operation."

Dylan nodded, his mind racing. He wanted to ask more questions, but the uneasy feeling he had experienced earlier distracted him. He glanced over Garth's shoulder and glimpsed the man in the dark coat, who quickly turned away, pretending to check his watch.

Dylan lowered his voice to a whisper. "Garth, I think we are being watched."

The FBI agent tipped his hat backward, scanning the area. "The guy in the blue coat?"

"Yes, he was following me when I left the plane."

"Follow my lead and stay close." Garth's eyes shifted to the young families across the aisle. With a quick nod, he stood and started walking briskly through the terminal, weaving through the crowds, taking sudden turns, and moving through a common area and down a hallway. The man in the dark coat was relentless, maintaining his distance but never losing sight of his prey.

Reaching a security checkpoint, Garth flashed his badge and guided Dylan through a restricted door. Inside, they found themselves in a quiet, dimly lit hallway. Garth pulled out his phone and sent a quick text message.

"We're not safe yet. We need to get you to a secure location."

Dylan's heart pounded in his chest as they hurried down the corridor. He expected his trip to the U.S. to be exciting, but this was more than he'd counted on.

Garth's phone buzzed, and he checked his message. The tension in his eyebrows relaxed, and he smiled. "Tango's got our friend in custody."

Dylan was thankful the chase was over for now, but suddenly, he realized the race to recover his uncle's stolen paintings had turned into a high-stakes game of cat and mouse.

"There's an office over there. This old man needs a breather while Tango and Poppa clear the area. How about we sit, and you can tell me what got you involved in this case?"

Dylan nodded, welcoming the chance to catch his breath. An old man or not, Garth still had the moves of a mountain lion. He hadn't hesitated or let up one second while the stranger had been in pursuit.

Once seated in the small, cluttered office, Dylan pulled out his phone and showed Garth a photo of the painting he'd seen in Germany and one bulletin about the art gallery. "If you look carefully, the image in the background is very similar to my uncle's paintings, including the grassy knoll."

"Does your uncle think it is one of his paintings?"

"It's been a very long time since he was in France and painted numerous outdoor scenes, but he has vivid memories of that time. If he says it's his, I believe him."

Garth sighed. "Alright. This could be a significant lead. If your uncle's paintings are part of this theft ring, it might help us track down the other pieces and the culprits behind it."

Dylan took a deep breath. "I want to help however I can. Maybe I could visit the gallery as an art dealer, talk to the owners, and see what they say. It would also allow me to get a closer look at the painting."

"Good. Let's get to work, but first, this cowboy needs to get some chow. I know a great steakhouse not too far from here. You hungry?"

"I could eat. Breakfast was a long time ago." For the first time in hours, Dylan felt his body beginning to relax. "An eight-ounce steak sounds great."

"Eight ounces? Are you joking? We'll sit down to a nice twenty-four-ounce porterhouse and all the sides."

Dylan's eyes widened. "I couldn't —"

"Sure you can. You don't know until you try," Garth said, slapping him on the back. They saw Garth's SUV with Mustangs on the side as they walked outside, parked in the loading zone. He laughed. "These folks were kind enough to give me my own parking spot."

As Garth opened the driver's door, a young man in his late teens with ear pods blasting jumped out of the driver's seat. The cowboy shoved a hundred into the boy's hand. "Thanks for taking care of my horses."

*****

Trevor parked his old car in front of the pawnshop, a dingy building with a flickering neon light in the window. After seeing his mother wearing the diamond necklace at Eleanor's, he couldn't get it out of his mind. Chills of excitement ran up and down his spine as he imagined the big blowout he could have with the money he could get for the necklace. Its cut and sparkle were better than any other costume jewelry he'd ever seen. He was sure he'd be able to pawn it for some good cash.

As luck would have it, Jonathan recognized Trevor's car as his nephew entered the pawnshop. Curious about what the young man might pawn, he parked and hurried across the street. Discreetly out of Trevor's view, he watched as he pulled the diamond necklace from his pocket.

Almost choking at the sight of the necklace, Jonathan recognized an opportunity when he saw one.

"Trevor." Jonathan moved from his hiding place to his nephew's side. "I thought that was your car parked outside." He firmly touched Trevor's shoulder and added, "Let's step outside for a minute." He guided his nephew away from prying eyes and unwanted attention.

Startled, Trevor shrugged at the shop owner and reluctantly followed his uncle out of the shop. Jonathan glanced around to make sure they were alone.

"What are you doing, Trevor?"

"Just pawning some old costume jewelry. Trying to get a few bucks." It was evident to Jonathan that Trevor was nervous.

"Where'd you get the necklace?"

Trevor hesitated, shuffling from one foot to the other, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Jonathan chuckled, "It's the necklace your mother was wearing the other day, right?"

"Yeah, but I've never seen her wear it before. You know how she is. Wear it once and toss it. She'll never miss it." Trevor glanced back at the shop door, wondering if the clerk was watching them.

Jonathan shook his head. "That guy will only give you a couple of bucks."

"Regardless of what he gives me, it's something. I'm stressed, and I want to party. You understand that, don't you?" He needed a fix, something to calm him down.

Jonathan stared at Trevor. "Give me the necklace." He held out his hand.

Trevor shook his head. "No, I'm going to get some cash for it."

Jonathan pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. "Here's five hundred. I get the necklace, and you can spend it any way you want."

Trevor's eyes lit up. "For real?" Surprised at himself, he hugged his uncle and then stepped away. "You're the best."

"Now get out here." As Trevor rounded the front of his car, Jonathan yelled, "Stay out of trouble!"

As a happy Trevor drove away, Jonathan examined the necklace, a plan forming in his mind. He knew a guy who specialized in creating high-quality costume jewelry —pieces that looked authentic but were far less valuable. He could have a replica made and return it to Margaret. Then, he could sell the actual diamond necklace and pay off Danny Veraci with some cash to spare.

He headed for his car, probably happier than Trevor, unaware of the black SUV parked down the street and its disgruntled driver.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery

Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister

Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter

Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son

Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother

Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners

Craig Winslow - Attorney

Matthew Donatelli - Detective

Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett

Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss

Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past

Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege

Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England


Chapter 6
Unfinished Brushstrokes -Chap 6

By Begin Again

Matthew Donatelli leaned back in his chair, letting his mind sift through the scenes that unfolded yesterday at Eleanor Bennett's home. He made the sign of the cross and lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. "Lady, I'm sorry, but any of your family could be a suspect in your murder. How did a gracious lady like yourself get such a crock of —"

The ringing of his phone stopped his mouth from defaming the deceased's family.

"Donatelli."

"Boss, we might have hit pay-dirt."
 
Donatelli recognized his detective's voice. "Whatcha got, Martinez?"

"I've been sittin' on the kid like you asked. Early this morning, he went to this pawn shop, but some other dude followed him there, too."

Matthew straightened up in his chair. "Did you recognize the guy?"

"I can't say that I did. He was older than the kid and a classier dresser, for sure. He followed our suspect into the shop and brought him outside."

"Did the kid have time to pawn something?"

"I would say no. Neither of them was in there that long."

"So, what happened when they came outside?"

"They made an exchange. The older guy handed over a wad of cash, but I couldn't clearly see what the kid gave him in exchange."

"You got it on film, right?"

Martinez glanced at his Sony AX53 camera lying on the front seat. "Bertha never fails me, sir."

"Great job! You don't think this was just a guy loaning his friend some money, do you?"

"It was a quick exchange, but my instincts tell me it was something more than a casual loan."

"I'll take your instincts any day, Martinez. Are you still on him?"

"Yeah, we're stuck like glue. He's pumping gas now and talking with someone. Wish I could get closer, but it's not an option."

"Just stick with him. See if that money is burning a hole in his pocket. Odds are he'll be meeting up with someone soon."

"I'm on it, boss!" The line disconnected, and Donatelli leaned back in his chair again, pleased with Martinez's results.

*****

Dusk was settling around the city, but it was still too light for Trevor. Even in the alley between tall buildings, he felt exposed. He paced back and forth, kicking a garbage can. A stray cat hissed at him for interrupting his dinner, then scampered away.

About fifty feet down the alley, Martinez, dressed as a homeless man, lay against a few garbage cans, sipping from a bottle in a brown bag. He'd called Donatelli, and the backup was easing into place. He wasn't sure what was going down, but he was ready.

A man in black, hidden beneath the wooden stairs, spoke. "Is it a deal or not?"

"Come on, man," Trevor pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. His need for a fix was clouding his judgment. "I have the money, and I want something special this time. Like I told you on the phone, no more of that weak stuff."

The source, a scruffy man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, leaned against the brick wall, eyeing Trevor. "You don't get it. I'm not running a corner store where you get to pick and choose. If you want the good stuff, you gotta do something for me."

Trevor's hands were trembling out of need, not fear. His eyes narrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm not your delivery boy."

The source shrugged. "Then no deal. Take it or leave it."

A tense silence hung between them. Trevor clenched his fists, considering his options, which were nil. He needed the stuff. He inhaled sharply. "Fine. Just this one time. What do you need me to do?"

A satisfied grin spread across the source's face. "You're a smart kid. I knew you'd come around."

Nervously, Trevor glanced up and down the alley. "Let's just get this over with, man."

"Calm down. The first time is always the hardest. You'll get used to it."

"I told you. This is the only time."

The source chuckled. "If I had a dollar for every time I've heard someone say that, I wouldn't have to be standing here in a dark alley with the likes of you."

A busboy opened the steakhouse's back door and tossed a garbage bag into the bin. Trevor jumped, knocking a garbage can over. His nerves were about to explode.

"Sorry, man. Didn't expect nobody to be out here." The boy gave Trevor a quick once over and returned to his job. The aroma of grilling steaks filled the alley.

Martinez whispered into his mic, "It's about to go down."

Crouched behind a dumpster, Michael Donatelli signaled his team to be ready. His voice crackled back to Martinez. "It's a go."

The source stepped forward and handed Trevor a small, unmarked package. "Deliver this to the address on the note. Don't open it," the source instructed. "Or it will be your last time — for anything."

Trevor took the package. A sense of urgency gnawed at his stomach. "This better be worth it."

The source handed Trevor another bag, smiling. "Enjoy! This one's on the house."

Martinez's heart pounded as he watched the two men make the exchange, his camera capturing every moment.

Trevor grabbed the bag and turned to walk away. A sudden flood of blinding lights illuminated the alley.

"Freeze! Put your hands in the air!" one officer shouted.

A gun fired!

Trevor saw the flash and heard the officer hit the ground behind him. Terrified, he watched the source scramble out of the darkness and rush up the stairs.

Another gunshot fired through the dimly lit alley, and then another, before the source tumbled down the stairs, landing near the steakhouse's back door.

Panic washed over Trevor as he dropped the package and raised his hands above his head. The officers moved in, handcuffing him and securing the package.

His shoulders slumped as he listened as the officer said, "You're under arrest for possession and intent to distribute."

Donatelli hurried up the alley, checking his downed officer and facing Trevor. "Remember me?"

Trevor's eyes widened as he stared back at Donatelli. "Yesterday, at my aunt's."

"That's right. You were throwing off vibes like crazy. But I never thought it was going to be this easy."

"It's not what you think," Trevor stammered. "I just wanted to score some stuff."

"Go ahead and stick to that story, son. You might need that million dollars if my officer dies."

"I didn't kill anyone. You can't pin that on me.

Michael grinned. "Watch me!"

*****

At the sound of gunshots, Garth pushed back his chair, yelling at a nearby busboy. "Get down. Stay away from the windows."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Calm down, mister. It's just another drug bust. Happens all the time."

Garth looked at Dylan. "I've got to check this out." Dylan followed behind as he raced through the kitchen, showing his badge.

With his gun in hand, Garth swung open the kitchen door, coming face to face with another police officer. Garth's eyes went to the dead body covered with a tablecloth as the team waited for the coroner. He showed the officer his badge and stepped over the body, directing Dylan to stay put.

The officer yelled to Donatelli, "Sir, this man is FBI!"

"FBI? What —" As Michael Donatelli turned away from Trevor, he saw the man walking toward him. His expression hardened.

"Donatelli," Garth greeted the detective. "Still chasing the small timers, I see."

Michael's jaw tightened. "Woodman. I would never have expected to see you at my crime scene. Don't you have enough of your own thieves to keep you busy?"

Garth smirked, tipping his cowboy hat. "A friend and I were enjoying one of your city's finest steaks when you rudely interrupted our meal with your fireworks show."

Michael's eyes flickered to Trevor, who was being led away in handcuffs. "Taking a drug pusher off the street is a big win any day in my book."

Garth nodded, chuckling as he turned away. "I'll let you bask in your moment of glory. My dinner's waiting."

Unable to let loose of the bit, Michael called out, "Garth, before you go — what brings a cowboy from Texas to this quiet town?"

Garth paused, turning to face Michael. "An art theft case."

Michael's gut tightened as if he'd taken a hit to the stomach. "Art theft?"

"Yeah, my friend flew in from England. Metropolitan police believe it's an international theft ring."

"In our town?" Donatelli's mind shot directly to Eleanor Bennett.

"Well, that remains to be seen, but someone brought one of your local artists to my attention."

"That wouldn't be CJ Grey, alias Eleanor Bennett, now, would it?"

"Why, yes, it is. Are you familiar with her?"

Michael shook his head in disbelief. "I'm investigating her murder."

"Murder? I just arrived in town today. Hadn't heard that she was murdered?"

"They haven't made it common knowledge yet. The kid's her nephew."

"Hmm — you think he's involved in his aunt's murder?"

"I met the family yesterday. It could be any of them. And then there's the art gallery's owners. Definitely something going on with them."

"Guess we'll be seeing more of each other than."

Michael glared at Garth, his blood boiling beneath the surface. He battled with himself to not ask the next question, but he lost. "Is Allie with you?"

When Allie was mentioned, a series of emotions flooded Garth's mind, but his skills at hiding those emotions took charge. He smiled. "No, she's not."

Garth stepped over the body without looking back and went inside. Michael clenched his fist and muttered, "She was important to me, too."

*****

"Let's get back to our dinner. I hear a good ole steak calling my name."

As they returned to their table, Garth glanced at the two men at the end of the bar. An alarm went off in his head. Something told him he knew one of them.

Dylan sensed a change but thought it was because of the detective. "You and the detective have history?"

"You might say that. We've crossed paths a time or two."

"Will it be tough working with him since our cases might be intertwined?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I don't mean to pry. It's just you seem distracted since we returned to our table."

"Sorry — it's a fault of mine. But it has nothing to do with Michael Donatelli." Garth nodded his head sideways toward the bar. "It's those two men sitting at the end. I've got this sixth sense, and right now, there's an alarm ringing in my head. I know one of those guys, but I can't figure out why."

Trying not to be obvious, Dylan looked around the restaurant and then let his eyes stop at the two men in question. He smiled at Garth. "The one guy is the gallery owner. You probably remember him from the picture I showed you." Dylan brought the picture up on his phone. "See?"

"Good catch, Dylan. The problem is, it's the other guy who's got my head buzzing. Sit tight. I'm going to go to the bar and order a drink. See if I can overhear anything."

"I could go."

"Nope! You need to gnaw on that steak. I'll be right back."

*****

Garth circled the bar and approached from the other side. The only available seat was next to a woman who instantly noticed him. She smiled and patted the seat beside her.
 
"Take a load off your feet, Cowboy." Her lips said one thing, but her body language said a lot more.

Garth tipped his hat, his lips curling into a charming smile. "Don't mind if I do, ma'am." He straddled the bar stool with his back to the two men.

As he sat, the woman leaned in closer. "What's a handsome guy like you doing in here alone?"

Garth signaled the bartender. "Just unwindin' after a long day. Give the lady another drink on me, and I'll take one of those longneck beers."

The bartender nodded, and Garth subtly adjusted his position to eavesdrop on the men and their conversation.

*****

"You look troubled, Jackson," the Judge remarked, swirling his scotch. "Is something bothering you?"

Jackson hesitated, his eyes darting around the bar. "It's about the gallery."

"We've been friends for years. You can tell me anything. I won't shout it all over town. What's going on?"

"You heard that CJ Grey donated $100,000 to the gallery, right?"

"Yes, I saw that in the newspaper. Must have been an enormous boost to the gallery." The Judge watched Jackson's reaction.

"To tell you the truth, our doors would probably be closed if it hadn't been for that influx of cash."

"Is it that bad? I wasn't aware."

"It's worse. One of her paintings is missing." Jackson glanced around. "I sent it out for restoration, but I tried to contact him when the guy didn't send it back. I drove over to the shop, and it was closed down. Now the painting is gone, and I don't know what to do."

The Judge's face remained impassive. "That's awful. Do you suspect foul play?"

"I don't know what to think. Why would someone say they would restore the picture, then shut up shop and disappear?"

"You've got receipts showing you sent it to him, right?"

"That's the thing. He sent a courier to pick it up. The courier said he lost the receipt but would bring another one back. Of course, that didn't happen." Jackson took a long swallow of his scotch. "I can't afford for this to come back on the gallery. If people find out the gallery lost a picture, they aren't going to bring their work to us. Worse yet, what if I get accused of stealing it?"

"Yeah, I heard something about an international art theft happening nationwide. You think they would come to a small town like ours?"

"We're not exactly small potatoes anymore. Art is a big thing in this city."

The Judge leaned back, swirling his drink thoughtfully. "You do what you think is right, but personally, I don't think you should involve the police just yet. I think Donatelli would be all over you."

"I met him yesterday at Eleanor Bennett's house. They were having the reading of the will."

"And Donatelli was there?" Now, the Judge was curious.

Jackson looked around and leaned closer. "It's hush-hush, but you being a judge and all, I suppose you might already know, but he said an autopsy on her body showed she was murdered."

"They did an autopsy? That's odd. But you say she was murdered?"

"I guess she requested it in the will. Donatelli said he was going to be questioning all of us. You think he's trying to pin it on one of us?"

"He might have been fishing. Seeing how people would react." The Judge finished his drink. "I've got to go, but I wouldn't tell anyone else what you told me tonight." He stood, tossed some bills on the bar, and in a low voice said, "Let me make some discreet inquiries. I have connections that might help."

Jackson nodded gratefully, oblivious to the Judge's true intentions. "Thank you. I appreciate any help you can offer."

"Remember, this is just between you and me."

The judge left, and Jackson ordered a double.

*****

Meanwhile, Garth had kept the woman engaged. "So, what brings you here tonight?" he asked, his tone warm.

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Just looking for good company."

"Glad to hear it," Garth replied, his smile never faltering. He knew he had heard enough. He finished his beer and stood, giving the woman a charming smile. "It's been a pleasure, ma'am, but I have to go."

She pouted but nodded. "I hope to see you again."

"You never know," he said with a wink, then made his way around the bar, his mind racing with the new information. He had a lead to follow and not a moment to waste.

His next thought was — I bet my steak is cold!

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery

Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister

Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter

Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son

Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother

Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners

Craig Winslow - Attorney

Matthew Donatelli - Detective

Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett

Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss

Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past

Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege

Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook


Chapter 7
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 7

By Begin Again

The sun was peeking over the horizon, casting its glow across the dewy grass, but Jenna was already in Eleanor's kitchen, pacing back and forth. She had barely slept a wink, her mind racing with the revelation that someone had murdered Eleanor.

"Eleanor, you must have known you were in danger. Why else request an autopsy? We talked about everything, but you didn't think to mention something so —" Unable to control the tears, they poured from her weary eyes and down her face.

The early morning light's shadows seemed to play tricks on her, flickering against the kitchen walls.

Sniffling, Jenna watched, mesmerized momentarily, remembering Eleanor waltzing around the room while the will reading was in progress. "Eleanor, are you here?"

When her friend did not appear, she wiped away her tears and shrugged. "Of course, you're not here. You're dead, and all of this is a figment of my imagination caused by stress."

Trying to clear her troubled mind, she busied herself making a pot of coffee, changed her mind, and boiled water for tea, Eleanor's favorite. She then stared at a sugar ant on the windowsill.

"Why haven't you appeared again?" Jenna whispered into the empty room, her voice trembling. "I need you. I don't know what to do."

Like a well-planned stage show, Jenna sat center stage forlorn and lost in grief. The tea kettle whistled, the air in the kitchen grew colder, and a soft, ethereal glow slowly appeared. Jenna's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening with relief and apprehension. Eleanor was standing in the same familiar spot by the old oak table.

The troubled young woman's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Eleanor?"

The spectral form shimmered, and a gentle smile spread across her translucent face. "I'm here, sweetie. I haven't left you."

Tears brimmed in Jenna's eyes, and she wiped them away, whispering, "Why would you ever make me promise not to cry? That's all I've been doing, it seems."

"It's okay. Crying can strengthen us. It gets the sadness out of the way so we can focus on the important things."

Jenna took a hesitant step forward. "I thought — I thought maybe I was imagining things. I want it to be real, but —"

"Hush, now." Eleanor paused, then added, " My dear, life is full of mysteries, and it's no different after we move on."

"I don't understand." Jenna stared at Eleanor, wanting to reach out and hug her but terrified she'd discover it was a nightmare and her friend would disappear.

"I'll explain, but your tea kettle is about to have a hissy fit, like Miss Potts in Beauty and the Beast."

Jenna hurried to the stove and shut off the burner, smiling as she pictured the teapot and teacup dancing around the castle. She turned to face Eleanor. "You always knew how to make me smile."

Eleanor returned the smile. "We enjoyed each other, didn't we? Bring the tea, and we will have an early morning snack of fresh croissants and jam."

"But—" Jenna looked around the kitchen. If there were any here, they'd be stale by now."

"Never fear, child." Eleanor's figure spun around a few times, and the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air. A small tray of croissants and pots of jams appeared on the table. Jenna gasped, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Eleanor chuckled. "It's one of the perks of being a ghost."

Jenna brought the teapot, still unsure if she was in a dream or if any of this was real, but whatever it was, she wanted to enjoy the tradition of warm croissants and tea one more time.

*****

Hours later, struggling with the lack of restful sleep, grief, and confusion, Jenna awoke in Eleanor's front room. Sitting up on the familiar sofa, she wiped the sleep out of her eyes and let her eyes roam the room. They had spent so many hours together in this room, talking and laughing about everything.

Then, as if lightning struck her, Jenna jumped off the sofa, spinning around as she remembered Eleanor's visit. A wave of panic washed over her as she called out, "Eleanor? Are you still here?"

The room was quiet except for the clock ticking on the mantle. No one answered Jenna's call.

Had she dreamt it all, or had Eleanor been there? It had seemed real, but how could it have been? She thought she remembered Eleanor saying, "Someone doesn't want the truth about my death to come out. You must be careful."

A knock at the door startled her. Her heart pounding, Jenna approached the front door and checked the peephole. Detective Michael Donatelli was standing on the porch, thumbing through a notebook. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Detective Donatelli, I wasn't expecting you. Did you forget something yesterday or need to check Eleanor's house?"

"Actually, I was looking for you. I knocked next door, but when you didn't answer, I thought you might be here."

Jenna nodded. "It's hard to believe she's gone." Jenna glanced toward the kitchen. "Sometimes, it feels like she's still here."

"You two were very close, I understand. May I come in?"

Flustered, Jenna stepped away from the entrance. "Of course, please come in."

Donatelli entered the home, his eyes surveying the foyer and down the hallway. Then he moved into the front room.

"Have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?" Remembering the croissants, though she questioned if that had happened, she added, "I might have a fresh croissant with jam."

"Oh, coffee and a pastry would be wonderful. Got an early start this morning after a late night."

Trying to make small talk, Jenna asked, "Chasing criminals is a full-time job in this growing city, I suppose."

"Most definitely is. You wouldn't believe it, but the nephew — the younger one —"

"Eleanor's nephew? Trevor?"

"Yeah, he's the one. Got himself arrested last night."

Jenna wasn't shocked that Trevor had gotten himself in trouble again, but she hadn't thought — well, to tell the truth, she hadn't given him any consideration at all. Except for that rare visit a few weeks ago, Trevor hadn't been around Eleanor for a long time.

"I noticed his mother seemed worried about him taking too many prescription drugs. I don't mean to pry, but did he get a DUI or something? Because if he did, maybe Mr. Winslow would release some funds for a decent lawyer."

"It's not my place to discuss his case, but it's a bit more serious than a DUI."

"Oh!" Stunned, Jenna stumbled over her words. "It's — serious? Eleanor will be — would be. Oh, listen to me babbling like an idiot. Let me get that coffee."

"And the croissant, too, if you have one." Donatelli felt his stomach growl as he watched Jenna hurry from the room. He noted Jenna appeared quite nervous.

While waiting for Jenna, the detective took out a small notebook and reviewed his notes, which were sparse at the moment. Donatelli was caught off-guard when Eleanor's autopsy revealed that she hadn't died of natural causes. Everything he'd read before that indicated she'd had cancer, and the disease took its toll. No one mentioned anything out of the ordinary. He felt he was working a cold case, and all the clues were missing. He didn't think the nephew had the brains or the skills to be a prominent figure in the drug world, but his arrest last night might give him leverage to gain more information about the family.

As he studied his notes. A sudden chill swept through the room. Donatelli shivered and looked around, checking for an open window.

The newspaper with Eleanor's picture was lying on the coffee table. The pages rustled as if caught by a breeze. He lifted his eyes from the notebook and rechecked the room.

Frowning, he chalked it up to a drafty old house. Taking out his pen, he wrote a note to ask the nephew when he'd last seen his aunt. Maybe he'd needed money for his habit, and she'd refused.

Mid-sentence, his pen stopped working. He shook it, muttering, "That's my favorite pen." Finding a similar one in his pocket, he finished his thought, but the pen slipped out of his hand and rolled across the floor.

Irritated, Donatelli stood and went to retrieve his pen. The hairs on his neck bristled as he bent to pick it up. He sensed someone in the room. Abruptly, he spun around. He hadn't heard anyone approaching, and Jenna was nowhere to be seen.

"What's the matter, Detective? Having a bad morning?"

"Yeah, you might say that." He scowled when he realized he'd just spoken to an empty room. Then he realized his breath was misting in front of him. "What the heck!"

A soft laugh echoed through the room, sending a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, his favorite pen was writing on the newspaper. In disbelief, Donatelli stared at the word — TRUTH. Spinning around, he searched the room, but nothing was there. Then he heard a soft, almost melodic whisper, repeating a limerick or poem.

"In a house where the shadows play — Lies the truth that is hidden away — Seek the key to the past — Unveil secrets at last — The light will chase the darkness away."

Donatelli searched the room with his eyes. "I'm a detective. Who's there?"

A sudden warmth replaced the chill he'd felt moments ago. He felt like someone was standing beside him, radiating a comforting feeling. Someone or something touched his shoulder. "Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?"

He jumped. A gasp escaped his lips as he tried to understand what was happening to him.

Just then, Jenna returned with a tray of steaming mugs and croissants. She paused at the doorway, noticing the detective's strange expression.

"Is everything alright?"

Donatelli stared around the room and picked up the newspaper with the word truth written across it. Shaking his head, the detective was at a loss. There was no way he could make any sense out of what had just happened.

Invisible, Eleanor whispered in Jenna's ear. "Forgive him. I had to give him a little nudge. He's not taking it very well."

Still shaken, Donatelli turned to Jenna. "I'm — I'm sorry, but I just got a text — I'm needed — at a crime scene. Can I come back later today?"

Jenna smiled. "Of course, Detective. Would you like the croissant to go?"

"That would be great." As Jenna wrapped the croissants, Donatelli took one last look around the room, folded the newspaper, and put it in his coat pocket, suddenly eager to leave the house.

After their goodbyes, Jenna closed the door, leaning against it. A smile crept across her face, and then she burst into laughter. "Eleanor, what have you been up to?"

"Just helping him with a little detective work. But now, I guess I need to visit my nephew." With that, a warmth filled the room, and silence prevailed.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery

Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister

Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter

Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son

Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother

Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners

Craig Winslow - Attorney

Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett

Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss

Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past

Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege

Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook


Chapter 8
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 8

By Begin Again


Officer Kevin Langley leaned back in his chair and checked the clock. Fifteen more minutes and his shift would be over. He hated the tiny cubicle where he spent most of his working hours, but it was better than walking the beat, checking parking meters.

He stood, stretched his legs, and radioed the front desk. "Making my last rounds, Sally."

"Shouldn't take you long. Fairly slow night, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, just a pretty boy fighting with his demons and two guys from a bar fight. They've been doing some heavy snoring back there."

"Okay, see you when you check out."

*****

Kevin unlocked the door and entered the holding cells. The smell of vomit made his nose curl. Walking by the first two cells, he banged his nightstick against the bars and yelled, "Rise and shine, boys! It's time to face another day."

Neither drunk moved, but their loud nasal snoring told Kevin they were still alive.

He could see Trevor on the hard cot, shivering uncontrollably. His hands trembled, and he clutched his knees to soothe the gnawing ache inside. It wasn't a pretty sight, but Kevin had lost count of how many times he'd seen someone going through withdrawals.

"You guys never learn." Kevin shook his head. "You need to get it together, son, because you got a date with Judge Doyle in about two hours." His voice was stern, but his eyes showed a hint of compassion. He knew these were not bad people, just lost souls needing guidance.

Trevor's eyes were closed as he fought the relentless throbbing that pulsed behind his eyelids. He ignored the officer, partly out of rudeness but mostly because the craving for drugs consumed his thoughts.

"Live and learn, I guess. You had some powerful drugs on you. Lucky for you, you didn't take those they found in your pocket, or instead of withdrawals, you'd be in the morgue."

Trevor moaned and rolled to his side.

Kevin almost felt sorry for him; after all, he was just a kid. "You just might live to see your twentieth birthday — behind bars. That should give you something to think about."

Kevin checked his watch. His shift was over, and he'd done his five minutes of preaching. It was time to go home.

Alone, Trevor opened his eyes. His mind was a battlefield. His skin, slick with sweat, felt too tight for his bones. His teeth suddenly chattered, and his warmth became a frigid chill.

Eleanor stood at the foot of his cot, her ethereal form shimmering against the dull gray walls.

Trevor choked. His eyes bulged as he tried to focus on the figure looming over his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. "You can't be real." He turned his head, looking for the guard. "How'd you get in here?"

"I just floated on in."

"I'm — I must be hallucinating. You look like Aunt Eleanor, but she's dead."

"You're right. I'm dead. Someone murdered me, but I don't know if you were involved or not. That's not why I am here."

Trevor shivered, not just from the cold but from the fear and guilt twisting inside him. "Why are you here then?" he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

Eleanor's gaze softened. "I'm still your aunt, and I worry about you. The path you're on — the drugs, the anger, the foolish recklessness."

Trevor clenched his fists, a surge of defiance rising inside him. "You never cared. You hid all that money from us when we could have used it."

"It was your choice to ignore me when I was alive. Your last visit was all about money. You didn't think I saw you when you went through my jewelry box."

"I didn't take anything." Trevor hadn't known she'd seen him.

"No — because someone else already had."

"So, you were spying on me." Trevor snapped, "Get out of my head. Go away." His voice cracked. "I don't need your money. I've got a plan, and it will make me rich without jumping through hoops."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Trevor."

He looked away, his mind reeling. He didn't want to admit he was talking to a ghost or didn't have a real plan. He was grasping at straws. "I'll figure it out. Just leave me alone."

Eleanor replied softly. "Don't let your anger and pain control you. There's still time to turn things around, to find a better way."

He could feel the tears welling up, but he blinked them away. "I don't need your help," he said, his voice cracking. "Maybe the judge will see it my way."

"The judge? Why would he see anything the same way as a drug addict?"

Trevor's grin was malicious. His words had been empty ones until he spewed them at Eleanor. Suddenly, he did have a plan. "Go! Get out of my head. I've got this." He squeezed his eyes closed, praying she'd disappear.

As Eleanor's presence faded, Trevor's mind sharpened with resolve. He needed to talk to Judge Doyle. He was sure he could get the judge to see his side of the story. If not," he shook his head. "He'll be the one jumping through hoops, not me."

As the hours passed, he waited anxiously. He'd only have one chance, and it had to work.

His thoughts drifted back to Eleanor's visit, and for a moment, doubt crept into his mind. Maybe he should have listened. What if his plan backfired?

In the end, he shook off his uncertainty. He refused to second-guess himself. He had a plan, and he firmly believed that the Judge would come through.

*****
Before polishing off his porterhouse last night, Garth had asked Tango and Poppa to tail the judge. Tango's first report hadn't been very fruitful, or so he thought.

They'd followed the judge to a secluded home in a gated community. After checking the judge's address, Tango reported to Garth that the judge was making a house call and it wasn't his home. Poppa surfed the internet and found the owner's name — Margaret Ashley. He also discovered that Ms. Ashley was the sister of Eleanor Bennett, alias CJ Grey, the famous artist.

Garth knew they hadn't tied the package up with a pretty bow, but he knew they'd hit a jackpot of information.

Tango and Poppa had staked out the Ashley home and waited all night, taking turns sleeping, until the judge left the house at 2 a.m. They'd followed him to his own residence and then called in backup.

At 7 a.m., Tango was back on the job, sitting in his rented vehicle, a silver Dodge Ram 1500 pickup truck. With a large coffee and a spare on hand, Tango didn't have long to wait.

"There's a black sedan pulling out of the driveway now, boss. Sure looks like the judge. Guess he's getting an early start."

"Stay on him, Tango. My gut says our friend isn't headed for the courthouse this early in the morning."

"I'm on it." Tango maneuvered the pickup out of the tight park spot and began following the judge, keeping a safe distance, blending in with the morning traffic.

"He's pulling into an abandoned warehouse, boss."

"You gotta make sure he doesn't spot you, Tango."

Tango pulled his truck to the curb about a block from the warehouse and approached on foot. He watched as Judge Doyle stepped out of his car, surveyed the area, and made a call.

Tango edged closer, using the abandoned oil drums and equipment as cover.

"I'm here." Doyle snapped into his phone, his voice carrying just enough for Tango to hear. "You're late."

Tango couldn't hear what the person on the other end was saying, but the judge's end of the conversation told him enough. "I need that painting now."

Moments later, another vehicle arrived, and a man stepped out, opened his trunk, and carried a large flat package toward the judge. They both examined the painting. The judge nodded, giving his approval.

Taking a chance, Tango crept closer, finding a spot where he could overhear their conversation without being seen.

"The gallery owner is getting suspicious." Doyle growled, "We need to get this replica back to him so he'll back off."

"I'll send it through a carrier that cannot be traced back to anyone."

"Hopefully, Jackson will be so thrilled to have his painting back that he'll overlook everything else, at least until your guy is out of there. He tends to ask too many questions."

The other man nodded. "And if he does?"

Doyle's face darkened. "Then we've got a problem. And you know I don't like problems."

"Just let me know. I've got the guy who can get the job done, and no one will ever be the wiser."

The two men shook hands and headed for their cars. Tango's heart was racing. Once the two cars left, Tango retreated, remaining undercover until he was away from the warehouse. He hurried to the truck. Once inside, he called Garth.

"Hey boss, it's Tango. Doyle met this guy at the warehouse. Looked to me like he had the painting. They mentioned a replica and that the gallery owner was getting suspicious. Doyle's sending the painting back by carrier, hoping the gallery guy won't catch on right away.

"Good work, Tango. Did you get any recording?"

"No, I couldn't risk it. Do you think you've got enough information to get Donatelli on board?"

"It should be, but with that stubborn Italian, one never knows."

Tango laughed. "You two are a lot alike, boss."

"Watch your mouth, or I'll be slapping you with all the crap jobs."

Tango's laugh was loud. "In case it slipped your mind, I've worked all night, slept a couple of hours in the truck with Poppa, and tailed this creep into the worst part of town. I might be lucky to get out of here alive."

"Get back to the hotel, take a hot shower, and relax. I'm headed to Donatelli's office. Keep your phone close in case I need backup."

"Please, boss, not another fiasco like the time in Washington."

Garth laughed and hung up the phone. A quick flash of Allie and Donatelli rumbled through his mind as he stared out the hotel window. He missed her so much, but nothing would bring her back. Donatelli's lack of knowledge about her death surprised Garth, but he knew he wasn't in a spot where he could discuss it with him.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook


Chapter 9
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 9

By Begin Again

 
Dylan stepped into the Bayside Art Gallery. The cool air and soft hum of classical music were a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. His eyes scanned the room, taking in various sculptures and paintings. He casually strolled from room to room, admiring a particular piece or painting and noting the artist's name and credentials.

As Jackson descended from the upstairs office, he instantly saw the well-dressed gentleman admiring an extremely high-priced piece. He hurried toward him, taking the stairs two at a time, hoping to make a sale.

"Good morning, sir. I'm Jackson Mayfield, owner and curator of the Bayside Gallery. Are we browsing today, or are you interested in a particular piece?"

"Hello, I'm Dylan Weldon." He extended his hand to Jackson, and they shook hands. "The local newspaper wrote a story about your gallery, and the wire services picked it up. I saw it and was interested in a painting."

Jackson puffed out his chest with pride. "You must be referring to the wonderful donation we received from a renowned artist, CJ Grey. To the locals, she was known as Eleanor Bennett. Sadly, she recently passed away."

Dylan fought to control his composure. His mind raced. Could this Eleanor Bennett be the woman Charles had been searching for? "I'm sorry. Did you say she had passed away?"

Jackson looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. "I shouldn't say anything, but the police say someone murdered her."

"Oh, how dreadful!" This couldn't be happening. His heart was beating erratically. He forced himself to remain calm. "Have they caught whoever did it?"

"No. Yesterday, when I was with Detective Donatelli, he said they had no clue who the murderer was. Of course, the gallery is behind our artists in every way, and I insisted he put Ms. Bennett as a priority case."

Dylan smiled. "That was very kind of you." He'd seen Jackson's type before and knew all the gallery owner was concerned about was publicity for his gallery.

"We're here for our artists in every way possible. CJ Grey has been displaying and selling her art with us for years. I believe she started painting in France but became well-known years later in the U.S. No one knows much about her private life. She preferred to remain a recluse. Even her family didn't know about her secret life." Feeling that he'd chatted long enough, Jackson shifted gears. "Are you interested in this piece? Or something by CJ Grey?"

"Yes — if you don't mind, I want to see the painting in the newspaper photo."

Jackson could feel beads of sweat popping up along his hairline. He cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry. We had to send that painting out for a little restoration. It's not available for viewing at the moment."

"I see." It was the response Dylan had expected after the conversation Garth had overheard last night, but it still sent cold chills down his spine. "If you don't mind, I'll just browse and see if anything else interests me."

"Of course. Let me know if you need my help or have any questions." Jackson mopped his brow with his handkerchief. "It's a bit warm in here."

Dylan nodded at Jackson and then walked away. It was only a short time before he came across an entire section dedicated to CJ Grey's work. He studied the paintings intently. Now that he suspected Eleanor Bennett and his uncle's love were one-in-the-same, the paintings took on another depth in his mind.

The brushstrokes, the use of light and shadow, and the emotional depth were all remarkably similar to his uncle's style, yet distinctly different. It had to be the woman his uncle loved so much; now, she was gone. How would he ever tell him?

A young woman around Dylan's age had been sitting on a bench nearby, watching Dylan's intense scrutiny as he studied Eleanor's work.

Finally, unable to contain herself, she approached him. "Excuse me," Jenna said softly. "I couldn't help but notice how closely you are examining these paintings. Are you a collector?"

Dylan turned to face her, his expression thoughtful. "In a manner of speaking. I'm here to find my uncle's stolen artwork. These paintings remind me of his style, especially the ones in the countryside. It looks like a place in France."

Jenna's eyes widened in surprise. "As a matter of fact, those two over there were painted in France while Eleanor was a nurse during the war. I believe another one is on display, but I don't see it now."

Jenna had answered any questions he might have had about Eleanor Bennett: "My name is Dylan Weldon. I'm from England, where I live with my uncle, who is also a renowned artist."

Jenna's mind raced. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? "Your uncle? Do you mind me asking his name?"

"Of course not." Dylan smiled. "His name is Charles Weldon. We've made the trip together before, but he's confined to a wheelchair. Traveling isn't easy."
 
"Forgive me. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm Jenna, a very close friend of Eleanor." Jenna paused, knowing tears were threatening to fall. "She was a private person. We shared our love of painting, and she taught me so much." Jenna glanced away, biting her lip.
 
"So you paint?" Dylan hoped this lovely face wasn't involved with the missing art pieces.
 
"I dabble. I was more interested in listening to Eleanor talk about France and how she'd left a piece of herself there. She always wanted to go back, but life happens. Now — now, she never will."
 
"Charles — my uncle loved the French countryside too. He never talked of the war, but you couldn't stop him when he talked of the days he recuperated in France. His love shows in his paintings."

"Eleanor was very secretive about her influences. Her paintings were her private world, where she escaped when she was sad."

Dylan decided to take a leap, something out of character for the young man. "I could be wrong, but I believe your Eleanor was once my uncle's friend. In his mind, he saw her as much more than an acquaintance. Together, we tried to find her but unfortunately failed. To this very day, he still loves her."
 
Jenna's reaction wasn't quite what he'd expected. Several tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheek. She frantically tried to brush them away. "By the looks of Eleanor's paintings, she never forgot him, either." Jenna's eyes misted when she thought about how close her dear friend had come to finding Charles again.

Dylan leaned closer to Jenna. "I've upset you. Please accept my apologies."
 
Jenna tried to smile. "No apologies needed." She stared at Eleanor's paintings. "I loved her so much, and this is all that remains. They are beautiful, but it's not the same."
 
"I don't want to upset you, but I think one of your friend's paintings is missing. I came to the gallery because I thought it might be my uncle's painting being shown under a different name."

Jenna gasped. "How do you know it's missing?"

Dylan saw Jackson approaching and put his finger to his lips.

Oblivious to their exchange, Jackson said hello to Jenna and then turned his attention to Dylan. "Is there anything I can assist you with, Mr. Weldon? Maybe one of CJ Grey's paintings?"

Dylan shook his head, still looking at Jenna. "No, I think I've found what I needed. For now." Sensing there would be no sale today, Jackson turned his attention to another potential customer.
 
Jenna felt a warm flush as it crept across her cheeks.

 Dylan whispered, "Let's get out of here so we can talk."

"There's a nice coffee shop across the street. Will that do?" Jenna smiled, wondering what Eleanor would think about this young man.

"Perfect." As they left, Dylan noticed a courier carrying a large package into the gallery. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the placard on the car's door and the license plate. He was sure Garth would be interested in it.

Confused, Jenna asked, "Are you shipping something? If you are, I can give you the names of reputable couriers. I've never heard of that one."

Dylan took her arm and crossed the street to the coffee shop. He might not have found the painting, but the afternoon had been very rewarding.

*****

"Sir! Sir! You can't go back there."

Garth tipped his Stetson away from his eyes and smiled at the young woman behind the desk. If she wasn't drowning in his blue eyes when he bent over her desk, his sexy smile and easy cowboy drawl had her melting in his hand before he finished his sentence. "Honey, this cowboy goes wherever he wants, when he wants, and with who he wants." As she teetered on the verge of swooning, he flashed his badge. "Detective Donatelli is expecting me."

"I'd be happy to tell him you're here."

"Don't bother your pretty little head. I'll mosey on back and surprise him."

He turned and strolled down the hallway, nice and slow, knowing she was about to fall out of her chair watching him. He hated the come-on, but it worked every time.

When he got to Donatelli's office, the detective was on the phone with his back toward the door. Garth leaned against the doorjamb, listening to the conversation.

Matthew was hot. "You're telling me the coroner told you she was poisoned, and no one in this entire department thought they should hightail it back there and look for the evidence. What were you thinking?" Donatelli took a deep breath. "People are going in and out of the house. It was never set up as a crime scene. Are you waiting for someone else to drop dead?"

He slammed the receiver into the cradle. "Idiots!"

Garth chose that moment to make Donatelli aware he had company. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Matthew spun his chair around, glaring at the cowboy. "Who let you back here?"

"Nobody." Garth grinned. "Sorry. I didn't know I needed to ask."

"You think that badge of yours gives you Carte blanche to anywhere, don't you?"

"Sort of! Don't you?" Garth couldn't control his laughter. "Don't bite my head off because you are having trouble in the house?"

"It's none of your business," Donatelli snarled. "I've got things to do." He picked up a folder, pretended to read, and then tossed it on the desk. "Mind telling me what you are doing here?"

"We need to talk," Garth said, closing the door behind him.

Donatelli looked up from behind his desk. "I doubt you have anything to say that would interest me."

Garth took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. "I believe Bayside's Judge Doyle is involved in both the art theft ring and Eleanor Bennett's murder."

"Judge Doyle? You're crazy. He's one of the most prestigious judges around here. I heard he's seriously thinking of running for the Supreme Court."

"Well, he'll be doing it from behind bars if I have anything to say."

Donatelli's eyes narrowed. "You're making a serious accusation, Garth. You better have more than just your gut feeling."

"I overheard a conversation last night at the bar," Garth began, but Donatelli cut him off.

"Oh, so now you're eavesdropping? That's your big evidence?" Donatelli's voice dripped with sarcasm.
 
"Hear me out!" Garth could feel his temper rising.
 
"You never change. Do you think you can ride into my town and take charge? Don't bother answering because we both know that's exactly your MO."

Garth's frustration boiled over. "Listen, Donatelli, I know you don't want to believe it, but Doyle is orchestrating the thefts and laundering the art through the gallery. He's as dirty as they come."

Donatelli slammed his hand on the desk, standing up to face Garth. "You're out of line, Garth! Doyle is a prominent figure in this town. He's untouchable."

Garth stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "That's exactly what makes him so dangerous. Do you think he's above suspicion just because he's a judge? Open your eyes, Donatelli. Tango tailed him. He's sleeping with Eleanor Bennett's sister."

"Since when is that a crime? Married men do it all the time."

"Do they meet in abandoned warehouses and discuss making replicas of paintings?"

The detective shook his head, disbelief etched on his face. "This is just another one of your wild theories, Garth. You always have to be the hero, always have to win."

Garth's jaw tightened. "This isn't about winning. This is about justice. Expensive art is being stolen. Eleanor's dead, and you're too blinded by pride to see what's right in front of you."

Donatelli's face reddened with anger. "Get out of my office, Garth. Until you have real evidence, stay out of my investigation."

Garth turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Walking down the hallway, he muttered, "I'll get the evidence, Donatelli. And then you can eat your words."

The battle lines were drawn, and both men knew this was far from over.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook


Chapter 10
Unfinshed Brushstrokes - Chap 10

By Begin Again


The courthouse was bustling with activity. Lawyers hurried through the halls, meeting with clients and potential witnesses and preparing to present their cases. Fortunately, Judge Doyle could pick and choose the cases on his docket, and today, he planned a short day.

Checking his watch, John Doyle stood staring out the window. He'd had an enjoyable evening with Margaret, but unfortunately, it was time for him to find greener pastures. Her son's case would make that transition much easier. He was prepared to throw the book at the young man. He smirked, imagining the headlines — "Judge Doyle: Tough on Crime, Tougher on Privilege." Of course, he would drop hints to the press about possibly running for the Supreme Court in the fall.

A soft tap at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in."

A petite court clerk entered the judge's chambers. She wore her brown hair swept up in a bun, a tailored blue suit, and wedged heels designed to make her appear taller. She was nervous whenever she had to enter the Judge's chambers, but today was the worst.

"Sir, there's been a last-minute change to your schedule today." She expected his reaction, but her knees still knocked together when it came. She wanted to bolt and run but remained frozen where she stood.

His voice boomed! "Nonsense!"

Doyle looked in the floor-length mirror and adjusted his robe. He lowered his voice to a normal speaking level. "I made no such authorization. I've got a round of golf at the Country Club with some very important donors for my upcoming campaign."

"I know, sir, but —" The court clerk expected the Judge to be furious, but she was just trying to do her job.

"No, buts! Cancel whatever it is and reschedule." Without waiting for her answer, he opened the door to the courtroom.

She stammered, "It's someone from the FBI." as the door slammed in her face.

*****

The bailiff led a disheveled Trevor into the courtroom from a side door. As he stood at the defendant's table, his hands were handcuffed in front of him. He scanned the room, first focusing on his mother in the back row of the courtroom. He had hoped she wouldn't be here. Even he knew this would not be his finest hour.

Expecting the family attorney, Mr. John Kingsley, his mouth dropped open as a young man joined him at the table. Trevor whispered, "Who are you? Where's Kingsley?"

Fenton Dawson could count on one hand how many times he'd been in a courtroom, and those had been minor infractions. He couldn't fathom how this case had landed in his lap. Trying not to show his nervousness, he turned to Trevor with a smile. "I'm your lawyer."

Trevor hissed. "Is this a joke? You aren't John Kingsley."

"Umm — Mr. Kingsley — couldn't make it."

Trevor's eyes widened in shock and anger. "Have you ever even been in a courtroom?"

"I assure you I have. Not one quite like this, but I've passed all the required exams, and I am a certified law attorney."

"Good for you, but you're not my attorney." Trevor snarled.

"I'm afraid I am, at least for the day. The court appointed me, so that's that." He tried to look official as Judge Doyle entered the courtroom.

Doyle surveyed the room, temporarily stopping on Margaret, then moving to the defendant. He thought he'd feel some remorse for what he was about to do, but instead, his mind thought of the cold Manhattans he'd be drinking on the golf course. He pounded the gavel to get everyone's attention.

The Bailiff stood and addressed the court, "All Rise! The Court of General Sessions Seventeenth Judicial Circuit is now in session. The Honorable John Doyle is presiding."

The judge waited for everyone to be seated and then nodded to the bailiff. "Please proceed."

The bailiff stepped forward and read the document in his hand. "The court will now hear the case of the State versus Trevor Ashley. The charges are possession of a controlled substance with intent to deliver and the first-degree murder of Manuel "Snap" Rodriguez."

Trevor's eyes widened in shock as he heard the murder charges. "The drug dealer?"
 
Margaret gasped from her seat as her face paled. Eleanor hovered behind the judge, unable to understand how her family had gotten to this point. In an inconspicuous corner near a coat rack, a man in a black Stetson leaned against the wall, mentally taking notes.

Satisfied with the reaction, Doyle continued, "Mr. Dawson, how does your client plead?"

The young lawyer stood, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He cleared his throat. "Your Honor, my client pleads not guilty to all charges. We request bail and a fair trial."

Trevor, in a state of shock, tugged on Dawson's arm, whispering furiously, "Murder? I don't know what's going on, but I'm not pleading to any murder charge."

Judge Doyle watched Trevor, knowing the boy was sweating bullets beneath that tough facade he was projecting. He slammed his gavel down.

Trevor's head snapped toward the Judge. Furious, he took a deep breath, deciding to make his move now, or his chance would be gone. "Your Honor, you know there is more to this than meets the eye. Sometimes, the truth isn't what it seems, like behind closed doors."

Doyle's eyes flickered with a brief, uncharacteristic look of concern. He shifted in his seat, trying to keep his composure. Margaret's loud gasp caught his attention.

Not thrilled with the sudden turn of events, Eleanor decided to stir the pot. She tugged on the Judge's tie, tightening it around his neck. She whispered in his ear, "Maybe you should rethink this."

Unsure if he'd heard a voice or if his conscience was bothering him, Doyle glanced behind him. Not seeing anyone, he scowled as he loosened his tie. Pounding the gavel, he directed his words to the defendant. "This is not the time for cryptic statements, young man. Do you have anything relevant to say about your case?"

Trevor stared at the judge. "Relevance is in the eye of the beholder, Your Honor. Some truths can be quite — personal and intimate, wouldn't you agree?"

The judge's knuckles whitened as he gripped the gavel. Eleanor flicked the judge's pen off the bench. It clattered to the floor, followed by a stack of folders. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. The judge's face turned a crimson red. The court clerk scrambled to retrieve them.

Fighting to remain in control, he met Trevor's stare. "I warn you to stick to the facts of this case. We are here to discuss your charges, nothing more."

Feeling a little braver, Trevor leaned across the table as he spoke. "I'd be happy to discuss the facts, Your Honor. My mother would prefer a private session, but I'm open to talking here."

Doyle repeatedly slammed the gavel against the bench. "Any further attempts at irrelevant commentary will result in contempt charges, young man. Proceed with the case, Ms. Carter."

The prosecutor, Elizabeth Carter, was a sharp and confident woman. Having found some amusement in the judge's distress, she stood and addressed the court. "Your Honor, the state requests that bail be denied. Mr. Ashley poses a significant flight risk due to the serious nature of the charges, particularly the murder charge."

Trevor clenched his fists, his anger barely contained. Eleanor didn't like what she was hearing. The energy from her thoughts made the hands on the clock spin widely. Staring at the clock, Doyle knew he'd had enough, and a stiff drink was called for.

Pounding his gavel on the bench, he stared at the spinning clock as he addressed the courtroom. "This court will take a brief recess to consider the arguments presented. We will reconvene in fifteen minutes."

With one abrupt slam of the gavel, he stood and hurried off the podium to his chambers, leaving the courtroom abuzz with whispers. Having seen enough, Garth strolled out of the courtroom to one of the waiting elevators.

*****

As the courtroom adjourned, Dawson turned to Trevor with fire in his eyes. "What the hell was that, Trevor? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? They want to put you behind bars and throw away the key."

"Relax. I'm letting Doyle know he isn't holding all the cards."

"You think all the mumble-jumble you spilled meant something to him?"

"I do! We've got some leverage, and I was letting him know it."

Dawson ran his fingers through his hair. "I have no idea what you think you accomplished, but in my opinion, you are certifiable. I'm dropping this case back into Kingsley's lap."

"What kind of attorney are you? Going to tuck your tail and run?"

"Man, I might be new at this, but I know you can't blackmail a judge and get away with it. You're playing with fire."

Trevor laughed. "Ball's in Doyle's court. He's got the hose to put out the fire. If not, he can kiss his career expectations goodbye."
 
"While you rot in jail!"

*****

Judge Doyle collapsed into his chair, running his hand over his face. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and grabbed the Jack Daniel's bottle and a glass. His hand trembled as he poured the drink. Slamming it, he poured another one and let his head rest on the back of his chair.

"Hello, John."

He hadn't heard the door open, so his eyes flared wide with surprise when he heard a woman's voice. Standing in front of his desk was a beautiful woman radiating a quiet strength and timeless beauty. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, seemed to hold centuries of wisdom and secrets. Silver-streaked hair cascaded in soft waves around her face, framing high cheekbones and a gentle smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Doyle jumped out of his chair, stammering, "Who are you? How'd you get in here?"

He reached for the security button, but Eleanor's hand stopped him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." A coldness shot through his body.

Doyle removed his hand and backed away, assessing the woman before him. On second thought, maybe he'd like to tango with her.

"You don't recognize me? I'm Eleanor, Margaret's sister. You know, the woman you've been sleeping with?"

Doyle reached for his drink and slammed it. "You can't be. She's dead."

"Looks like I'm still kicking, my friend. Maybe you should have sent someone a bit more thorough to do the job."

"What job? Your murder? I mean, her murder." His face paled. Doyle didn't like being on the other side of the coin. "There's no evidence pointing at me. Why would there be? I am a prominent judge in this town."

"You've got a lot of skeletons in your closet. Trust me, I've met a few of them." Eleanor giggled at her joke.

"I don't know who you are or what you want, but you need to get out of here."

"I told you who I am. My name is Eleanor Bennett. And right now, I want to chat about my nephew, Trevor Ashley."

"Why do you care about him? He's a druggie with no future."

"He's misguided, but he's got a marvelous mind with figures. He could be someone if he were on the right track."

"Are we talking about the same kid? The one out there trying to blackmail me in front of an entire courtroom? His train left the track a long time ago."

"You're wrong! But aren't you the pot calling the kettle black? It's not exactly becoming for a man in your position — married, aiming for the Supreme Court — to be entangled in such — scandalous affairs and murder."

Doyle's eyes narrowed. "You have no proof. Besides, who'd believe a dead woman? I don't know how you're doing it, but you're just a figment of my imagination. You're not real."

Eleanor chuckled and moved closer, running her finger down his cheek and under his chin. "You'd be surprised what people will believe when they are desperate. I'm very good at causing inconveniences, like a clock spinning, your pen and paper falling, and, my favorite, tightening your tie around your neck. Imagine what I could do if I really tried."

Doyle swallowed hard, running his fingers across his throat. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to understand the gravity of your actions, Judge Doyle. Trevor deserves a fair trial. Margaret deserves to know the truth. And your wife —"

"Leave my wife out of this." Doyle shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Eleanor's stare. "You have no right to —"

"How many times has someone said that to you while you nonchalantly destroyed their lives?" Eleanor laughed. "I personally would have told you that you had no right to take my life."

Doyle snarled, "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to drop the murder charge against Trevor. I want you to ensure he gets a fair trial. And I want you to leave Margaret out of your schemes. You've hurt her enough."

He hesitated, knowing he had little choice. "Fine. I'll do what you've asked concerning your nephew, but this changes nothing between Margaret and me. She's an albatross around my neck. It's over." He poured another drink, searching for the courage he wasn't feeling. "Take it or leave it."

Eleanor's gaze remained steady, unmoved by Doyle's attempt at bravado. "You are mistaken. This changes everything."

With a final look, Eleanor turned and walked toward the door. Before opening it, she paused and glanced back at Doyle. "Until we meet again."

As the door closed, he buzzed the court clerk. "Cancel court and my meeting at the country club. I'm not feeling well."

Disconnecting that call, he dialed another number. When the person at the other end answered, Doyle said, "I've got another job for you. Margaret's becoming a problem. I want you to have her daughter, Megan, disappear."

Not trusting him, Eleanor had made herself invisible and sat on the edge of his desk, listening. Her face hardened as she thought — "So that's how you want to play the game?"

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer


Chapter 11
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 11

By Begin Again



The '57 Chevy rolled down the dimly lit street, stopping occasionally for a stray cat running across the street or a peddler pushing his rusted grocery cart. Flickering neon signs cast their intermittent glow across the cracked pavement. It wasn't the type of neighborhood that screamed visit me.

Jonathan found a parking spot between spilled garbage cans and a few tattered tents. He unlocked the glove compartment, took out the blue velvet box, popped it open to reassure himself the necklace was still there, and slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He climbed out of the car and crossed the street.

As he cleared the curb onto the sidewalk, he almost tripped over someone lying inside a cardboard box, sleeping off his romance with a bottle of cheap wine. As he passed the doorways of the abandoned buildings, his skin crawled from the stench and the bodies huddled together for shelter. Trying his best not to make eye contact, he read the address and knew he had two more buildings to go.

His destination was a small, unassuming shop tucked away in the back of a building, off the alley. The sign above the door simply said, D. Donovan — Custom Jewelry.

A bell above the door jingled as he entered the shop. The interior was filled with cluttered bits and pieces of tools, knickknacks, and jewelry. A sign read, "One man's junk is another man's treasure."

Behind the counter stood a wiry man with sharp eyes and nimble fingers, meticulously working on a delicate piece of jewelry.

It had been a while, but Jonathan still felt the warm rush of an old friendship from a time neither of them cared to remember. Jonathan greeted him. "Good evening, Mr. Donovan."

The man looked up, and recognition flickered in his eyes. "Jonathan. It's been a while. What brings you here?"

Tonight was not for fond memories; it would be strictly business.

Jonathan reached inside his jacket and pulled out the blue velvet box. He opened it, displaying the glittering gems. "I need a replica of this. It has to be perfect."

"Did you come here to insult me?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Forgive me! I know anything you do will be the best."

Donovan lifted the necklace from its resting place and examined it, caressing each stone with his weathered fingers. Finally, he raised his eyes and met Jonathan's. "That's quite the piece. Why the need?"

Jonathan hadn't expected to be questioned. He mulled over his answer and then was honest. "It's a family heirloom. I'm in trouble with Veraci, so I thought —"

Donovan nodded. "No need to explain, son. It'll take some time, and it won't be cheap."

Jonathan looked at the necklace, knowing how special it was to Margaret. "Just do it."

The old man's skilled hands were already assessing the fine details of each stone. "Come back in three days. It'll be ready." Without another word, he turned and shuffled through a worn, tired curtain into his back room.

Jonathan mumbled, "Thanks!" and left as quickly as he had come.

*****

"Sasha, what do you think?" Megan wiggled her freshly manicured nails, which were deep purple with tiny silver stars on the tips.

"Oh, girl! That's sexy! Too bad we don't have someplace to show them off."

"I know! This summer is boring. Everyone's gone to the beach or the mountains. And we're stuck in this ghost town."

Eleanor chuckled. "If only you knew. It is a ghost town." Worried about what Doyle had in mind, she'd checked up on her niece. She was happy to see Megan doing what every sixteen-year-old liked to do — have fun!

The salon was high-end, of course. The girls wore plush white robes and relaxed in soft leather chairs while music played in the background. Though she suspected Megan and Sasha would much prefer the ear-splitting sounds of electric guitars. A young Asian girl served small glasses of sparkling water, or that's what she said when she handed each girl a glass. Eleanor had her suspicions about the way they were giggling.

Sasha opened her purse and took out a tin case. Eleanor could see it resembled a mint case. Looking around, Sasha whispered, "Try one of these, and you'll forget about this town for a while."

Megan peered into the box. "What are they?"

"Just try one! You're going to love them," Sasha giggled. "I got them from Teddie. He's the best."

Eleanor didn't like what she saw, but had no idea how to stop Megan from taking one of those pills without causing a scene. So, she sat in one of the chairs, fretting about it.

As the girls finished their manicures, a sexy young man entered the salon. Sasha and Megan could barely control themselves.

Hiding behind their phones, Megan hissed, "He's hot!"

Sasha murmured, "For real! He's total eye candy."

Megan giggled. "Bet he could liven our night up."

Sasha pouted. "He is too busy on his phone. How can he not notice us?"

Megan flipped her hair over her shoulder, careful not to snag her nails. She smirked. "If he doesn't, it's his loss."

"But he's so dope, Megan."

Listening to the girls' conversation, Eleanor wondered if she needed a new dictionary to understand the girls. One moment, they're drooling, and the next, they call him a dope. She shook her head. "I'll never understand teenagers."

The salon owner, Grace, entered from the backroom, smiling at the boy. "Nick! I'm so happy to see you."

He immediately disconnected himself from his phone and smiled charmingly at her. "Running some errands for Ma." He handed her a small, elegantly wrapped box. "She sent you this."

Grace nodded and quickly slipped the box into a drawer. A flicker of something unspoken passed between them. "Your mama is a good lady. Tell her thank you for me."

Nick turned an admiring eye on the girls. "Gracie, you going to introduce me to these lovely ladies?"

"Oh heavens, my manners must be slipping." She gushed and wrapped her arm around him, moving closer to the girls. "Megan — Sasha — I'd like you to meet a dear friend. I grew up with his mother."

Both girls smiled and said hello. Before the conversation could continue, his phone rang again. Turning away, he answered. The call was short.

"Nice to meet you, girls." He kissed Gracie on the cheek. "Business calls."

Sasha and Megan's high hopes plummeted. Eleanor, on the other hand, felt relieved. Something about the boy didn't feel right.

As he reached the door, he stopped, grabbed a blank piece of paper from the front desk, and scribbled an address on it. With a mischievous grin, he walked back to the girls, handing the paper to Megan. "Big blowout on the hill tonight if you're looking for some fun."

Giggling, the two girls stared at each other and then back at him.

"I gotta run. Come by if you get a chance." He blew a kiss in their direction and was gone before either of them could say anything else.

Eleanor had left her chair and followed Nick outside. She was screaming, "No! No! My niece doesn't know a thing about you." Too bad no one could hear her."

His shiny red convertible squealed its tires as it left the parking lot while Eleanor shook her head. "That one's trouble!"

As the girls left the salon, Eleanor heard Megan tell Sasha she was tired and was going home to lie around the pool and then take a nap. Sasha said it sounded like a good idea and she'd come too.

Eleanor thought the girls would be safe at home. "A nap sounds like a wonderful idea."

*****

After a relaxing dip in the pool and a long nap, the night was settling over the compound. Megan and Sasha were bored.

Sasha prodded Megan. "Come on, Meg. The party's in an exclusive part of town. I've always wanted to see the inside of those mansions."

"I don't know, Sasha. We won't know anyone there."

"Since when did that stop you? Anything is more exciting than sitting around here, staring at each other."

"Okay, we'll go, but I'm not telling my mother, so we've got to be home by midnight. Agreed?"

"Agreed! Now, let's go raid your closet. We've got to look hot."

*****

Dressed to the nines, Megan and Sasha couldn't believe their eyes when they pulled into the long, winding driveway. Neatly parked rows of cars greeted them, and a valet signaled for Megan to pull forward.

"Good evening, ladies." He smiled as he helped Megan out of her car. "I'll park it for you. Here's a number." He handed her a yellow ticket with a number stamped on it, and she shoved it into her clutch purse.

Music was thumping, and rays of lights danced across the grand facade.

"Have you ever seen anything like this, Meg? I feel like we died and went to heaven."

"Just remember — we've got to be back at my house by midnight, or mom will have the police out searching for us. Then you will wish you'd died."

The music grew louder as they approached the grand doors, where a doorman ushered them inside. The foyer was a sight to behold. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a soft glow over the marble floors and grand staircase.

Sasha sighed. "It's like Gone with the Wind."

"I can't believe this is real," Megan whispered. "This place is straight out of the movies."

"Come on. It's nine o'clock. Let's enjoy every second if we've only got till midnight."

They joined the throng of guests, letting the pulsating music guide them through the opulent room. As they danced and chatted with new acquaintances, the hours slipped away in a blur of joy and champagne.

Somewhere around eleven, Megan searched for Sasha. It was time to rip themselves away from this fantasyland and go home. Not that Megan's home wasn't beautiful, but there was no comparison to this.

It was then that Megan saw their host standing by the bar, smiling at her. Their eyes locked, and her heart skipped a beat as he moved through the crowd towards her.

"Megan, I'm so glad you came." He looked around the room. "Are you alone, or did your friend come with you?"

"Sasha? She's here somewhere. I was looking for her. I'm afraid we should be leaving."

"Certainly not before dancing with me?" He extended his hand and smiled, knowing she couldn't refuse.

Megan hesitated, then allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. The music slowed, and they swayed gently to the rhythm. He held her close, and she could feel his warm breath against her skin.

"You look stunning."

"Thank you," Megan murmured, a blush rising on her cheeks. "This party is incredible."

"I'm glad you are enjoying yourself."

As the song ended, Nick leaned in closer. "You must see the view from the terrace before you leave. There's nothing like it."

She nodded. "I suppose another few minutes won't matter."

He led her through a side door and onto the terrace. The cool breeze was refreshing, in contrast to the warmth inside. The view was breathtaking. The sprawling gardens glowed softly in the moonlight.

"It's magical." Megan gazed across the well-groomed lawn.

"It is, isn't it? But not as beautiful as you."

She turned to face Nick and discovered he was much closer. Something in his eyes made her heart race. He leaned in, gently brushing her cheek with his lips. Their eyes met, and then he pulled her tight against his chest, kissing her passionately.

A figure dressed in black emerged from the darkness, striking Nick on the back of the head. He collapsed to the ground as Megan gasped, too shocked to scream.

Another figure hissed, "Don't make a sound."

She felt something being pressed against her mouth and nose. She wanted to scream, but instead, everything faded to black.

*****

Megan slowly regained consciousness, her head pounding and her vision blurry. She felt a rough fabric against her face and realized she was lying down. The faint hum of a car engine and the rhythmic bumps of the road beneath her became more apparent as the minutes passed. The interior was dimly lit by the occasional passing streetlight.

The indistinct murmur of voices from the front seat caught her attention. Even though her hands and feet were tied, they had left her mouth uncovered.

Terrified, she begged, "Please, don't do this."

A gruff voice answered from the passenger seat. "Sounds like our little princess is awake."

Megan whimpered. "Why are you doing this? Who are you?"

The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his head covered except for his cold eyes. "Just sit tight and stay quiet. You'll find out soon enough."

*****

Back at the party, chaos erupted as the guests discovered Nick's unconscious body on the terrace. Sasha had been searching frantically for Megan. Her heart sank when she saw the paramedics enter the home.

"What happened?" Her voice was shaky. "I can't find my friend."

One of the other guests shook her head. "I don't know for sure. Someone said that Nick's been attacked on the terrace."

A male guest asked, "Your friend — Megan, right? She was dancing with Nick, and then I saw them go out on the terrace."

Sasha couldn't breathe as her chest tightened with fear. "Have you seen her since?"

"No, I'm not sure, but I heard Nick is awake and saying she's missing."

"Missing? Nooooo! She can't be." Sasha scrambled to find her phone in her purse and dialed Megan's home.

******

As the phone rang in Margaret's bedroom, a male voice mumbled, "Let it ring. We're busy."

Margaret unwound herself from the twisted sheets, her breathing heavy. "I've got to answer it. It could be Megan."

John Doyle sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to Margaret.

Margaret answered the phone. "Hello."

"Mrs. Ashley, it's Sasha. Something's happened."

Margaret gripped the phone and asked, "Where's Megan? What's going on?"

A slow smile tugged at the judge's lips. He knew he had established his alibi.

"She's gone." Sasha burst into tears and collapsed.

Margaret screamed hysterically into the phone. "Sasha! Sasha! Talk to me."

The judge rounded the end of the bed and sat beside Margaret, his voice calming. "Tell me what's happening, Margaret. I'm here."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party


Chapter 12
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 12

By Begin Again


Detective Donatelli swung his car into the mansion driveway. The flashing lights of numerous squad cars cast shadows across the expansive lawn. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard — just past midnight. He sighed heavily, thinking of the warm king-size bed he'd left behind. It was going to be a long night.

Detective Olivia Esposito waited on the sidewalk as Donatelli exited his car. "Glad you could make it, Boss."

He couldn't understand how she could arrive at a crime scene and be totally upbeat regardless of the time of day. He shook his head and snarled, "Don't start."

"What? Your lead detective can't say she's happy to see you?" Olivia grinned.

Donatelli surveyed the chaos — Channel 23 News Media and Amy Lockwood had set up camp at the end of the circle drive, drunken teenagers stumbled everywhere, parents clamored at the gate for their children, and officers were trying to restore some semblance of order. He frowned, his irritation mounting.

"Alright, listen up," he barked. "I want this area secured. No one can leave until we thoroughly question them. None of this I've got your name, and I'll call you later." He looked around. "Now, will someone get me coffee?"

Once again, Olivia's smiling face appeared. "Got it!" She shoved a sizeable thermal cup into his hand.

"How do you do that?" Donatelli shook his head. "You're like the Energizer Bunny. You just keep going."

"It's a job requirement, especially since I'm shooting for the stars." She paused. "Meaning your job."

"Many more nights like this one, and you can have it," Donatelli said, starting toward the house. "What's the story?"

"The home belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Jose Rodrigues. They are currently at their winter home in Florida, and their nephew, Nick Rodrigues, is house-sitting."

"It's more like the house is destructing." Michael couldn't believe the mess—turned-over flower planters, plastic cups and beer bottles everywhere, and barfing teenagers hanging their heads over the railings. "What about the girl?"

"Megan Ashley. She was a last-minute invite, according to Nick. They were enjoying the moonlight when someone hit him on the head and grabbed the girl."

"Ashley. That name is familiar." Donatelli strained his tired brain.

"Her mother is Margaret Ashley — Eleanor Bennett's sister."

"You got to be kidding me. First, we find out that a renowned artist didn't die of natural causes, and now her niece is missing."

"Kidnapped." Olivia corrected him.

"We don't have evidence to say that yet. She could be another rich brat who found a sneaky way to run away for a few days."

"A little extreme clobbering the host over the head, don't you think?"

'How do I know what goes through these kids' heads?" He stood in the foyer, observing the destruction — shattered glass, spilled drinks, and more drunken teenagers. "Let's get this over with. Where's this Nick guy?

"Paramedics have him on a stretcher on the terrace." She pointed toward the open doors.

Both detectives headed for the terrace leading to the crime scene. Donatelli approached the paramedics. "What happened to him?"

"Apparently, he was found unconscious out here. No signs of a struggle or any serious injury. He's starting to come around, though."

Nick groaned as he opened his eyes. Donatelli leaned in. "Nick, can you hear me? I need to ask you a few questions."

Nick blinked and rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah — yeah — I can hear you."

"Can you tell me what happened? Did you see anything before you were knocked out?"

"No — nothing. One moment, I was enjoying the moonlight with this girl, and the next — everything went black."

"You didn't see or hear anything unusual?"

Nick shook his head and winced. "No, nothing! We danced, and then we came out on the terrace. We kissed — and then it was lights out."

"This girl — was she a friend? How long have you known her?"

Nick swallowed hard. "I just met her and her friend at the salon today. I was making a delivery."

"You always walk up to girls you don't know and ask them to a party?"

"It wasn't like that. Gracie, who owns the salon, introduced me. I could see the girls were kind of into me, so I gave them the address and said to stop by if they wanted to party."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that. Maybe you waited around in your day, but nowadays, if you see something you like, you have to go for it."

"My day — you talking Fred Flintstones and the dinosaurs?" Donatelli's face was turning red.

Seeing an explosion in the making, Olivia called out to her boss. "Hey, Donatelli, got something for you to see."

Nick's eyes shifted to the woman detective, and he tried to get off the gurney. Donatelli pointed his finger at Nick. "Stay put! I'll be right back."

As he walked toward Olivia, he sensed rather than saw Nick's eyes following him. Something about the kid made him feel uneasy.

"What you got?"

"Over here in the bushes, just on the other side of this short wall, one of the officers found footprints and cigarette butts. Odd, don't you think? Everything else is manicured except this spot."

"Get forensics on it. I'd say our perp was waiting."

Another officer approached the two detectives and handed Donatelli a cell phone. He said, "I found it near the back of the house. It looks like a car, leaking oil, was parked there not too long ago. The valet says they parked all cars but didn't know about any car out back."

Donatelli smiled. "Good work." He handed Olivia the cell phone. "See what you can tell me about this phone. If anyone needs me, I'm headed to Margaret Ashley's house."

*****

Margaret paced the living room, her hands trembling. The phone call about Megan's disappearance had thrown her into a state of panic, and having John in the bedroom made things more complicated. She glanced at the door for the fourth time. He was getting dressed.

When the door opened, she hurried to his side. "Oh, John, I'm so glad you are here."

He sidestepped her. "Margaret, I've got to leave."

"What? No, I need you, John."

He straightened his tie, then walked away, separating them. "I can't be here when the police arrive."

Margaret's eyes filled with tears. "But what if they ask where I was? You need to tell them we were here together."

John grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Margaret, you have to lie. You cannot mention our affair. I wasn't here."

"Affair? You make it sound so dirty. I thought you loved me and would leave your wife."

"Listen to me. If they learn about us before I run for office, I — we could be ruined. You have to promise me you won't tell them I was here unless — well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Margaret nodded, her heart pounding. "So, what do I say?"

"Tell them you were with Lydia. She'll cover for you."

Margaret fought back her tears. She wanted — no, she'd foolishly expected — him to stay with her. Now, he was walking away, leaving her to face it alone. "What if they don't believe me?"

"If you stick to your story, it will be fine. You had nothing to do with Megan's disappearance. Be the distraught mother and don't tell them our secret." He opened the door, kissed her forehead, and turned to leave. "Margaret, just think of being the wife of a Supreme Court Judge. I can't have my reputation destroyed."

Margaret watched him go, her mind racing. As the door closed, his words echoed in her ears. His reputation was important. He wasn't even upset about Megan.

Ten minutes later, she heard a knock at the door. She took a deep breath and opened it to find Detective Donatelli standing there. "Mrs. Ashley, I'm Detective Michael Donatelli."

"Yes, I remember you from — when we were gathered at Eleanor's house. Please come in."

*****

Margaret sat on the couch, her face pale and tear-streaked. She clutched a tissue in one hand and wrung it nervously.

"Mrs. Ashley —"

"Please call me Margaret."

"Okay. Margaret, I know this is difficult, but I must ask some questions about Megan."

Margaret nodded, her hands trembling. "Anything — anything to bring my daughter back home."

The detective sat across from her, his eyes steady and compassionate. "When was the last time you saw Megan?"

"Tonight, around six. Sasha and Megan had spent the afternoon by the pool. I had plans for the evening, so I thought I should check with the girls before I left."

"And did she mention where she was going?"

"No, but I did hear them talking about a party/ It sounded like it was somewhere in the hills."

Donatelli nodded. "We know she was at that party. What time did you realize your daughter was missing?"

Margaret looked away, her face flushing with shame. It was — umm, late. I got the call around midnight."

"Who called you?"

"It was her friend — Sasha. She said Megan was missing."

"Do you think your daughter might have run away?"

"Never! You need to know my daughter to know she lives a cushy life. She would never be able to live on the streets, and none of her friends could provide her with the life she demands."

"Were you at home when you received the call?"

Margaret's breath hitched, and she looked down at her hands. "I was — I was here." Her voice was barely a whisper. "In bed."

"In bed?" Donatelli repeated her answer, sensing there was more to her story.

Margaret nodded, her face flushed with guilt. "Yes, I was with — with a friend."

Donatelli raised an eyebrow, noting her hesitation. "Who was this friend? We must know who was here when you got the call."

Margaret's eyes darted around the room, and she took a deep breath. It was — it was Lydia, my friend. She lives next door. We were having a late-night girls' chat."

"Lydia?" Donatelli repeated, writing down the name. "We'll need to speak with her to confirm this."

"Yes, of course. She'll confirm everything with you."

Donatelli stood up. "Alright. We'll do everything we can to find your daughter. Please stay close to your phone in case anyone — the kidnappers or Megan — tries to contact you. Call me immediately if you remember anything else, no matter how small."

Margaret nodded and followed him to the door. "Thank you, Detective. Please find her."

"Yes, ma'am. That's the plan."

As soon as the door closed, Margaret rushed to get her phone. She was trembling so hard she struggled to dial Lydia's number.

As Donatelli walked back to his car, one of the officers staked out in front of Margaret's house, climbed out of his cruiser, and called out to the detective.

"Sir, this might be nothing, but I just feel I need to mention it."

"What's that?"

"Well, you know how the judicial cars have a blue emblem on the doors."

"Yeah, of course. What's that got to do with anything?" Donatelli was tired, stressed, and needed to find his bed.

"Well, as I was arriving, I saw a car pulling out of the parking lot — the gated one, right over there. When it passed under the streetlight, I saw the emblem. Just thought it was strange that a government vehicle would be in a private parking area."

"Did you get a look at the driver?"

Well, it was dark, but I would have sworn it was Judge Doyle."
 
"Doyle?"
 
"Yes, sir. I thought he had a big house up in the hills somewhere."
 
"Thanks for the info. Keep an eye on the house, okay?"

As Donatelli drove away, his thoughts turned to Margaret and Judge John Doyle. He had a hunch that the judge and Margaret were involved, and Margaret wasn't willing to reveal the affair. He hated to admit it, but maybe the Cowboy knew more about the judge than he'd been willing to admit.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party


Chapter 13
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 13

By Begin Again



Jenna stood at the window, something she'd shared with Eleanor for the past year, and watched the sun come over the horizon. Deep inside her thoughts, she could hear Eleanor telling her each new sunrise was a fresh beginning —"A time to stand straight, move forward, and share a little something with someone — a smile, a touch, a kind word."

The doorbell shattered her thoughts. Jenna scowled, wondering who would ring her doorbell—technically Eleanor's—at this hour. Since Eleanor's death, Jenna had stayed here, hoping for another visit from her friend.

She wiped her hands on the dish towel and headed toward the front door. An elderly lady with a tiny pillbox hat was standing on the porch. She wore a light coat to match and had her hair pulled back like Eleanor. Jenna's first thought was that the poor woman must be in trouble because she looked so nervous.

Jenna opened the door and saw that the woman was holding a box. "Can I help you?"

The woman's smile was a warm embrace, instantly putting Jenna at ease.

"I know it's very early, but I remembered Eleanor always watched the sunrise in the morning — with you." She gazed for a moment at Jenna and added, "Forgive me. You are Jenna, right? My name is Helen. Eleanor and I are —" She paused and glanced away, regaining her composure. "Eleanor and I were very dear friends."

"Of course! She mentioned you many times. Please come in."

Jenna stepped aside to let Helen enter the foyer. Her eyes traveled to the paintings on the wall. "That doesn't look like Eleanor's work. I'm surprised she didn't have her beautiful artwork displayed everywhere."

"Unfortunately, Eleanor kept that side of her a secret. She shared her work, but under an alias. Those who knew, which were few, never revealed it."

Helen nodded. "Hmm — Eleanor was a lady of mystery. I'm not quite sure why. I thought I knew her well, but she had some things she held close to her heart."

"Please come in. We can sit in the front room."

"Would you mind if we went into the kitchen? It's where Eleanor and I always shared a cup and our memories."

"Of course not. I've got a pot of coffee brewing, or would you prefer tea?"

"Tea would be wonderful if it's not a problem."

Jenna turned and headed to the kitchen, with Helen close behind. "Of course not. Eleanor loved her tea."

While Jenna took Eleanor's favorite cups and saucers from the cupboard, Helen stood by the window, looking across the yard. "I see her roses are in full bloom. I never could get mine to look like hers. She had a green thumb with everything she touched."

Jenna set the teacups on the table. "I'm sorry I don't have any pastries to offer you."

"Nonsense, child. The tea is fine." Helen sat the box on the kitchen chair and sat in another one.

Jenna opened the cupboard, searching for the small sugar bowl. Eleanor always used a scoop of sugar in her tea. A sudden chill swept through the room and Jenna felt something knock the bowl from her hand. Instantly, she knew it was Eleanor.

She stammered, unsure if Helen was privy to Eleanor's new state as a ghost. "Oh, dear. Look what I've done. I splattered the sugar all over the counter."

"Not a problem. That would be one of Eleanor's vices, not mine." Helen chuckled. "I always told her she wouldn't need the sugar when she was as sweet as me."

Jenna glanced around the room but didn't see any sign of Eleanor, so she quickly cleaned the counter and joined Helen at the table.

Helen sipped the warm, comforting brew and smiled at Jenna. "I hope I'm not intruding. I just wanted to bring a few of Eleanor's things that I thought you might want to have."

"That's kind of you."

"Eleanor and I were quite close, especially when she was a nurse during the war. Every night before retiring, she would write to me about what had happened that day. Some of it was frightening, and some of it — well, she shared her most intimate thoughts, and I was honored."

"I didn't have the pleasure of knowing Eleanor that long. I wish I had, but I am blessed to have been her friend."

"She spoke very fondly of you."

Jenna picked up her cup and stared into the dark brew. "Things will never be the same. I miss her so much."

Helen sipped her tea, giving Jenna a moment to collect herself. Then she took the box from the chair and placed it on the table. She carefully opened it and took out a stack of letters tied with a ribbon. "These are the letters Eleanor wrote me."

"Those are your memories and thoughts she wanted to share with you and only you." Jenna shook her head. "I can't take those."

"Eleanor and I discussed this. She thought the letters would help you get to know her better. After you read them, you can return them to me if you insist. But I'm giving them to you as a gift, knowing my friend wanted me to do that."

Helen reached inside the box and brought out a smaller stack of letters and an ornate jewelry box. "These letters — some she wrote and — well, you'll see as you read them. The jewelry box contains a few of her favorite pieces. She wanted you to have them."

With trembling hands, Jenna touched the envelopes and ran her fingers across the carvings on the jewelry box. "Thank you, Helen. This means so much to me. Eleanor was my family."

Helen placed a comforting hand on Jenna's hand. "I know, dear. She felt the same about you."

Tears filled Jenna's eyes. She stood and moved to Helen's side. "May I hug you?"

Helen stood, too. "Of course you can. I'd like us to be family, too."

Hugging Helen, Jenna murmured, "Thank you for bringing these gifts. It means more than I can say."

"It was the least I could do. If you ever need someone to talk to or share memories with, my number is in Eleanor's book. Don't hesitate. I would enjoy sharing a cup of tea."
 
"And I'll try to have pastries, too. Eleanor always wanted her pastries."

Helen moved toward the doorway. "I should go now. My Henry is probably prancing at the door wondering why his mama left him so early, even before their walk."

Jenna walked her to the door, thanked her again, and then they said their goodbyes.

*****

Helen stepped outside and took a deep breath before heading for her car. With one last glance at the house, she opened the car door and slid inside.

She leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. "Jenna's a wonderful person."

"I know."

Helen shifted her eyes toward her dear friend. "She's hurting very much."

Eleanor smiled. "That's why I sent you. You're the best healing medicine I ever knew."

Tears filled Helen's eyes. "I'll be there if she asks."

"I have no doubt. You were there when I needed you. Thank you for everything."

"I miss you, Eleanor. I promise to look after Jenna."

"I know you will. And I promise, somehow, to always be nearby. You can think of me whenever you see a butterfly or a bright red cardinal."

Eleanor's figure began to fade. Helen reached out her hand, but she was gone. She whispered, "Goodbye, Eleanor. I love you."

A faint whisper came back. "I love you, too."

*****

Donatelli pulled up to Lydia's house, a charming home just a few doors from Margaret's. With very little sleep, he swallowed gulps of black coffee he'd picked up in Starbuck's drive-thru. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and opened the car door. He hoped Lydia would shine some light on Margaret's story.

Dressed in pajamas and a robe, Lydia answered the door, looking flustered and nervous.

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm Detective Donatelli, and I'm —"

"I know who you are. Margaret told me." She glanced over his shoulder. "Come in. I don't need the nosy neighbors talking about me having some man at my door before breakfast."

Donatelli nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We don't need any rumors, now do we?" He followed her into her living room. "Can you tell me where you were last night, around midnight?"

Lydia hesitated, her eyes moving to the side table and the TV and back to the detective. "I was here, at home."
 
"Alone?"
 
"No! Margaret was here."

"Were you with Margaret Ashley here in your home at midnight?" he scribbled something in his notebook.

"Yes," Lydia replied quickly. "She came over at about eleven, and we talked awhile."

"What were you talking about?" Donatelli could see how nervous she was. "Neighborhood gossip?"

"Heavens, no! It was just — you know, catching up. She'd been in court with her son, Trevor. She was upset."

He leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "And this chat — was it on the patio, in the kitchen, or where?"

Lydia blinked. "I can't imagine why that matters, but we were right here in my living room. Having a glass of wine."

"And what time did you say it was again?"

Lydia clasped her hands in front of her mouth in prayer fashion. "Oh dear, I'm not sure. It might have been midnight."

That's when he sprang it on her. "Margaret said she was in bed." He waited for her response.

Lydia's face paled, and she stammered, "Oh, right, I forgot. She said she was tired and was going home to bed. I must have been mistaken about the time."

"So Margaret left your house before midnight?" Donatelli pressed.

"Yes, that's what happened." Lydia's voice was strained.

"And you two were chatting and drinking wine in your living room until just before midnight?"

Lydia nodded.

Donatelli took a deep breath and moved toward the door. "Thank you for your time. I'll be in touch if I have any more questions."

Lydia sighed, eager to see him leave. "Of course, Detective." She started to close the door when Donatelli's shoe blocked it.

He pushed the door open and asked, "While you and Margaret were chatting, did the mention of her boyfriend come up?"

Lydia's eyes widened, and she gulped. "Her boyfriend?"

"You being her best friend and all, I felt you might have the scoop." Donatelli lied and added, "I'm not at liberty to give out my sources, but I was told she might receive a certain gentleman caller late at night. Would you know anything about that?"

Lydia stammered, totally flustered, "I don't know what busy-body told you that, but they should mind their own business."

"So, you're saying Margaret didn't — I mean, doesn't — have a gentleman caller?"

"If she does or doesn't, what does it have to do with Megan's disappearance?" Lydia bit her lip. "Shouldn't you be looking for her instead of snooping around Margaret's sex life?"

Donatelli smiled. "You're right, ma'am. I'm sorry to have bothered you so early in the morning. Have a good day."

As he headed for his car, he heard Lydia's door slam. He chuckled, knowing he'd ruffled her feathers. The inconsistencies in Lydia's and Margaret's stories made him wonder what they weren't telling him.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party


Chapter 14
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 14

By Begin Again



The casino was usually alive with gamblers' frenetic energy and the constant hum of slot machines. However, in the early morning light, it had a subdued atmosphere. It was around nine, and most of the night owls had left, leaving an air of quiet exhaustion.
 
A few die-hard gamblers still lingered at the tables, their faces looking worn and weary. The slot machines blinked and chimed sporadically.

Only a few patrons nursed their drinks in the nearly deserted bar area and stared absently at the flickering TV screens broadcasting the morning news. At the corner stool sat a man hunched over the counter, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His once neatly combed hair fell in disarray over his forehead, partially obscuring his bloodshot eyes. A five o'clock shadow roughened his jaw, and the creases in his brow told the tale of a sleepless night. His hand trembled as he swirled the last drops of amber liquor around the glass.

The bartender approached. "Want another?"

Jonathan wasn't his usual charming self. He didn't lift his gaze as he mumbled, "I'm tapped, Jimmy."

At the end of the bar, a woman watched him with soft, compassionate eyes. She was older, but age had treated her kindly. She signaled to the bartender and nodded towards Jonathan. The bartender poured another drink and placed it on the bar. "Might have a live one, Jonathan. The lady at the end of the bar sent it over."

As he nursed the drink, he tilted his head and looked down the bar at the woman. He blinked, then blinked again. The woman resembled Eleanor, but drunk or not, he knew it couldn't be. An icy chill strummed his spine as she slid off her bar stool and walked toward him.

"Hello, Jonathan." Eleanor sat beside him, her eyes looking at a mere shell of the brother she remembered. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You were always the strong — the one who looked out for me when we were kids."

"Listen, lady, you look like my sister, but you can't be. She's dead. And I refuse to believe I am talking to a ghost." He slammed the drink and signaled for another one.
"You won't escape your problems with that stuff."

"Maybe not, but it won't matter in a few days." Jonathan swiveled on his stool to face Eleanor. His eyes were intense as he spoke. "Are you really my sister? Or am I hallucinating?"

"It's me, Jonathan. I'm here to help you," Eleanor smiled. "If you'll let me."

"You're a little late." He snarled. "If you'd just given me the million bucks, I wouldn't be in this dilemma," he snapped.

"What dilemma is that?"

"I either sell our mother's diamonds —"

Eleanor gasped. "How could you sell the necklace? Margaret has it. She would never have given it to you. Especially to pay off gambling debts."

"Not anymore," Jonathan confessed, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. "Her darling son stole it."

"Trevor stole Margaret's necklace? Then, how do you have it?"

"He was about to pawn it for a few bucks. I stopped him and gave him the money in exchange for the necklace. He had no idea what it was worth."

"But you do! Margaret cherishes our mother's necklace. She would be devastated. You have to give it back to her."

"Sorry, no can do," Jonathan replied firmly.

"Jonathan, you must." Eleanor's voice rose as she insisted.

"She'll get a replica — an almost perfect match. Then I'm going to pay off my gambling debts with it."

"You can't!" Eleanor pleaded,

"It's either that or somebody is going to find my body in pieces in some dark alley." Jonathan closed his tired eyes and mumbled, "You think I wanted to stoop to this — a disgusting drunk, thief, lowlife?"

"Then stop, Jonathan," Eleanor pleaded.

"I can't!"

"You can. It won't be easy, but I'll help you."

He rubbed his eyes. "How can I trust this isn't just a trick of my mind? Just the liquor pickling my brain?"

Eleanor moved closer, her voice calm and assured. "To prove I'm really here, I want you to play your last chips on red 12."

Jonathan looked at the stack of chips and then at Eleanor. He shrugged, "What have I got to lose?" He staggered to the roulette table and placed his remaining chips on red 12. The wheel spun, and to his astonishment, the ball landed on red 12. He stared at the table in disbelief as the croupier pushed a mountain of chips his way.

Excited, he turned to see Eleanor, but she wasn't there anymore. He looked at the chips. It amounted to a lot of money. Maybe his luck was changing.

He placed his bet on the black 24. He couldn't contain his excitement as the wheel spun around. As it slowed, the ball rolled and dropped into the red 23. He'd lost.

Suddenly, Eleanor appeared at his side. She whispered, "Play the black 24."

"But I just lost everything."

She put a stack of chips on the table. Jonathan's eyes bulged. She smiled. "If you win this pot, I will pay off your gambling debts, but you must promise to give Margaret the necklace back. The real one, not a replica. Promise?"

Jonathan stared at her. "If I win, is the money mine, and you pay off my gambling debt?" He grinned. "That's a win-win situation."

"I need you to promise."

"Yeah! Yeah! I promise."

"We aren't kids anymore, Jonathan. No fingers crossed. No excuses. The necklace goes back to Margaret."

"I promise." He held up his hands. "See, no fingers or toes crossed."

His heart pounded as he placed his bet again. The wheel spun, and once more, fortune smiled upon him. He watched as the chips piled up in front of him.

Breathless, he glanced around, half expecting Eleanor to be gone. But there she was, perched on a nearby stool, but her expression was serious.

"Something wrong?" Jonathan asked. "We won!"

"One final spin, Jonathan. If you win, you must stop gambling for good. In return, I will give you your million dollars, but first, you must take the $250,000 and start a halfway house for Gamblers Anonymous."

He hesitated. "How can I trust this isn't some cruel dream I will wake up from?"

She looked deep into his eyes, her gaze unwavering. "Pick the numbers yourself this time."

"I'll pick your birthday — number 9."

"I'm surprised you remember, but the choice is yours."

Jonathan placed his bet. The wheel spun, and time seemed to stretch endlessly. When the ball settled, it landed on the 9.

A small crowd had gathered, and they erupted in applause. Jonathan could see his sister for the woman she was for the first time in years. His eyes misted over as he whispered, "Thank you. I promise I'll make you proud."

"I know. Now, keep your promise. Take the necklace back to Margaret."

"What do I tell her?"

"The truth. Trevor needs to learn a few things, too." She smiled at him. "I've got to go now."

"Where? Why can't you stay?" He chuckled. "Not here, of course. This place has seen the last of me."

"I wish I could, but it's not to be. Besides, I need to pay off your gambling debt before someone finds you in pieces. Take care, Jonathan." She blew him a kiss and then faded away.

*****

Margaret disconnected the number she'd been dialing all morning. She called his office, and his clerk said he was out. She called the country club, and they said he hadn't been there. She even tried the golf caddie shack, thinking he might be scheduled for a round, but she was told he wasn't on the roster.

She tried his private cell one more time. It rang and rang before going to voice mail. She was tempted to leave a message but decided against it.

Her phone rang, and she instantly answered, "John."

A mechanically distorted voice chuckled and then spoke to her. "No, John here."

Angry, she disconnected the call. It rang again. This time, she answered, "Hello."

The voice on the other end was cold. "Listen carefully, Mrs. Ashley. I have your daughter."

Margaret screamed into her phone. "Who is this? What do you want?"

Ignoring her questions, the voice continued, "A million dollars in unmarked bills. No police, no tricks. If you want Megan back alive, you'll follow my instructions."

Margaret's entire body trembled as her knees crumbled, and she sank to the couch. Her voice cracked. "How — do I know — you aren't a scam? I need proof."

"Check your email in the next five minutes. You'll see a video of the moment she was taken. Remember, Mrs. Ashley, you have 24 hours to get the money and wait for my next call. Any delay or attempt to involve the authorities, and you'll regret it."

Margaret couldn't control her tears. "Please, let me talk to her. Let me hear her voice."

"No demands. You'll hear from me soon. Be ready with the money."

Margaret was desperate. She screamed into the phone, "Wait! I'll get the money. Please, don't hurt her."

The voice snarled. "Do as I say, and your daughter stays unharmed. Cross me, and you'll never see her again. Remember — twenty-four hours."

Nick disconnected the call, satisfied that Megan's mother would do as she was told. He settled his debt with the judge by handing Megan over to the kidnappers. It didn't matter to him how they disposed of her. He focused his eyes on the million-dollar payoff he had just arranged. He wasn't worried if the judge found out because he had a tape of their conversation and a video of the kidnapping. That should be enough collateral to keep him safe.

*****

Jenna carried the stack of letters into the living room and settled into Eleanor's favorite chair, curling her legs beneath her. The soft flow of the lamp cast a warm light over the delicate pages. She gently untied the ribbon and unfolded the first letter. Tears sprung into her eyes as she recognized Eleanor's handwriting. Helen told her this was Eleanor's wish, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she was intruding on a deeply personal chapter of Eleanor's life.

"Oh, Eleanor, where are you when I need you? This would be much simpler if you were here." She buried her face into a pillow, wishing Eleanor would appear.

The first few letters were brief, a mere few words saying she was okay. Her words transported Jenna back to when Eleanor was a young nurse during the war.

As Jenna read, she could almost hear Eleanor's voice, filled with hope and heartache. Eleanor wrote vividly about her experiences, the horrors she witnessed, and the camaraderie among the nurses and soldiers. The letters painted a picture of a resilient and compassionate woman who found solace in her friendships and a sense of purpose in her work. She often mentioned how difficult it was to watch as other nurses received letters from their husbands. In one letter, she wrote that mail calls had become more like a reoccurring wound than the healing suave it was meant to be.

Hours passed unnoticed as Jenna immersed herself in the letters, each a testament to Eleanor's indomitable spirit and the enduring power of love.

And then there was Charles.

From that moment on, the letters were happier and upbeat even when things went wrong. After reading the letter once, Jenna read it out loud.
 

March 15, 1943

Dear Helen,

I hope you are holding up. By the sounds of the assembly job you've been given, your feet must be screaming for a rest. I pray you find the strength to continue and this war will end soon.

Life here is unlike anything I imagined. The days are long and hard, but there are moments of beauty that keep me going. Yesterday, I met a charming young man named Charles. He's an artist, and he offered to teach me how to paint in our free moments. His eyes light up when he talks about art, and it feels like a small escape from the horrors around us. I can't wait to learn from him.

With love, Eleanor
 

Jenna's heart fluttered as she read about Eleanor's first encounter with Charles. She pressed the letter to her heart and murmured, "Love at first sight."







 

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 15
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 15

By Begin Again



Margaret was on the brink of desperation. Her attempts to reach John, whom she believed would help, had failed, revealing his indifference. She paced her living room, her mind in a whirlwind of chaos. Her breaths were quick, sharp, and desperate.

She muttered to herself, "A million dollars." She screamed at the telephone, her voice cracking with desperation. "Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?"

As she collapsed into a chair, her gaze fixed upon a framed photo of Eleanor and herself. "You could have given me the money instead of all your stipulations," she screamed, her voice echoing in the empty house. "If Megan dies. I'll never forgive you." She tossed a pillow, knocking the picture off the mantel and shattering the glass as it hit the floor.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she cried, "Oh God, Megan. I can't lose you. I can't!"

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, Margaret remembered the diamond necklace. "Oh, Momma, please don't hate me. I know it's worth so much more in many ways, but this is for my child, your granddaughter. Please understand," she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion.

She raced into her bedroom and removed a picture from the wall. Behind it was a safe. At first, her confusion made her forget the combination, and she fought with the dial, spinning it repeatedly, her panic rising. Then she remembered the combination was in the jewelry box. She hurried to her dresser, pulling tiny drawer after tiny drawer, until she found the yellow slip of paper with the numbers nineteen — twenty-four — twelve written on it.

She entered the combination and pulled the safe door open. The blue velvet box was gone. She pulled documents and miscellaneous items from the safe, but the necklace wasn't there. She immediately hurried to her dresser, pulling each drawer out and frantically rummaging through it, one after another. Nothing was there.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Margaret scrambled to her feet and stumbled to the door, crying, "Oh, John, you're here."

She flung it open, expecting to fall into her lover's arms. Instead, Jonathan was standing there.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and mumbled, "I - I thought —"

Jonathan stepped into the foyer, wrapping his sister in his arms. "Margaret, what's wrong?"

The floodgates opened, and she sobbed hysterically. "It's Megan."

"What's the girl done now?" He squeezed Margaret. "Come on. Stop with the tears. It can't be that bad."

"They took her," she wailed. "They kidnapped my baby."

"Kidnapped? Margaret, calm down and tell me what's going on. Have you called the police?" He pulled his phone from his pocket.

Margaret knocked it out of his hand. "No, we can't call the police. They will kill her."

"Has someone made a ransom demand?" Jonathan was trying to make sense of the situation and calm his sister at the same time.

"They want a million dollars. I was going to sell Mother's necklace —"

"You can't do that."

"I can. It's mine. And to save my daughter, I would have, but it's gone."

Jonathan bit his lower lip and took a deep breath. "Margaret, you need to calm yourself and listen to me. I have the necklace."

Margaret stared at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What? How? Why would you have the necklace?"

Jonathan reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue box, opening it to reveal the diamond necklace. He held the box out to her. "Trevor was going to pawn it. I got it back before he could."

Margaret snatched the necklace from his hands, her relief quickly turning into anger and disbelief. "You're lying! Why would Trevor steal it?"

Before Jonathan could answer, a shimmering light filled the room as Eleanor appeared. Margaret gasped. "What's happening?" She collapsed into the chair, trembling violently.

Eleanor bent, picked up the shattered picture frame, and smiled. "Do you remember this day, Margaret? It was your wedding day, and we were so happy, so close."

Margaret nodded, unable to speak.

Jonathan leaned down and took his sister's hand. "It's okay, Sis. She's already visited me, too." His words were a comforting balm, soothing Margaret's frayed nerves.

"Eleanor, is it you?" Margaret whispered, her voice trembling. "But it can't be."

"It's me, and I'm here to help you."

"I don't understand." Margaret's eyes shifted to Jonathan and then back to the vision in front of her. She rubbed her eyes and opened them again, but Eleanor was still there.

"Jonathan is telling the truth. Trevor tried to pawn the necklace, but Jonathan stopped him."

"You stopped him and brought it back to me." She looked at her brother with new admiration.

Jonathan started to confess, but Eleanor shook her head. "That story is for another time." She moved closer to Margaret. "Tell me about Megan. Have you called the police?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I tried, but she stopped me. She says they will kill Megan if the police are called."

Eleanor's voice was a soothing melody. "You don't need to sell the necklace, Margaret. I will give you the million dollars to pay the ransom."

Margaret's eyes filled with tears of gratitude as she stared at the shattered picture. "I'm sorry, Eleanor."

"Water over the dam, dear. Let's focus on getting Megan back home safely. Have they told you when to make the drop?"

"The voice said he would call again."

"I'll take the money to them. You aren't going to do this by yourself." Jonathan looked at Margaret and then Eleanor. "Tell her we should call the police."

"No, they might have the house bugged or her phone tapped. Just do as they ask. I'll do the rest."

"You? But Eleanor, you're dead?" Margaret questioned.

"You're talking to me, aren't you?" Eleanor smiled. "I can do a lot of things I couldn't do when I was alive. Ask Jonathan some time." She glanced in his direction, and they both smiled. "For now, you'll have to trust me."

"How can I thank you?" Margaret sniffled.

"Just by saying it. It takes no more than that."

Margaret stared into Eleanor's eyes. The look of love said more than the words as she whispered, "Thank you."

"Now, you two, wait for the call. When it comes, I will know even if I'm not here."

"You aren't staying? But I — we need you."

"You'll be fine, just the two of you leaning on each other. I won't be far, but I have something I must do."
 
Margaret watched as Eleanor faded away. "She's gone." Looking at Jonathan, she asked, "Was she real?"

"Trust me. She's real."

*****

Eleanor was determined and focused as she quickly found her next stop.

Detective Donatelli pulled his unmarked car into a shady spot at a rest area close to the station. He hadn't slept much and knew he needed a quick power nap with many more hours ahead of him. He tipped his hat down over his eyes and was fast asleep within seconds.

He looked so peaceful when Eleanor found his car, but time was of the essence. She gently tapped on the car window. Donatelli stirred but didn't wake. She tapped again, harder this time. His eyes flickered open, and he slowly sat up, groggily looking around.

"Detective Donatelli," Eleanor called softly.

Frowning, he blinked his eyes, muttering, "It can't be." He rubbed his eyes and looked again. "It can't be you again. I must be dreaming."

Eleanor joined him in the front seat, tired of standing outside the car. "Detective, you need to wake up."

He jumped when her voice came from inside the car.

"Lady, how did you do that?"

"It's simple." Eleanor disappeared and knocked on the car window. "See, it's easy." With that, she rejoined him inside the car.

"Stop that! I know I'm sleep-deprived, but seeing ghosts is a bit of a stretch." Matthew pulled himself up into an upright position. "You can't be real."

"Fine, if that makes you feel better. I don't care, but I need you to listen to what I am going to tell you. It is very important." Eleanor's insistence was unwavering.

"Okay. You're not here, but I'm listening." The detective took a deep breath. "I don't know the trick, but go ahead."

"It's not a trick." Eleanor snapped her finger, and a cup of steaming hot coffee appeared. "Here! Maybe this will help. I need you to focus."

Matthew took the coffee and sniffed the cup.

Eleanor chuckled. "You don't believe I'm here, but you think I drugged your coffee."

He shrugged and took a swallow. The coffee tasted wonderful. "That's my favorite from Papa Joe's. How'd you do that?"

"It's simple when you're a —"

"No, don't say it. I don't believe in things that go boo in the dark."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. I'll never say boo!"

Donatelli drank some more of the coffee. "Okay, saying I believe you're really here and really talking to me. What's so important?"

"Megan Ashley has been kidnapped."

"I haven't been notified. By whom and when did it happen?"

"I'm not sure by whom, but my sister is waiting for the call to tell her where the money should go. My brother will take it. I believe you know Jonathan."

Donatelli thought for a moment. "The gambler. He's in really deep with Veraci. Did he take the girl for the money?"

"My brother — no, he did not." Eleanor scowled. "I don't have much time. Just listen. I need you to put a tail on my brother. So, after he makes the drop, you can catch whoever it is."

"And if he keeps the money?"

"Then arrest him, but he's not going to keep it. He's a changed man. A reformed gambler."

"Overnight? Now both of us are dreaming."

Eleanor grinned. "My presence tends to do things like that to people."

"Listen, lady, if this is some hoax. Who's behind this charade?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."
 
"Try me," Donatelli insisted.

Eleanor smiled. "Judge Doyle."

"The honorable Judge. Now I know this isn't happening."

"Trust me, it is. Just follow Jonathan. What have you got to lose?" Eleanor disappeared from the car. Donatelli, wide-eyed, looked in the backseat and all around.

Eleanor tapped on the window. "I've got to go, but here's another cup of coffee. With a snap, she held out the Styrofoam cup. "Is it a deal?"

Donatelli took the coffee. "I know I'm going crazy, but it's a deal."
 
As she disappeared, he heard her call out, "Boo!"

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 16
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 16

By Begin Again


Dylan entered the small auction house. The air buzzed with the hum of conversations and the occasional sharp rap of the auctioneer's gavel. He wandered through the maze of items, scanning the antiques and collectibles while searching for paintings.

As he worked his way around the auction house, he glimpsed another room overflowing with boxes, antiques, and paintings. The door was slightly ajar, but his view was hampered. Curiosity piqued, he glanced around to ensure no one was watching and then quietly stepped toward the door. His heart quickened, and he gasped. From across the room, he saw several paintings that resembled his uncle's scenic countryside artwork.

Despite a large scarf draped over part of the pieces, the brushstrokes and vibrant colors were unmistakable. Checking the doorway, he edged closer, hoping to confirm his suspicions. Drawn to the paintings, he neglected to notice the footsteps approaching from behind.

A stern voice broke the silence, "Excuse me, sir, but this is a private area. Only authorized personnel are allowed beyond that point." He indicated the door. "There's a sign posted."

Dylan spun around to find a tall, imposing man standing in the doorway. His expression of annoyance was unmistakable. The man's gaze flickered to the paintings and back to Dylan.

"I apologize," Dylan stammered, trying to sound convincing. "I thought this was part of the auction, and the paintings caught my eye."

"You thought wrong! This section is off limits."

Reluctantly, Dylan nodded and stepped through the door, taking one fleeting look at the paintings. He noted mentally that he'd be back.

The man was losing patience. He snarled, "I've got things to do. Let's go!"

Dylan felt a chill as he edged past the disgruntled man and returned to the auction area. He hoped Jenna would arrive soon so he could tell her what he'd found—or what he thought he'd seen. The man shut the door and locked it. Dylan sighed. He couldn't sneak back in and take a second look, but something about it made him wonder what he'd seen.

*****

With each letter, Jenna felt closer to Eleanor, her dearest friend, and what she'd faced during the war, losing her husband and finding someone new. She'd become friends with the artist, but there was so much more to the woman she cared so deeply about.

She checked the time. Dylan would be waiting at the auction house, and she'd promised to meet him. Yet, the letters held her, each a fascinating glimpse into Eleanor's life. She was torn between her promise and her desire to read more.

"One more, then I have to go," Jenna promised.

She opened the next one and read the date — June 10, 1943. Two months had passed since Eleanor and Charles met. Eleanor had written about the suffering she'd seen as patient after patient entered the hospital, sharing their unbelievable stories of war and survival. But she'd also shared the moments of hope she found in the eyes of the survivors. Eleanor's words were a poignant reflection of her emotional struggle, torn between the past and the present, and the blissful yet conflicted moments she spent with Charles.

June 10, 1943

Dear Helen,

I hope this letter finds you doing well. And the garden, is it flourishing under your green thumb? I can only imagine the pies you made from all the berries you've grown. I inhale and imagine the aroma and dream of home.

Painting with Charles has become the highlight of my days. He's incredibly talented, and I see the world differently through his art. Regardless of his injuries, he is able to look past the pain and the destruction of the war. His visions add joy and life to the sad world we live in.

Helen, I wish you were here to hold my hand and tell me what I'm feeling isn't wrong. Our friendship has blossomed into something deeper. I see the world differently. Sometimes, when I think of the past, I am ashamed. It's scary and wonderful all at once. Last night, under the stars, we shared our dreams and our fears. It was magical. Is it wrong? I think I am falling in love with him. Is it too soon?

The war has taken so much, but it's given us each other — at least for now.

Yours, Eleanor

Jenna laid the letter in her lap, wondering if she'd been able to walk in Eleanor's shoes. She understood grief and losing someone, but how could it be wrong to want to grab the brass ring if you had the chance?

The ping from her phone jarred her back to reality. She read the message from Dylan — "Are you on your way? I might have found something. Hurry."

Jenna set the letters aside and slipped on her shoes. Grabbing a sweater, she hurried out the door, texting Dylan that she was on her way.

*****

Meanwhile, across town, in the receiving room of Bayside Gallery, Nick flashed a wad of bills in front of Peter's face. "Man, I know you need this cash. Your wife's medical bills must be going through the roof. I'm just asking for one little favor."

"But I'm working, Nick. I can't just leave without a reason."

"You aren't thinking straight, Peter. Do you think Jackson cares about your problems? But I do!" Nick reached into his pocket and added a few more hundred to the roll of money. "All you gotta do is tell him something has happened at the hospital, and you need to go. He won't stop you. If he does, there are always better jobs out there." He spread the money on the workbench. Peter's eyes widened as he calculated what it would do for his finances. "All I'm asking is that you go to the train station, get a package from Locker 13, and bring it to me. It's that simple."

"I don't know, Nick. It sounds like another one of your schemes."

Nick placed his hand on his heart and feigned pain. "Peter, you're stabbing me in the heart. You and my dad were tight. Do you think I would do anything to endanger that relationship?"

"Then why do you need me to do it? Can't you do it yourself?"

"For the umpteenth time, I told you I've got a meeting with the police about the missing girl, or I would go. Will you do this for me?" Sensing Peter's hesitation, Nick played his trump card. He scooped up the money and shoved it into his pockets. "If you don't need it, I'll get someone else to run my errand."

"Wait!" Peter couldn't tear his eyes off the cash. "I'll do it."

Nick smiled and patted Peter on the back. "Thanks, man. I knew I could count on you." He collected the cash and handed it to Peter. "Two o'clock at the train station. Locker 13."

With a sigh of relief and relying on Peter to take the blame if anything went wrong, Nick left the gallery through the back door, ensuring that he remained unseen.

*****

Traffic had been heavier than usual, and parking was at a premium. Jenna finally found a spot near the train station and was surprised to see Jackson a few cars away, hurriedly placing something into the trunk of his car.

Jenna called out to him, "Jackson!"

When he didn't appear to hear her, she called again, "Jackson!" And walked toward his car.

When he turned his head and greeted her, his face flushed. "Jenna, I'm sorry. My mind was on something else."

"No problem. I'm headed to the auction. Were you there?"

"No — I mean, I was at the auction house, but only to pick up something. I'd love to chat, but I need to get back to the gallery. Audrey's by herself this afternoon."

Surprised, Jenna asked, "Where's Peter? Did something happen with his wife?"

Jackson hesitated as he glanced nervously around as if he was expecting someone.

"Everything okay, Jackson? You seem agitated."

"No, no, everything's fine. I just need to get back to the gallery. Peter rushed off to the hospital. Something about the doctor needed to discuss an emergency surgery, and he needed to be there."

"Oh, dear. I hope she hasn't taken a turn for the worse. Cancer is a struggle."

Jackson opened his car door. "I've gotta go. Stop by the gallery later, and I can show you some new paintings that have come in."

Jenna nodded and watched him back out of the parking spot, waving and driving away. Jackson's demeanor puzzled her since Wednesday was always a slow day at the gallery, especially with the auction going on. Shrugging her shoulders, she walked toward the auction house, her mind wondering about Jackson and also Dylan's discovery.

Moments later, a man hurried between cars, colliding with Jenna and almost knocking her to the ground. His arms reached out to steady her, and Jenna found herself looking into familiar eyes.

"Peter?"

"Jenna, what a surprise."

"Yes, it is. I just saw Jackson leaving the auction house. He was in a hurry, and he mentioned you were at the hospital."

Peter glanced at his watch and ran his hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "I did, but it was a false alarm."

Jenna scowled. "Jackson said it was about an emergency surgery. That doesn't sound very promising. Is everything okay?"

Peter glanced at his watch again. It was ten after two, and he was supposed to be at Locker 13. "Listen, Jenna, I've got to go. My wife's fine, and I'm meeting someone at the train station."

Puzzled, but not wanting to pry, Jenna asked, "Oh, is there another art dealer coming to town? Anyone I know?"

Peter stammered, "No, it's just a friend. I should be going." He turned and hurried through the crowd, leaving Jenna wondering why her instincts told her something else was happening with Peter and Jackson.

*****

Eleanor watched from a nearby bench as Jonathan placed the package in Locker 13. She could tell he was nervous as he surveyed the area. She was nervous, too. She hoped Donatelli had believed her and was following Jonathan and that his instincts as a detective would put him on alert when he saw Jonathan at the locker.

She also noticed a young man wearing a ball cap sitting nearby. His eyes hadn't left the lockers. Could he be involved in Megan's kidnapping? Impossible! He must be one of Doyle's patsies in case anything goes wrong. Of course, he wouldn't do the dirty work himself. What had she been thinking?

She smiled when she saw the construction crew working nearby. The man in the hard hat and aviator glasses was Donatelli. She'd recognize those shoulders anywhere. Looking back at the young man, she realized he was gone. Her eyes shifted to the locker. It was standing open, and no one was around. She gasped. Had she missed the kidnapper?

Shouting to her left caught her attention. Donatelli was putting the cuffs on the young man in the ball cap. The rest of the construction crew were gathered around. "Now we are getting somewhere!" Satisfied, Eleanor faded away.

*****

The young man in the ball cap yelled at Donatelli, fighting the handcuffs. "You've got nothing on me."

Donatelli grinned. "Just a million bucks in ransom money. You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Nick snarled, "I've got nothing to say." His plan hadn't gone as he had hoped, and now he'd have to do some fast dealing or spend time behind bars.

Donatelli noticed the black SUV with the Mustangs on the side as his men led Nick to one of the unmarked cruisers. The tall cowboy was adjusting his Stetson and sporting a smug grin/ Garth's presence instantly irked him.

"Well, well, if it isn't Detective Donatelli." Garth sauntered toward the detective. "Looks like you've apprehended a criminal."

Donatelli nodded toward the car. "He's a small-time crook trying to get into the big time. Orchestrated a kidnapping of one of the locals. Caught him red-handed."

Garth tipped his sunglasses down, exposing his blue eyes. "You got the girl then?"

"Not yet, but when I get done interrogating this kid, he 'll be giving it all up."

Garth shook his head. "I hear that you haven't even shed the surface."

Donatelli bristled, his cockiness faltering slightly. "We'll find her. And when I do, it will be more important than your missing paintings."

Garth took a step closer, his tone laced with anger. "It's not about importance, Matthew. It's about results. You're chasing the small fry while letting the real bad guys roam free."

"If you're talking about Judge Doyle —"

"I am, but you just won't open your eyes. The man's got your town by the throat."

Donatelli squared his shoulders. His anger flared. "You can't ride your horse into my town and take over. You worry about your case and stay clear of mine."

"I'd like to do just that, but something tells me Doyle has his finger in every pie in town. Instead of chasing breadcrumbs, you should be chasing the one who bakes the whole loaf. And that's Doyle."

With that, Garth tipped his Stetson and headed toward the auction house, leaving Donatelli simmering with anger.

"That Cowboy isn't going to take away my win. The boy better be ready to talk."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 17
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 17

By Begin Again


Police cruisers with flashing lights filled the busy street outside the train depot and the auction house, creating a spectacle as Nick's arrest unfolded. Curious onlookers, including auction participants, gathered near the large bay windows, murmuring and pointing as the dramatic scene played out.

Dylan spotted Jenna and Garth as they weaved their way through the crowd. When they joined him, he asked, "What's happening over there?

"Donatelli and his crew made an arrest. They believe it's the guy responsible for Megan's kidnapping," Garth replied.

Dylan's eyes widened in shock. "Megan was kidnapped? How come I didn't hear about this before now?"

"It was all hush-hush because some believe a very prominent judge was involved," Jenna whispered.

"Doyle?" Dylan asked anxiously. "Did they catch him?"

Garth shook his head. "They nabbed some young kid picking up the ransom money. He'll be left holding the bag unless he gives up the judge."

"Do you think he'll fold? It would be awesome if he provided us with something to use against this guy."

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. The way the ransom drop was carried out seemed haphazard to me. I can't believe a clever person like the judge would arrange it that way. There's definitely more to the story, but Donatelli didn't share much."

"So, if Donatelli isn't giving you any information, how did you end up here when it happened?" Jenna questioned.

"Dylan texted me about some paintings and suggested I come look. Perfect timing, I guess."

"Paintings?" Jenna stared at Dylan. "Are you sure?"

"No! I saw them only from a distance, and then the security guard kicked me out."

"Let's keep a low profile and wander around the room. You can point out the storage room, Dylan. We don't want to raise too much commotion if we don't have to,"

"It's that one near the back door exit sign. I believe the security guard locked it."

"Not a problem." Garth strolled down the aisle, stopping now and then to examine an antique or something else that looked interesting. When he reached the storage room, he tried the handle but found it locked.

A gruff male voice called out, "Hey, you, the Cowboy, can't you read? The sign says only authorized personnel."

Garth smiled. "Then we don't have a problem because I'm authorized."

"Do you think you're funny? I know who works here and who doesn't. You aren't on the list," the guard snarled.

"That's where you're mistaken." Garth flashed his badge. "This moves me to the top of the list."

The security guard gulped. "You're with the FBI?"

"You're catching on," Garth said, gesturing at the doorknob. I want you to open this door."

"But, sir, no one's allowed —" the guard stammered.

"I assure you I am allowed. Either unlock the door, or I will shut down this auction until someone does."

Reluctantly, the guard removed his keys from his belt and unlocked the door, stepping aside so Garth could enter. "There's nothing of value in there."

"If that's the case, why is it locked, and why are they paying you to guard it?"

As he stepped inside, Garth scanned the cluttered room but found no paintings. "Dylan, where exactly did you see these paintings?"

Dylan moved toward the door and pointed across the room. "They were over there by that stack of boxes. I don't understand."

A male voice boomed as it approached, "Henry, why's this door —"

He stopped when he saw Dylan. "Listen, I was nice the first time, but now you're getting on my nerves. I told you to get out."

"He's with me,"

"I don't know who you are, but I'm telling you the same thing I told him. This is off-limits. Get out, or I'll throw you out."

"Wayne." Henry, the first security guard, stammered.

"Henry, I'm doing my job. If you can't get these guys out of here, I will."

"He's FBI," Henry muttered.

Garth tipped his Stetson and smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Why didn't you say so before now?"

"We did!" Garth turned around and pointed at the empty spot by the display case. "I'm told there were some paintings near those cases. Mind telling me where they went?"

"He's mistaken. There haven't been any paintings in this room. I don't know what he thought he saw, but there weren't any paintings," the guard insisted, but Garth wasn't easily deterred.

Dylan insisted, "I know what I saw, sir. There was a colorful scarf draped across one section."

Garth walked around to get a closer look. He found a long stick and poked it behind the case. He raised it with the scarf dangling from the tip. "Might this be the scarf?"

Dylan raised his voice. "That's it. That's the scarf."

Garth asked the guard his next question, "Has anyone been in and out of this room?"

"Just him. Haven't seen anyone else after I locked the door."

"What about that door? Can anyone come in and out of it?"

"Yeah, sure, if it's unlocked. It's a loading and unloading entrance when we need it."

Garth tapped his radio and requested additional help. "We'll need to see all the security footage for this room."

"Security footage?"

Garth pointed at the cameras. "Yeah, I want to see what those cameras were filming."

As they waited for the team to arrive and the security guard to provide the requested footage, Garth looked around the room.

Jenna's mind shifted back to her first arrival on the scene and Jackson's strange behavior. She finally decided it was worth mentioning. "Garth, when I parked my car, I saw Jackson putting something in his trunk. He seemed very nervous. Peter, his sales associate, was there too. Is it possible that one of them might have been involved?"

"It is strange that both men would be here. I would like to know what Jackson was putting in his trunk."

"I know they both have financial trouble, and the paintings are worth a fortune," Jenna added. "And I know Peter told me a lie about his wife."

*****

A belligerent Nick sat at the metal table, his hands cuffed in front of him. Donatelli sat across from him, reading a file. The interrogation room was stark except for the buzzing fluorescent lights in the ceiling.

Donatelli broke the standoff. "Nick, let's cut to the chase. We know you set up Megan. You've been involved in this from the beginning. What we'd like to know is who's pulling the strings. My sources say it's Judge Doyle."

Nick's eyes flickered in a brief but noticeable reaction. He quickly straightened his shoulders, but when he spoke, his voice wavered slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Donatelli pounded his fist against the table. "Don't play games with me. We've got reason to believe the Judge is behind this. So, why don't you tell us where Megan is and what Doyle's role is?"

Nick's face hardened. He remained silent, clenching his jaw. After a stare-down, Nick surrendered and spoke. "I don't know where Megan is. And I'm not saying anything about the Judge."

The detective leaned forward, his voice low but icy cold. "Nick, think carefully. Judge Doyle is known in court for throwing the book at people like you. If your case ends up in front of him, you're looking at life. Your only chance is to give us something. Otherwise, we assume you are protecting someone who's far more dangerous. If that's the case, you're toast regardless."

Nick turned away and mumbled, "I want a lawyer."

"Fine. Keep your secrets. But remember, the longer you stay silent, the harder it will be for you once we crack the case."

Donatelli stood and nodded to the guard. "Put him in the tank with the other felons. And make sure he gets his one phone call because he will need it.

Donatelli left the room. The door closed with a heavy thud.

*****

Thirty minutes later, Donatelli was at Margaret Ashley's home. Lydia sat beside her on the sofa, trying to comfort her distraught friend. This was part of the job he hated, delivering bad news after promising the world.

"Margaret, we've apprehended the suspect and recovered the money. We're making progress."

Margaret's face was etched in pain. "Progress? What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice trembled. "You said you'd bring Megan home. Where is she? Did you find her or even have a clue?"

"We're working on it. The kid's involved, but he's not talking yet. We'll wear him down, but it will take time."

Margaret's eyes were wide in desperation. She sobbed, "Time! We're talking about my daughter's life. What if you don't have time?"

"We're doing the best we can."

"I want my daughter! Call Judge Doyle. He'll get you whatever you need. He'll do it for me — for my family."

Donatelli had already surmised that Margaret and John Doyle were having an affair. The fact he'd left town, booked on a fourteen-day cruise, said he was distancing himself from the case and Margaret.

"I'm sorry, Margaret, but Judge Doyle is out of town. He's left instructions that he's not to be disturbed."

Margaret's face paled, her emotions swinging from hope to despair. Lydia squeezed her hand and tried to reassure her friend, but she, too, knew he'd deserted her.

Margaret's voice cracked. "He can't be out of town. He was here. He would have told me."

"Ma'am, I'm told he and his wife are definitely on a Caribbean cruise." Donatelli thought for a moment and then asked, "What did you mean he was here?"

Margaret stammered, "I meant — he was here in town last night. Maybe — maybe he didn't go. Just — find him." Tears rushed from Margaret's eyes. "I need him."

"I understand how you're feeling."

Margaret snapped, "Do you? Do you have children? It's the most gut-wrenching pain anyone could ever feel." She reached out and grabbed his arm. "Please, I need my daughter back. Please find her,"

He nodded solemnly, unable to find the words she needed him to say. "We'll do our best. I'll stay up all night interrogating the boy until he breaks."

*****

While the detective tried to console Margaret, Nick sat on a narrow cot, his face drawn and worried. The cell was quiet, too quiet, except for an occasional clang of metal and distant murmurs from other inmates.

Suddenly, the cell door opened, and a group of rough-looking inmates entered. Their eyes were cold, almost vacant, as they lifted him off the cot.

The leader growled, "Heard you've been getting cozy with the guys upstairs."

Nick's eyes widened with fear. "No, that's wrong. I haven't said a thing."

"Hear that, guys. He says he hasn't said a thing, but that's not what we heard, is it?"

They all laughed. Then, without warning, the inmates buried their fists into his face, his sides, his gut. Their blows landed with brutal force. The sound of punches and grunts filled the small cell. Nick cried for help, but the relentless assault muffled his voice.

As the beating continued, Nick's face lost all similarity to the good-looking young man he'd been. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth. His eyes swelled shut.

Finally, the inmates stopped, leaving him crumpled on the cement floor, bloodied and bruised, gasping for air. With a final kick to his torso, they shuffled out of the cell, leaving him in a heap.

The leader slammed the cell door shut. "Maybe now you know you should keep your mouth shut."

As he lay alone in the darkness, he felt himself slip into unconsciousness.

*****

As Donatelli left Margaret's home, his cell rang.

"Donatelli."

"Boss, an ambulance just rushed your guy to the hospital. It doesn't look good."

"What happened?"

"Don't know for sure. Someone did a number on him, that's for sure."

"I want the tapes from every one of those security cameras on my desk when I get there."

"That's the thing. The system was down. We don't have any footage."

Donatelli hung up. "Damn you, Doyle." As he climbed into his vehicle, his only thought was — "I should have listened to Woodman."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 18
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 18

By Begin Again



Danny Veraci, the charismatic owner of the bustling casino, strolled the floor, engaging in casual conversations with his patrons. The symphony of roulette and slot machines was his usual soundtrack, but tonight, a different tune played in his mind. Despite his public success, he found himself in a private void, devoid of family, loyal friends, or a woman.

Danny wasn't one to let emotions get in his way, so on the rare occasion that they broke free from the mental box where they were confined, he felt utterly disoriented. At those times, he even questioned himself, a dangerous pastime for a man in his business, where self-doubt could be a fatal flaw.

His two bodyguards walked a step behind him, prepared to take down any threats or problems.

"Manny, I'm going to retire to my office tonight. See that I'm not disturbed."

"You got it, boss." Manny's muscles bulged against the cloth of his tuxedo, and his scarred face bore evidence of his willingness to fight. "Nobody will get past Bruno and me."

The soft, woodsy vanilla aroma drifted past his nostrils as Danny opened the heavy mahogany door and entered his lavishly decorated office. Soft lights left a peaceful glow around the room, contrasting with the desk lamp standing guard over stacks of papers on his king-size desk. Two plush high-backed chairs and a small ornate table paid homage to the massive stone fireplace that ran from floor to ceiling, its hearth adorned with intricate ironwork and a crackling fire that added a cozy warmth to the space. A bottle of bourbon, a silver ice bucket, and a few high-ball glasses waited on a sidebar.

Danny poured the amber liquor and dropped a few ice cubes in his glass to chill it. As he raised the glass to his lips, a soft voice from the past floated his way.

"Hope you don't mind. I helped myself."

Danny's eyes widened as a series of memories flashed through his mind. He recognized the voice and the woman it belonged to, but that was impossible. He steadied himself against the table and turned toward the fireplace. "Ellie?" He rubbed his eyes and stared at the vision before him.

"Hi, Danny. It's been a long time."

Visibly shaken, Danny remained frozen in one spot. "Am I losing my mind?"

"Aren't you happy to see me?" Eleanor laughed softly and musically. She was toying with him, payment for long ago when he chose to walk away from a young budding romance.

"Of course, but you certainly took me by surprise. This can't be—" Danny stared at her. "You're supposed to be —"

"Dead! So, they tell me, but I had some unfinished family business to take care of, and now that's blown into something much worse."

Finally able to function, Danny drank his bourbon and poured another. "You're not here to knock me off, are you? Though being taken out by you would be a fitting end to my life."

"Oh, Danny, we were young and made rash decisions. Life is what happens when we least expect it. I'm not here to hurt you."

"I'd deserve it if you were." A faded memory flashed through their minds, and they both smiled. "I regretted that decision many times throughout my life."

"Regrets. We all have them, Danny." Eleanor set her drink on the table and stood by the fireplace. Her aura shimmered against the stone. "I'm sorry to come to you like this, but I need your help."

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "You need my help? Anything! Whatever it is, ask me."

Eleanor smiled. "You might not be so eager when you discover what I need. Come and sit down. I promise not to bite."

"You bite? That's like those werewolf or vampire creatures, right?" Danny still wasn't sure if he was dreaming or if this was happening. Either way, he was out of his tough-guy status.

She chuckled. "It was a joke, Danny."

"A joke!" Danny nodded and moved toward the chair opposite the one Eleanor chose. "Of course it was. Silly me."

"I need you to take me seriously. I know my family said we would never expect you or your family to repay what we did for you, but —"

"Ellie, your father saved my family, and I could never repay —"

"Stop! I'm not here to dredge up old memories, especially those so dreadful and frightening. I wouldn't be calling in my marker if lives, including my niece, weren't at stake. Still, what I'm asking is dangerous, and I'll understand if you tell me no."

"Ask away, Ellie."

A warm, glowing smile touched her lips and her eyes. "No one else has ever called me that except you." Danny returned the smile.

"Is John Doyle a friend of yours?" Eleanor asked.

"The judge? That man can stoop so low I'd swear he was a snake slithering through the grass." Danny took a swallow of his bourbon. "Is that your favor? Do you want me to knock him off? It would be my pleasure. What's he done? Or more likely, what's he forced others into doing for him?"

"I don't have all the facts, but I know he has set out to destroy my family. Foolishly, Margaret fell in love with him, and now she's blindly covering for him. Her daughter Megan's life is in the balance."

"Don't tell me he's so sleazy he's sleeping with her, too?"

"No, it's much worse. I believe he's involved in despicable crimes, including selling young women."

"Woah! Booze and gambling were strong enough vices for me. That's a strong accusation. Are you sure?"

"I'm responsible for Megan being abducted." Eleanor turned away and stared into the fire. "He threatened murder charges against my nephew, Trevor, and I played my Ace, or so I thought. He countered me by kidnapping Megan."

"I'd heard he played real dirty, but you can't blame yourself."

"There's more!" Eleanor turned to look into Danny's eyes. "He's responsible for my murder."

"Murder!" Danny choked on his drink. Setting his glass on the table, he stood and paced the room. "I thought it was cancer?"

"So did everyone else, but I tricked him by putting a request for an autopsy in my will."

Danny's eyes rolled. "Good for you, but whatever possessed you to do that?"

"I discovered that the gallery where I display many of my paintings —"

"You paint?" Danny couldn't hide his surprise. "The girl who struggled to color inside the lines."

Eleanor laughed. "Improvement came with age and the patience of another charming man like yourself. But that's a story for another day. Under the name CJ Grey, I painted and supposedly joined the world of the rich and famous."

"You're CJ Grey?" Danny hastened across his office to a darkened corner of the room. He turned on a light over an artist's easel. A picture of a young woman staring out a window was displayed. "That explains why I fell in love with this painting and paid tens of thousands of dollars to have it."

Eleanor gasped. "Danny, that's me."

"I always thought there was a strong resemblance." Danny's eyes lingered on the painting, and then he returned to sit by Eleanor. "I loved it from first sight."

"Thank you. I'm glad it found a home with you."

"Now, back to the Judge and your murder."

"As I was saying, I discovered some of my paintings were missing from the gallery. I was told they were sent out for restoration, but it didn't make sense since I was never told about it. Long story short, someone is forging the paintings, putting the forgeries in the gallery, and reselling the originals overseas for three or four times their value."

"Who would pay those exorbitant prices?"

"You'd be surprised what collectors, especially ones with unlimited resources, are willing to pay."

Danny chuckled and glanced at the painting. "Yeah, like me."

"It's happening internationally. My paintings were just the tip of the iceberg, but the judge was afraid he might get caught with his sticky fingers all over it. He put poison in my sugar. Sweet dreams and no one expected anything except me. I knew he was a dangerous man."

You always were a smart cookie." Danny gazed at Eleanor. "So, how can I help? Do you have any idea where Megan is? And how the paintings are being shipped overseas?"

"That's where the favor comes in. I know you are familiar with Matthew Donatelli."

"We've had a few run-ins over the years."

"Well, he's working on Megan's case and a nice strapping Texas Cowboy is involved with the international case. His name is Garth Woodman. The two boys —" Eleanor chuckled. "They have history and don't work well together. I need you to bring them into the fold and take down the judge together."

"You want me to work with an FBI Agent and Detective Donatelli? You are asking a big favor." Danny rolled his eyes.

"I know, but there's not anyone else I would trust more than you."

Danny sat back in the chair, exhaling deeply. "This is big! Dangerous! Doyle carries a lot of power."

"Will you do it? We've got to find Megan before it's too late. I'm sure Doyle knows where she's at or who has her."

Danny nodded slowly, his mind thinking of how he could proceed. "It's going to be touchy. If the judge gets a clue that something's not kosher, he'll bail. I can't make any promises, Ellie. I wish I could, but —"

"All I can ask is that you try."

"I'll need to make some calls. I'll call in a few favors of my own. Don't worry, Ellie. We'll get Megan back and catch the snake, too."

"Thank you, Danny. This means more to me than you can imagine."

"For you, I'd do anything."

Eleanor stood, casting an adoring smile at him. "Be careful, Danny."

"I always am, darling." Danny stared into her eyes. "I was a fool —"

"We were kids, and you had a world to conquer." She turned and walked toward the door, blew him a kiss, and faded into the night.

Danny sipped his bourbon, then leaned back and closed his eyes, remembering.

A knock at his office door brought him back to reality. The door opened, and Manny popped his head around it. "Sorry, boss, but a nice-looking broad said you needed me."

Danny chuckled. "And she was right. Get Bruno. It's going to be a long night. We've got work to do."

"Yes, sir."

Manny closed the door and went in search of Bruno. Eleanor took a short walk around the casino, stopping now and then to bring some luck to someone, and then disappeared. Danny drifted back one last time before going to his desk, where the real work got done.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 19
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 19

By Begin Again



After leaving the casino, Eleanor had one last stop on her agenda. The gossip mill in Bayside was up and running at full tilt since Garth's visit to the auction house, and she was eager to meet the sexy cowboy. She found him nursing a beer in the lonely corner of the hotel bar. His co-workers were line dancing with the other hotel patrons, but his mind was on bringing down the judge and solving the crime.

Deep in thought about the missing art, Garth was unaware of Eleanor sliding into the booth until she spoke.

She'd considered using the sexy approach but decided he was more of a business-up-front type of guy. Besides, making him believe in ghosts was a big enough task. She whispered his name, "Agent Garth Woodman?"

His hand instinctively reached for his holster before his eyes made contact with the woman sitting across from him. Her eyes met his steely blue ones, and she spoke, "You are as handsome as they say."

A slow smile tugged at his lips, and he tipped his Stetson back on his head. "And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to, ma'am?"

It was Eleanor's turn to smile. "I'm Eleanor Bennett, or in your world and Dylan's, I'm known as CJ Grey."

Garth studied her, taking in her neatly coiffed bun, crisp pale pink chiffon blouse, dark pink pearls, and the simple cross around her neck. "Did Tango put you up to this? Or was it Poppa? Both of them are pranksters."

"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting your team, but I'm positive they are the best if they work for you."

"I'm not one to turn a lady away, but I am in the middle of an important case, so thank you for your time, but I need to get back to work." Garth picked up the folder he'd been studying before addressing Eleanor again. "Criminals! Masterminds are stealing artwork from right under our noses."

"I know. A few of them are mine. That's why I'd like to help."

Garth lifted his beer mug, sipped, and made a face. "Warm beer." He motioned for the waitress, who hurried to his booth.

"I'll take another and one for the lady, too."

The waitress looked at Garth, then behind her and around, not seeing anyone. She rolled her eyes and nodded. "Yes, sir, two cold beers coming up." She turned to leave, then asked, "Are you feeling okay? Maybe you should get some sleep."

"I'm fine. Just bring the beers."

As she hurried away, assuming Garth was losing it, Eleanor laughed. "They can't see me, Garth."

The girl brought the two beers, set them on the table, and, looking at the empty booth, said, "Enjoy!" Then, turning to Garth, she repeated, "You need to rest."

Garth leaned back in the booth, pushed his Stetson to the back of his head, and crossed his arms. "Lady, I don't know what's happening, but I'm listening."

Eleanor knew he wouldn't take her seriously until she proved who she was. She faded from his view yet lifted the beer to her lips and swallowed one gulp after another. When it was empty, she placed the mug on the table and let her body appear again. The look on the cowboy's face was worth millions.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Now, let's try this once again. I'm Eleanor Bennett. Yes, I'm dead, and you are talking to a ghost. And before you go all FBI on me, let me tell you that I know things you don't know about this case. I'm here to help."

"A ghost? You're dead, and you're still talking to me."

Eleanor sighed. "Listen, Cowboy, they tell me you are one of the best at solving these crimes. I don't want to lasso you like one of those bulldoggies and start swinging a branding iron, but if that's what it takes to get you to understand—well, I'm up to trying anything."

Garth's laughter was so loud it reached the bar and Tango's ears. "Are you okay over there, Garth?"

Garth's eyes met Eleanor's before he answered, "I'm just fine. Never better."

"Now, are you ready to talk?"

Garth leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Alright, Eleanor. You've got my attention. What do you know about the stolen art?"

Eleanor's eyes twinkled with a mix of seriousness and playfulness. "Well, for starters, I know where they're keeping some of the pieces. But we'll get to that. First, tell me, Agent Woodman, how does a rugged cowboy like you end up in a place like this, chasing art thieves?"

Garth chuckled, his earlier skepticism fading. "It's a long story, ma'am. But I reckon we've got time, don't we?"

Eleanor leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "Plenty of time, Cowboy. Plenty of time."

*****

Unable to remain sitting in her front room waiting for a call from Donatelli about Megan, Margaret decided to honor Eleanor by visiting the soup kitchen. She'd called a cab, afraid to take her own car into that end of town. The driver had dropped her outside the building, asking twice if she was sure this was where she wanted to go.

Now, standing at the entrance, she wasn't as sure as she thought she was. A worn-out sign above the door flapped in the wind. She took a deep breath, clutching her purse strap tightly, and stepped inside. The building was a far cry from the elegant boardrooms and pristine offices she was accustomed to. Here, the walls were faded, paint peeling in spots, and the scent of cooking lingered in the air, mingling with the smell of cleaning solutions and sweat.

She felt out of place. Her tailored suit and polished shoes starkly contrasted with the casual attire of the volunteers and the worn clothes of the guests. She scanned the room, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach.

Eleanor, what were you thinking? I know nothing about running a soup kitchen or how these people live.

She was about to turn around and leave when a familiar face caught her eye. Standing by the coffee station was someone she hadn't seen in years. Jack, a high school classmate, was looking at her. He looked different now — his hair was longer and his face weathered, but there was no mistaking him. The last she had heard, he was a highly successful engineer.

Before she could leave, he made his way over to her. "Margaret? Is that you?" He broke into a smile. "It's been a long time.

With nowhere to run, Margaret stammered, "Yes, it has." Then his smile made her add, "I see they have a coffee station. Shall we get a cup and catch up?"

Jack's story was a sobering one. After losing his job and his home, he'd ended up on the streets, a harsh reminder of how quickly life could change.

Margaret shared the recent death of her sister Eleanor and Megan's kidnapping. She couldn't remember the last time she'd opened up and been so vulnerable with others. In the end, she told him about the soup kitchen.

"Eleanor left me a sizeable amount of money with the stipulation that I help fix it and make things better for everyone. To be honest, I have no idea where to start."

Jack chuckled. "Well, Margaret, you're in luck. I've been coming here for a while, and I know a thing or two about how things work. I'd be happy to help you get started."

Relief washed over Margaret. She actually smiled for the first time in days. "Thank you, Jack. I could use the help."

Together, they walked through the soup kitchen. Jack explained the daily operations and introduced Margaret to the other volunteers. Margaret listened intently, humbled by their stories, especially those of those who had once been guests and now gave back of their time.

As the day wore on. Margaret found herself rolling up her sleeves after pitching her suit jacket and helping wherever she could. It was hard work, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a connection to the community.

When the last meal was served, and the kitchen was cleaned, Margaret was exhausted. She looked over at Jack, who was wiping tables and felt a surge of gratitude. In this unexpected place, she'd found a friend and an ally. She looked around the soup kitchen, knowing that with help, she could make it better for everyone who walked through those doors.

She inhaled and whispered, "Thank you, Eleanor. You opened my eyes to what real life is about."
 
Jack waved. "You coming back tomorrow?"
 
Margaret nodded. "I'll be here."

*****

Garth had enjoyed Eleanor's company, but he knew he had work to do, and if she had information, he needed to know what it was.

"I hate to break up our little love fest, but duty calls. Did you mean it when you said you have some useful information?"

"I did! Detective Donatelli — I know, I know, you two don't see eye to eye, but hear me out. The detective and Danny Veraci will be joining forces to bring down Judge Doyle."

Garth's eyes narrowed at the mention of Donatelli and Veraci. "That's a strange alliance. I've been preaching to the choir about Doyle being dirty, and Donatelli wouldn't hear about it. And why would a detective team up with a crime boss?"

"Desperation makes for unusual partnerships. They both have reasons, and they believe taking down the judge will benefit them both."

Garth rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What's your stake in this? You certainly have no need for the money or the pictures, do you?"

"No, I don't, but Veraci promised to get my niece back safely. And I'd like to see Doyle pay for my murder."

"Your murder? That's news to me."

Eleanor smiled. "See, told you I know more about these cases than you."

"How can you trust Veraci? Aren't you afraid he'll take the paintings and run?"

"No, Danny and I are old friends. He's doing this as a favor for me. He's going to set a trap for the judge, and when it's sprung, he'll be caught for murder, human trafficking, and art theft."

"You like to wrap the cases up in one big bow, it seems." Garth chuckled. He liked Eleanor, ghost or not.

"So, Garth, are you in?"

"You know I am. I wish I'd known you when you were still alive, Eleanor Bennett."

"I wasn't nearly as much fun." Eleanor laughed. "It's time for me to go, but I wish you luck."

"Thanks for helping me out." Garth tipped his hat to the lady in respect.

"Just one favor," Eleanor asked.

"Sure, what can I do for you?"

"Be nice to Matthew. He's a good man."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be on my best behavior."

Eleanor smiled. "Good night, Garth." She faded away.

*****

Danny had spent the last few hours planning how to take down John Doyle. His mind often drifted to Eleanor and the painting, and he gained an incentive to make this project go smoothly. Bayside would be a better place without Doyle and his behind-the-scenes evil, which would make him happy as well.

He picked up the piece of paper with Doyle's private cell and dialed. He recognized the judge's voice when he answered, "Doyle."

"Good evening, Judge. This is Danny Veraci."

"How'd you get my private line?" Doyle snapped. "I have nothing to talk to you about."

Danny's voice was smooth and controlled. "I heard through the grapevine that you might be able to put a friend of mine in touch with some high-priced paintings."

Danny could hear the Judge's breathing. It had gotten heavier. He waited patiently, knowing Doyle was thinking, stalling.

Finally, Doyle answered, "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Veraci."

Danny chuckled. "That's a shame, Judge. See, this friend of mine is a high roller at my casino. He's got a lot of money burning a hole in his pocket, and he's looking to spend it. He's interested in some very exclusive artwork."

"Like I said, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about. The kind of artwork you're referring to would be illegal trade. You do realize you're talking to a judge? I could have you arrested in a heartbeat."

Danny laughed. "And I'd be out in less, and you'd have egg all over your face."

Doyle growled, "Lose my number. I'm afraid I can't help you or your clientele."

Danny leaned back in his chair, speaking very calmly, "Too bad. My friend would have paid handsomely for the right pieces, possibly two or three times the going rate." Danny paused and added, "I guess I'll have to tell him to look elsewhere since you aren't interested."

He hung up the phone without even saying goodbye.

*****

Doyle sat at his desk, staring at the phone, tapping his fingers on the blotter. After five minutes, he got up and walked to the credenza, getting a bottle of scotch and a glass. He poured a glass and drank, loving the burn in his throat.

Returning to his desk, he dialed Danny's number.

Danny sat there, letting it ring. After four or five rings, he answered, "Veraci here."

Doyle spoke in a low voice. "I've had a moment to reconsider your phone call, Mr. Veraci. Maybe I was too hasty. Perhaps we should meet and discuss this matter further."

Danny smirked. "I thought you might change your mind. My client will be pleased. When and where?"

"Somewhere private. There's an abandoned warehouse on 5th Street. Tomorrow night at 10?"

Danny smiled, knowing he was about to put the nail in the coffin, so to speak. "Sounds perfect. And Judge, just to be clear, my friend won't accept the paintings unless you deliver them personally. He'll have the cash."

"Personally. That's highly irregular —"

Danny interrupted him. "Those are his terms. Take it or leave it."

After a pause, Doyle answered, "I'll be there."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 20
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 20

By Begin Again



Dylan paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, blaming himself for letting the paintings slip through their hands at the auction house. Jenna wasn't feeling much better, considering she now believed that Jackson might have been putting the paintings into the trunk of his car, which would explain why he was so nervous.

"We can't second guess ourselves, Dylan."

"I know the paintings were there, Jenna. I couldn't tell from a distance if they were the originals or forgeries, but I know I saw them, and then they disappeared."

"Maybe Garth will find something in the camera footage."

"Do you believe there will be any such footage? These criminals are masterminds at what they do."

"Well, you can't do anything about it tonight. Come, sit down, and drink your wine. I've something to show you." Jenna retrieved the box Helen had brought her and spread some of the letters on the table.

"Where did you get those, Jenna?" Dylan asked, joining Jenna on the sofa, happy to forget about the missing paintings for a while.

"A dear friend of Eleanor's brought them by early this morning. Some are letters Eleanor wrote to her during her time overseas, and I don't know what the rest of them are."

"How fascinating. They're like whispers from another time, connecting then and now." Dylan relaxed as he sipped his wine. "Have you read any of them?"

"I did this morning. I couldn't resist. Eleanor must have been so lonely in a foreign country with the war. I would have been terrified."

"Why did Helen bring them to you if they're letters written to her?"

"She said Eleanor wanted me to know more about her."

Jenna picked up one envelope and opened it. "Would you like me to read you a few? In some of the letters I read this morning, Eleanor wrote about meeting Charles and how he taught her the fine art of painting. I imagine that's why their work often looks the same."

"Yes, that makes sense." Dylan smiled at Jenna. "My uncle has often talked about the woman he loved and lost. I feel like I know her, yet we've never met." He sipped his wine and mused, "It must have been quite a love story."

"But circumstances kept them apart. How heartbreaking for both of them." Jenna picked up an envelope and gently removed the letter from inside.


Date: July 10, 1943

Dear Helen

I must confess something! I've kept a secret from everyone. Please don't think badly of me.

Jenna paused and lifted her eyes from the page. "I suddenly feel like I'm prying. Eleanor's about to reveal her secret to her best friend. Do you think she wanted us to read this?"

"She must have if she asked Helen to give them to you."

Jenna nodded. "I suppose you are right." She lifted the letter from her lap and read again.


It was odd being on foreign soil while you, our friends and family, and the nation were celebrating the Fourth of July back home. They did have a few fireworks here, too, though I have yet to learn their reason.
 
I'm not looking for an excuse because it just seemed so right. Charles and I —


Jenna's eyes shifted from the letter to Dylan. "Eleanor's secret is about your uncle. Should I continue?"

"It happened a very long time ago, Jenna. I doubt it could be anything that would matter now."

"Of course, I'm being silly." She began again —


Charles and I shared an indiscretion. It was a night of passion, yet I felt connected, as if we were one. Amid the chaos and the exploding bombs in the distance, we found solace in each other's arms. I know it was wrong, but Helen, I don't regret it. The memory of that night keeps me warm when my world feels cold.

I can trust you with these feelings because I know you, of all people, know me and how deeply I feel about things like this. It wasn't just two people satisfying themselves. I truly felt bonded to Charles, and regardless of what happens in the future, I will never feel any different.

Always your friend,

Eleanor

Jenna folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. "Times are so different now, aren't they? For Eleanor, those moments with Charles were engraved in her heart forever. I hope someday I find a love like that."

Dylan stared into the fire, thinking about all the times his uncle had sat staring at his paintings, and for the first time, he thought he understood. "Read another one, Jenna."

Jenna took the next one off the stack of letters and opened it. "This one is postmarked two weeks later."


Dear Helen,

I hope this letter finds you well. I don't know where to unburden my sorrow except for you. I'm sorry!

I am devastated. When I arrived at the hospital today, I was met with news that has shattered me. Charles has been shipped back to England without any prior notice. I didn't have the chance to say goodbye, and now I might never find him.

Charles and I shared something special, something that gave me hope amid this dreadful war. His presence was a light in the darkness, and now that light had been extinguished. A part of me has been taken away, and I am struggling to cope with the void left behind.

The reality of war has never been clearer to me than it is now. It takes away without warning, leaving us to pick up the pieces and carry on. I am trying to remain strong, but it is difficult when my heart feels so broken.

I wish I had more uplifting news to share, but this is where I am now. I miss him, Helen, and the uncertainty of whether I will ever see him again is unbearable.

Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. Your friendship means the world to me, and writing to you helps me feel a little less alone.

With love,

Eleanor


Tears streamed down Jenna's cheeks. "That's why they never were together. How devastated she must have been. I can't imagine being torn apart like that and unable to say goodbye."

They both sipped their wine and stared at the flickering flames, lost in their private thoughts.

*****

Across town, at Bayside Medical Center, an unconscious Nick fought his own demons. His breath was shallow and irregular. The pain in his head was a constant throbbing ache. He could faintly hear the soft chatter of hospital staff and the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.

A nurse approached, adjusting the IV drip. Nick's eyes flickered open, and he tried to focus on her face.

"Docks — seventeen — Da telli" Nick mumbled, his voice barely audible. His head rolled from side to side as his fingers clutched the bedsheets. "Help."

His nurse patted his arm as she tried to calm him. "Sir, you need to relax. You're in the hospital, and no one will harm you here. I'll tell Doctor Springsteen you asked for him."

Nick's gaze grew distant as the nurse brushed aside his fragmented words. He mumbled, "Not safe."

The nurse shook her head. "Don't worry. Try to sleep. You're safe with us." She noted the erratic ramblings in his chart and that he was most likely reliving the beating.

As she left his room, she mentioned to the guard stationed outside that he might hear some mumblings, but it was nothing to be concerned about. Their chance of finding Megan slipped away.

*****

Megan felt her heart beating wildly against her chest. The chains on her wrists and ankles were tight and dug into her skin when she moved. The cold, rough concrete floor sent shivers up her spine. Despite being blindfolded, Megan detected faint murmurs and whimpers nearby.

Terrified, she whispered, "Is — is anyone there?"

A deafening silence surrounded the sixteen-year-old. With a trembling voice, she tried again, "Please — Is anyone here?"

After another brief silence, a quiet voice responded somewhere to Megan's left. "I'm here. My name's Emma."

Swallowing hard, Megan whispered, "I'm Megan. Do you know where we are?"

Emma's voice was shaking as she whimpered, "No! I remembered stairs and rough limestone walls when they brought me here." Emma hissed, "There are other girls, too."

Another voice joined the conversation. "We're in the underground storage area of an old barn. I heard them talking when they brought several of us in. My name is Sarah."

Megan's lips quivered as she fought back her tears — the sound of clanking chains as the other girls shifted uncomfortably sent chills through her body.

Megan's voice cracked. "How — long — have you been here?"

Sarah sighed. "I've lost track of time. It feels like forever, but it might be five or six days. Maybe longer."

Emma's mousey voice whispered, "They said — they're going to sell us."

Megan's breath came in short, shallow gasps as panic set in. "Like — cattle?"

"Not like a herd, but one at a time to the highest bidder."

"But we're humans. That's against the law," Megan wailed.

Sarah, a willowy brunette with a few more years than Megan, chuckled. "Honey, not anymore. You are going to be someone's sex toy. And they call all the shots."

Sarah's comments sent the others into a tizzy. Crying and moaning filled the room, telling Megan there were more girls there than she thought.

After a few minutes, an eerie silence settled across the room until Sarah spoke. "I've been trying to keep track of their movements. A guard checks on us every few hours. Maybe we could overpower him."

Drawing strength from Sarah's bravado, Emma asked, "But how? We're blindfolded and chained."

Fear and desperation claimed Megan. "I want to go home."

Sarah's tough shell softened. "I know it's scary, but we can't give up."

Megan's thoughts drifted to her family. Suddenly, her mother's helicopter ways and Trevor's irritating habits weren't all that bad. She tried to focus on the good times, regardless of how few it seemed they'd had, and those thoughts became her lifeline.

Hours passed, each one stretching endlessly. The sound of footsteps approaching and the squeaky hinge on a door snapped the girls back to reality.

A gruff voice bellowed, "Quiet down in there."

Megan could hear the clanging of keys and the sound of someone rattling chains. Her heart raced as she tried to muster the courage to act. For a fleeting moment, Megan imagined herself striking the man with her chains, but when the moment came, and he stood over her, his stale breath against her face, fear paralyzed her. Sensing he needed to put the new blood in her place, he slapped her roughly across the face.

"Don't even think about it, sweet cheeks."

Megan's head snapped to the side, and she felt a stinging pain where he struck her. Her muffled sob joined a few others.

The guard growled, "You girls better behave. Your new owners don't like damaged goods."

His footsteps retreated, and the door slammed, leaving the girls alone in the dark, damp basement.

Emma whispered, "Megan, are you okay?"

"I'm — so scared."

Sarah responded next, "We all are, sweetie. Just try to stay strong. We'll find a way out of this, I promise."

Megan wanted to believe Sarah, but it sounded impossible, yet she clung to Sarah's words like a life raft in the sea.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 21
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 21

By Begin Again


After hours of behind-the-scenes preparation, the teams were in place. The abandoned warehouse had once thrived as a business, but neglect had caused it to deteriorate over the decades. Now, it worked as the perfect spot for meetings and illegal operations, too far away from anything for law enforcement to care. 

The air was thick with tension tonight as three unlikely allies prepared for the most crucial operation in Bayside’s history.

Checking his watch, Garth radioed his point man. “Tango, everyone in place?” 

“Roger that. We’re covering the back of the warehouse and the docks. Just make sure everyone else is doing their job.” 

Garth chuckled. “I’m on it, Tango.”  

“Tell your boy he doesn’t have to worry about us.” Donatelli lit a cigarette.  

“You might want to put that out. One sniff of smoke while no one’s smoking and our guy will fly the coop.” 

Donatelli glared at Garth as he snuffed out the cigarette. “Bad habit when I’m tense.” 

“It’s a bad habit anytime, but it’s your lungs.” Garth nodded to Veraci. “How about you, Danny? Any bad habits?” 

Danny laughed. “That sounds like a leading question. You aren’t fishing in my pond, are you?” 

“No, of course not. If this goes as planned, you will be my friend for life.” 

“What about me?” Donatelli flashed a grin toward Garth. “My guys are here, too. Can I be your friend for life?” 

Garth had a sharp comeback, but inside his head, he heard Eleanor telling him to be nice. He inhaled and smiled. “Sure, Donatelli, we’ll all belong to the best friends' club.” 

“Our friend here better not be messing with us.” Donatelli stared at Veraci. “I still worry about teaming up with a crime boss. You going to pull a fast one on us, Danny boy?” 

Danny leaned against a crate, his arms crossed. He knew it was hard for either of these men to swallow that he’d set up this meeting, something they’d never been able to pull off. “You two worry about playing your parts, and I’ll worry about mine. The Judge won’t suspect a thing until it’s too late.” 

Garth nodded. “My team's in place. Let’s go over the plan one last time. Danny, you’ll have the buyer, Mr. Akira, inside his limo, and he won’t exit the vehicle until the judge is in full view and out of his car. We’ll be monitoring from here. Once the transaction is confirmed, I’ll signal the strike team.” 

“Remember, we must record him admitting to selling the stolen paintings. That recording is our ticket to putting him behind bars for good.” 

“Relax. The judge is a greedy man. One look at the cash, and he’ll be hooked.” 

The sound of approaching footsteps alerted the men, and they all turned toward a shadowy figure appearing from a back room.  

“Boss, everything’s set. The judge’s limo turned off Rosemont and is headed this way.” 

Garth clicked his radio. “It’s a go!” 

Donatelli looked at Garth. “Time to catch ourselves a corrupt judge.” 

The three men moved into their designated spots. Danny leaned against Mr. Akira’s limo, relaxed and ready. 

A sleek black limo rolled into the dilapidated warehouse, its engine a low purr in the otherwise silent space. Two burly bodyguards exited the vehicle, surveyed the area, and opened the rear door so John Doyle could step out. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Danny. 

“Danny! Good to see you. You aren’t wasting my time, are you?” 

Danny grinned. “Please, I’m a businessman, not one of those yahoos.” He tipped his head toward the judge’s bodyguards, who quickly moved toward him until the judge intervened. 

“Easy boys. Mr. Veraci is just having a little fun.” 

“Sorry, didn’t know they didn’t have a sense of humor.” Danny gestured toward the other limo. “Ready to do some business?” 

Doyle surveyed the warehouse, taking his time to ensure there were no surprises. Satisfied, he motioned to his bodyguards, who opened the limo trunk, revealing several large, wrapped canvasses. 

Mr. Akira stepped from the limousine and abruptly got down to business. “Let me see the paintings.” 

Believing he held the upper hand, Doyle smirked, “We talk price first. These masterpieces are worth more than you can imagine.” 

“Not to worry, Mr. Doyle. I assure you, I can afford your paintings." He smiled and pointed at the two bodyguards — "and them too!” 

“They aren’t for sale.” 

“Everything has its price. Even you.” Mr. Akira stared at the judge. “Now, I’d like to see what you are offering.” 

Doyle nodded, and the two men carried the paintings closer, leaning them against several crates before ripping off the paper protecting them. 

Akira walked over and scrutinized the paintings. “I hear you have someone highly skilled in making forgeries.” 

Doyle snapped, “Veraci, what’s going on? I didn’t come here to be insulted. Does he want to do business or not?” 

Akira stepped closer to Doyle, his demeanor calm yet intimidating. “I assure you, my interest in the paintings is genuine. However, I must be certain of their authenticity. The market is rife with forgeries, something you know about first-hand, and I have no intention of being swindled." 

Doyle faltered, his eyes narrowing. “These are real. I have no reason to deceive you.” 

“Good,” Akira replied, his voice smooth like silk. “Because if I find out otherwise, there will be consequences.” He glanced over at Veraci, then back to the judge. “Let’s proceed.” 

Doyle, trying to regain his composure, nodded curtly. “Fine. As I said, these are priceless.” 

"Indeed," Akira said, his voice cold. "But understand this, Judge. If you double-cross me, you'll find that my reach extends beyond these walls." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Now, shall we continue our business?" 

Doyle swallowed hard. “Yes, of course.”  

Akira nodded approvingly, then turned to his bodyguards. "Ensure everything is as it should be. If there's any doubt, we walk away. Understood?" 

The bodyguards nodded, stepping forward to inspect the paintings more closely. Doyle watched, his confidence wavering as Akira's scrutiny continued. 

"We'll see if your masterpieces live up to their reputation," Akira said, his eyes never leaving Doyle's. "For your sake, I hope they do." 

"There’s one belonging to Charles Weldon, a famous English artist. Another by CJ Grey, the woman once thought to be Weldon’s protégé. The others are just as well known. I can guarantee that they are all originals."

Akira signaled to his chauffeur, who instantly carried two large duffel bags over and set them on the crate. He unzipped them, exposing stacks of cash. 

“I’ll take the country scene by the English artist and the one by CJ Grey. I have two million dollars in the bags. That should be more than enough.” 

Smelling Akira’s interest, Doyle laughed. “Two million? You’re wasting my time. Danny, I expected a serious offer.” 

“Judge, two million goes a long way. We’re willing to negotiate.” 

Once again, believing he held the power hand, Doyle turned and walked toward his limo. “No deal. Do you think I’m desperate? I’ve got other buyers lined up, but I gave you the first chance.” 

Danny's arched eyebrow signaled Akira to press the judge. 

“Wait! What’s your final price?” 

Doyle paused and turned around very slowly, assessing his opponent. “Five million. You can have all five paintings for that price. It’s your last chance.” 

Akira hesitated, then nodded. “There’s the two million in cash. Would you like the rest in gold bars tonight or cash tomorrow?” 

The chauffeur opened the trunk, exposing several locked boxes. He opened one and handed a gold bar to Akira, who placed it in the judge’s hand. 

Doyle’s eyes bulged as he examined the bar. He struggled to regain his composure before speaking. “I’m feeling generous tonight. Mr. Akira, you got yourself a deal.” 

The two men shook hands, and Akira nodded for his men to claim the paintings, knowing that he wanted them away from the action that was about to take place. 

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Akira. There are more of these masterpieces if you are ever interested. I’ve found it’s a very lucrative business.” 

Satisfied with what they’d recorded, Garth nodded at Donatelli and spoke into his earpiece, “Strike team, move in.” 

The warehouse doors burst open from every side as FBI agents and police officers swarmed the building, weapons drawn. The judge's face twisted in shock and anger as FBI agents and police officers quickly surrounded him. He snarled, “Veraci, you set me up!” 

Smirking, Danny moved closer to the judge. "Sorry, just doing my part to ensure justice is served.” 

“You think you can get away with this? You have no clue what you’re dealing with! I’ll have your head for this!” 

Danny’s face was inches from Doyle’s. “Where’s the girl? What did you do with her?” 

The judge grinned. “The girl? I don’t have any girl.” He laughed, a cold, evil sound. “Are you talking about the whore’s brat? Tell her that her son will rot in jail if he survives, and the girl — who knows. I’ve heard they are going for a very nice price on the international market.”  

Garth and Donatelli stepped out of the shadows, satisfaction evident on their faces.  

Garth put the handcuffs on the judge. “Judge John Doyle, you’re under arrest for corruption, conspiracy, and selling stolen art internationally. Donatelli will be adding kidnapping charges and whatever else he can throw at you.” Tango took the judge’s arm as Garth added, “Read him his rights.” 

Danny watched as they led the judge away. “We aren’t any closer to finding Megan.” 

“It’s not over yet. He’ll use the girl as leverage. You wait and see.” 

“That doesn’t keep my promise to Eleanor. I told her I’d get Megan back.” 

Donatelli understood how it felt to let people down, so he tossed a breadcrumb to Danny. “Maybe the kid will come through. I heard he was trying to talk, so he might be waking up.” 

Danny tried to look hopeful but failed. “I thought he didn’t have much chance of survival?” 

“Stranger things have happened. Keep your fingers crossed.” 

Eleanor, who had watched from the rafters, smiled. “Thank you, gentlemen. Nice job tonight. Now it’s my turn.”  

***** 

Moments later, Eleanor sat at the patient’s bedside in room 302. She’d seen the officer posted outside and knew she was in the right place. 

A nurse about to end her shift entered the room, surprised to see someone else there. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here.” 

“Sorry, I’m new. The family hired me to be with him. You can check if you want.” 

Having worked a double shift, the nurse wanted to go home and put her feet up. “No, it’s fine. You have a uniform and the proper credentials, so there shouldn’t be any problem. I was surprised, is all.” 

“It was a last-minute decision, and you were going off shift. It's probably one of those oversights. You know how it is when people are trying to get out of here for the weekend.” 

“Yeah, I’m one of those people right now.” 

Eleanor smiled. “Go, get some rest and enjoy yourself. I’ll take good care of our young man. I heard he was mumbling something. 

“Nothing that made any sense.”  

“Maybe tonight. We can hope.” Eleanor watched as the day shift nurse left and pulled her chair closer to Nick. “Come on, young man. You owe me this. Talk to me. Megan’s in danger, isn’t she?” 

At first, Nick was unresponsive, but Eleanor’s soothing voice finally stirred him. “Nick, I need you to tell me where Megan is being held. I know you didn’t mean to hurt her.” 

Nick lay still, his breathing shallow. Eleanor frowned, reaching out to touch his hand, her ethereal presence creating a slight chill in the air. “Please, Nick. You have to help me find her. Where is Megan?” 

For a moment, there was nothing. Then Nick’s eyelids fluttered, and he began to stir. Eleanor leaned closer, her voice a whisper. “Where is she, Nick? Where is Megan?” 

Nick’s lips moved slowly, and at first, the words were unintelligible. Eleanor waited, her patience unwavering. Finally, he mumbled, “At the docks… Pier 17… in the cellar.” 

Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she gently squeezed his hand, urging him to continue. “What’s happening there, Nick? What’s at the docks?” 

Nick’s voice, barely more than a whisper, carried a chilling revelation. “Auction… soon… the girls… on sale… to the highest bidder.” 

That’s all Eleanor needed to hear. She whispered, “Thank you.” With a final glance at his beaten body, Eleanor’s form began to fade, her mind already racing with plans to save Megan and the other girls from the impending danger at Pier 17. 

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 22
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 22

By Begin Again

SUMMARY
At the reading of Eleanor Bennett's will, her dysfunctional family discovered she had led a secret life as CJ Grey, a wealthy and well-known artist. Unfortunately for them, Detective Donatelli interrupted the reading to announce that someone had murdered Eleanor.

Meanwhile, a ring of international art thieves have stolen numerous paintings, including one belonging to Eleanor's former lover, Charles Weldon. His protege and nephew, Dylan Weldon, flew to the U.S. to join FBI agent Garth Woodman in solving the case.
 
Much to Garth's chagrin, his nemesis, Matthew Donatelli's murder case, overlaps with the art theft when he discovers one of Eleanor's paintings is missing, too. As the two men struggle to break the cases wide open, their underlying personal battle continues to get in the way.

To add to the mayhem, Trevor is framed for murder, Eleanor's ghost intervenes, and Megan suddenly disappears. Are all the cases tied together or merely coincidences?
*****
 
CHAPTER 22
 
Having booked the judge, Donatelli made his way to the conference room to fill his briefcase with papers he could complete in the morning from his home. His mistake was to sit on the extra-long sofa and lay his head against the soft, inviting pillow. It felt so good to relax, and within minutes, he was curled up and snoring.

Occasionally, he would mumble in his sleep, ranting about one thing or another or simply muttering about another long night. Eleanor had entered through his private office, but the loud, obnoxious noise from the conference room raised a red flag.

A large container of his favorite coffee was waiting on the table, something she knew he'd need if she could bring him back to the land of the living. She hoped the drop in temperature would break through his present warm cocoon.

"Matthew! Detective Donatelli! It's Eleanor. You need to wake up." When he did not move and the objectionable noise continued, Eleanor searched for something to restore him to consciousness. Her eyes found an ice bucket filled with cold water and remnants of ice cubes. Under the direction of her pointer finger, the silver bucket lifted off the credenza and traveled across the room, stopping directly over the detective's head. She smiled, enjoying the perks of being a ghost.

"Matthew! We've got work to do." As she concentrated on calling the detective, she forgot about balancing the bucket. It tipped sideways, sloshing its contents on his head. Donatelli bolted upright, water dripping everywhere and his mouth cursing in high gear. Startled, Eleanor clasped her hands to her mouth, letting the remaining contents spill out. Seconds later, her laugh button was stimulated, and she couldn't stop as he grabbed a shawl from the back of the sofa and tried to dry himself.

"Not you again! Please go away!" Donatelli moaned.

"I can't. I know where Megan is being held, and there are other girls, too."

Donatelli's eyes widened, and he immediately pulled his six-foot frame to a standing position, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Where are they?"

"At the docks in the cellar of a barn or warehouse at Pier 17."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I sat with Nick. The poor boy is in bad shape. But he was muttering things. I talked with him, soothing him. When I finally understood what he was saying, I went to Pier 17."

"You went there by yourself? Are you crazy?"

"Matthew, they couldn't see me."

"Oh, yeah, that only happens when you let it happen, right?"

"Listen! Nick mumbled something about an auction. I heard the girls talking about it, too. It must be happening soon. We've got to rescue them now."

"How many girls and what ages do you think?"

There are about a dozen, but I'm not sure because there appeared to be several rooms. All the girls are young, between Megan's age and maybe twenty or twenty-one." They are chained and blindfolded. It's terrifying to see."

Donatelli grabbed his phone and furiously punched in some numbers as he headed to the door. When someone answered, he snapped, "This is Donatelli. I need all available units to the Docks, Pier 17. Approach without sirens and lights. We need to have a surprise raid. About a dozen or more girls are being held captive, and an auction is about to begin."

Eleanor nodded at Matthew. "I've got to go to Megan. She needs to know help is coming." Giving him notice, she disappeared.

*****

Back at the warehouse cellar, Eleanor panicked. Everyone was gone. She floated from room to room until she heard footsteps and soft crying coming from the floor above.

In an instant, she was upstairs. Men had herded the terrified girls into a line. She spotted Megan near the end of the line and floated close to her, her shimmering glow barely visible in the dim light.

"Move, girl!" a gruff voice barked as her blindfold was ripped away. Megan squinted against the sudden light, her eyes adjusting to the harsh reality of her surroundings.

"Why are you doing this?" Megan pleaded, her voice trembling.

"Shut up," one of the captors snapped, shoving her forward. "It's not your place to ask questions."

Soon, she found herself in a dimly lit room surrounded by mirrors and a sea of luxurious fabrics. Hands pulled her away, stripping her of her dirty, tattered clothes and replacing them with silk and satin that felt too alien against her skin.

One of the girls, a fiery redhead named Jess, was not going quietly. As a guard tried to force her to undress, she fought back, her voice a fierce snarl. "Get your hands off me, you bastard!" she screamed, scratching his face. Her nails left angry red marks on his cheek.

"You'll pay for that," the guard growled, grabbing her wrists and yanking her forward. "You'll wish you never crossed me."

Jess spat at him, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I'd rather die than be sold like a piece of meat."

All the girls were crying and undressing as best they could without the dirty men touching them.

Eleanor floated unseen to Megan's side. She whispered, "Megan, don't scream. Don't turn your head or draw attention to us."

The young girl's eyes flared in disbelief. "Aunt Eleanor?"

"I'll explain later. I wanted you to know that help is on its way."

"Help — here? There's been a change. They said we were going on the yacht moored at the end of the pier. They're taking us somewhere."

Eleanor knew she had to stall them until the police arrived, but how does one stop a boat? "Megan, I'm going to board the yacht and see if I can find a way to prevent it from leaving. Can you stay calm? I promise police are on their way."

Megan nodded, but Eleanor could see the young girl was about to collapse, and she wasn't the only one.

"Hang on. I'll be back."

*****

Once on board, Eleanor's first stop was the wheelhouse. She could see the staff running everywhere, preparing for the change in plans. The auction was going to be on the yacht. Once inside, Eleanor looked around at the massive display of instruments and gauges. She then spotted the key in the ignition near the steering wheel. "Of course, it's just like a car." She yanked the keys from the ignition and tossed them overboard as she hurried off the yacht. "I need to tell Matthew to notify the Coast Guard that there was a change in plans."

*****

Donatelli's cruiser sped through the city streets, weaving in and out of traffic with sirens off to keep the element of surprise. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure.

The faint shimmer of Eleanor's ghostly form instantly materialized beside him. "Matthew, you need to listen to me."

"Jesus!" Donatelli swerved slightly, heart pounding. "Do you have to do that? Get a bell like a cat, so I know you're coming."

"Nonsense! I'm not wearing a bell." She playfully hissed at him.

Donatelli's breath fogged in the chilled air inside the car. "Does it have to be so cold?"

"Sorry, it happens when I'm overly excited."

"Now's not a good time for a chat, Eleanor. If you haven't noticed, I'm dodging traffic and swerving all over.

"I'm sorry, but this is urgent. They've moved the girls. They're being taken to a yacht at the end of the pier."

"What?" Donatelli shouted. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I just found out. I'm doing my best to keep up with their movements." Her translucent face showed genuine concern. "The yacht is going to leave soon. We need to stop it."

Donatelli processed this quickly, his mind racing as fast as the car. "Alright, we'll need backup from the Coast Guard. Did you see the name of the yacht or any other details?"

"I didn't catch a name, but it's moored at the end of Pier 17. I disabled it temporarily by tossing the keys overboard, but that won't hold them for long."

"Good thinking." Donatelli grabbed his radio, his voice urgent. "Dispatch, this is Detective Donatelli. We need immediate Coast Guard support at Pier 17. The suspects are moving the kidnapped girls to a yacht. Repeat, immediate Coast Guard support needed."

"Roger that, Detective. Coast Guard has been notified and is en route," came the reply.

Eleanor nodded approvingly. "I'm going back to keep an eye on Megan and the others. Be careful, Matthew. They're desperate and dangerous."

"I will," Donatelli said, his voice softer. "Thanks, Eleanor. We'll get them back."

She gave him a reassuring smile before vanishing as quickly as she appeared. The car's temperature returned to normal, and Donatelli refocused on the road ahead. He could see the lights of the docks in the distance, the dark waters of the harbor gleaming under the night sky.

"Hang on, girls. We're coming," he murmured, pressing down on the accelerator.

*****

Donatelli's cruiser screeched to a halt at the docks, the other police vehicles forming a perimeter. Officers moved quickly and silently, positioning themselves for a surprise raid. The sound of the waves lapping against the pier was almost soothing, contrasting sharply with the tension in the air.

Donatelli glanced around, ensuring everyone was in place. He gave a curt nod to the commanding officer of the Coast Guard unit, who had just arrived. "We need to move fast. They've got the girls on that yacht," he said, pointing to the sleek vessel at the end of Pier 17.

The coast guard officers nodded, already prepping their boats to cut off any escape routes. The tension was high as they silently approached the yacht, the moon casting a ghostly glow over the scene.

Donatelli led the charge up the gangplank, his heart pounding. As they boarded the yacht, the criminals immediately noticed the intrusion, and panic spread through their ranks.

"Police! Freeze!" Donatelli shouted, his weapon drawn.

The criminals hesitated for a moment, realizing the severity of the situation. Some began to raise their hands, but others, more desperate and reckless, reached for their weapons. A firefight broke out, bullets whizzing past, echoing across the water.

Amid the chaos, some criminals realized their only chance was to escape. Several of them dashed to the sides of the yacht, diving overboard into the dark waters below. The coast guard boats were ready, their powerful searchlights illuminating the waves as they pulled the struggling men from the water.

On the yacht, Donatelli moved with precision, his eyes scanning for any sign of the girls. He found them huddled below deck, their faces etched with fear.

"Girls, it's okay! We're here to help," he said, his voice steady and calm despite the turmoil around him. 

Eleanor's ghostly form appeared beside him, her eyes filled with relief. She hurried to her niece's side. "Megan, are you alright?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"Aunt Eleanor! You came back," Megan whispered, tears streaming down her face as she was finally safe.

"We're getting you all out of here," Donatelli reassured the girls, signaling more officers to assist. He turned back to Eleanor. "You did it. You saved them."

"No, we did it! There's still more to do, but thank you, Matthew," she said, her form shimmering before disappearing again.

The remaining criminals were quickly subdued, some choosing to surrender rather than face the overwhelming force of the police and coast guard. As the girls were escorted safely off the yacht, the officers began securing the scene, the tension slowly ebbing away.

Donatelli stood on the deck, watching as the last of the criminals were led away in handcuffs. He took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs. The operation was a success, but the image of the terrified girls would stay with him for a long time.

"Good work, everyone," he said, his voice carrying over the quieting chaos. "Let's get these girls home."

As the police and coast guard coordinated their efforts, Donatelli couldn't help but glance around, half-expecting to see Eleanor, like the Energizer Bunny directing traffic.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 23
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 23

By Begin Again



While the police secured the yacht and ensured the safety of the rescued girls, Donatelli redirected his attention to the well-dressed men and women who had assembled on the deck, their faces displaying a combination of shock, fear, and anger. These were the potential buyers who had traveled worldwide to take part in this heinous auction.

"Detective, what do we do with them?" one officer asked, gesturing to the assembled group.

Donatelli narrowed his eyes, his disgust barely contained. "We can't let them walk away without consequences."

A familiar voice spoke to him. "It's only a suggestion, but it might be a good time to notify the FBI. It is an international problem, and they handle human trafficking."

Donatelli didn't know where she was, but it probably was for the best. He didn't know how to strangle a ghost, but she was pushing his limits. "You think I should call the Cowboy?"

"Why not? He let you work with him, taking Doyle down."

"He did no such thing. That was Veraci's deal."

"So, you'd rather say you worked with a crime boss than the FBI? I hope you're not looking for a promotion with that line of thinking."

"Fine, I'll call him." Donatelli knew he had no other choice. He learned by now that she would continue to hound him until he saw things her way.

The Coast Guard commander approached. "We'll need to process them. We can't arrest them for purchasing, but we can hold them for questioning and inform their respective embassies."

Donatelli nodded. "Round them up. We'll detain them on suspicion of involvement in human trafficking. Document everything. We'll need all the evidence we can gather. I have it on good authority that the FBI will join us."

The officers moved in, securing everyone's passport and identification. The multi-millionaires protested loudly, their indignation turning to panic as they realized the gravity of the situation.

"You can't do this! I have diplomatic immunity!" one shouted, his face red.

"Maybe in your country, but here you're a suspect in a human trafficking case," Donatelli retorted, his voice ice-cold. "We'll see what your embassy has to say about that."

Donatelli's phone rang. It was the district attorney. He stepped aside to take the call.

"Donatelli, I've been briefed. Good work. We have a delicate situation with the buyers. Many of them hold diplomatic ties or wield significant influence."

"What's our move?" Donatelli asked, his eyes on the group.

"We'll detain them for now. We can hold them on suspicion of criminal activity and for questioning. Notify their embassies. This will cause a diplomatic stir, but we have to send a message that no one is above the law."

"Understood. Sir, I believe the FBI will be assuming command over the sex trafficking. That puts all the paper work in their lap, right?"

"Sounds good to me." Donatelli detected a chuckle as the call ended.

After the call, Donatelli returned to the group. "Listen up! You're all being detained for questioning. Your embassies will be notified. Any attempt to resist or flee will result in immediate arrest."

As the police escorted them off the yacht, Donatelli coordinated with the coast guard to ensure none of them could escape by sea. Several high-ranking officers from various law enforcement agencies had arrived, ready to assist in this complex international situation.

Eleanor's ghostly form reappeared beside him, her expression sad. "Do you think they'll face justice?"

"They'll be questioned, and their involvement will be documented. Some of them might face legal consequences in their own countries. At the very least, they won't be able to hide from what they've done. It will be difficult for them to return to the U.S."

Eleanor nodded, her form flickering. "It's a start."

"Thanks to you, we have a chance to make a real impact," Donatelli said, his voice softening. "Let's get these girls home and start the healing process."

Donatelli felt a sense of grim satisfaction as the authorities continued their work. The raid had been a success, and while the legal battles ahead would be complex, he knew they had taken a significant step in the fight against human trafficking. He also knew he was relieved to hand over all the bureaucracy and triple-copy paperwork to Garth.

*****

Jenna's eyes widened as she read the first lines of the letter. She gasped, "Oh, Dylan. This can't be!"

"What's wrong? What does the letter say?"

Jenna picked the sheet of stationary up, her hands trembling, and read —

Dear Helen,

I've discovered I'm pregnant. Charles doesn't know, and I don't know how to reach him to tell him. The news fills me with joy and terror in equal measure. This child is a reminder of our love, but what future can it have in this world? I'll be sent home soon, and I'll have to make some difficult decisions.

Yours, Eleanor

Jenna stared at the fire, trying to understand the letter — a child Eleanor never mentioned. She reread the letter before saying anything to Dylan.

"I don't understand. A baby? She never mentioned —" A string of tears flowed down her cheek. "Dylan, there's so much Eleanor kept locked inside her and didn't share. No wonder she kept to herself. I wonder what happened?"

"Read another letter. Maybe she told Helen."

Jenna hesitated and opened another letter. A few just mentioned how difficult it was to remain in France without being with Charles or knowing how he was. She worried about his recovery and, more importantly, the baby growing inside her.

Then Jenna found a letter dated January 5, 1944.

Dear Helen,

I'm back home now, and every day brings new challenges. The child is growing inside me, and with it, the love I have for Charles and the hope for a future. But I know what I must do. I'll have to give this baby up for adoption. It's the hardest decision I've ever made, but it's for the best. This child deserves a life I can't provide right now.

With a heavy heart, Eleanor

"Oh, Dylan, poor Eleanor. She not only lost Charles but had to make a decision about the baby, too. She must have been heartbroken."

Jenna searched the postmarks looking for more letters to Helen about the pregnancy and her decision but found none until one dated May 30, 1944. Jenna paused, holding the letter, she touched the postmark.

"What's wrong, Jenna?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just the next letter was written on my birthday. My life was just beginning, and Eleanor's —" Jenna laid the letter on her lap, softly crying. "Either letters are missing, which I doubt, or Eleanor faced her pregnancy alone, even without her best friend. I wonder why?"

"Well, read another one. Your answers are in the letters, Jenna. Eleanor wanted you to know for some reason."

Jenna nodded, wiped away her tears, and opened the letter.


Dear Helen,

The day has come. I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I named her Jennifer. Placing her in the arms of her adoptive parents was the hardest thing I've ever done. I pray she'll have a wonderful life, full of love and opportunity. I'll never forget her, and I hope one day, she'll understand why I did what I had to do. Charles will never know about her, and it breaks my heart.

Forever, Eleanor

"That's why Eleanor shut herself off from the world, except for her paintings. She couldn't face any more heartbreak. Dylan, I never knew she carried so much pain and sorrow. She never shared it with me."

"I think she preferred to enjoy the happiness she found when the two of you became friends. Your friendship became her healing suave."

"Do you really think so? I love her so much. I wish I could have helped more."

"I think you did. She enjoyed sharing her love of painting with you and you with her. It was very special."

"I wish I could talk to her — tell her how much she meant to me."

Dylan smiled and reached out for Jenna's hand. "She knew, Jenna. She knew."

"I just need one of her famous hugs we shared."

*****

In her heart, Eleanor knew she needed to be with Jenna. There was so much to explain, but she also needed to see John Doyle's reign of evil come to an end. Invisible, she stood in a corner of the interrogation room, listening and watching as Doyle's high-powered attorney confidently reassured his client that everything would go their way. Unaware of the raid on the yacht, their expressions were smug, eager to show they had the upper hand in these negotiations.

Doyle looked at his watch, a smirk on his face. "Have you arranged my bail? I want to be able to get a round of golf in this afternoon."

"Everything is running like clockwork, John. Just tell them what we discussed."

"I know—I know. We've been over it a hundred times. I'll tell them that I have an unnamed informant willing to tell me where the girl is being held in exchange for this art-dealing stuff to disappear. If I have to use a little more pressure, which is unlikely, I can hint that there might be other girls involved."

"Just don't be too eager. If you get too cocky, things might not go as planned. Okay?"

"Don't worry. I've got this town eating out of my hand. Donatelli will be knocked down to a beat cop by the time I'm through."

Outside, in a separate room, officers carefully and discreetly escorted Megan. Donatelli's plan to throw the book at Doyle was in motion.

Margaret, her heart pounding with anger, anxiety, and a dash of hope stood nervously near the glass window — the barrier between her and the judge. Her hands were clasped tightly together, and her eyes fixed on him, but now, with the same amount of passion, she wanted her revenge.

An officer opened the door where Margaret was waiting. "It's time."

Margaret nodded and stepped into the hallway where Donatelli waited. He reached out and touched her arm. "Are you sure you want to do this, Margaret?"

She pursed her lips and stared into the detective's eyes. "It's not a matter of wanting to do it. I need to purge myself of everything he meant to me. It was all lies, and I was such a fool."

Remembering how difficult it had been for him to accept the flaws in Doyle's character, Donatelli smiled at Margaret. "Don't be so hard on yourself. He played the game well and fooled all of us. Now, it's our turn to show him who has the winning hand."

Margaret nodded, holding her head high, and walked toward the interrogation room. Every step brought her closer to confronting the man who had shattered her world. The man she had once loved.

John Doyle and his attorney sat on one side of the cold metal table. Donatelli entered the room and stood with his back to the glass window. Eleanor moved to stand at Donatelli's side. A slight breeze told him she was there. He nodded to the officer at the door.

Doyle's face lit up with relief as Margaret entered the room. He truly believed she was there to save him, and his smirk made her stomach turn.

"Margaret," Doyle said, his voice dripping with false charm. "I knew you'd come. I've been so worried about you, but as you can see, the detective has made a terrible mistake. It will be over soon, and I'll be there for you."

Donatelli nodded encouragingly at Margaret, confident that her testimony would seal Doyle's case. But Margaret's expression was unreadable, a calm facade masking the storm within.

Doyle leaned forward, his eyes glistening with feigned affection. "My love, please. You know they're just trying to tear us apart. Remember all the times we've shared, the plans we made? We can still have that future together. Tell them — tell them I was with you. They've got it all wrong."

Margaret clenched her fists at her sides, the words cutting deep. How dare he speak of their dreams after what he had done? She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and met Doyle's eyes with a piercing gaze. "I can't do that, John."

Doyle's smirk faded, replaced by confusion and a flicker of fear. "What are you talking about? You know I was with you."

Margaret shook her head, a bitter smile forming on her lips. "No, John, you weren't. You lied, and now it's time to face the consequences."

Doyle's expression twisted into one of panic. He reached out, trying to grasp her hand. "Margaret, my darling, think about us. Think about Megan. We can put this all behind us. Just tell them I was with you."

His touch, once comforting, now felt like a poison. Margaret yanked her hand away, her eyes blazing with rage. "You dare mention Megan? You took my daughter!"

Doyle's facade of control and confidence crumbled before her eyes. "Margaret, no. You have to help me! You know I love you."

But Margaret had already reached her breaking point. Her hands trembled, not with fear, but with rage. All the pain, betrayal, and heartbreak surged within her, and before she realized it, she lunged across the table.

"You destroyed my life!" she screamed, her fists pounding against Doyle's chest. The guards rushed in, but Margaret's fury made her strong, momentarily unstoppable. "You think you can manipulate me? You think I'll protect you after what you did?"

Doyle tried to shield himself, his cries of protest drowned out by Margaret's raw, anguished shouts. The guards finally pulled her away, her body still trembling with adrenaline.

As they restrained her, Margaret's breathing became ragged, and her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and fury. "You'll pay for what you did," she vowed, her voice barely more than a whisper but laced with unwavering determination. "I swear it."

Doyle slumped in his chair, shaken and exposed. Margaret's words weighed heavily on everyone in the room, a stark reminder that some betrayals could never be forgiven, only avenged.

Doyle's attorney jumped to his feet, enraged. "Get her out of here! I want her arrested for assault."

Donatelli smiled. "You'll have to file charges, but we have a little unfinished business for now." He turned to the officer. "Please show Mrs. Ashley to the other room." He felt the coolness leave his side and knew Margaret wasn't alone.

Once Margaret had left the room, the door opened, and Megan stepped in, flanked by two officers. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but her eyes held a fierce determination.

Seeing her daughter, Margaret pressed her hands against the glass, tears streaming down her cheeks. Eleanor materialized and wrapped her arms around her sister. Their eyes met, and years of jealousy and misunderstandings washed away.

The judge's smirk faded as he stared at Megan. "What is this?" he demanded, rising from his seat. "Megan —"

The door opened before he could finish his sentence, and the Cowboy stepped in. Removing his Stetson, he nodded toward Donatelli and turned to face the two men at the table. "Judge, you are under arrest for your involvement in the abduction of Megan Ashley and human trafficking, which is a federal offense."

Doyle's face contorted with disbelief. "This is a set-up. You can't do this!"

The attorney looked around in panic, but it was too late. The officer was also placing handcuffs on him. A satisfied grin covered Garth's face. "I'm afraid you are also under arrest for conspiring to conceal criminal offenses and participating in those activities for payment."

"You can't do this."

"I'm afraid I can, and it's done." Garth nodded, and the officers led Doyle and his attorney from the room.

Once the Judge and his attorney were gone, the officers opened the door, allowing Megan and Margaret to embrace. They held each other tightly, their sobs of relief a testament to the strength of their bond.

"Megan," Margaret whispered, her voice trembling, "I thought I'd lost you."

Her daughter answered, "I love you, Mom."

Meanwhile, Eleanor's body faded from view, content that her family was back together.

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 24
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 24

By Begin Again

 
"Sounds like you've been a very busy lady the last few days, Eleanor. I am amazed at the change in you since you passed." Helen's eyes twinkled as she gazed at her friend.

"I'm satisfied with Judge Doyle's comeuppance. They may not prove he was responsible for my murder, but with Megan's testimony and a few other girls, they'll get him on trafficking. I heard that Nick was able to tell them Doyle's connection and the part Jackson played, so the art ring in Bayside should disappear soon. Not a bad few days' work." Eleanor cocked her head, pretending to be very smug.

"A regular crime fighter!" Helen laughed.

"If I had known I had all this piss and vinegar in me, I might not have stayed locked behind closed doors with my paintings, shutting people out." A flash of sadness passed through her eyes.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, my friend. You didn't shut everyone out." Helen poured each of them another cup of tea. "I always knew our bond was for life —" Helen chuckled. "And I guess the hereafter too."

Eleanor laughed with her friend. "I told you that you'd never get rid of me."

"And I would never want to." Helen smiled. "You didn't shut Jenna out either. I remember how shocked you were to learn she had bought the house next door to you. I told you it was meant to be. I think you should have told her the truth, then."

"I couldn't, Helen. I was so afraid she might turn away from me, and by the time we'd found out how much we enjoyed each other, I felt it was too late to tell her."

"Your time is running out. You've brought the family back together and finished up what you needed to do."

"Not quite. I need to settle things with Jenna."

"Eleanor, you've always cared for Jenna. You did what you thought was best for her by giving her up for adoption. But she needs to know the truth now," Helen said. "Give her the scrapbook. Let her see the letters and the memories you've kept all these years."

Eleanor nodded, her spectral form trembling. "But what if she hates me, Helen? What if she can't forgive me for leaving her?"

Helen's gaze softened. "She may be hurt, and she may need time to understand. But the truth is important. She deserves to know the love you always had for her and the sacrifices you made. Hiding it won't protect her anymore."

Eleanor nodded. "You've always been such a good friend. I couldn't ask for anyone better."

Helen reached out and gently touched the package. "I'll deliver this. You can give her time to process everything before you talk to her. It's going to be alright, Eleanor. Jenna loves you."

"Thank you. It needs to be done so she can choose to see Charles if she wants. Dylan will be going home soon, I imagine, since the art theft is solved, at least here."

"You know I will remain close to Jenna, if that's what she wants. She'll feel lost for a time, but she's young, and who knows what life will bring."

"I'll never be too far away — from either of you."
 
*****

Later that day, Helen kept her promise and arrived at Jenna's doorstep, carefully holding the package. She knocked softly, and Jenna answered the door.

"Helen, what a lovely surprise."

Helen smiled. "I've something for you, Jenna."

"Another package? It's not my birthday. I've been reading the letters you brought me. I am so thankful for having the chance to learn more about Eleanor and who she was."

"I'm glad to hear that. This package contains a lifetime of memories, Jenna. It was something very important to Eleanor. Please, take your time and go through it."

"Please come in. We can have tea and open it together."

Helen shook her head. "It's something you need to see for yourself. I'll come back another day if you'd like, but for now, I'll leave you to open it alone. Just know that this comes with a lot of love and a need for understanding."

Curious, Jenna took the package and Helen said her goodbyes, praying Jenna and Eleanor would be alright.

*****

Jenna sat on her living room couch, the package resting on her lap. She carefully untied the twine and unwrapped the brown paper. On top, she found a letter pinned to a tiny pink blanket. With trembling hands, she lifted the blanket to her face, sensing it had belonged to Eleanor's baby. Next, she opened the letter.

My Dearest Jennifer,

As you read these words, I hope you feel the love that has been with you since the very beginning. Wrapped in this pink blanket, you are a precious gift, and I want to share a part of your story that has been written with joy and sorrow.

I loved your father, Charles, with a depth that words cannot fully express. Our love was a beautiful and profound bond, one that the war could not sever in spirit, though it did in time and distance. We dreamed of a life together filled with all the joys and adventures we imagined. But the world had different plans for us, and the separation was a heartache I carried with me daily.

When I learned I was to bring you into the world, it was both a blessing and a challenge. The decision to let you go, to place you in the loving arms of another family, was one of the hardest choices I ever made. I wanted more than anything to keep you close, to hold you and nurture you as I had always hoped. Yet, I knew the circumstances would not allow me to provide the life you deserved, the security and love that you needed.

Though it pained me deeply, I made this choice because I wanted the very best for you. Your new family will love you with the same intensity that Charles and I shared, and I have faith that they will give you the nurturing and care that I would have cherished to offer.

Know that you are surrounded by love and that you come from a place of great affection and hope. This pink blanket symbolizes the warmth and love I have for you and reminds me of the dreams I had for us.

May your life be filled with happiness and may you always remember that you are deeply loved, both by me and by the family who now has the privilege of caring for you.

With all my love and endless blessings,

Mommy



Inside, she found another small note —

Dear Tom and Nancy,

I am writing to you with a heart full of hope and gratitude. As you welcome my precious baby into your life, I want to share with you my deepest wishes for her future.

She is a beautiful and special soul, and I trust that she will bring immense joy to your home. My greatest hope is that you will provide her with a life filled with love, security, and endless opportunities. Nurture her curiosity, support her dreams, and cherish each moment with her.

Please know that in giving her up for adoption, I am placing her into your loving care with the utmost confidence that you will give her the happiness and support that I, unfortunately, could not. She is a treasure, and I am grateful to you for opening your hearts to her.

May your family be blessed with all the love and joy she will surely bring into your lives. Thank you for embracing her with open arms and giving her the future she deserves.

With heartfelt appreciation,

Eleanor Bennett

P.S. I've been told that you changed her name from Jennifer to Jenna. It's a beautiful name for a precious little girl.

The trickle of tears on Jenna's cheeks turned into a flood as she suddenly realized that she was Eleanor's daughter.

Through her tears, she reread the letter addressed to Tom and Nancy — her adoptive parents. They had given her the life that Eleanor had asked for, and she would be forever grateful, but the letter said much more. It told Jenna how difficult it had been for Eleanor, but she'd wanted the best for her baby and willingly gave her that, regardless of the pain she suffered.

Jenna lifted the scrapbook from the box. As she flipped through the pages, her eyes widened in amazement. It was filled with photos and letters documenting her life — every major event, every milestone. Someone close to Jenna and her family had secretly been following her life, capturing every moment and giving them to Eleanor. In the pocket of the scrapbook, she found folded notes. She opened each one and read —

Dear Miss Eleanor,

I am pleased to inform you that Jenna, now two years old, is thriving in her adoptive home. She is a bright and cheerful child, full of energy. Her adoptive parents, the Thompsons, adore her and are providing a loving and nurturing environment. They recently took her to the zoo, where she was particularly fascinated by the elephants.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor,

Jenna is now eight years old and doing exceptionally well in school. Her teachers describe her as a diligent student with a keen interest in reading and science. She recently won a spelling bee at her school, much to the pride of her adoptive parents. She also enjoys playing the piano and has begun taking lessons.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor,

Jenna graduated from high school with honors this past month and has been accepted to a prestigious university to study journalism. She delivered a moving valedictory speech, emphasizing the importance of truth and integrity. Her adoptive parents were beaming with pride, and it was clear that Jenna has a bright future ahead.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor,

Jenna has recently begun her career as a journalist and has already made a name for herself with a series of investigative articles. She remains passionate about uncovering the truth and has a strong moral compass. She lives independently now and maintains a close relationship with her adoptive parents.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am pleased to inform you that Jenna has recently taken up painting as a hobby. She has shown remarkable talent and passion for it. In a recent development, she has decided to move to a quieter neighborhood to focus on her art.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor,

I am writing to let you know that Jenna has moved into her new home. Interestingly, it is located in a neighborhood that is known for its artistic community. She is settling in well and has already made some new friends. Jenna finds the environment quite inspiring for her painting.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor

I have an exciting update for you. Jenna has become quite close to one of her new neighbors, a kind woman who shares her passion for painting. They have been spending a lot of time together, and Jenna speaks very highly of her. She mentions that this new friend has been a wonderful mentor in her artistic journey.

*****

Jenna couldn't stop the tears as she realized that Eleanor probably hadn't expected fate to bring her precious child to her as a neighbor. She wondered what a shock that must have been.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor,

I hope this message brings you joy. It appears that Jenna's new friend and painting mentor is none other than you. Jenna is thrilled about the friendship she has formed with you, without knowing your true relationship. She deeply admires your talent and kindness. I thought you would appreciate knowing the wonderful bond you have unknowingly formed with your daughter.

*****

Dear Miss Eleanor,

Following up on my previous letter, I have received more heartwarming news. Jenna continues to flourish in her painting under your guidance. She has expressed how much she values your friendship and support. It is clear that you two are developing a special bond, which I believe will only grow stronger as time passes.



Emotionally exhausted, Jenna held the pink blanket against her face and fell asleep, her head filled with a lifetime of dreams.

*****

Later that evening, as Jenna sat in her living room, still reeling from the revelations in the scrapbook, she felt a gentle, familiar presence. She looked up to see Eleanor's ghostly form shimmering softly in the dim light.

"Eleanor," Jenna whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Eleanor allowed her earthly form to take shape before she spoke, "Jenna, I'm so sorry for not telling you sooner."

Jenna wiped her tears, trying to steady her voice. "Why didn't you? Why did you keep this from me?"

Eleanor's eyes flickered with regret. "I was scared, Jenna. I didn't want to disrupt your life or cause you pain. But you needed to know the truth, especially now with Charles."

Jenna's eyes filled with fresh tears as she looked at Eleanor. "I read everything. I understand why you did what you did. But it doesn't make it any less painful. It was only by fate that I moved next door."

Eleanor nodded, her own tears shimmering in the light. "I never stopped loving you, Jenna. Every day, I thought of you. I kept those memories because they were all I had."

Jenna took a deep breath. "I've come to love you dearly, Eleanor. You've been like a mother to me already. And now, knowing the truth, it just makes me appreciate you more."

Eleanor's eyes brightened with relief and hope. "Thank you, Jenna. That means more to me than you'll ever know. And Charles... he's your father. He needs to know, too."

Author Notes Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 25
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 25

By Begin Again

 
Eleanor and Jenna had talked for hours, bonding even more than either thought possible. Finally, Eleanor insisted Jenna get some rest, and she faded into the night.

After several hours of restless sleep, Jenna left her bed and sought the comfort of her chair near the fireplace. She reread each letter, scoured the scrapbook, and gently ran her fingers across the soft pink blanket connecting with the love Eleanor had placed upon it. When she put the letters in the box, she discovered it wasn't quite empty.

Two handwritten letters on a lady's fancy stationery addressed to Craig Winslow, Eleanor's attorney, were in the box's bottom. Suddenly, the light bulb in Jenna's mind lit up. She remembered her father had a best friend named Craig. He'd been a fixture at family gatherings, which explained all the pictures and the notes about her childhood. She hadn't seen him since he was a young man, so that explained why she didn't recognize him at the reading of the will.

She opened the top letter and read —

Dear Craig,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to you today with a heavy heart and a great deal of uncertainty. As you know, Jenna has become very dear to me. Our shared passion for painting has brought us close, and the friendship we have developed is something I cherish deeply.

However, I find myself at a crossroads. My health has taken a turn for the worse, and I have been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctors have given me only a few months to live. This news has prompted me to reconsider the secret I have kept for so long.

Knowing that Jenna is my daughter and seeing the wonderful woman she has become fills me with pride and sorrow. I want to tell her the truth about our relationship, to let her know I am her birth mother. I feel she deserves to know, especially now that our paths have crossed in such a remarkable way.

Yet, I am plagued by doubts. Will revealing the truth bring her more pain than joy? How will she cope with the knowledge of her true parentage, especially when I am not long for this world? I fear it might disrupt her life and cause her unnecessary heartache.

Craig, you have been my confidant and support throughout this journey. I seek your counsel once again. Should I tell Jenna the truth about who I am or let her continue living without this burden, knowing that my time is limited? I am torn between the desire to be honest with her and the need to protect her from potential pain.

Please share your thoughts with me. Your perspective has always been invaluable, and I trust your judgment.

With gratitude and warm regards,

Eleanor
 

Her emotions were running high, and tears of joy and loss racked her body. When she gained her composure, she read the other letter.


Dear Craig,

Thank you for your thoughtful and compassionate response to my last letter. Your support and wisdom have been a guiding light during this difficult time. After much reflection and considering your advice, I have decided.

I will tell Jenna the truth about our relationship. She deserves to know that I am her birth mother, and I believe that honesty is the best path, even if it brings some initial pain. Our bond has grown so strong, and I cannot bear the thought of leaving this world without her knowing how much she means to me.

I am deeply grateful to you for keeping me informed about Jenna's life all these years. Your dedication and kindness have allowed me to stay connected to her in ways I never thought possible. Your updates have been a source of comfort and joy, and I cannot thank you enough for your unwavering support.

I plan to tell Jenna the truth this weekend. Despite the shock, I hope she will understand and perhaps even find solace in knowing her true heritage. I want her to see that she was never abandoned, but rather, she was always loved deeply.

Thank you again, Craig, for everything you have done. I will always be grateful for your friendship and help.

With heartfelt gratitude,

Eleanor
 

Jenna stared at the letter, knowing that only Doyle's cruel act of murdering Eleanor days before had prevented her from revealing everything.

*****

Dylan had promised to meet Garth for breakfast and invited Jenna to come with him. Before they left the house, Jenna showed Dylan the scrapbook. In the car, she eagerly explained that she was Eleanor's daughter and Charles was her father, though he didn't know.

Dylan was shocked and thrilled with Jenna. He was eager to share things about Charles that had meant so much to him during his childhood and how Charles had been responsible for getting him involved in the art business. He'd become quite fond of Jenna in only a few days and hoped to build upon their relationship and the family they shared.

Once they joined Garth, the conversation turned to the art world, human trafficking, and John Doyle's downfall. Jenna was thrilled to hear that Megan had been rescued along with the other girls and was home with Margaret again.

They devoured their breakfast and were chatting over coffee when Dylan received a text. Having been taught no phones at the table, he ignored it until two more followed in rapid succession.

"Answer it, Dylan. It might be something important." Jenna laughed at him. "It will only take you a minute."

A confused look crossed his face. "It's Uncle Charles's office saying someone is trying to deliver me a telegram, and they need to know where to reach me."

"Text them back, Dylan. There's an office right around the corner. See if they can deliver it here while we finish our coffee."

He texted them where he was and asked if they could deliver the telegram there. It was only a matter of minutes before a Western Union carrier stood at the cashier. Dylan saw him and hurried toward him. After he signed for the telegram, the carrier handed it to him.

He opened it, and the blood drained from his face as he read it.

He took the yellow paper from the messenger and tore it open, scanning the message. His face went pale as he read the words. He hurried back to the table.

"Dylan, what's wrong?"

He slumped into his chair, swallowing hard. "I'm afraid I have some distressing news." Unable to continue, he handed Jenna the telegram.

"Oh, no!" Jenna's eyes flew to Dylan and Garth before she reread the telegram. "It's from an Inspector Morgan."

"Charlie with the Metropolitan Police?" Garth's eyebrow raised. "It must be important."

Dylan nodded. "It's Charles. She says he has forbidden the staff to contact me."

Jenna could see how stressed he was, so she jumped in to finish the telegram. "She says his condition is grave, and she knows Dylan should be there with him.

Dylan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I have to go home to Charles. It may be my only chance to see him before it's too late." He paused and then added. "Jenna — this might be your only chance to meet your father."

Not expecting to hear that, Garth's eyes widened as he choked on his coffee. "Charles is Jenna's father?"

It was Jenna's turn to nod. "And Eleanor is my birth mother."

"Pardon me, but a Bronco just bucked me a good one. I've known Charles for years, and I never knew."

"Don't feel bad. Charles doesn't know either. Eleanor has kept it a secret all my life. Only yesterday, when I received a package she had kept for me, did I learn all the details."

"Wow! And I thought Bayside was a quiet seashore town. I really got that wrong."

"Dylan, you must go." Jenna anxiously urged him.

"I can pull some strings and get you on one of our private jets. And Jenna, I agree with Dylan. You should go, too." Wasting no time, Garth pulled out his phone and called Tango, instructing him to do whatever it took to get Dylan on the fastest flight to London.

Jenna's face fell, her emotions swirling between hope and fear. "You think he's still —" She reached out and took Dylan's hand. "Of course, he'll be there waiting for you."

"I don't know," Dylan said, his voice soft but determined. "But if there's a chance, I want you to have it. You deserve to know him and have that closure. Will you come with me?"

Jenna hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with the implications. Finally, she nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Yes, I'll come. I need to know — I need to see him."

Dylan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "We'll leave as soon as we can. I know this is sudden, but it's important."

"Go get packed. Tango should have all the arrangements set in a matter of hours."

Dylan and Jenna thanked him profusely, and they hurried off to get ready to travel.

*****

Eleanor watched as Dylan loaded Jenna's luggage into the trunk of the limo Garth had ordered for them. From the second she heard about Charles, she'd blamed herself for possibly costing Jenna a chance to know her father. She repeatedly chastised herself for not speaking up when she'd learned who Jenna was. Now, it might be too late.

"Jenna, I wish I'd —"

"Eleanor, stop! We can't turn back the clock, so it does us no good to say what if. You did what you thought was right, and no one, not you, me, or anyone, can say they would have done it differently."

"I love you more than I ever felt possible. My regrets were the time I wasted." Eleanor's eyes were shiny with tears.

"The time we spent together was spectacular, and I doubt I could have asked for more if I had known you were my mother. I love you, too."

Dylan called from the limo door, "Jenna, the driver says we must go. I promise I'll take care of her, Eleanor."

"You better!" Eleanor waved, her heart heavy to see them leave, but knowing it was the right thing for Jenna to do.

Jenna's eyes filled with tears as she looked at Eleanor. "Is this goodbye? Will you be gone when I return?"

"Don't cry, my love. It will never be a goodbye between us. I might not reappear as I've done, but with every butterfly or red cardinal, you'll know I'm nearby." Eleanor had never wished she could hug someone and never let go as much as she did at that moment. Instead, she smiled and whispered, "Now go, your father awaits. Have a safe trip and make mental notes because they are lasting memories."

Jenna nodded as tears streamed down her face, a bittersweet moment of departure. She whispered, "I love you," and then raced to the car, hating that she was leaving Eleanor behind.

Eleanor watched the car pull away from the curb and held the tiny pink blanket to her face, a poignant moment of love and sacrifice. She took one long look around the house, and then, with a heavy heart, she faded away.

Author Notes As we reach the end of this story - one last chapter on Sunday - it's difficult to say goodbye to my characters, but more so to every one of you who have stuck with me throughout this legacy of love, family, and a world of crime. I appreciate all the time and emotions you too have put into seeing it unfold. Thank you so much. Have a great day! Smiles and hugs, Carol


Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend


Chapter 26
Unfinished Brushstrokes Finale

By Begin Again



Having been on Trans-Atlantic flights during the war, Eleanor was in pure jubilation when she went from Bayside to London in a matter of minutes. She hadn't known she could travel so fast.

She found herself in awe as she floated through Charles's estate. It was massive and beyond spectacular. Immediately, she understood his love of the solarium and why he was there. Easels holding his many paintings were spread throughout the room. Extra-large bay windows allowed sunlight from every direction to bathe the room. Exotic flowers and plants flourished. The scent of roses and lilacs drifted through the open doors.

Charles lay in a hospital bed, his frail body surrounded by the tools of his lifelong passion — paintbrushes, canvases, and unfinished works. His breathing was shallow, each rise and fall of his chest a reminder of the time slipping away.

Eleanor moved closer, her heart aching at the sight of him. The war had taken so much from both of them, but it had not taken their love. She'd carried the memory of their brief, intense time together, and now, seeing him again, the emotions surged anew. She gathered herself, knowing her presence might be a shock.

"Charles," she whispered, her voice soft and trembling.

His eyes fluttered open, and confusion clouded his gaze for a moment. Then — recognition dawned, and his lips curved into a weak smile. "Eleanor," he breathed. "Have I gone to heaven?"

"Not yet, my darling, but soon." She stepped closer to the bed. "I've missed you, your touch, your laugh, your enthusiasm for life, but I carried our love in my heart."

He raised a trembling hand, and she gently placed hers over his. Though he couldn't feel her touch, the warmth made the connection. "I prayed I would see you again."

"We have little time, and I have something important to tell you."

His eyes searched hers. "Nothing could be more important than you being here with me."

She floated closer, her form shimmering with a gentle glow, and asked, "Do you remember when we met?"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Charles's lips. "I remember," he whispered. "Those were some of the happiest moments of my life."

Eleanor's voice grew tender. "We fell in love, Charles."

Charles gazed into Eleanor's eyes. "I am and have always been in love with you."

She returned his loving gaze. "I never stopped loving you, either."

Charles closed his eyes, and Eleanor felt fear rush through her as she thought she'd come too late, but after a few moments, he opened them again.

She took a deep breath, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "I've so much to tell you, Charles. After the war, when you didn't come back, and I couldn't find you, I was devastated. When I returned to the States, I discovered I was carrying a baby — our baby, Charles. Her name is Jenna."

A tear slipped down his cheek. "Jenna," he repeated. "Our daughter."

"She grew up to be a wonderful woman," Eleanor continued, her voice filled with pride. She's kind, talented, and strong. Jenna has your eyes, Charles. She has the same spark of creativity."

He closed his eyes, a peaceful expression settling over his features. "I wish I could have known her," he said, his voice breaking.

"You still can," Eleanor said gently. She's on her way here right now. Jenna's flying from the United States to meet you, and Dylan is bringing her."

Charles opened his eyes again, a new light in them. "Thank you, Eleanor. For everything. For carrying our love all these years."

Eleanor leaned closer, her voice a tender caress. "I never stopped loving you, Charles. And I never will."

As the moments passed, they shared stories of what could have been, dreams they had held onto, and the life their daughter had lived. Time seemed to stand still in the solarium, the past and present merging in the soft glow of the morning sun.

"Hold on, Charles," Eleanor urged softly, sensing his strength waning. "Jenna will be here soon."

Charles nodded weakly, determination flickering in his eyes. "I will," he promised, his voice a mere whisper.

Hours passed, each moment stretching into eternity. Then the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. Eleanor's heart leaped with hope as Jenna entered the room, her eyes wide with worry and confusion.

Eleanor gave Charles a gentle smile, her hand brushing his cheek. "I'll be waiting," she said softly, her form fading. "You have much to do."

Charles reached out, his hand trembling as he touched Eleanor's fading figure. "Eleanor—" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

Knowing it was their daughter's moment, Eleanor faded from sight but couldn't leave the room.

Dylan rushed to his uncle's bedside, his emotions out of control. "Uncle, it's Dylan. I've brought someone special for you to meet. Her name is Jenna."

Charles whispered, "Jenna — my daughter." His eyes closed, but the smile remained.

Jenna's gaze shifted to the frail man in the bed. Tears filled her eyes as she approached. "Dad?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

Charles's eyes fluttered open, and his smile spread across his face. "Jenna," he murmured, reaching out to her. "My beautiful daughter."

Jenna took his hand, her tears falling freely. "I'm here, Dad," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm here."

Dylan stood on the other side of the bed, giving them the time they needed, but knowing Charles knew he was there.

Charles looked at them both, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I needed to see you, to say goodbye."

For the next few hours, they stayed by his side, sharing stories and memories, making up for lost time. Charles floated in and out of consciousness but woke with a smile each time. Eleanor lingered in the background, her heart full of love and gratitude.

Finally, when the time came, Charles was at peace, surrounded by the love of his daughter, his nephew, and the spirit of the woman he had always loved.

As his spirit slipped away, Eleanor knew that their love had transcended time and space, leaving an everlasting legacy in their daughter, Jenna. She felt a sense of peace as she waited to be in his arms once more.

*****

Dylan and Jenna stood side by side, looking at Charles's paintings that adorned the walls. Each canvas depicted moments of love and connection — Charles and Eleanor together in vibrant colors, their faces radiating happiness. The paintings told a story of a love transcending time, capturing their shared life's essence.

Jenna turned to Dylan, her eyes red but filled with a newfound sense of peace. "I'm glad I got to meet him," she said softly. "And I'm grateful for the chance to see these — to understand a part of him that was always missing."

Dylan squeezed her hand, his own emotions raw. "He's finally at peace. And Eleanor, too. They're together now, just as they always should have been."

They felt a profound sense of closure as they stood in the quiet of the gallery, surrounded by the beautiful reminders of a life well-lived and a love eternal. Eleanor and Charles found unity in the afterlife, while Dylan and Jenna stayed behind, their connection deepening due to the revelations and legacy left behind. No longer were the brushstrokes unfinished.

Author Notes A huge thank you and a hug for reading, reviewing, and hopefully enjoying this story. It was an endeavor that I fully enjoyed and hope to continue in a series. It's my pleasure to entertain you. Have a great day!
Smiles and hugs, Carol


Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Peter - sales associate at gallery
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Helen - Eleanor's life time friend

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