Free The Death of an Ambitious Woman by Barbara Ross Page B

achieves acclaim, he immediately sets off in a new direction.” She shook her head. “Stephen has a horror of repeating himself. He never follows the easy route. Take these pieces, for example. They’re too large for private collectors. That leaves museums and public commissions. Many museums don’t have the space, either. That’s why the show coming up at the end of May is so important.” A shadow of regret crossed her face. “I’ve recently had to change my gallery space. I just took possession of a wonderful old warehouse. The workmen are gutting it as we speak. Before the walls and floors go back in, there’ll be a brief period, three weeks only, when we can show all these pieces together, indoors, in New York.”
    Ruth looked at the sculptures and then at the space they occupied. The dinosaurs’ expressions and postures played off one another. They’d be more compelling grouped together. And, being closed in with them heightened the sensation of being trapped with enormous, dangerous hulks. They would be interesting, even beautiful, displayed outdoors or singly, but in this room their power was enhanced by the interplay of form and space.
    “The problem,” Susan continued, “is that Stephen isn’t ready for the show. He has one more piece planned and he refuses to show without it. And he won’t get any help. Other sculptors would have this place crawling with assistants and apprentices doing the scutwork, but Stephen does everything himself—design, welding, sanding.” Gleason’s hands fluttered outward toward the dinosaurs and then rested on her chest. “There’s just this tiny span of time when it’s possible to do this show. Then comes summer. No one will be in New York. Besides, I need the three months before fall to get the finish work done on my space. I can’t afford to have it empty for a longer period. And now this. He worked a little this morning, but when I came from the house, I discovered he was gone. He must get back to work.”
    Ruth felt her hostility rise. Was this show more important than a dead wife, a grieving child?
    If Susan sensed the animosity, she gave no sign. “People in New York have been waiting more than five years for Stephen Kendall’s next show. This show will launch him finally, definitively, lucratively.” She regarded the behemoths reverently for another moment, then turned to Ruth. “You didn’t say why you came.”
    “I was so absorbed by the sculptures, I forgot,” Ruth said. “I’m looking for Mr. Kendall. Do you know where he is?”
    “No. I ate lunch in my room and when I came downstairs, the house was empty. Whenever I’m staying here, I try to leave the family some privacy. I work here in the studio, in the design area at the back, and try to take some meals in my room and retire early at night. Right now, I’m being especially careful.”
    “Well, perhaps this will help a little. The medical examiner is ready to release Mrs. Kendall’s remains. He’ll need instructions. I came to let Mr. Kendall know.”
    “I’ll tell him.”
    “Thanks. Oh, and one other thing, Ms. Gleason. Were you and Tracey Kendall close?”
    Susan hesitated before she answered. “No. We weren’t. I’ve stayed here about three days a month for years. You’d think we’d be friends, but the truth is, she was a very private person.”
    Ruth had no trouble believing this. She wondered if anyone could be intimate with a creature as monomaniacal as Susan Gleason, a woman who stood here unself-consciously complaining about her client’s lack of productivity when his dead wife was not yet in the ground.
    They moved toward the door. Susan gazed back at the studio space and its occupants. “You know, I envy you today,” she said to Ruth. “You only get to see them for the first time, once.”
    Ruth left the Kendalls’ by way of the service road in the back. Immediately opposite the Kendall house was a mailbox labeled Powell. Ruth turned into the driveway, which rose