Free Blind Overlook (Book 3 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series) by JC Simmons Page A

obviously had just slain the bird and was proudly returning
home with his quarry. Kent had titled it, SMALL BOY and BIG BIRD.
    "They are
beautiful, aren't they?" She said, looking fondly at the prints.
    "Yes.
Excellent lithographs,” I said, as if I was an expert.
    Kathleen
laughed, patted me on the arm. "Here,” she said, handing me two books.
"If you want to learn about Kent, these will inform you. One is his
autobiography, the other is a catalogue of his work."
    Looking at the
titles, I saw that the autobiography was, IT'S ME O'LORD; the other, THE PRINTS
OF ROCKWELL KENT, by Dan Burne Jones. Thanking her, I promised to return them
tomorrow.
    "No hurry,
Jay,” she said softly, taking me by the arm. "Take your time, enjoy
them."
    Declining
Chamberlain's offer for dessert wine, I'd had enough greatness for one night, I
said that I wanted to get started reading about Rockwell Kent.
    Preparing to
leave, I thanked Kathleen for everything and told her the music, it had been
the Civil War tunes all evening, was very pleasant.
    "Yes,” she
said, looking deeply into my eyes. "The songs of that war do convey
powerful emotions. I'm truly glad you enjoyed them."
    Sitting in the
car for a moment before starting the engine, I looked at J.L. and Kathleen
Chamberlain standing on the porch of Owl's Head on the edge of the Atlantic
Ocean in a far northern state called Maine. It was a moment I would long
remember.

 
    CHAPTER
NINE
     
    Back at the
Navigator Inn, I knocked on Sandy's door. She opened it slightly, then all the
way. In the dim light of the room she appeared a truly beautiful young woman.
Her blond hair flowed down around her shoulders like an island waterfall. But
all I could see was Kathleen Chamberlain's face. A face with only a few months
of life.
    "I'm not
leaving,” I said, gripping the door handle for support.
    "What?"
Sandy asked, looking up at me, puzzled.
    "There is
no way that I can leave Chamberlain with two unsolved murders,” I said,
tightening my grip on the handle. "The man needs my help. If you don't
want me to continue working for you, then I'll stay and look into them on my
own."
    Sandy reached
over and turned on the overhead light. She was silent for a moment. Then:
"You're right. I guess I wanted to flee from this place where Renato was
killed. Yes, I want you to stay." She was silent again for a few seconds.
"But I've got to go back to New Orleans. The Gallery needs to be opened.
Plans must be made to finalize the purchase of the Moran collection with Guy
Robbins. There are other deals in the works. I need to leave tomorrow."
    "Certainly,”
I said, releasing the door handle, a little confused. She had mentioned nothing
about shipping Nat's body back for burial. "I'll drive you over to Augusta
in the morning for a flight out to Boston. When I get back to my room, I'll see
what kind of connection we can make from Boston."
    "Great,”
she said, sounding relieved. "You'll call me every day, keep me abreast of
what you find?"
    "Agreed."
    We stood in
silence some few moments.
    "What about
the remains, Sandy?" I asked, gently. "You want them shipped back to
New Orleans?"
    She turned her
head slightly, wiped away a tear. The question needed asking.
    "Will you
handle it for me, Jay? Please?" She leaned against the wall, her voice
shaky.
    "I'll call
you for the details as soon as the autopsy is finished. Everything will be
taken care of, it's part of what I get paid to do."
    "Thank
you,” Sandy said, sniffling. "You're a big help. I appreciate it."
    Leaving Sandy in
her room, I took the two books on Rockwell Kent and prepared for a long night
of reading.
    Sliding my glass
doors open allowed a sea breeze to blow refreshing, cool, salt air into the
room. A Delta Airlines agent confirmed that a regional airline left Augusta,
Maine, at ten a.m., connecting with their flight to New Orleans. I booked Sandy
a first class, one way ticket.
    Sitting back in
my chair, I thought about Nat Rinaldi. Whatever he had