door and hit the closest bar. You don’t think—”
“You haven’t told us where you were,” Nev reminded him.
Richard took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Like I said, I stayed around. I did a little networking. You saw me, certainly. Detective, I talked to you and that very pretty woman you were with.”
Since I was outside looking for Forbis, the very pretty woman was obviously not me. I gritted my teeth.
“I reminded folks that even though Forbis wasn’t around, they were still welcome to look at his work,” Richard continued. “I told them they could certainly still make purchases. That woman you were with, Detective, you remember, she asked for prices on a couple of the pieces.”
Investigation, I reminded myself, and repeated the word like a mantra.
The investigation was what was important.
“Did anyone buy anything?” I asked him in the name of the investigation.
Richard shook his head. “It really fried me, I’ll tell you that. Forbis pulls these crazy publicity stunts, and he doesn’t even stop to consider that they don’t build interest in his work, they just turn people off. Like that time in Asheville when he had those models dressed as old-fashioned housewives—you know, wearing aprons and housedresses and high heels—show up at the exhibit that featured buttons on household goods. Everyone was so taken with these five gorgeous models, much more than they were with blenders and mixers and vacuum cleaners covered with buttons. Forbis just doesn’t get it. If he’s going to get anywhere in the art world—” He thought better of the comment.
“If Forbis
was
. . . If he ever was going to get anywhere in the art world, he knew the drill. The way to become popular is to get some of the movers and shakers to buy your pieces. That’s how this business works. People with big bucks. You know, investment bankers. Actors. Actors are great for business. Once a movie star buys a piece, everybody else thinks it must be real art. If we could get that to happen, I knew the world would beat a path to our door.”
“And last night . . .” Nev gently nudged him back on the path where we’d been headed before Richard took a major detour.
“Well, after all that drama from Forbis, no one made an offer on any of the pieces. I could have wrung his neck!”
Richard realized the error of his word choice just a second after both Nev and I had. His already pale face went a little paler.
“I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I mean, I did, but only as a figure of speech. You understand?” He didn’t care if I did; he looked at Nev, his eyes pleading.
“So you were angry.” It went without saying, but Nev, was a good interrogator. He knew it was important to let Richard know that he understand how Richard felt. “But not angry enough to try and find Forbis and figure out what he was up to. Unless you did find him.”
It took a moment for what Nev wasn’t saying to sink in. “Me?” Richard squeaked out the word. “I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t.”
“But you didn’t go after him,” I said. “And that seems odd since you’re his agent. I barely knew the man, and even I tried to find Forbis.”
Was that a roll of the eyes from Richard?
I pretended not to notice.
“You tried to find Forbis because you’d just met the man and you were taken in by that good ol’ country boy act of his.” Richard shook his head, but whether he was disgusted with me for admitting what I’d done or with himself because he’d once been taken in, too, I didn’t know. “Believe me, if you’d known him as long as I have, you would have been glad to see him disappear for a while. Only . . .” Richard’s wide-eyed gaze traveled back to Nev. “Not like this.”
“And how long have you known Mr. Parmenter?” Nev asked.
Richard thought about it. “We met years ago. Ten. Twelve maybe. I was representing another artist down in Georgia and her work was being presented at one of the local
“You haven’t told us where you were,” Nev reminded him.
Richard took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Like I said, I stayed around. I did a little networking. You saw me, certainly. Detective, I talked to you and that very pretty woman you were with.”
Since I was outside looking for Forbis, the very pretty woman was obviously not me. I gritted my teeth.
“I reminded folks that even though Forbis wasn’t around, they were still welcome to look at his work,” Richard continued. “I told them they could certainly still make purchases. That woman you were with, Detective, you remember, she asked for prices on a couple of the pieces.”
Investigation, I reminded myself, and repeated the word like a mantra.
The investigation was what was important.
“Did anyone buy anything?” I asked him in the name of the investigation.
Richard shook his head. “It really fried me, I’ll tell you that. Forbis pulls these crazy publicity stunts, and he doesn’t even stop to consider that they don’t build interest in his work, they just turn people off. Like that time in Asheville when he had those models dressed as old-fashioned housewives—you know, wearing aprons and housedresses and high heels—show up at the exhibit that featured buttons on household goods. Everyone was so taken with these five gorgeous models, much more than they were with blenders and mixers and vacuum cleaners covered with buttons. Forbis just doesn’t get it. If he’s going to get anywhere in the art world—” He thought better of the comment.
“If Forbis
was
. . . If he ever was going to get anywhere in the art world, he knew the drill. The way to become popular is to get some of the movers and shakers to buy your pieces. That’s how this business works. People with big bucks. You know, investment bankers. Actors. Actors are great for business. Once a movie star buys a piece, everybody else thinks it must be real art. If we could get that to happen, I knew the world would beat a path to our door.”
“And last night . . .” Nev gently nudged him back on the path where we’d been headed before Richard took a major detour.
“Well, after all that drama from Forbis, no one made an offer on any of the pieces. I could have wrung his neck!”
Richard realized the error of his word choice just a second after both Nev and I had. His already pale face went a little paler.
“I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I mean, I did, but only as a figure of speech. You understand?” He didn’t care if I did; he looked at Nev, his eyes pleading.
“So you were angry.” It went without saying, but Nev, was a good interrogator. He knew it was important to let Richard know that he understand how Richard felt. “But not angry enough to try and find Forbis and figure out what he was up to. Unless you did find him.”
It took a moment for what Nev wasn’t saying to sink in. “Me?” Richard squeaked out the word. “I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t.”
“But you didn’t go after him,” I said. “And that seems odd since you’re his agent. I barely knew the man, and even I tried to find Forbis.”
Was that a roll of the eyes from Richard?
I pretended not to notice.
“You tried to find Forbis because you’d just met the man and you were taken in by that good ol’ country boy act of his.” Richard shook his head, but whether he was disgusted with me for admitting what I’d done or with himself because he’d once been taken in, too, I didn’t know. “Believe me, if you’d known him as long as I have, you would have been glad to see him disappear for a while. Only . . .” Richard’s wide-eyed gaze traveled back to Nev. “Not like this.”
“And how long have you known Mr. Parmenter?” Nev asked.
Richard thought about it. “We met years ago. Ten. Twelve maybe. I was representing another artist down in Georgia and her work was being presented at one of the local
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