Deadly Secrets on Mackinac Island by Cara Putman

Author:Cara Putman [Putman, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whisper Valley Press

21

Pregnant?” Heat flashed up Alanna’s cheeks as she buried her face in her hands. Leave it to her mother to go to such a ridiculous place. “Mother!”

Jonathan snickered and coughed across the table. She glared at him, longing for nothing more than an opportunity to smack him upside the head. . .after she shook her mother. He cleared his throat and pressed his napkin against his face. “Sorry.”

“Sure you are.” She turned back to her mom. “Seriously? Pregnant?”

“Well, you are almost thirty. You wouldn’t be the first woman to give up on finding the right man. Just tell me it wasn’t that last boyfriend of yours. What was his name? Scott?”

“Spencer, Mom.” Alanna rolled her eyes. All of a sudden, bringing up the forgeries didn’t seem quite so daunting. “This isn’t about me. And I’m not pregnant.”

“Then what’s it about? Good gravy, you acted like it had something to do with a death.”

She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. Now or never. “Mom, those paintings you brought to the studio today. Did you paint them?”

Her mom’s gaze darted from Alanna to Jonathan and back again. “What?”

Jonathan leaned forward, but Alanna stopped him with a stare. “Don’t even. . .”

He smirked but put his hands up. “This is all you, Alanna. In fact, I’ll leave if you like.”

“No you don’t.” She pinned his foot under the table and turned back to Mom. “We have to talk about the studio.”

“So talk.” Confusion flashed across Mom’s face and colored her violet eyes. “But why would you question who painted them?”

“Because the paintings aren’t right.” Alanna’s tongue refused to cooperate further.

“I didn’t notice anything today. In fact, I like how you pulled out some of the unframed pieces. Setting them at lower price points was a good idea. Makes them more accessible.”

“The problem is”—Jonathan interrupted, and Alanna didn’t know whether to hug or slug him— “we’re not sure who painted some of them.” As her mother began to sputter, he held up his hand. “That’s a problem, because I’m sending potential clients your way, but they want to buy one of your paintings. Not one with your signature.”

As Jonathan explained, Alanna couldn’t help wondering if he’d figured it out, how many others had. The damage-control potential numbed her.

Mom looked between the two of them then laughed, a high, shrill noise. “You can’t be serious.” She paused then frowned. “You are. I can’t believe my own daughter and a man who’s practically a son would insinuate such things.”

“Then tell me they’re yours. That you painted each stroke and didn’t add your name at the end.” Alanna refused to back down even as a bright red flushed her mother’s face. “Tell me the canvasses you brought today weren’t painted by Trevor.”

“Of course I did.” Mom tipped her nose in the air as she studied them. “What else would I do?”

Alanna swallowed her disappointment. Her mother had just lied. Without blinking. “Then why did Trevor e-mail asking if I was ready for more of his paintings?”

“We.

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