Now That I've Found You - Kristina Forest Page 0,34
the wall. On the front of the door there’s a tiny gold plaque that says PRIVATE: EMPLOYEES ONLY. Basically, a great potential hiding spot for Gigi.
There’s only one other person in this section of the gallery, and she’s staring at the photos on the wall, completely engrossed. Glancing over my shoulder, I try the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but I’m surprised when it opens easily. I brace myself, expecting to come face-to-face with Gigi, but the room is pitch-black. I switch on the light and see that it’s just a storage room filled with boxes that say Candice Tevin’s name. A framed portrait of Stevie Wonder leans against the wall to my right.
Great, just great. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy to find her.
I turn to leave, but my foot bumps into a tower of boxes. The top box tips over, and I’m suddenly showered with dozens of sharp-edged Polaroid photos. Startled, I quickly jump to the side, but I knock right into the Stevie Wonder portrait, and it goes crashing to the floor.
“Oh no, Stevie!” I shout, struggling to stand. Mournfully, I pick up the cracked frame. Crap. Am I going to have to pay for this?
Instantly, a voice calls out, “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing in here?”
I spin around, and the same girl who rushed down the hallway with Candice is standing in front of me, holding the door wide open. Bewildered, her eyes dart between me and the cracked Stevie Wonder framed portrait.
“Um, hi,” I say. From the corner of my eye, I see that the woman who had been engrossed in the photos on the wall just a few minutes ago has moved on to another section. She glances back at us and quickly looks away, clearly wanting nothing to do with my mess. I look down at Stevie. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” the girl says, stepping forward, taking Stevie out of my arms. “Candice is going to kill me! I was supposed to hang this up in the musicians section, and now it’s broken.” With frantic eyes, she looks up at me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Karolina Ainsley,” I blurt out. “I own an art gallery on Long Island.”
“Um, okay?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I clear my throat. “Again, I’m really sorry. I’ll just be going now—”
“Harper, did you find the Stevie Wonder portrait?” Candice Tevin herself appears in the doorway. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene. “What’s going on?”
Harper’s voice is shaky. “Um, this Caroline woman found her way into the storage room. I think she was trying to steal the Stevie portrait.”
“It’s Karolina,” I correct, because of course I would say this. “And I wasn’t stealing!”
Candice blinks. Harper opens her mouth to say something else, and in a split second I make either the best or worst decision.
“That’s actually not my name,” I quickly say. “I’m Evie Jones, and I’m looking for my grandmother, Evelyn Conaway—Peggy, your friend.”
This time Harper blinks as if I just said I’m here to see the aliens.
Candice looks me up and down from head to toe. “You don’t look like Evie Marie. Why should I believe you?”
I take off my sunglasses and push my bangs to the side. “It’s me, I swear.”
Candice walks closer until she’s standing right in front of me, and she peers at my face. “The last time I saw you in person was your—”
“Eleventh birthday,” I finish. “We had a photo shoot.”
Candice starts to smile. She opens her arms and pulls me in for a hug. “Well, just look at you. All grown up.” After all I’ve been through today, this feels like the best hug I’ve received in years. Candice takes a step back. “Now, why are you dressed like this?”
“I’m not supposed to be here, and I don’t want anyone to see me.” She raises an eyebrow, so I add, “It’s a long story.”
She glances back at Harper. “I’ll be out in a few minutes. Close the door behind you, please. If anyone asks for me, say I had to take a phone call.”
“What about your wife?” Harper asks. “She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Tell her I’m on a very important phone call.”
Harper nods, shooting a glance at me.
“Please don’t tell anyone I’m here,” I beg.
She nods again, quickly, like the thought of keeping my secret makes her nervous. She quietly closes the door behind her.
“Is my grandmother here?” I ask, now that we’re alone. “She left this