Page 11 of Reckless Devotion

It’s only then that I recall my conundrum about Miss Quinn. I press one of the side drawers in my desk and it automatically releases with a slow glide. Plucking the cardboard file from the drawer, I flick open the first page and memorize the address.

***

My fist doesn’t even finish its second knock when the white apartment door swings open. Instead of the silver-pink hair that I’m expecting, I get an eyeful of whiskery grey and wrinkles.

“What?” the old man snaps in a prim British bite, frowning at me beneath eyebrows that haven’t seen a trim this half century.

“Er, hi…is Pepper Quinn here?” Everything about this man screams anger, from the curled top lip to the narrowedeyes, almost lost in an excess of what appears to be ball-sack skin.

He rumbles something unintelligible and points one gnarled finger down the hallway. “Are you illiterate, or just animp? This is number twenty-six, she’s number twenty-nine!”

I glance back to the elevator for a second, picturing the apartment intercom at street level. “No…it definitely said number twenty-six. Maybe—”

“Don’t try and tell me where I live, you gigantic nitwit!” the man barks, drawing my alarmed attention back to him. “Now get off my stoop and leave me be!”

“Sir, I apologize. I have a—” The door slams in my face before I can finish. Sure enough, there is a shiny brass twenty-six nailed to the door. “Photographic memory,” I finish to myself, realizing that someone—kids, most likely—have switched the names around on the apartment buzzer system.

More to the point, what the hell is a nitwit?

Dragging a hand through my hair, I sigh and walk the few short strides to the door he indicated. My knock echoes off the plain walls. Almost immediately the door flings open to reveal a teenage girl.

“Finally! We’ve been waiting ages.” The flurry of Pepto Bismol pink hair drags me by the sleeve of my suit jacket into a cramped apartment with a vibrant clash of colors.

What is more surprising, and prevents me from objecting, is the gaggle of women perched on various items of mismatched furniture, each with a different-sized easel set before them.

“Get them out, then,” the girl at my side says bluntly when I don’t move, drawing my perplexed attention back to her.

“Excuse me?”

“Your dogs, dude. Get them out?” She frowns at me like I’m the crazy one—which is rich, considering she hasbubblegum-blue eyeshadow—and gestures at my shiny black loafers.

“I don’t—”

“Your feet, honey. She’s talking about your feet.” A middle-aged lady perched on a burgundy fringe footstool, wearing a lime green boho skirt and more wooden bangles than I can count, sighs and looks fondly at the teenager.

“My feet?” I stare around at the others, none of whom seem remotely aware of how bizarre this is. Have I just walked into some kind of women-only commune where shoes aren’t allowed?

“Don’t be shy, babe. Come on and take a seat.” A woman about my age with wild ginger curls pats the top of a corduroy recliner which has been dragged to the center of the open-plan living room and left vacant. “We can’t paint ’em if we can’t see ’em. I think he’s shy, Maura.”

“I think you’re right, Kathy,” I hear from behind somewhere.

“You can’t…what?” Realization steals over me, prompted by the slender paintbrush that is stuffed behind the ginger woman’s ear.The easels.

“Per-leeeasseee, can we get a move on?” Pepto whines at my side, dragging me further into the room. “I’ve got this really cool concept of like a foot, but as a plant pot with a big burst of botanical foliage coming out of it.”

The bizarre canvas on the wall behind her of a zebra smoking a cigar makes a lot more sense now. The girl bounces on her heels, looking like an over-excited puppy about to go on her first ever beach walk.

Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the seven women around me happily adjusting their easels, or beginning to mix paints, but I find myself grumbling and lowering myself into the cushy armchair.

“To hell with it,” I mutter, kicking off my shoes.

Chapter 6

Rosie:I think I might have something…

Pepper:On Rénir???

Rosie:I don’t want you to get too excited, it’s not confirmed yet.