The Bohemian Connection Read Online Free PDF

space for someone else.”
    Again, I hesitated. I hated to invest more than time in Michelle’s whereabouts. But I did like the idea of having my picture done, so I said, “Let me finish my cone, and then do a sketch of me. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “But while I’m eating answer my questions.”
    “An eight-dollar interrogation?” she said with the barest hint of amusement.
    “Only partly. It will be a treat for me to have the picture. I remember watching artists doing sketches and caricatures when I was a kid. I always wanted one, but it was a lot of money then.”
    Jenny smiled tentatively. It didn’t seem like a normal expression for her. “Okay then, ask your questions, but you’ve got to keep licking that cone.”
    I sat in the chair. “Do you have any idea where Michelle could be? Father Calloway of St. Agnes’ dropped her in town last night. I can’t find out what happened after that.”
    Jenny leaned back in her chair. She eyed a couple walking by, then forced her attention back to me. “I haven’t seen Michelle in days. I’ve been in Santa Rosa getting supplies. This is my busiest time. I do more work during Bohemian Week than the rest of the season combined. I have to make sure I have everything I need. I can’t take a day off to run to Santa Rosa and pick up charcoal.”
    I looked at the sketch pad, the charcoal, the floodlight for evening work lying next to the easel. “It took you more than one trip to get your supplies?” I asked in amazement.
    “Are you an artist? Do you know what decisions I have to make or how many places I have to go to get the best?”
    I decided not to deal with that. “When was the last time you saw Michelle?”
    She rubbed a finger along a piece of charcoal. “Look, the woman lives next door. She’s part of the landscape. I can’t remember when she was out on her deck, doing her Olga Korbut number on the railing. Like Ward was kind enough to tell you, Michelle and I are not friends.”
    I had the feeling that Jenny McElvey was on the verge of deciding that an empty chair was preferable to me. “Your husband Ward was talking to Michelle last night, about the cesspool.” I paused, but she didn’t react to that. “He was as helpful as he could be, but I obviously caught him at a time when he had a lot to do.”
    “I’m sure,” she said with the same bitterness she’d had for Michelle. “Look, this is the most important time of the year for me. If anyone ever discovers me as an artist tucked away in the country it will happen during Bohemian Week when all the bigshots and reporters and people with taste and influence are here. Ward knows that. So what does he do? Does he try to make things easier for me? Does he offer to take my part-time job at the nursery? No. What he does is invite a pair of total strangers for the weekend. They came yesterday. And they’re staying till Sunday night. He wants the house clean; he wants me to go to dinner with them. He’s angry that I won’t stay home and amuse them. He’s angry!” She was shaking.
    I sat, amazed by the vehemence of her outburst.
    A group of four paused, looking from Jenny to me and back to her. Then, seeing that no sketch was in progress, they moved on.
    “I guess Michelle’s anti-hookers’ group won’t help your business, or anyone else’s either,” I said.
    It was a moment before Jenny answered. She seemed to be recovering from her outburst. When she did speak, her tone was almost indifferent. “It won’t affect my business. It’s a silly little group, headed by a silly young woman. It’s not going to impress the hookers or their customers. Michelle just wants to get her picture in the paper.”
    In spite of her bitterness toward Ward, I still wondered if her reaction to Michelle was based on jealousy. I asked, “Why do you dislike Michelle?”
    She took a moment before answering. “I don’t really dislike her, because I don’t really know her. But I find her actions a constant nuisance.