A round, wizen-haired man with wild arched eyebrows and a long French nose emerged from the back. The sight of him startled me. He was entirely too bi... for his tiny store, with a body as wide as the aisles, and a head that almost scraped the low ceiling.“Monsieur Donatien?” I cleared my throat.He nodded, patting some shavings from the front of his apron, “Madame Foster?”I nodded.“Un moment. I am slicing your wood.”He disappeared again through the doorway, and the saw resumed its squealing.I. ”“ ... you know what you like?” Melody and I concluded for him. We’d heard the old adage so frequently that we automatically supplied the end. Fortunately, everyone at the table laughed.“Well, yes; there is that. But I also know enough to listen to what people who do know art have to say about it. I went back to look at it again this afternoon after Lissa went to the gym.”“You did?” Lissa asked. “Why?”“I took Ben Bowers with me.” My heart started beating in my throat. Ben Bowers is the art. More

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