If only the museum had chosen a real Matchpawn.
Instead, they had an otter.
Beth had read her grandfather’s diaries more than once. The first time had been hard—once Grandmother had passed, he’d spent more pages on his assignations than on his craft, but still, he’d made his loathing of otters clear. They weren’t even native to Michigan!
He would never have painted one.
Especially one looking so blasted… cute.
cuteCute was for children. Not serious art.
And Grandfather Matchpawn was nothing if not serious.
Beth hobbled forward, hurrying enough that she had to use her cane. All she had to do was knock the abomination down, drag it three blocks to her little house, and this shameful episode would vanish into Frayville’s archives—
“I’ve been waiting for you, ma’am.”
Beth twisted in s
