Angela stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind her. She glanced at the paper in her hands. The list was written on the back of Angela’s drawing. She grabbed her phone and dialed Carey’s number.
“Abbott Gallery,” he said. “Carey speaking.”
“Hey, it’s Angela,” she replied as she made her way down the stairs. “I just met with Fatima.”
“Oh yeah?” he said. “How’d it go?”
“Good, I think,” Angela said. “I got her to open up a bit, and now I’m looking into the events that led to her retirement. If I can figure out exactly what happened, I might be able to help her through it.”
“That’s wonderful,” Carey said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” Angela said. “I have a list of artists who may have the information I need but I don’t know how to contact any of them. Do you think you could give me a hand with that?”
“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”
She read out the names.
“Got it,” he said. “I’ll call you back as soon as I have their numbers.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Talk to you later.”
She hung up.
Carey sent Angela the contact info later that afternoon, but it took her a couple days to get in touch with everyone on the list, using a trick Leigh showed her to make free long distance calls. Most of the conversations played out pretty much the same.
She would ask them if they remembered the party, they would say not really, and she would move on to the next person. Occasionally she might get a minor detail out of them, like the brand of wine served or a random celebrity encounter, but nothing particularly useful.
The last name on the list was Tony Solomon. Angela dialed the number Carey gave her. The phone rang for a couple minutes before someone finally picked up.