The Portrait of Doreene Gray (12 page)

Suki drove the minivan along a winding asphalt road, through industrial outbuildings of corrugated metal. The buildings petered out and were replaced by ships propped on their keels as they underwent maintenance. A lone man used a long-handled roller to apply a layer of blue anti-fouling paint to the towering hull of his ship.

In the front seat of the minivan, Reynaldo pointed and made little exclamations of excitement.

At last they found the café. Inside, the warm smell of baked goods greeted them. The closely spaced dinette tables were packed, and a cheerful buzz of conversation mixed with the clink of forks and glasses.

A waitress hurried over. “It's gonna be about five minutes, okay?”

“That's fine,” Angus said.

They crowded close to the front door to stay out of the way.

A few minutes later, the waitress came back. “Some seats just opened up at the counter, if you want to sit there.”

Angus nodded, and they followed her. “Do you have any recommendations?” he asked, as they sat down.

“Oh, it's all good,” she said, taking a plate from the outstretched hands of the cook. “Excuse me.” And she was off and running.

A weathered man was seated on the stool next to Angus. “You might want to try the French toast. They dip the bread in custard.”

Suki put her menu down decisively. “Sold.”

Angus smiled at the man. “Do you live in Port Townsend?”

“I live on a boat.” The man wore a nylon windbreaker, a battered ball cap, and faded jeans. He looked to be in his midseventies. “Jem Michaels. I'd shake your hand, but mine's got bacon grease on it.”

Angus laughed. “Angus MacGregor.”

“You folks here for the festival?” Jem asked.

“We're here to write a story about Maureene Pinter's portrait of her sister, Doreene.”

Jem's expression turned solemn. “There's a family with bad luck.”

“How so?” Angus asked.

Beside him, Suki and Michael leaned forward. Reynaldo, seated beyond them, appeared not to have heard.

Jem shook his head. “I don't know the twins personally, but I went to high school with their mama. Her second husband used to beat the tar out of her. Everyone in town knew, but back then there weren't all these social service people to talk to. She had family back East, but she stuck it out until cancer got her. Sad.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“I'm surprised the daughters stayed with their stepfather after their mother died,” Suki said. “If he was abusive, why didn't they live with their relatives?”

“By then, they were probably used to hiding what was going on, and I doubt their mama told her family what was happening.” He shook his head. “The whole town was glad when that sonofabitch drowned, but Maureene seemed pretty broken up about it. Maybe he treated them better than he treated his wife, although you wouldn't think so, since it was the booze that made him mean.”

“How did he drown?” Michael asked.

“He liked to get drunk and take his little sailboat out from the pier at Fort Worden. He went out late one evening. It was a calm night, but when he wasn't back by ten, Maureene got worried and called the cops. They found him floating about fifty feet offshore, next to the boat. Just one of those dumb, drunk-guy accidents.”

The waitress came over in time to hear the last part. She gave Jem an uneasy look. “You aren't gossiping again, are you, Jem?”

He grinned up at her. “Only because you won't sit and talk to me, darling.”

She smacked his arm and turned her attention to the others. “You folks know what you want?”

Michael ordered the breakfast burrito, but the others all asked for the French toast and coffee, a locally roasted brand. Reynaldo was the last to order.

The waitress smiled as she took his order. “That's a nice accent. Where are you from?”

He smiled back. “Brazil. Near São Paulo.”

Jem leaned close to Angus and whispered, “Shit. That's not the man living with Doreene, is it?”

Angus nodded slightly.

Jem grimaced. “I'd have never said all that if I'd known.”

“He might not have heard you,” Angus said. “And anyway, if people talked more about that sort of thing, maybe it wouldn't happen as often.”

“I suppose.” Jem smiled wryly. “Well, that's one good thing about living on a boat. When you screw up, you can just sail away.”

*   *   *

After breakfast, they went back to the house and followed Reynaldo upstairs to the second-floor bedrooms.

Doreene's door was open, and she could be seen sorting through piles of clothing on her bed. Gigi looked into the hallway, then wandered out of sight.

Angus stopped at his room. “Wait out here a sec,” he told Michael and Suki. “I need to find our schedule.”

“We have a schedule?” Suki asked.

Angus tipped his head toward Doreene's room and mouthed the word,
listen.

“Oh. That schedule.” Suki leaned against the door frame.

While Angus puttered around his bedroom, Reynaldo went to meet Doreene.

He gave her a kiss. “
Cara,
what are you doing?”

“Going through my clothes. I couldn't stand the thought that some of those slugs might be in the closet, and then I thought I might as well get rid of things I'm not wearing. Plus, some of it doesn't fit anymore.”

“Don't get too skinny,
cara.
A man doesn't like that.”

Doreene gave a little yelp and then giggled.

Angus gave up his pretense of looking for something and hovered just inside his doorway.

“Is Max going to take the painting away today?” Reynaldo asked.

“He's coming later to measure it,” Doreene said. “Rothwell's will send a special packing case, and it'll be gone before you know it.”

“Good,” Reynaldo said. “Can I help you with the clothing?”

“You can help me by making a coffee run,” Doreene said.

Angus waved Suki and Michael inside his room and shut the door. “Damn it! We still haven't gotten a good picture of that portrait.”

“I took pictures at the press conference,” Suki said. “They're just not very detailed, from that distance, and with that light.”

Angus shook his head. “I was hoping for something better.”

“Still,” Michael said, “We have enough material for an article, what with cryptic alphabet soup, lights in the woods, and unexplained slugs.”

Suki looked thoughtful. “Unexplained Slugs would make an excellent band name.”

“And let's not forget Doreene collapsing when the guards banged the painting on the railing,” Michael continued.

“I suppose.” Angus sighed. “I was counting on getting a photo at some point.”

“Would Maureene have a photo?” Suki asked.

“Probably of the original,” Michael said. “I don't know if she has a picture of what it's become. She more or less told me that she wasn't responsible for the portrait changing, but it doesn't hurt to ask.”

“Let's go to the cottage,” Angus said. “If Maureene doesn't have a photo of the painting, she might at least give us that interview she promised. I have a new tack I want to take on that.”

“What tack?” Michael asked.

“You'll see.”

They went outside and down the path to Maureene's cottage, where Angus rapped on the door.

From inside, Hilda started to bark. No one came to the door.

“What do you bet Maureene is hiding behind the couch?” Michael muttered.

Angus raised his voice to be heard over Hilda's barking. “Let's go back to the house and find out exactly when the painting is leaving.”

They had gone perhaps ten feet down the path when the cottage door opened and Maureene stood there. Hilda stood at her feet, front paws coming off the ground with each bark. “Sorry,” Maureene said, picking up the dog. “Couldn't get to the door right away. Come on in.”

They trooped inside the cottage.

Maureene gestured to the couch. “Have a seat. I'll get us some water.”

When she was out of earshot, Michael rolled his eyes. “Here we go with the drinks again.”

“At least she's being friendly,” Angus whispered back.

Maureene returned in a few minutes, carrying what looked like a pizza pan with four glasses on it. She set it carefully on the table in front of the couch and took a glass. “Help yourself.”

Angus and Michael sat on the couch with Maureene while Suki took a side chair.

“What's up?” Maureene asked.

Angus gave her a warm smile. “We were wondering if you had a photo of Doreene's portrait as it is now, or during any point in its transformation.”

Maureene scowled. “No.”

“Do you know if anyone else has one?” Michael asked.

Maureene's eyes narrowed. “To my knowledge, no one has a photo. Did someone tell you they did?”

“Um, no.” Michael took out his recorder. “Can we do your interview now?”

“I suppose.” Maureene tucked a strand of hair behind one ear as Suki powered on her camera.

Angus turned sideways on the sofa so he was facing Maureene more squarely. “Have you heard about the plague of slugs that appeared in Doreene's bedroom last night?”

“Slugs? In her bedroom?” Maureene's forehead wrinkled. “How on earth did they get in there?”

Michael opened his mouth to say something.

Angus cut him off. “No one knows. The door was locked and the windows closed, but Doreene and Reynaldo woke up to dead leaves on the floor and slugs climbing the walls. It's quite the inexplicable phenomenon.” He fixed Maureene with his most sincere look. “Ms. Pinter, you painted this portrait shortly after your stepfather's boat accident. Is it possible that the changing image in the painting isn't your sister, but your stepfather trying to come through? Could his spirit be haunting the portrait?”

Maureene reached for her water and took a drink before replying. “My stepfather had his problems, but he had no reason to haunt anyone.”

“Sudden and untimely death often results in a restless spirit,” Angus said gently. “He might have something he needs to tell someone, or—”

“It's not my stepfather.” Maureene looked at her watch. “I just realized that I have somewhere to be. I mean, I'm meeting someone for lunch.”

One corner of Suki's mouth lifted. “Hot date?”

Maureene flushed. “Just a friend.” She stood and put the glasses back on the tray. “I'm sorry if you got the impression there's something supernatural about the painting. The only power it has comes from my sister's unhealthy obsession with it.”

“Then you'll be glad to hear this,” Michael said. “Maxwell Thorne is going to measure the portrait today. It'll be out of here as soon as Rothwell's sends a shipping container for it.”

Maureene picked up the loaded tray, then put it down again and looked at her watch. “Really, I have to go.” She went to the door and held it open for them.

“Can we finish your interview after lunch?” Angus asked, getting up.

“I don't know. Maybe.” Maureene opened the door wider. “Bye.”

They filed out and she closed the door behind them.

“Talk about the bum's rush.” Michael took out his pocket notebook as they started down the path. “I swear she told me there was something supernatural about the painting.” He flipped pages, squinting at his scrawled notes. “Here it is. She said, ‘Maybe there is something strange about it,' and also that we had experience with ‘mumbo jumbo,' while she didn't.”

“‘Mumbo jumbo' covers a lot of ground.” Suki said. “It's a Caribbean restaurant in Toronto, for starters.”

Angus put his hands in his pockets. “When we told Maureene about the paper strips in the soup, she said, ‘It must be getting stronger.'”

“That could refer to Doreene's obsession,” Michael said, putting his notebook back. “Our article's premise took a hit today.”

“Nonsense,” Angus said. “There's no law that says we have to quote everything Maureene says.”

When they reached the place where the path came closest to the street, they saw Reynaldo coming from the direction of town, a lidded paper cup in each hand.

He lifted one cup in greeting. “Hello again, my friends!”

They waved back and waited for him at the front door.

“Let me get this for you.” Angus turned the knob and pushed it open.

“Thank you,” Reynaldo said as he went in.

“Angus!” Suki whispered, still outside.

Angus and Michael both turned.

Suki jerked her head toward the other side of the street. The white Impala sat there, empty.

“Enrico,” Angus murmured. “I'm surprised we didn't pass him on the way back from Maureene's.”

They went inside.

Reynaldo had waited in the foyer for them. “Did you know that Brazil is the largest grower of coffee in the world? And of course it is the best.” He started up the stairs.

“That's true, actually,” Michael said, following. “The Bourbon Santos cultivar is particularly good.”

Lupita came running down the stairs, interrupting their conversation. “Mr. Reynaldo, a man came to see Miss Doreene, and now they're in her bedroom, fighting!”

Reynaldo handed her the cups of coffee without a word and went up the stairs two at a time. Lupita pressed herself against the wall and closed her eyes as the
Tripping
crew ran after him, the stairs bouncing slightly under everyone's combined weight.

They heard raised voices as they entered the hallway. Gigi ran back and forth in front of Doreene's closed bedroom door, barking.

“Why now?” Doreene shouted, from inside the room. “Is it because you finally have some money of your own? You're guilty of abandonment, at the very least, and think of the child support you owe!”