The Portrait of Doreene Gray (13 page)

“I would have paid if I'd known!” Enrico shouted back. “It's too late for that. Give me the painting and I'll go away. No one has to know.”

Reynaldo tried Doreene's door, then banged on it with his fist, causing Gigi to dart away. “
Cara,
are you all right?”

“Go away, Reynaldo,” Doreene yelled, sounding both angry and weary.

Angus, Suki, and Michael clustered at the halfway point of the hall.

Inside the room, Enrico pitched his voice to carry. “Shall I tell your boyfriend what you're capable of?”

“Me?!” Doreene sounded livid. “How can you take her side? Do you know what that painting is?”

Lupita crept up next to Michael, still carrying the lidded cups of coffee.

Reynaldo pounded on the door again. “Doreene, let me in!”

Inside the room, Enrico went on. “I know what the painting is, Doreene, but it's turned you into a parasite. You're like a vampire, sucking the life out of your sister with your endless quest for youth.”

“Dios mio,”
Lupita whispered.

“I'm coming in!” Reynaldo took a few steps back and hurled himself at the door, shoulder first.

“Stop it, Reynaldo,” Doreene yelled.

Gigi ran back toward the stairs, tail tucked between her legs.

Suki picked up the dog and held her small, trembling body.

Reynaldo stepped back, then slammed into the door again.

“I told you to go away,” Doreene screamed. “This has nothing to do with you!”

“Open this door!” Reynaldo hammered on the door with both fists. “Doreene, do as I say! I am your husband!”

Silence fell in the room beyond.

Reynaldo pounded twice more, then tried the handle. “Doreene, are you all right?”

The door opened, and Doreene gave Reynaldo a look of such fury that he took a step back.

Her gaze fell on the others.
“Marvelous.”

Enrico appeared behind her, a triumphant smile on his face. “So this is your husband, Doreene? You should have introduced us.”

Reynaldo took a step forward. “Who are you?”

Doreene shoved Reynaldo in the chest. “Idiot!”

He grabbed her arm, but she raised her other hand and hit him clumsily across the face. Reynaldo staggered back against the wall, holding his jaw.

Enrico's smile disappeared. He shouldered Doreene aside and put a hand on Reynaldo's shoulder.

Reynaldo shrugged it off in a quick, violent gesture and squared up to the larger man.
“Fudi a tua mãe quando ela estava gravida de ti!”

“Oh, wow,” Suki muttered.

Enrico gave Reynaldo a sardonic look. “You'll probably thank me someday.” He glanced at Doreene. “This isn't over.”

He stalked past them and down the staircase.

The sound of the front door opening and closing was immediately followed by the slam of Doreene's bedroom door as she shut herself inside.

Reynaldo looked at the closed door for a moment. Then he walked rigidly past the others to the stairs, the mark of Doreene's hand livid on his face.

Angus took the coffee cups from Lupita. “I don't think they need any more caffeine.”

Lupita shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. “You can't hit a man like that and not be punished.”

“Sure you can.” Suki put Gigi down. “You have a stronger legal position if no one sees you do it, of course.”

Lupita shook her head. “God will punish her.” She turned and went downstairs, Gigi following her.

Angus jerked his head toward his room. “Staff meeting.”

Michael and Suki followed him, Michael closing the door after they were inside.

Angus set one of the coffees on the dresser and removed the plastic lid from the one he still held. He took a cautious sip. “Perfect. Anyone want the other?”

“Not me,” Suki said. “I'm wired enough from that scene.” She flopped into a brocade-covered armchair.

“What was it Reynaldo said to Enrico?” Michael asked, taking the other coffee.

“‘I screwed your mother while she was pregnant with you,'” Suki said. “Them's fighting words.”

“And also impossible, from a strictly chronological standpoint.”

Angus kicked his shoes off and lounged on the bed. “So Doreene and Reynaldo are married. Why keep it a secret, I wonder?”

“So Maureene doesn't find out?” Michael suggested. “She probably wouldn't be happy to learn that the house and any money goes to Reynaldo if Doreene dies first.”

Angus shook his head. “I don't think Doreene cares if she upsets Maureene. If anything, she goes out of her way to do it.”

Suki took off one of her boots and adjusted a buckle. “Ten bucks says Doreene put one over on Reynaldo and it isn't a real marriage.”

Michael looked at Angus. “I'm not going to take that bet.”

Angus nodded. “It sounds all too plausible. Reynaldo might not have come here without the assurance of marriage.”

Suki dropped the boot on the floor and took off the other one. “Looks like we were right about Enrico being the father of Maureene's daughter, too. All that talk of child support and abandonment.”

“Then there was that bit about the painting,” Michael said. “‘Do you know what the painting is? I know what the painting is.' What the hell is it?”

“I told you, vampiric object. Enrico even called Doreene a vampire.” Angus smiled in satisfaction. “If we don't pick up a dozen new advertisers from this story, I'll be very surprised.”

“I wonder what the blackmaily part was about,” Suki said.

Michael nodded. “‘Give me the painting and no one has to know.' Know what?”

They both looked at Angus, who shrugged. “I've no clue.”

“So where are we going to stay tonight?” Suki asked.

“What do you mean?” Angus asked.

Suki put her boots back on. “You don't think Doreene is going to want us hanging around after we saw her smack Reynaldo and get threatened by Enrico, do you?”

“What's that got to do with us?” Michael asked.

Suki looked from him to Angus, who appeared similarly baffled, and laughed. “Well, maybe you're right, and the next time Doreene meets us in the hall, she'll say, ‘I'm not at all embarrassed. Feel free to stick around and watch my life go down the crapper. Oh, and make sure to write it all up in your little magazine.'”

Michael sucked in a breath. “You have a point.”

Angus frowned. “I wish people wouldn't call
Tripping
‘little.' Our last issue was twenty-eight pages. Still, I see what you mean.” He swung his legs off the bed. “Get whatever equipment you need for the day, quietly, and let's get out of here before Doreene comes out of her burrow and sees us. If we keep away for a while, maybe it'll be more embarrassing for her to bring it up than to let us stay.”

 

Thirteen

They sneaked out of the house without seeing Doreene. Michael carried his laptop bag over one shoulder, Suki had a bulging camera case in addition to the camera around her neck, and all of them carried umbrellas. They wandered around downtown Port Townsend, taking notes and pictures.

Suki lowered her camera from a shot of the Haller Fountain. “Hey, there's Max Thorne.”

Angus and Michael both looked around.

“Where?” Angus asked.

Suki pointed. “He just went into that art gallery.”

They walked down the street and went inside.

Dressed impeccably in a blue-black suit and snowy shirt, Max Thorne stood out among the tourists like a magpie surrounded by chickens. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at an impressionist painting of a fleet of sailboats on a steel-colored sea.

“Hello, Mr. Thorne,” Angus said, coming up beside him.

“Mr. MacGregor,” Max said. He nodded at the other two.

“Thinking of buying a souvenir of your time here?” Angus asked, tilting his head toward the picture.

“I thought I might get it for my daughter. She sails.”

Michael tilted his head and studied the picture. “A robust use of impasto.”

“Indeed,” Max said, smiling at him. “Very painterly. Almost aggressively so.”

“What's your expert opinion on the properties of Doreene Gray's portrait, Mr. Thorne?” Angus asked. “We've been considering the possibility that it's haunted by Doreene and Maureene's stepfather. I understand he may have been a difficult parent.”

Max sighed. “Mr. MacGregor, Rothwell's is a professional auction house. I can discuss Maureene Pinter as an artist, but I can't gossip about her private life.”

“Then let's gossip about the painting,” Angus said.

Max laughed, briefly and mirthlessly. “I wish I could. She hasn't let me get any closer to it than anyone else.”

“But you
will
get close, when you measure it,” Angus said. “When is that going to happen?”

“Two-thirty.”

“Can you talk to us about it after that?”

“I really can't.”

Angus shook his head in frustration. “I don't understand. You'd think Rothwell's would want every bit of publicity they could get.”

“It's not Rothwell's that responsible for my vow of silence,” Max said.

“Did Doreene have you sign a nondisclosure agreement?” Michael asked.

Max smiled. “I can't tell you.”

“If you can't give us any specific information, perhaps you can help with something general,” Angus said. “What great works of art are reputed to be haunted or cursed?”

“None of them, to my knowledge.”

“You're kidding,” Angus said.

Max laughed. “Artists and art lovers deal with enough illogic without looking for more.” His voice took on a confidential tone. “The industry of art exists by putting a price on beauty and strangeness, which is impossible. Art lovers demand dedication to craft, then reward people for ignoring it. If an artist hustles, we call him crass. If he doesn't, we say he's naïve. The ideal artist has the eye of a camera, the brain of a lunatic, and a funny hairstyle or moustache, women included. He should paint prolifically for fifteen years, then die infamously just as he's becoming well-known. With all that to deal with, do we really need to make up ghost stories?”

Angus tilted his head. “Perhaps not, but would Maureene Pinter be as famous if her sister's portrait weren't somehow mysterious?”

Max smiled. “I see your point, but Maureene Pinter is still a very good artist. Also, this portrait represents something epic and unusual—a dialogue between a painter and her subject, twin sisters, represented on a single canvas. The reason for that dialogue is a secret, and only the eventual owner will have a chance of figuring it out.”

Michael raised his brows. “Nice phrasing. Is that from the catalog copy?”

“It's good, isn't it?” Max said. “The intern who wrote it is getting dual degrees in art history and literature. I have to stop her from using ‘numinous' in every other paragraph, but other than that she's working out well.”

A well-dressed woman eased up next to them. “I don't want to interrupt, but can I answer any questions for you?”

Max gestured to the boat painting. “I'd like to buy this.”

“It's a wonderful piece.” She ran a hand down the frame. “This wood is from the hull of an old sailboat.”

“What a little bonus.”

The woman grasped the painting's frame and carefully lifted it from the wall. “Do you live locally, or would you like us to ship this for you?”

“If you could package it for shipping, that would be wonderful,” Max said, “but I think I'll take it with me on the plane. I want to be there when she opens it.” Max turned back to the others. “Well, it's been a pleasure. Good luck with the article.” He gave them a wave as he followed the woman toward a counter at the side of the store.

Angus leaned forward and read the card next to where the painting had hung. “Three hundred dollars. What a nice father.”

“I think he bought it to get out of talking to us,” Suki said.

*   *   *

At two o'clock, Angus decided they should go back to Doreene's house. “She might not give us the push if Max is there, and I want to see his reaction after he gets a close look at the painting.”

They walked back toward the mansion. When they were about a block away, a white car pulled up to the curb at the next intersection.

“Get over here behind this bush.” Angus tugged at the straps on Suki's and Michael's bags. “Is that Enrico's car?”

Michael squinted through the leaves of a rhododendron bush. “It looks like it, but I'm not certain.”

Suki unzipped her camera case and removed a telephoto lens.

Angus reached out a hand for it.

“Just a sec. This isn't a telescope, you know.” She attached the lens to the camera, powered it on, and looked through it. “Oh, I don't
believe
this.”

“What?” Angus reached for the camera.

“You break it, you bought it,” Suki said, handing it to him.

Michael, staring through the bush, made spitting noises as he got rid of a gnat that had flown into his mouth. “That's Reynaldo getting out of the car.”

Angus stared through the camera at the interior of the car. “I'm only getting a silhouette of the driver,” he murmured. The car drove out of sight and he lowered the camera, then looked at it regretfully. “I should have taken a picture.”

Suki took it back from him. “That'll teach you to be so grabby.”

“C'mon.” Angus walked quickly back to the sidewalk. “In journalism, timing is everything.”

Michael followed him. “I've always heard that credibility is everything.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Hold on!” Suki hung the camera around her neck, then picked up her bag and ran to catch up with the other two. “Ow. You know, a really big camera doesn't feel good smacking against your ribs.”