The Portrait of Doreene Gray (16 page)

“Way to bring it, big guy!”

“Also, the housekeeper says she saw skeletons in the woods.”

“Skeletons is
your
word,” Michael corrected. “Lupita said ‘spirits of the dead.'”

“And then she went on to say ‘glowing bones,'” Angus shot back. “That sounds like skeletons to me.”

Len's barking laugh came over the speaker. “Keeping him honest, Michael? Don't make a habit of it.”

Angus went on. “Len, the painting is leaving town tomorrow, and Doreene is kicking us out of the house.”

“You haven't done anything actionable, have you?” Len asked, his tone suddenly serious.

“No, no. It's just that we saw her smack the hell out of her husband, and I guess she's embarrassed about it.”

“He ought to sue. What's the artist sister say about everything?”

Angus grimaced. “Very little. We've tried to interview Maureene Pinter several times, but haven't been able to get anything out of her.”

“Tortured artist. Unable to speak of her pain,” Len said.

Michael took out his pocket notebook and made a note.

Angus continued. “Our flight back isn't until day after tomorrow. The problem is, we may not be able to find a motel. Do you want us to come back a day early?”

Michael leaned toward the phone. “And can we tip Doreene's housekeeper?”

There was a pause. “Yeah, give her twenty bucks and submit it on your expenses,” Len said. “Angus, it sounds like you have enough material. Drive to Seattle tomorrow and see if you can fly standby. If you can't, find a cheap place to stay and go on a ghost tour or something. I gotta go. I'm bidding on a marble fireplace mantle, supposed to be haunted. Haunted or not, I can at least set my friggin' drink down without a coaster.”

“Marble's heavy,” Angus said. “Make sure you check the shipping cost.”

“What am I, twelve? Bye.”

Angus disconnected. “Looks like we leave Port Townsend tomorrow.”

“What time?” Suki asked. “Doreene said she wanted us out in the morning.”

“Officially, that's any time before noon,” Angus said. “We'll leave when we feel like it. I wouldn't mind a photo of the painting being taken out of the house in its special box. There's something very mysterious about a crate. Anything could be in there.”

He glanced at his watch. “It's nine o'clock. That's a bit late to get anything significant done.”

“We didn't look at the Fort Worden cemetery,” Suki pointed out. “Flash photos of tombstones at night can be cool.”

Angus considered a moment. “I don't think the stones are very interesting—just those military markers.” He rubbed his jaw and sighed. “I suppose we could try to get an interview with Maureene one last time.”

Michael groaned.

“I know it's not an inspiring thought.” Angus got to his feet. “Still, I won't feel right if we don't make one last attempt.”

Outside, the air was moist and chilly. Very little light reached the path beneath the overhanging trees. Michael took out his phone and used the LED to light their way.

Suki tucked her tripod under one arm and pulled her beret down over her ears. “Maybe I shouldn't come. It could be the camera that's putting her off.”

“She signed the photo release without any fuss,” Michael said. “Let's ask what kind of brushes and paints she likes. Most artists can't shut up about that. Then, when she's feeling talkative, we slip in an actual question.”

At the end of the path, only one of the cottage's windows had a light behind the curtains. The subdued glow lit the last few yards of the path. Michael switched off his phone light.

Angus knocked on the front door. After a moment, the light inside the cottage shut off, leaving them in darkness.

“Oh,
come on,
” Michael muttered, taking his phone back out.

Angus knocked louder, then raised his voice and said, “Ms. Pinter, I realize it's late, but we found a hat on the sidewalk by the house. Can you tell us if it's yours?” He snapped his fingers at Suki and held out a hand.

She reluctantly pulled off her beret and gave it to him. “She better not claim this is hers,” she whispered. “I stole it from a performance artist at the Prague Fringe Festival.”

“You
stole
it?” Michael whispered.

“That was part of the performance.”

The porch light came on, and the door opened a foot.

Maureene peered out, holding her flannel robe closed at the neck. “You got me out of bed. What's this about a hat?”

Angus held up the beret. “Is this yours?”

She took it from his hand and turned it over. “No, but it might belong to Lyndsay.”

“Lyndsay?” Angus asked.

“My daughter. She flew in from London for a visit.” Maureene started to close the door. “Thanks.”

“Wait!” Suki said.

Maureene turned. “What?”

“It's just that … If that isn't Lyndsay's beret, I'd like to have it.”

“If it's not hers, you can have it tomorrow,” Maureene said.

“But we're
leaving
tomorrow,” Suki said. “Can't you ask her now?”

“She's asleep. I'm not going to wake her for this. Good night.” Maureene stepped back and shut the door.

Suki gave Angus a fulminating look.

The porch light shut off, leaving them in darkness.

“Be snappy with that phone light, Michael,” Angus said. “I'm expecting to feel a tripod between the ribs.”

Michael switched on the LED.

Suki stood glaring at Angus from a distance of six inches. “You gave away my beret.”

“It was for a good cause.” Angus started down the path.

Suki paced beside him, staring fixedly at his profile. “He's famous now, that performance artist.”

“Did he sign the beret?” Angus asked.

“No.”

“Then I'll get you another and no one will know the difference.”

“
I'll
know.”

Angus shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and walked faster. “How was I supposed to know Maureene's daughter had come for a visit?”

Michael caught up to Angus on the other side. “Hey, do you think Maureene asked Lyndsay to come and put pressure on Doreene?”

Angus shrugged. “From the story Lupita told about Lyndsay's wedding, it doesn't sound as though Doreene is particularly influenced by her niece, or even kind to her.”

Beside him, Suki muttered, “If Lyndsay keeps that beret, Doreene is going to look like a freakin' fairy godmother compared to me.”

They went back to the house.

*   *   *

Angus made calls, but was unable to find a vacant motel room within twenty miles. The staff of
Tripping
magazine retired to their bedrooms with the intention of leaving sometime the next day.

Angus brushed his teeth and stripped down to his reading glasses, then got into bed with his pocket notebook and jotted down stray thoughts. The portrait kept Doreene looking young. What would happen when it changed hands?

He drew a little skeleton on the edge of the page.

What if the portrait's youth-giving properties required some kind of sacrifice? Had Maureene already started painting it when her stepfather drowned? Doreene's husband had died falling off a cliff, and now Doreene herself was experiencing stabbing pains.

Angus doodled a little knife between the skeleton's ribs.

Had anyone actually
seen
Maureene paint the portrait? Perhaps it was a demonic family heirloom, hundreds of years old, that took on the appearance of family members. He gave a little hum of pleasure as he wrote.

*   *   *

In the bathroom down the hall, Michael thought about titles for the story, but of course they would call it
Picture
(or
Portrait
)
of Doreene Gray
. He spat toothpaste into the sink and drank out of his hand to rinse his mouth.

It seemed likely that Maureene had put the slugs in Doreene's room, given the ladder he had found, but one thing puzzled him: Doreene hadn't for a moment thought there was something supernatural going on. Surely Maureene would know that about her twin, so why bother with the pretense? Was all this fear and antagonism a ruse? Could the sisters be collaborating on stunts to drive up the price of the portrait?

*   *   *

Suki sat at the small desk next to her bed, transferring the latest photos from camera to laptop. As the files copied, she perused the shots she'd taken of Enrico Russo. Why did he look so familiar?

She brought up one of the photos of Reynaldo she had taken, most of them surreptitiously. Was there a slight resemblance between the two men? Suki chortled at the thought that Reynaldo could be Enrico's son. That would be
awesome.

What if Doreene and Enrico were lovers first, but Maureene had lured him away and become pregnant with Lyndsay? Thinking of Lyndsay reminded Suki of her absent beret, and she glowered in the direction of Angus's room.

*   *   *

Angus woke to the sound of rain lashing against the house. He got up and looked out the nearest window. A strong wind blew, making wet, black branches dance crazily in front of the streetlights. Angus used the edge of the curtain to rub the fog of his breath from the glass. Was that a white Impala parked across the street? The rain streaming down the window made it impossible to tell.

Angus walked carefully back to his bed in the dark, stubbing his toe on the furniture only once, and peered at the red numbers on the clock radio next to his bed. It was a little after two
A.M.

He went back to the window. The white car had gone. Angus leaned on the sill and chewed his lip. The thought of going outside in the wind and rain did not appeal, especially to look for a car that wasn't there anymore.

He found his boxers and pants and pulled them on, then went to his bedroom door and opened it a crack. The hallway was dark and quiet, except for a strip of light beneath Doreene's door.

Angus tiptoed across the cool wooden floor and carefully put his ear against the door, but heard nothing. After perhaps three minutes of listening, his adrenaline waned, leaving him tired and cold. For all he knew, Doreene always slept with a light on.

He tiptoed back to his bedroom, hugging his bare torso.

 

Sixteen

Angus was up and dressed by seven-thirty the next morning. At a quarter to eight, someone tapped on his door. He opened it.

Suki stood there, a symphony in black from her boots to the long-sleeved shirt that hung off one shoulder. A ragged strip of acid-green silk wrapped one wrist. She glared at Angus. “I want my beret.”

“I understand that, believe me,” he said. “We might have better luck if we wait an hour to roust Maureene.”

“Half an hour,” Suki countered.

“Lyndsay may still be asleep. I'm sure she has jet lag.”

Suki stared at him.

“And after all, we haven't eaten breakfast yet.”

Suki stared at him.

“I had a terrier who gave me that same look at the dinner table,” Angus said. “It didn't work then and it won't work now.”

Down the hall, Michael's door opened. “What's going on?” he asked, joining them.

“I want my beret,” Suki said.

Angus rolled his eyes. “She's a wee bit possessive about her things.”

“Remind me never to borrow a pen from you,” Michael said. “Are we going to Maureene's cottage?”

“In a
bit.
” Angus led the way downstairs. “I want to talk to Lupita one more time. She gave us our best quote.”

Down in the foyer, Gigi came running up to meet them, then raced over to the front door and jumped against it, looking back over her shoulder.

“It's a miracle that dog doesn't pee in the house,” Suki said. “Give me a minute to let her out.” She looked around the foyer. “Why is there no leash for this dog? Honestly, these people.” She unfastened a studded belt from around her waist, slipped it free, and looped it through Gigi's collar. They went outside.

Michael took out his phone and checked
Tripping
's e-mail. “Pendergast says he has our next story lined up. Reports of a feral pig in Florida's Ocala National Forest.”

“Hmm,” Angus said noncommittally. “I'm not a huge fan of pigs.”

Michael read a little more. “Sorry, a giant prehistoric pig with huge tusks.”

Angus brightened. “Might be something in that.”

Suki returned and took the makeshift leash from Gigi's collar. “I wish that belt were longer. I had to stand right over her.”

Freed, Gigi ran back upstairs.

They found Lupita in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. She looked up as they came in. “Do you want some oatmeal? Miss Doreene says it is healthy.”

“That it is,” Angus said. “Are you sure there's enough to feed us?”

“Oh, yes. Miss Doreene told me to make it last night, but she must have gone out for breakfast.” She opened a cabinet and stood on tiptoe to get some bowls.

Michael stepped forward. “Can I help you with that?”

“I'm fine,” Lupita said, bowls already in her hands.

Angus watched as she ladled oatmeal. “That was quite a storm last night. Doreene's door had a light on under it, so maybe it woke her up, too. Do you know if she sleeps with a light on?”

Lupita shrugged. “I go to bed before her, and once I go upstairs, I stay there.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a butter dish. “We have raisins and brown sugar. Do you want milk also?”

“Please,” Angus said.

“Go ahead and sit at the table,” Lupita said. “I'll bring everything in.”

They went into the conservatory, where a watery sun came through the windows. The table was set with place mats and cutlery for two.