The Portrait of Doreene Gray (19 page)

“Are you sure?” Michael asked. “Have you ever wrapped a painting in cling wrap? Maybe we should do a test and see how obvious it is.”

Max's smile faded. “Perhaps you've forgotten, but I got a good, close look at the portrait when I measured it for the shipping box. I've been in art for thirty years. Trust me, there was no plastic wrapping. And today, when Kroger had me look at it again, I saw no marks from anything pasted on top. It's as if the collage elements vanished into thin air.”

Michael gave a dismissive sniff. “Well, I don't think the police are going to settle for that explanation. They're searching the whole house, and I imagine they're looking for the missing collage pieces.”

Lupita came in, bearing a tray of sandwiches. “The detective asked me if I found paper bits in the trash and threw them out. I told him I didn't.” She put the tray on the table and got a stack of plates from the sideboard.

The sound of voices came from outside the room. Everyone paused to listen.

A police officer appeared in the doorway and ushered Lyndsay inside. “Won't be long now.” He left.

Enrico cleared his throat and pushed out the chair next to him. “Lyndsay, would you like to sit down?”

“Sure, Dad.” Lyndsay bent and kissed the top of his shaved head before taking her seat.

The skin over Enrico's cheekbones turned pink beneath his tan.

Lupita gaped at them, her hand pausing in the act of serving a sandwich to Maureene.

Maureene gripped the hovering plate and took it from her. “Lyndsay, would you like a sandwich?”

“No, thanks. I'm still on London time.” Lyndsay smiled faintly. “It's nice of you to think of me.”

“Lupita, wrap a sandwich for Lyndsay so she can have it later,” Maureene said.

Lupita was still staring at father and daughter.

“Lupita!” Maureene snapped.

“Que?”
Lupita wrenched her attention back to Maureene. “Oh, right. I will wrap a sandwich.”

Max draped a napkin over his lap. “I wonder how long it will be before they release the portrait. It's an unfortunate part of human nature, but there will be three times as many people wanting to buy it after this.”

“I hope the police give it back soon.” Maureene picked up her sandwich. “I can't wait to get the damn thing sold and out of the house.”

Lyndsay didn't look at Maureene as she said, “I don't think what happens to the painting is up to you, Mother. I imagine it will be left to Reynaldo, since he's Doreene's husband.”

Angus wiped some mustard off his lip. “If I were you, Reynaldo, I'd get rid of it. Remember your uncle's bowl.”

“Maureene can have it,” Reynaldo said, his voice choked. “I don't care.”

Lyndsay got up from her chair and went to where Reynaldo sat. She put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. “Poor angel. I'm going through a divorce, so I know a little of what it's like to lose someone you love. It's not the same as this, of course.”

Angus leaned toward Michael. “I'll wager Reynaldo's experience is unique,” he murmured.

“But you have to be practical,” Lyndsay said. “I think my aunt had a couple of mortgages on this house, and Lupita has been on half-salary for months. You'll need the money from the sale of the portrait to make things right.”

Reynaldo twisted in his chair and looked up at the face that was so eerily like Doreene's, his expression a mix of fear and longing.

At the far end of the table, Maureene said, “I'll take care of everything for him.”

Lyndsay moved her hand to Reynaldo's head and stroked his hair gently. “It's good to have friends, but in the long run, I've found that you have to take care of yourself.”

“That's true,” Enrico said glumly.

Maureene gave him a sharp look.

“But you can trust Maureene to do the right thing,” Enrico added quickly. “She knows all about selling art.”

Max cleared his throat. “Although her experience is with dealers, rather than the general public. If you want to set up an auction, Reynaldo, everything is in place on my end. You just have to say the word.”

Lyndsay gave Reynaldo's hair a final caress and returned to her seat.

Reynaldo resumed his hunched position. “Maureene can deal with the painting,” he said quietly.

Everyone else looked up at the sound of a knock. A police officer stood in the doorway. “Ms. Pinter? Detective Kroger wants to see you again.”

Maureene draped a napkin over her half-eaten sandwich and left with him.

Max sighed. “I wonder if this means a second round of questions for everyone?” He pushed his chair back. “I'm going to ask Lupita if she'll make coffee. Does anyone else want some?”

There was a chorus of agreement from everyone, even Reynaldo.

Angus dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Congratulations, Mr. Russo, on your reunion with your daughter. How did you and Maureene first meet?”

Enrico's expression turned hard. “I don't talk about my personal life with strangers, especially reporters.”

“I wasn't asking as a reporter.” Angus smiled wistfully. “I don't have any family myself, so the idea of parents and children reuniting is quite touching to me.” He turned his attention to Lyndsay. “Ms. Waring, are you planning to move back to the United States, to be closer to your mother?”

“For a while, at least,” Lyndsay said. “I need to find a way to support myself. My husband and I had some business setbacks, unfortunately. Dividing assets isn't an issue when there aren't any.”

Reynaldo stirred briefly in his chair. “A woman as beautiful as you should have a man to take care of her.”

Lyndsay smiled. “That's sweet, Reynaldo, but I'm afraid I'll have to find a job.”

Max came back from the kitchen as she was speaking. “If you want, I can ask if Rothwell's is hiring. The world of fine-art sales would break down completely without a steady supply of charming women.”

“I appreciate that, Max,” Lyndsay said. “I do have some education in art, even if it's a little informal.” She looked at the door as her mother returned from speaking with the detective.

Maureene went to her chair, but didn't sit. Instead, she gripped the back, as if to steady herself. Her face contorted, contracting into an expression of grief.

Enrico got to his feet. “What is it?” He pulled out the chair and guided her into it. “What's happened?”

Maureene gripped Enrico's wrist and looked up into his face. “Doreene had stomach cancer. Her prognosis wasn't good.”

Enrico and Maureene stared at each other in silence for a moment while shocked exclamations came from those seated around the table.

In the corner, Reynaldo put his hands on the arms of the chair as if to get up, then subsided and covered his face with his hands.

Enrico sat down slowly. “How do they know? Did she leave a note?”

Maureene took a gasping breath, but managed to speak without breaking into tears. “Doreene's lawyer called her physician, Dr. Wharton, and told him Doreene was dead. Dr. Wharton came here immediately and told Kroger what he knew. The three of them were still talking about it when I left.” Maureene squeezed her eyelids shut. “Doreene was taking sleeping pills
and
painkillers, and it looks as though that's what killed her.”

Reynaldo looked up, tears streaking his face. “I knew she took medicine, but I didn't know what kind.”

Maureene nodded at him. “You didn't know about the cancer, did you?”

“No.” His face contorted with anguish. “Why didn't she tell me?”

“My sister was basically a secretive person.” Maureene rubbed a napkin beneath her nose. “If we'd known, we might have been able to help with her depression. The police aren't sure whether she got confused about the dosage or took too much on purpose. Either way, it looks like she went into the closet for some reason and just … fell asleep.”

“Remember the day of the press conference?” Max asked. “When Doreene clutched at her stomach? She said it was nothing to worry about, just something minor.” He shook his head sadly. “I noticed she'd lost weight, too, but I thought it was vanity. Poor Doreene.”

Maureene nodded and seemed to compose herself. “Anyway, with this new evidence, they've decided to declare it an accidental death.”

Michael frowned. “Even though they can't find the collage pieces?”

Maureene nodded. “I guess that will stay a mystery.”

Michael turned to Angus. “Doreene did have some time after Max measured the painting and left. She could have peeled them off and thrown them away in someone else's trash, I guess.”

“Or put them in a bottle and dropped them in the Sound,” Angus said.

Suki looked thoughtful. “Or mailed them to someone.”

Maureene had been listening. Now she looked across the table at Reynaldo. “What did you and Doreene do the evening Max measured the portrait?”

Reynaldo thought for a moment. “We stayed in the bedroom for some time, and I fell asleep. Doreene, she woke me at eight to go to dinner.”

“And after dinner?” Maureene asked.

Reynaldo pulled his chair up to the table, next to Lyndsay, before going on. “After dinner, we took a walk down to the pier to see the boats. Then we came home, watched television in the room for a while, and fell asleep.”

Maureene nodded. “So basically, Doreene had the time before dinner, while you were napping, to get rid of the collage pieces.”

Lupita came in with a tray full of cups, saucers, and spoons and distributed them around the table.

“Does anyone know what all those bits of paper were?” Suki asked. “I could make out what looked like writing, and maybe some newspaper pictures.”

Michael pointed at Max. “You saw the portrait when you were measuring it. What
was
all that stuff?”

Everyone looked at Max.

He lifted his shoulders and smiled. “There were definitely pictures of Maureene and Doreene. Some of them looked like they were cut from newspapers and magazines. And there were a lot of smudgy, handwritten words, but I couldn't make them out. They were very organic looking.”

Angus nodded. “Ectoplasmic writing presents a very similar appearance.”

Lupita, who had left after passing out cups and saucers, returned with a coffeepot, cream, and sugar.

Lyndsay spoke to the room at large. “I saw the portrait once, when I was a kid. It looked younger then.” She leaned to one side as Lupita poured coffee into her cup and then smiled as Lupita added cream and two sugar cubes. “Thank you. I can't believe you remembered.”

Maureene stared at her daughter. “Did Doreene show you the portrait for some reason?”

“No,” Lyndsay said. “I went up to her room to ask her something and she had it out on an easel.” Lyndsay gave a little laugh. “She told me to get out and slammed the door after me.”

“Typical,” Maureene muttered. She watched Lupita pour cream into her cup, nodding to tell her when it was enough.

Enrico leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest as Lupita poured his coffee and added one sugar. “Now that they know what happened to Doreene, did the lawyer say when everything will be settled as far as property is concerned?”

“Soon,” Maureene said. “Baumgartner says Doreene left a very clear will.”

Lupita put the coffeepot on the sideboard and leaned down to whisper something in Maureene's ear.

Maureene looked at Angus. “When are you heading home?”

Angus steepled his hands. “We were going to leave today, but Detective Kroger asked us not to.” He turned to look at Reynaldo. “Thank you, by the way, for letting us stay.”

Reynaldo nodded listlessly.

One of the police officers appeared in the doorway. “Detective Kroger says you're all free to go, but please don't enter Ms. Gray's bedroom yet.” He started to leave.

“Sir?” Lyndsay called.

The officer turned back. “Yes, ma'am?”

“All of Reynaldo's clothes are in Doreene's room,” she said. “Can he get some of his things?”

The officer gestured to Reynaldo. “Come with me, sir.”

Reynaldo got up. As he passed behind Lyndsay, he bent down and murmured, “Thank you,” before following the officer out the door.

As everyone pushed back their chairs and headed for the door, Enrico smiled at his daughter. “That was a nice thing to think of.”

Lyndsay joined him and put her arm through his. “Thanks, Daddy.” They walked out together.

Maureene watched them leave. Then she sat back down, took a sip of coffee, and stared into space as the rest of the group filed out of the room.

 

Eighteen

Angus gathered his staff in his room and shut the door. “Doreene is full of surprises, even when she's dead. It's very sad that she was ill, of course.”

Suki lounged in a chair, legs straight and crossed at the ankles. “If I had cancer, I wouldn't marry a hot sailor. I'd marry a hot male nurse.”

Angus shrugged. “She might have wanted to keep her love life untainted by worry over her health.” He squatted by his carry-on bag, unzipped the front pocket, and removed his laptop. “Now let's write down what everyone said in there, while it's still fresh.” He put the laptop on a small table, opened it, and pulled up a chair. “What was that word Max used to describe the writing on the painting?”

“Organic.” Michael reclined on the bed, laptop on his thighs. “There's a strong underlying theme of secrets in this story. Doreene kept her marriage from her family. She kept her illness from her husband. She kept the secret of the painting from everyone.”

Angus typed rapidly. “And she took any other secrets to her grave.”

“Metaphorically,” Michael said. “So far she's probably only taken them to the coroner's office.”