The Portrait of Doreene Gray (31 page)

Kroger looked up. “My guys went through every tunnel and looked in every room, and there's no painting anywhere. A bare concrete building doesn't have a lot of hiding places.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask, they're checking the surrounding area, too.”

Angus shook his head. “Stop pestering the man, Michael.” He turned to Kroger. “I wouldn't spend too much time following up on the babblings of a lunatic.”

“Hey!” Michael said.

Angus rolled his eyes. “I'm talking about Hank. We don't know that he was talking about the painting when he said Max stole something. He could have been talking about his favorite pillow or his left shoe. He's clearly a nutter.”

Kroger smiled faintly. “Oh, I think he was talking about the portrait. We went through Thorne's room at Alexander's Castle. Someone had taken every picture down from the walls and pulled the canvases away from the frames. That's in addition to tossing the contents of Thorne's luggage, pulling the mattress off the box spring, and rolling back the rugs.”

Suki stirred in her chair. “I wonder why Hank didn't say anything about Max to you guys.”

“Like what?” Kroger asked.

Suki pointed an accusing finger and lowered her voice. “Max stole the painting! He's the bad guy!” She continued in her normal voice. “If Hank believes Max has the portrait, why not use the excuse that he's trying to retrieve stolen goods? Instead, he makes up a bunch of crap about how they were playing a game.”

“That was
really
creepy,” Michael said.

Angus nodded in agreement.

Kroger thought for a moment. “The only explanation I can think of is that Mr. Gray doesn't want us to find the painting. If we do, he can't track it down and keep it.”

A policewoman came to the door, leading Maxwell Thorne.

He wore a fresh shirt but looked deeply weary, with pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. “You wanted to ask me some questions?”

Kroger stood. “How are you feeling, Mr. Thorne?”

“Like I need a lot of sleep and some trauma therapy.” Max's voice was rough. He cleared his throat and addressed Angus and his staff. “I can't thank you enough. I really think he would have killed me.”

Angus got up and gestured for Max to take his chair. “I'm just happy we were there to help.”

Max sat, wincing slightly and angling his side away from the chair arm. He looked up at Angus. “Why were you at the fort? Were you following Hank for some reason?”

Angus shook his head. “Pure coincidence. Suki wanted to take some nighttime photographs of the fort. You must have a guardian angel.”

“I must.” Max turned to Kroger. “How can I help?”

Kroger took out a pad and consulted it. “How long have you known Hank Gray?”

Max thought for a moment. “I met him once or twice before he disappeared, when he and Doreene were still together. They hung out with a very wealthy European crowd.” He smiled slightly. “The kind of people who splurge on art.”

Kroger returned the smile. “Of course. You didn't recognize him when he showed up here?”

“No. I think he stayed out of my way, but it was also a very effective disguise.”

Kroger nodded. “Hank said he knew you had stolen something. What was it?”

Max looked confused. “He didn't tell you? I assume it was Doreene's portrait, but I don't remember if he used those actual words.”

“And did you tell him it was in the battery?”

Max nodded. “I chose that because it's right near the campground. I thought I'd have a better chance of someone hearing something through a tent wall than if they were inside a building. But it looked like they had all left. Then I thought that if I ran around the corner of a tunnel, I might be able to pull the Taser probes loose, but that didn't work, either.” He shuddered slightly.

Kroger scribbled on his pad for a moment. “Can you think of other reasons Hank would target you? Some perceived motive for revenge?”

Max shook his head. “I've been racking my brains for something like that, but I can't think of a thing. I cultivated both Hank and Doreene as potential clients, but I don't think I paid her any attention that could have been misinterpreted. And he knew I was married, with a daughter.”

“Mm-hmm.” Kroger consulted the pad again. “You were in charge of the portrait's auction. Did Hank express any objections to that?”

“Not that I heard of, but he wasn't around when it was being set up.”

“And when he did come on the scene, he didn't seem suspicious of you in any way?”

“Not until last night.”

Michael raised his hand.

Kroger looked at him. “Did you notice something about Hank's behavior toward Mr. Thorne?”

Michael lowered his hand. “Um, not really. I wanted to ask Max a question.”

“Go ahead,” Max said.

“Why did you move back to Alexander's Castle? You had moved to the Olympic Hostel, right?”

Max gave him a sheepish smile. “I thought staying at the hostel would be fun, but they treated me like someone's dad, so I moved back. The castle has great views.” He looked at Kroger. “It could have better locks.”

“I'll tell the park service they should consider upgrading them.” Kroger made a note on his pad and then looked up at Max. “Do you have the painting?”

Max gave a bemused shake of his head. “No.”

“And you don't know why Hank Gray would think that you do have it?”

Max gave a bitter laugh. “No, but we're talking about a man who disappeared for almost thirty years and then showed up right before his wife died, in disguise. God knows what's going on in his head.”

“Fair enough,” Kroger said. “May I ask what your plans are?”

“I just want to get on a plane and go home, but I suppose I should get some sleep first.” Max lifted a hand and rubbed his forehead. “It's going to be a little disturbing, going back to the room where I was tortured. Maybe I can find a hotel for what's left of the night.”

“I think that's a good idea,” Kroger said. “You can call here in the morning and ask someone to accompany you to Alexander's Castle to get your things.”

“I think I'll take you up on that.”

Kroger stood and came around his desk. “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Thorne, and for answering my questions. I'm very sorry you had such a terrible experience.”

Max pushed himself to his feet and shook hands. “Without you, it would have been much worse.” He turned to Angus. “Again, I'm so grateful.” He reached in his pants pocket and took out a business card. “The next time any of you are in New York, please let me take you out to dinner.”

Angus took the card. “Thank you. We're just glad you're all right.”

Suki and Michael murmured agreement.

“I'll walk you out,” Kroger said to Max, and they disappeared down the hall.

Michael quickly took the vacant chair. “I have to admit, he's pretty convincing.”

“It's easy to be convincing when you're telling the truth.” Angus jerked a thumb at Michael. “Out o' my chair.”

Michael sighed and got up. “Why are you so reluctant to dig deeper into this?”

Angus sat and crossed his legs. “Because
Tripping
covers matters of paranormal interest. I'm not interested in anything else.”

“Oh, come on, Angus,” Suki said. “You were plenty interested when it came to Charlotte Baskerville.”

“Charlotte Baskerville was in genuine danger,” Angus said. “Plus, she was a nice old girl, whereas this lot is as unlovely a bunch of specimens as I've ever seen.”

“Max is okay,” Michael said, “assuming he's telling the truth, which I'm still not sure about.”

“Reynaldo isn't that bad,” Suki said, “even if he does hang around with a beret thief.”

“All that may be,” Angus said, “but none of them is in danger of dying.”

“Doreene was,” Michael said.

Angus gave him an affronted look. “Are you seriously suggesting we delay writing up the best story we've ever had to investigate the probable suicide of that poisonous old bitch? Who was
terminally ill,
I might add?”

Michael crossed his arms. “Well, when you put it
that
way.”

*   *   *

After signing their statements at the police station, the staff of
Tripping
walked to their minivan, crossing squares of light from the station's windows. It was very quiet outside.

Michael took out his cell phone and glanced at the time. “Three-thirty in the morning,” he said, his words barely intelligible through a giant yawn.

Suki stopped by the driver's side door and did some jumping jacks.

Angus groaned. “Is this really the time for calisthenics? I want to go to bed.”

“You want me to be awake for the drive, don't you?” Suki pushed the button on the remote.

Michael slid open his door with a weary gesture. “It's not as though anyone will be on the road.” He climbed into the van, rested his cheek on the seat back, and closed his eyes. “Two nights with hardly any sleep. I'm so tired, I'm almost queasy.”

Angus grunted in agreement as Suki pulled onto the empty road. “At least we don't have to be up early. Our flight back to Colorado is scheduled for early evening.”

“I've been thinking,” Michael said. “I might pay to change my flight and stay longer.”

Angus turned in his seat and looked back at Michael. “Why?”

Michael rolled his head to face forward. “It occurs to me that Reynaldo's story would make a great book. Young Brazilian sailor is plucked from a life of freedom on the ocean to become the dependent, landlocked lover of a wealthy older woman.”

“Michael, you have a duty to
Tripping
magazine and this story,” Angus said. “We need you back in Boulder.”

“I can work from anywhere, so what's the problem?” Michael yawned again. “If Alexander's Castle is available, I'll stay there. Maybe I'll see a ghost—that should make you happy.”

“You don't believe in ghosts!” Angus sputtered. “You just want to find that painting!”

Michael closed his eyes and rested his head again. “I can almost hear the spirit of John Alexander, moaning away in that Scottish accent about his faithless bride.”

Angus turned to face the front. “When we get back, I'm going to have you sign such a contract, you'll need my permission to go to the John Alexander.”

 

Twenty-five

At seven-thirty the next morning, Michael's cell phone vibrated an alarm from beneath his pillow. He took it out and dismissed the reminder before it could buzz again.

On the other bed, Angus snored gently.

Michael got up quietly and dressed.

Suki opened her eyes and looked at him from her bed on the foldout sofa.

He put a finger to his lips, but she merely flapped a dismissive hand and rolled over.

Michael sneaked out of the hotel carrying his messenger bag, which he had packed the night before with his computer and digital recorder. Doreene's house, now Maureene's, was perhaps a third of a mile away. He walked, stopping only to get coffee at a café along the way.

Once at the house, he checked his watch. It was still a little before eight, but Angus might wake at any time, and who knew how long Reynaldo would stick around now that he was disinherited. Michael rapped on the door.

He heard barking after a few seconds. The sound came closer and settled on the other side of the door. “Hi, Gigi. It's me, Michael,” he said, but she just barked harder.

A good three minutes passed before he felt the vibration of footsteps on the wooden floor.

Lyndsay's voice came from inside. “Would you
shut up
!” She opened the door.

Gigi darted out and into the yard, where she sniffed bushes.

“What do you want?” Lyndsay demanded of Michael. She wore a white satin robe with black flowers on it and looked beautiful, despite her sour expression and messy hair.

Michael smiled. “I'd like to talk to Reynaldo, if he's available.”

“Why?”

“I want to discuss the possibility of helping him write a book about his experiences in the United States. Young sailor falls in love with a woman he meets on a boat, who then dies and leaves him without resources. That kind of thing. I think it has the makings of a bestseller.”

Lyndsay chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Stay here.” She retreated, shutting the door in his face.

“Your dog is still out here!” Michael called, but there was no answer.

He sat down on the step and whistled to Gigi. She approached cautiously, but eventually got close enough to let him pet her. Finally she rolled onto her back and accepted a stomach rub.

It was another five minutes before the door opened again.

Reynaldo stood there, looking boyishly sleepy and devastatingly handsome in jeans, a close-fitting red T-shirt, and leather sandals.

Lyndsay appeared behind him. “Don't agree to or sign
anything
without talking to me first.”

An irritated expression passed over his face, but he nodded before coming outside.

Michael whistled to Gigi, who had withdrawn when he stood up. “Come here.” He picked her up when she got close and put her inside the house.

Reynaldo stuck his fingertips in his pockets and gave Michael a glum look. “The dog and I have a lot in common.”

“Let's see if we can improve your situation,” Michael said. “Do you want some coffee?”

*   *   *

Michael and Reynaldo sat in one of Port Townsend's cozy coffeehouses.

Reynaldo took a sip of his latte. “So, I tell you what happened, and you make it into a book.”

Michael nodded. “And we share the money.”

“How much money will you get?”