by Roslyn Woods
“Yes, coming here has been a revelation. Gus thinks my dad conversed with Tio—learned things about me and prepared the house accordingly. He thinks my father wanted the place to be something I would want.”
“And do you?”
“Want it? I have to say yes to that. I do love the place. I feel like I’ve come home, and that’s such a surprise. I never expected anything to be this way.”
“You said something about a letter from your grandmother to your father? Did that explain anything?”
“I’ve read a whole box of letters she wrote to him. From the looks of it, my father’s marriage to my mother ended when I was two, which I already knew. But I didn’t know why. It’s possible it had something to do with the fact that he paid for an expensive surgery—a surgery my grandmother needed. I just don’t know.”
“Your mother’s still living. Why not ask her?”
“I’ve considered it, but she hates me, and I don’t want anything to do with her. If she knows I’m inheriting, she’ll suddenly become my best friend. Believe me, I know the woman, and I don’t like what I know.”
“But she knows what was going on when she and your dad broke up.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her to lie to me anyway, Shell. She’s notorious. Really.”
“So who else can you talk to?”
“Rand Miller’s father was my dad’s lawyer for many years but he’s had a stroke. Doesn’t even talk. And there’s my Tia Amelia.”
“What does she know?”
“I’m not sure. She was my nanny from my infancy, so she was around then, and so was Tio. My mother basically gave me to Mia so she wouldn’t have to take care of me. Tio is gone now, but I think he maintained a friendship with my father—at least contact. If that’s true, how could she not know?”
“But don’t you talk to her every day? Why not just ask her?”
“Oh, I will eventually. It’s just—I’m having a hard time facing the fact that she and Tio could have hidden something this important from me. It’s just too much of a betrayal. I don’t want our relationship ruined, and I’m afraid I couldn’t forgive something like that. It frightens me. She’s all the family I have.”
“You’re so much like me! That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m doing right now with Dean—not discussing something because I’m not sure I can handle what I’ll learn. But it’s there anyway, isn’t it? It’s cutting into our happiness if it’s said or unsaid. Anyway, maybe there was a reason Mia and Tio couldn’t talk to you about your father.”
“What justification could there be? I can’t imagine any reason they couldn’t have explained just like I can’t imagine any reason my father could have had to abandon me.”
“And yet he did,” Shell said, tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair and frowning. “It’s quite a puzzle. He seemed such a good man to me, but what do I know?”
“Gus says the same thing.”
“And you think they were close.”
“Yes, I think they were. Florencia told me they were, too, and Maddie seems so at home over here! It’s like my dad was theirs—a father figure for Gus, a grandfather for Maddie.”
“Does it bother you?”
“At first it did. I was jealous, but now I feel sort of connected to them. Like they’re my family because my father was close to them, or I’m closer to my father because I like them so much. I know it doesn’t make sense, and there are so many things I haven’t been able to figure out.”
“But it sounds as if you’re feeling good about Gus again,” Shell suggested.
“Yes, but Maddie told me something today that I don’t much like.”
“What?”
“Gus’s ex is splitting up with her husband.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but she’s very jealous of Gus’s friendship with me, and there’s nothing.”
“Really? Nothing?”
“Really. We’re just friends.”
“Okay,” Shell said, feeling doubtful. “So why don’t you like it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think she’s not very kind to Maddie. I hope she won’t use her to get Gus back.”
“And you think she’ll try?”
“I kinda do. But let’s not think about it. I don’t know why I mentioned it.”
“Okay,” Shell said again, doubtful as ever, but she changed the subject. “Any luck figuring out how to get into the studio?” she asked.
“I found something. I’d like you to look at it.”
Tavy stood up and went into her bedroom for a minute. When she came back she was carrying a small slip of yellow paper. She handed it to Shell. “I found this in the little phone book in the kitchen drawer.”
“‘The best day of all and a favorite thing,’” Shell read. “‘Seventeen characters.’ This could be it, but how to decipher it?”
“And why leave something encrypted rather than the passcode itself?”
“Maybe he didn’t want the passcode falling into the wrong hands,” Shell suggested.
“Maddie thinks the first few characters are my birthday. I suppose that’s possible. The rest, I have no idea about. But she and my dad used to do puzzles like this. That might be all it is—just another of their word games accidentally left in the phone book.”
“What do you mean?”
“They did word puzzles, and Maddie said they did one that said, ‘A very good day and a favorite treat. Nineteen characters.’”
“And the answer?”
“A very good day was Madison’s birthday. A favorite treat was gingersnaps—which she loves.”
“So what was the answer—exactly I mean?”
“Let’s see, it worked out as zero, three, one, two, two, zero, zero, three,” Tavy answered slowly, remembering as she went, “and the word gingersnaps. Her birthday is the twelfth of March, two thousand and three.”
“And what’s yours?”
“The third of October, nineteen seventy-six.”
“And your favorite thing?”
“The puzzle doesn’t say whose favorite thing.”
“But if it was Maddie’s birthday and her favorite treat, it follows that your birthday would be followed by your favorite thing.”
“And what would that be?” Tavy asked.
“I think I might know what that would be.”
“You do?”
“Let’s write it down and count the characters.”
“Okay. I’ll get some paper and a pencil.”
Tavy left for a moment and returned with a small notepad and pencil and handed them to Shell.
“So,” Shell said, putting the pencil to paper, “one, zero—that’s October—zero, three—that’s the third—one, nine, seven, and six.” She stopped and counted the digits. “That’s eight characters. Now let’s add your favorite thing.” She stopped and printed while speaking, “D, R, A, G, O—”
“Of course!” Tavy interrupted. “Dragonflies are everywhere! He put them in the windows, on the lamps, on all the pulls of the cabinets!”
“Yes. And there’s one on your arm!” Shell said with a little chuckle. “N, F, L, Y. Let’s count!”
“It’s seventeen,” Tavy said. “Maddie told me I should know it!”
“But we could still be wrong. We’ll have to see.”
“We could go to the studio now, you know. It’s not quite dark.”
Shell pulled her phone from her pocket and looked at the time. “It’s only eight. We’ve got almost an hour!”
“Is there a witching hour?”
“No. I just told Billie and Leo I wouldn’t go out after dark. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was kidnapped two months ago. It happened after dark, and I—I’m afraid I’ll be nervous or something. I’m never alone at night.”
“It’s not dark yet, so you won’t be going out after dark. And you won’t be alone.”
“Right.”
“And we can take the dogs with us!” Tavy suggested. “They’l
l protect us.”
“Good idea. But the house! Blue won’t be here to guard the house,” Shell argued.
“The house has an alarm now. I take her for walks and leave the house without her watching it. How is this different?”
Even though it was one of the long days of summer and only eight-thirty in the evening when they arrived at the parking lot on Burleson Road, the cloud cover made the sky quite dark. There was a pink tinge to the west where the setting sun was trying to peek through the clouds as Shell parked the Corolla. To the south the sky was an ominous purple. Rain was surely on its way.
“Let’s do this,” Shell said as she got out of the car and fastened Sadie’s leash to her collar.
“There’s a security guard,” Tavy warned as she attached Blue’s leash. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Okay.”
The dogs hopped down from the backseat of the car and moved along obediently beside the women.
Shell remembered the man she and Dean had met a week earlier. He was standing on the north side of the building not far from the door that led to the stairwell, and he nodded at them as they approached.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said. “What can I do for you?” Then, a surprised expression came over his face as they got closer. “Oh, it’s you, Miss Bishop! I remember you from the other day.”
“Yes, it’s okay that my friend and I have brought our dogs isn’t it? We won’t be here long.”
“They’re trained and won’t cause any trouble in the building?” the security guard asked.
“Yes, they’re very polite girls,” Tavy responded.
“Then I don’t see why it would be a problem,” he said, smiling at the women as if they had come to see him personally. “I remember you too, miss,” he said to Shell.
“Yes, I came looking for Octavia’s contact information.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” he said, but he didn’t really seem to know what she was talking about. He was smiling and tilting his head a little dreamily by turns at Shell and then at Tavy.
“I think I’ve found the passcode to my father’s studio,” Tavy told him. “Hopefully this one will work.”
“Yes, I felt bad for you and Mr. Miller the other morning. Wow! And there’s been so much activity here since!”
“There has?” Tavy asked.
“Yeah, the police have been by, and an old guy came over here on Tuesday and insisted there was a painting in your father’s unit that belongs to him. Really made a fuss. I had to threaten to call the cops to get him to leave.”
“What did he look like?” Tavy asked. “Did you get his name?”
“No name, Miss, but he drove a gray Caddy. I saved the license number,” he added proudly. “I’ve got it here.”
The guard pulled his phone from his front shirt pocket and tapped it a few times. “Here it is,” he said before reciting the number to Tavy.
“Here,” said Shell. “Let me write it down.”
She pulled the notepad with the code on it from her purse and the guard repeated the number.
“Thanks,” Tavy said, but she didn’t tell him she had seen a gray Cadillac in her neighborhood, too.
“Yeah,” the man went on, shaking his head, “he was sure an insistent old fellow. Kinda made me feel like he had a screw loose, you know?”
“Was he a big guy?” Shell asked, hoping to get some kind of description.
“No. Kinda short and stocky. White hair.”
“Well, thank you for telling us, Joe,” Tavy said. “I appreciate knowing. We’ll just see if we can get the code to work now.”
“Right, ladies. I’ll just be here if you need anything. There’s hardly anyone around this evening.”
The two women turned toward the stairwell door with the dogs and Tavy glanced at her friend. “Here goes,” she whispered to Shell, and she tapped the characters into the keypad above the door knob.
Chapter 57
Thursday, August 13, 4 p.m.—Gus
Gus got a call from Dean Maxwell that afternoon as he was returning home from the last garden harvest of the day.
“Hello?” he said, surprised by Dean’s name on the screen.
“Hey, Gus,” Maxwell said. “How are you?”
“I’m well. What can I do for you?”
“I’m in California, and Shell’s spending a couple of nights at Tavy’s.”
“Yes, Tavy told me.”
“With all the things that have been happening over there, I thought she’d better take Sadie. Do you think they’re safe?”
“I do. Tavy’s got new locks on the doors and a new alarm system that alerts the police. It’s also rigged to alert me if there’s a breach. I’m here all night both nights.”
“That sounds pretty good. Are there any leads on who got into the house last weekend?”
“No, but I have a hunch or two.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t think it was done by anyone you need to worry about. Especially now that the locks are changed and the dogs are there. Whoever did it is a coward.”
“That makes me feel a little better, I guess. Any chance you’re going to Schutzhund on Saturday?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d take Blue. Will you be back?”
“No. I won’t get in till late that evening.”
“I could take Sadie if you’d like me to. She’s here anyway. I could pick her up in the morning and she and Blue could get their training in while Tavy and Shell check out the lake house. Tavy said something about going to see it on Saturday.”
“That’d be great if you don’t mind,” Dean said.
“It wouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“In fact, the training’s up by the lake this Saturday.”
“That’s right. At that ranch in Volente,” Gus responded.
“Are y’all riding up there together?”
“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel around a couple of women.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. My sister and Shell are best friends. If my sister’s husband isn’t around, I’m lost.”
Gus chuckled. “Outnumbered?”
“That’s right.”
“If you’ll let Shell know the plan, I’ll be glad to take Sadie when I pick Blue up for Schutzhund.”
“Good deal. Thanks, Gus. I’ll tell her when I call this evening,” he said. “It sure helps me to know you’re looking out for her.”
Chapter 58
Thursday, August 13, 8:30 p.m.—Armen
It was pure luck that he had seen the painting last night. He had been standing across the street, staring at the house in the darkness when the shade opened. There was the woman, and there behind her was the Rose, just as it had been before, hanging above the fireplace. Edwin hadn’t taken it away! All this time he’d thought it was at that gallery or the place on Burleson, and Ed had left it hanging on his living room wall!
Using his binoculars, Armen watched from the rental car as the women and the two dogs exited the house. He sat and observed until the Corolla pulled away, wondering if anyone else would show up. The place stayed entirely calm as the sky darkened with evening and the approaching storm, but there were no guarantees the women wouldn’t return quickly. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, and it hadn’t come a moment too soon.
His trouble on Burleson was pushing him to hurry almost as much as Harris was. The guard had warned him away and probably contacted the police, and Harris was still breathing down his neck, keeping him in a constant state of fear and dread.
Armen had parked the Seville back at the apartment and taken a cab to Enterprise to rent the silver SUV—a Chevy with a hatch. If the cops had been alerted and were looking for the Cadillac, then he should be pretty safe in the rental car. That’s if Harris hadn’t already sent someone to follow him.
His mind kept playing over their last conversation as his heart raced.
“I mean it, Armen. I’m coming down to Austin. I’m going to t
ake care of things.”
“What? No! I’ve almost got the painting. You don’t need to intervene. You could ruin everything. I’m doing what you asked!” Then he had repeated his earlier threat. “I swear, Harris. If you hurt her I’ll kill you.”
And now, as he remembered, his heart began to race. Harris could be a cruel bastard, but would he hurt Cecilia knowing she had nothing to do with any of it? He had ended the call and turned off the sound, praying that Harris didn’t mean it—praying he didn’t have it in him to hurt Cecelia.
He got out of the SUV and headed for the house. The neighborhood seemed deserted, no one about, probably because of the imminent storm. It was risky, he knew, but he was pretty sure he could slip in and out without calling attention to himself.
Up the steps he went, glad the porch light was on, so many keys jingling in his pocket. He pulled them out and found the one he had copied back when Cecelia was doing all those dragonfly windows. He pushed it into the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. He checked the keys again. Had he made an error? He went through the set, one by one. Here was his apartment key, the key to Harris’s, the key to Cecelia’s car, the key to his, and here were the keys for the Chevy. No, the one he had tried was the only possible one for Ed’s door. Why wouldn’t the lock turn?
Damn. It had been changed.
In a moment he was making his way down the steps and around the house to the side gate and going through. He went up the steps and tried his key in the back door.
No, that would be too easy. It had been changed, too, of course. He would have to break in.
He looked at the leaded glass in the top section of the door—Cecelia’s beautiful handiwork. He would avoid that section. He couldn’t damage the work she had done! It would be easy if he just cut the bottom pane near the deadbolt, and he was prepared for this eventuality.
He reached into his shirt pocket and found the glass cutter. He lay the wheel against the door’s window and pushed it along, listening for the sound that told him he was cutting. In a moment he had made a straight line that would take out a triangle of glass just big enough to give him room to reach in and turn the deadbolt. He took a suction cup from the shirt pocket and stuck it to the cut section and popped it out, pulling at the edges where the glazing grabbed. Simple.