Evie hadn’t known what to think about it. She hadn’t wanted to paint any of them, but they emerged on canvas anyway, black and shadowed, holding her with greater intensity than a thousand suns ever could. She tried once or twice to leave them out of her paintings, but no one was interested in these. They wanted the trademark silhouettes. So, Evie painted them, accepted their presence and after a period of time, a year or two, learned to paint around them without conscious thought. Most times, she could perform the rote task, acknowledging the necessity of their presence to complete the piece. But then, just when she no longer saw the silhouettes as living, breathing, remembrances, a new buyer would comment,
I wonder what color his eyes are?
Evie had Rupe Burnes to thank for her success. He had taught her about simple things like an apple pie hot out of the oven, a summer sky after a thunderstorm, or a pair of wool socks. She broke his heart, so, maybe in her own way, she was honoring him, and thanking him, too. Her life had been filled with painting but she’d also enjoyed the simple pleasures of a tabby cat named, Cleo, the squawking seagulls who visited her backyard each noon for a snack of seasoned crackers, and of course, tending the herb garden which boasted more than thirty herbs stuffed into a square patch behind the cottage. Neighbors visited over the white picket fence, borrowing sprigs of peppermint leaves to seep in their tea, bunches of parsley for beef soup, comfrey for bee stings. It was all there for the asking . . . and the taking.
She’d traveled the country, explored the rich red-orange depths of the Grand Canyon, the grapevines of the fertile Napa Valley and the naked beauty of the Alaskan tundra, but still, she returned to the tiny cottage in Maine. Home. Now it was gone. One visit had ravaged the inner sanctum, laying fear and unrest in its wake. Would she ever be able to return when it was over? Would it ever be over?
She envisioned Pete Muldaney filling the doorway, his dark head less than an inch from the frame. Power and menace pulsed in the sausage fingers that gripped her arm and let her know that with a simple twist, she’d be dead. But he hadn’t wanted to kill her. He told her this with such quiet exactness that she shivered even now when she thought of it. He wanted the $125,000 Rita owed him and if he didn’t get it in two weeks, he’d find her and then he would kill her.
Pete Muldaney’s promise had forced her to turn to the only person who could help. She sipped her tea and reached for the bottle of valium on the nightstand. Quinn hated her, she understood this, even accepted it, but what he’d become,
what she’d made him
, this was painful. It was there, in those icy blue eyes, the loss, the anger, the distrust. Had he ever allowed himself to love a woman? Evie swallowed a valium, took another sip of tea. All she wanted was the proof to resurrect Evie Burnes and then she’d leave. She didn’t want to see Annalise. The ruination of one child was enough to mark her brain forever. She reached for the pack of Salem Lights and tapped one out. But if Quinn refused to help her, they would all suffer.
Chapter 9
Annie stared at the phone in her hand and croaked, “It can’t be true.”
“Annie? Are you all right?”
“Tell me again, Ian. I need to hear you say it again so I know I’m not dreaming.”
“We’ve got a ten thousand dollar offer on the ‘Snowy Creek’ piece.”
“Ten thousand, as in a one with four zeroes?”
“And a big dollar sign in the front.”
Even stuffy, unsociable Ian sounded happy. “My God, I can’t believe this. Wait until Quinn hears.”
“I’m sure he’ll be very happy for you.”
She laughed and cried all at once. “I knew it was good, but I didn’t think it was
that
good.”
Ian didn’t comment. He never did. “The monies should be available within the next few days. We’ll handle this one the same as the rest and you should have a check by next week.”
“You’ve made my day, my week, my year!” Her brain fizzled with excitement. Ian had to be pleased with this sale, even if it was only a watercolor and not one of his precious oils. Ten
thousand
dollars. She couldn’t wait to tell Quinn . . . Michael, too, of course. A tiny prick of guilt pinched her. Certainly, she wanted to tell Michael, he was her fiancé. But Quinn knew the feelings of an artist, and he knew other things, too, things of the past. Annie punched out Quinn’s office number but changed her mind and hung up before Sylvia answered. Some things were best done and said in person. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. If she hurried, she’d catch him at the office before he left for the day.
Traffic was heavy and the Malibu pushed 60 mph as it fought with the air conditioner for power. Ten thousand dollars would give her a hefty down payment on a new car. Maybe. Or, she could put it toward that condo on the outskirts of the city, the one near Arianna she and Michael looked at last week. But kids should have grass and a yard to run in, not a city park. Maybe they should reconsider the two-story ten miles from the city. It needed new siding, but there was a big front porch, a fenced-in backyard, and a garden, even the shell of an old tree house. When they had children, they’d need to consider these things, fences and neighborhoods to keep them safe and insulated for as long as possible. Michael would call her overprotective and say her job was affecting her perception. But he didn’t know. Only Quinn knew.
When Annie reached the office, Sylvia looked up at her, bright and smiling under a cloud of red hair. “Hello, girl, what brings you to this side of town?”
“News, Sylvia. Good news, the kind that shouldn’t be wasted over the phone.”
“Oh?”
Sylvia had to be the most curious person Annie had ever met. The woman wanted to know the who, the why, the where, about everyone, so she could match people up according to their astrological sign. The more information she gathered, the better the match which drove Quinn crazy since he was her number one project. “So what’s this news that brings you down here during rush hour?” Sylvia asked.
Annie smiled and shook her head. “Quinn’s got to be the first to hear it.”
“Oh? Didn’t even tell that fiancé of yours yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well.” She opened a desk drawer and pulled out Sylvia Freeman’s infamous astrological spreadsheet which contained the names and birth dates of just about everyone she knew, including the UPS man and the building’s plant man. “Let’s see. Annalise Elizabeth Burnes. Hmmm. Date of birth is April 24
th.
Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay. Now, let’s see what the paper has to say.” She lifted the
Philadelphia Inquirer
from the drawer and scanned the horoscopes. “Ah, here we are.
Health and good fortune will be yours. Look for new opportunities to expand your wealth.
” Sylvia looked up, her plump cheeks rosy. “That’s good, Annie. What else? Hmmm.” Her pink fingernails glided over the words as she spoke.
“The past will meet the present . . .”
“And?”
“Choices will be made.”
“That’s it? The past will meet the present and choices will be made? What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
Sylvia snapped the paper closed and said, “You can’t always go by what this paper says. I think they distort the message sometimes. I’ve found the
Tribune
does a better job of it.” Her words fell out in a jumble as she folded the paper in thirds and stuffed it in her tote bag.
“Sylvia?”
“It’s a hobby, Annie, you know how I am.” Her face flushed pink, spreading to the patch of flesh above her ample cleavage. “Sometimes, I make more out of it than there is.”
“Do I have to go down to the corner and buy another paper, or are you going to tell me what it says?”
Sylvia blurted out,
“Secrets will be revealed. Beware.”
“Secrets will be revealed.” It sounded like a script from a B movie. Annie wanted to laugh but the crushing tone of Sylvia’s voice stopped her.
“Yes. And beware. I told you not to pay mind to it.”
“Oh, Sylvia, you’re a gem.” Annie hugged her. “Thanks for warning me.”
“It’s not . . . I mean . . . don’t worry over it, okay?”
Annie’s lips twitched. “I’ll try not to.”
“And please, don’t say anything to Quinn. He thinks I get too caught up in it.”
“Your secret is safe. Now, go ahead on. I’ll lock the door behind you.”
Sylvia hefted her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her tote bag. “Call me tomorrow and give me the good news.”
“I will.”
“And . . . forget about the other.”
“I’ve already forgotten it.”
The door clicked shut behind her and Annie locked it and then headed to her brother’s office. “Hi.”
Quinn glanced up and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Wow, what a reception.” She pushed open the door and stepped inside. “I just fought rush hour traffic in my Malibu, which I’ll remind you has never seen 62 mph, and all I get is a ‘what are you doing here?’”
Quinn slid back his chair and made his way to her. He gave her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m preparing for a really big meeting and you caught me in the middle of it.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, do you want to catch a bite later, say sevenish?
The Stuffed Flounder?
”
“Sounds great. My treat.”
“Fine.” Then, “Really? What’d Michael do, make a breakthrough discovery or did you win the lottery?”
She laughed and clutched his arm. “I sold a painting.”
“Congratulations!”
“Ten thousand dollars! Can you believe it?”
“Wow, not a bad piece of change.”
“So, I thought we’d celebrate tonight.”
Quinn was back at his desk, rifling through papers.
“You, me, Michael, maybe Arianna’s friend, Danielle.” Danielle was a widow according to Arianna.
And Quinn absolutely knew that.
“Uh, whatever, that’s fine.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m sorry, Annie. It’s just bad timing.”
“I get the message. I’m out of here. Next time, I guess I’ll just call.”
He tossed a file aside and said, “Come here.” He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. “I’m very proud of you.”
This was the brother who supported her, who always made time for her. “Thanks.” She inched out of his embrace. Now she could leave. “I’ll make the reservations for 7:00 p.m. We’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call Danielle and see if she’s free.”
“Danielle?”
He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “I’ll call you with the details.” She waved a hand in the air. “Later.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
“I know my way out. Relax. It’s not like this is your first case.” Michael would be her next phone call, and then Danielle. Given the right situation and a little help, maybe something
could
start up between Quinn and Danielle.
Quinn unlocked the door. “We’ll celebrate tonight.”
“Damn right we will.”
“With a bottle of Dom Perignon
. My treat.”
“Damn right it is.”
They both laughed as he opened the door, but the laughter fizzled when they spotted the woman standing on the other side. Before the woman could speak, Quinn turned to Annie and said, “I’ll call you later.” He addressed the woman next, his voice tight, his expression closed. “You’re early.”
The woman merely nodded, her gaze shifting back to Annie who looked past the short, bleached hair, beyond the supple yet aging skin, the trim figure, the smart olive suit. All she saw were the eyes. Silver-blue. Bottomless. Quinn’s eyes.
***
“My God.”
“Annie, I can explain.”
“You knew.” She dragged her eyes from the woman and settled them on her brother.
“You knew.”
“He just found out the other day, Annalise.”
Her voice was deeper than Annie remembered, huskier. From smoke? Drink? Annie had carried that voice with her for years, praying to keep the inflection fresh, true, open for recall upon a second’s notice, and all that time, she’d been wrong? She started to crumble inside, cell to cell, organ to organ, disintegrating into dust and hopelessness. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Quinn pulled her into his arms, swiped his fingers across her cheek, and murmured, “Please, don’t cry.” He guided her into the office, his arm still around her. Annie glanced behind to make sure the woman was still there, that it hadn’t all been a dream.
Sylvia’s words jabbed her brain.
The past will meet the present . . . secrets will be revealed . . . beware.
Quinn settled her in a chair, motioned for the woman to sit, and then pulled out a glass decanter. He poured three drinks, handed one to Annie, another to the woman, and downed the third in one swift gulp. “She showed up three days ago.”