The Beach at Painter's Cove

by Shelley Noble

  And with the storm it would disappear, and soon be forgotten altogether. And so, too, would she.

  They waited for Fae outside the ice cream store. Another Saturday of dessert before lunch and Issy was considering declaring it a Whitaker tradition, except there might not be any more Whitaker traditions.

  When Fae finally arrived, the cones were gone, and Jillian had joined them. Issy offered to get her ice cream, but Fae said she just wanted to go home, and kept walking. So home they went. Their little band of dressed-up ice-cream-stuffed Whitakers.

  Fae led the way; Steph followed several feet behind her. No one attempted to catch up.

  Today had been special. Fae was still in her own world and they knew not to bother her there.

  The sun beat down and the day was humid and hot, and they were all hot and tired and a little depleted by the time they reached the gates of the Muses. Issy was considering declaring a holiday and spending the afternoon on the beach before her “date” with Ben, when she realized the others had stopped.

  She peered past them to see two cars parked in front of the mansion. A black sedan and a squad car. A squad car?

  Heart racing, Issy rushed past the others. She wanted to find out the news first in case it was bad. But before she could reach the vehicles, the sedan door opened. A man got out, walked over to the squad car, and opened the back door.

  A woman got out. First one foot, then the other. Déjà vu, but Jillian was already there and these feet were wearing running shoes.

  “Mommy!” Mandy and Griff cried, and ran to Vivienne’s outstretched arms.

  Chapter 24

  “Well,” said Jillian. “That’s a relief.”

  Steph shook her head, once, twice, and kept shaking it, then she turned and ran toward the woods.

  Issy started to run after her, but Detective Griggs was striding toward her. “She was picked up for breaking and entering. I heard it over the radio, recognized the address from my report. Did you know she was back?”

  Issy shook her head. Stopped herself or she might be running into the woods after Steph. “This is the first we heard.”

  “But you didn’t call me on Saturday like we agreed.”

  “My grandmother Leonore Whitaker—I don’t believe you met her.” Issy paused to bring Fae and Leo up to speed and introduce them to the detective. “Vivienne told her that she would be gone for a while and not to worry. Vivienne left a message on the answering machine to the same effect.” She ended with a shrug. “You said breaking and entering?”

  “Yes.” Detective Griggs grimaced. “Into what she says she thought was her own home, but it turns out that Mr. Bannister had sold it without her knowledge.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “I don’t know the particulars of the case. One of the neighbors reported seeing someone breaking a window and climbing into the house.”

  “Is she under arrest?”

  “The new owners were contacted and they won’t pursue the case if she agrees to pay damages, which she did.”

  With what? Leo’s estate money? And how can she even be back in the country without being arrested? Because no one knows about the money. Issy was so tempted to say take her back, because she didn’t for a second believe that Vivienne had brought the stolen money with her.

  “She won’t have to post bail if someone here will promise she isn’t a flight risk.” Issy looked over to where Vivienne was fawning over her children. The caring, attentive mother, which conveniently prevented her from actually having to deal with the situation.

  Jillian stepped forward and gave the detective a radiant smile. “She’s my daughter, Detective. I can vouch for her.”

  Issy almost snorted out loud. Jillian was actually fessing up to the fact she was old enough to have daughter that age? And how the hell could she vouch for Vivienne when God only knew the last time she’d seen either of her daughters. At least as far as Issy knew; maybe Jillian and Vivienne had always kept in touch.

  And in the midst of all their trouble, Issy choked on the humiliation of rejection and Vivienne’s childhood taunts. You’re the reason Mommy dumped us here. You’re ugly and stupid and nobody loves you. You’re just a big oops.

  Issy fought the feelings down. She had a responsibility and the first duty of that responsibility was to find out about the money.

  “Well, thank you, Detective Griggs. We’re very appreciative.”

  Griggs nodded and walked back to his car. It galvanized the enchanted group into action. They rushed toward Vivienne, and they all walked toward the house together as the police cars drove away.

  Griff and Mandy glommed on to Vivienne’s side, each chattering over the other.

  “. . . and Ben took us to find the frog and Griff fell in.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “And I tried to save him but he pulled me in and we both got wet and had to change our clothes.”

  “And we go swimming at the cove.”

  “Chloe picks us up every day to go to camp at her school.”

  “It’s so much fun.”

  “Can we stay at Grammy’s until camp is over?”

  “Grammy doesn’t mind, do you, Grammy?”

  “I love having you,” Leo said into the sliver of silence while Mandy and Griff took a breath.

  “And we get to dress up.”

  “Guess what I am?” Mandy twirled around.

  “Can we stay, please! Please?”

  “Of course we can.” Vivienne looked at Leo. She took after their mother, tall, lithesome, with auburn hair that she wore long until high school, when she styled it to every passing fad. Now she had one of those sleek suburban mom cuts. The kind of hair that swayed in the breeze but never seemed to get in their eyes when they were on the tennis courts.

  Today the look turned Issy’s stomach. And she wondered if Leo was seeing a younger Jillian. If she even knew who Vivienne was.

  “Grammy, it’s not my fault. He took all the money. I’m sorry, so sorry.” Vivienne fell on her knees at her grandmother’s feet. “He even sold our house. We have nowhere else to go.”

  “Guess I’m not the only actress in this family,” Jillian said under her breath.

  “You don’t believe her?” Issy asked.

  “Do you?”

  “Of course you can stay,” Leo said. “We’ll make up the Harbor Room for you. How would that be?”

  Vivienne sniffed, hiccuped, nodded.

  Issy’s fists tightened. Paolo, who had silently watched the show, moved a little closer, ran his thumb down her spine. “Calma, sta’ calma.”

  She sucked in a breath, let it out slowly.

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Leo continued.

  “Hooray,” Griff shouted.

  “Yay!” Mandy echoed.

  “I need a bath,” Vivienne announced, and started toward the archway, Mandy and Griff at her heels.

  Issy started after her. If she thought she could just show up like nothing had happened, she was sorely wrong.

  Jillian beat her to it. “And when you finish your bath we’ll have happy hour. And you can tell us all about what you’ve been doing lately.”

  Issy doubted if anyone missed the subtext of her statement. If Jillian had ever had a Mommie Dearest moment, this was it.

  Vivienne nodded reluctantly and let Leo help her up the stairs.

  “Do you think Leo even knows who she is?” Jillian asked.

  “I have no idea,” Issy said, and left to search for Stephanie.

  Stephanie ran, she didn’t know where, she didn’t care. Her mother was back and she should be happy; she’d been so worried, but now . . . She didn’t want to go back to her life in Guilford. She wouldn’t go back.

  She ran through the woods past the first little cottage. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t go back to the Muses now that she’d lost it in front of everybody. It was too embarrassing. She could only go to Fae’s when Fae was with her. It was part of t
heir bargain.

  Her side started to hurt and there was snot running out of her nose. She wiped her arm across it but she didn’t slow down. Once she tripped on a stone sticking out of the dirt. She barely felt it. She just wanted to be alone. Alone to turn back time. To make it so she would never have to leave the Muses or Grammy or Fae or Issy.

  The pain jabbed in her side and she had to slow down or she was going to throw up. She saw the second cottage through the trees and ran toward it. Collapsed on the step, sucking in deep breaths of air.

  She could live here. Even if Griff and Mandy wanted to go back home, she didn’t. She froze. She heard something inside the cottage. Something being knocked over. A wild animal looking for food. A raccoon or something that might bite—or a psychopath.

  She jumped up, and gripping her side, she started running again. Onward as if her feet knew the way. And they did. She burst onto the meadow just as the sun came out in a blinding light. The little blue flowers had just started blooming and she ran through them, mindless of the harm she was doing.

  She collapsed on her knees just as a huge wail erupted from her throat and she threw herself on the ground and cried until she was too exhausted to breathe. Then she just lay on the ground feeling nothing but that it was the end of her world.

  She must have fallen asleep because the voice came to her through a haze.

  “Why are you so sad, child?”

  Stephanie knew that voice. It sounded like honey and coffee, and old and young. She’d never heard it but she knew it. She lifted her head but she already knew who would be there. He was standing over her, so tall, and strong, his feet planted, his arms crossed. The sun shone behind him, shadowing everything but his silhouette, but she knew him.

  Steph sat up, started to rise, but he stopped her with a gesture.

  “I want to stay here where I belong.”

  He chuckled. “In the meadow?”

  She nodded. “With Grammy, Aunt Fae, and Issy. I’m like them, like you. This is where I . . . I feel like myself. Not in Guilford. None of that makes sense. This does. But my mother came back and she’ll make us leave.”

  “Everyone has to leave eventually.”

  Steph sniffed. “You mean like die? You don’t. Elves don’t die.”

  “Hmm.” His voice was deep but light, like lemon ice and chocolate cake. “In this world they do.”

  “But in the story—”

  “Stephanie Whitaker, you are an important part of this story.”

  “I am?”

  He nodded. “You are a special young woman and I know you are going to do something remarkable with your life.”

  “Can you make it so I can stay here?”

  “No. I myself am moving on.”

  Steph’s lip trembled. “Are you taking Aunt Fae with you?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Then it’s true.”

  “It’s necessary.”

  “I understand. I guess. I’ll miss her.” Her mouth twisted. “I’ll miss you, too.” She thought he stepped toward her, but he stopped.

  “Life is about change. Don’t be afraid. Welcome it. And now, Stephanie Whitaker, I must leave you. Good-bye.”

  “Bye.”

  He stepped out of the light and Steph shut her eyes against the sudden glare. Even when she opened them again it took seconds for her to see more than the black dots left by the sun.

  And when she could see again, she was in the meadow alone.

  Issy kept on the lookout for Steph as she walked across the lawn to the woods. She was sure she must be watching from the trees. Maybe it was shock that had caused her to flee—that flight-or-fight-response thing—but wouldn’t she want to be with her mother? Didn’t she miss her like the two younger children did?

  She took the path through the trees, thankful Steph was wearing red today. It would be easy to spot. She took her time, searching for any bit of color that might betray the girl’s hiding place. It was an old woods, with some brush, but not so thick that it kept the light out.

  She stayed on the path until she reached the fork that led to Fae’s cottage. She wondered if Steph had been there before. If she knew the way. She took that path at a trot but stopped before she came to the clearing. Fae liked her privacy, and with Fae back at the house, Issy didn’t feel comfortable going any closer.

  “Steph! Stephanie, are you there?”

  Nothing. “It’s all right, it’s just me, you can come out.” Issy waited, but Stephanie didn’t appear.

  She turned in a full circle, then retraced her steps until she got to the fork in the path; decided on the second fork and saw one of the old cabins off to the side. Steph had been talking about wanting to live in one of the cottages. Perhaps she already had a special place in one of them just as Issy had so many years before.

  They’d all had names in those days. After the muses. She walked through the brush and climbed up to the tiny porch. Tried to make out the name above the door, but could only make out the faded color of the letters. She knew it spelled out Calliope, muse of epic poetry. It had once been Issy’s kingdom of play. But it looked deserted now. She tried the door. It was locked. All of the cottages must be locked.

  She peered in the window, saw only shadows, the window was stuck shut. She moved on.

  “Steph! Where are you? Please come out. I just want to talk.”

  She walked away from the cabin, wondering how long Vivienne would be in the bath. Issy didn’t want to miss one word of her story. And she had a few questions that she needed answered.

  She tried the next two cabins; both were locked and looked as if they hadn’t been disturbed in ages. Vines even grew over the porch floor of the one called Thalia. One day it might be completely covered in leaves.

  She was getting deeper into the woods and farther from the house and still no sign of Stephanie. There was one more cottage on this side of the main house. She’d check it out but then she’d have to go back. She doubted if Steph would have run this far.

  This cottage was larger than most of the others, set back from the path, with room for chairs and a table and a narrow bed. It was a very popular place to meet.

  She stopped just to look, then she walked up the narrow footpath to the porch. Up the steps, across the floor, and—the door was ajar.

  “Stephanie?” Issy listened; hearing no reply, she tiptoed closer. “Steph?”

  It was all well and good if Steph was really inside, but after having spent years in the big cities of the world, Issy didn’t want to take any chance of stumbling over a squatter or worse.

  She stepped up to the threshold, pushed the door open with her foot. No one came running out. She opened it wider. “Steph, are you in here?” She stepped inside.

  Dust motes floated in the air, caught by the sunlight that radiated down from the skylight in the roof and created a nimbus of light around a wooden easel positioned dead center.

  The smell of turpentine still hung in the air as if someone had finished a painting and gone home to dinner.

  She peered into the corners. No Stephanie. But there were several easels, one holding a half-finished painting. Other canvases sat three or four deep around the perimeter of the room. The center spotlight made the corners murkier, but she could tell that some of the canvases had been painted and some were blank. And sitting on the single chair was a can of turpentine and a tackle box holding tubes of time-hardened paints. Left and for some reason forgotten.

  She leaned down to look at a finished canvas. A painting of the sea and a secluded glade, the light playing impishly through the trees and spilling onto the beach. There was something familiar about it.

  She picked it up and placed it on the easel, peered more closely. Stood back and looked again. Repositioned the easel under the skylight. One side of her brain was seeing one thing, the other denying what she saw. While her gut screamed. OMG.

  There was no mistaking that play of light and dark, those brushstrokes. The subject matter.

  Sh
e was looking at an Adam Ellis painting. She was sure of it. So this is where he had come to paint. There had been whispering about Fae and Adam for years before he died, and for years before that, if you could believe the things people said. He’d married young and stayed married until he drove his car off the bridge.

  But maybe he came here to paint instead of to the conservatory and its diffused light, because it put him closer to Fae. Had they met here in secret? And more importantly. Were there more of these?

  Because suddenly Issy could see a way out of their financial dilemma. If they could be authenticated as real Adam Ellis paintings, they would be worth a fortune. And since the Whitakers were in possession of them, wouldn’t the paintings belong to them?

  She picked up another painting, put it on the easel. Same brushstrokes, light and dark style, and there in the corner was Adam Ellis’s signature.

  Excitement thrummed through her and for a moment she forgot that Steph was out there alone, upset, maybe lost.

  If the canvases really had been painted by Ellis . . . Heavens. But if they were, why had they been left here all those years? It was bad enough that valuable artwork was left in the attic to disintegrate. But out here was little better than a shed.

  How had they survived?

  Her first thought was they hadn’t. That they’d been stolen out of the house or attic and stored here by Vivienne and Dan. But there were a lot of paintings here. Many more than the Whitakers had ever owned.

  There was another explanation for their presence. One she didn’t want to contemplate. That someone else had painted them. That either Dan and Vivienne had hired someone to forge them so they could sell them as originals or that . . . Issy wouldn’t believe the other possibility.

  Fae could draw wonderfully but she only worked in chalk. As far as you know, Issy. And why would Fae do such a thing? To keep closer to his memory? It was possible. Leo sat out by the graves of her husband and her firstborn all the time. Maybe Fae felt closer to Adam painting in his style.

  Surely she hadn’t tried to sell any of them.

  Issy needed to get a second opinion but she didn’t dare. Knowledge of a cache of undiscovered Ellis paintings could create chaos in the art world. And if it turned out they weren’t Ellises, it might implicate someone in her family as a forger. She couldn’t even tell Paolo. She didn’t want to get him in trouble by asking him to be an accomplice.