by Anni Taylor
I turned, walking a short distance back with her to get out of earshot of the man. “So what do we do? Go door knocking?”
“Why don’t we just go find her ourselves?” She marched off straight into the squall.
I grinned in spite of myself, following her. She could have taken one of the paths that led to the houses along the level land near the shoreline, but she didn’t. She immediately began climbing the rocky hill that led straight up.
Rivulets of water ran from my forehead down my face and into my collar. “What made you decide she lives up here?”
“She’s an artist,” said Constance, raising her voice against the hard patter of rain. “She’d want the best view, not convenience.”
There were forty-odd houses on this side of the hill, their bright-white exteriors defeating the gloom. Curtains moved aside as we reached the top. Two determined sightseers on this small island was probably not a common sight. We were bringing attention to ourselves, but we didn’t have much choice.
“Every house here looks exactly the same,” I said. Worse, we’d only seen it from the inside looking out.
You’d better have a business sign out in front of your house, Jennifer Bloom.
I prowled ahead, looking closely at every house that could be the one, mentally trying to flip it and figure what the landscape aspect would be like from the inside.
But it was Constance who stood looking at a house that looked similar to the others, turning back to me and nodding. “This is it.”
I stopped, puzzled. “How do you know?”
“In one of the paintings, the window sill is painted deep blue. And there was a little collection of animal statues on the sill.”
I stared at her for a moment, trying to remember. I’d noticed the bay and the boats and the architecture, but not any set of windowsill statues. “Okay, lead the way.”
The walkway to the house was up a heap of slippery stone steps. There was no guarantee that she’d be home or, if she was, that she’d answer the door. We could spend hours waiting it out.
Constance knocked, a gentle tap that I could barely even hear. Reaching over her shoulder, I rapped hard.
The door opened.
I sucked in a breath of wet air, relieved.
A slight woman about Constance’s age stared out at us, her blue eyes intense, light-brown hair back in a ponytail. “Come in. You’ll get washed into the bay if you stay out there any longer.”
“We’re—” Constance started.
“I know who you are,” she said. “I’m Jennifer. I’m the person you’re looking for, right? Well, you found me.”
She stood back and let us into the wood-panelled hallway. “Let me take your coats. And I’ll put a towel down for your shoes and socks.”
A couple of minutes later, we were standing barefoot in her small living room. The interior was simple and fresh looking, with knickknacks crowded in everywhere.
I caught a distant view of the ocean through the window—the same view as in the painting. “Rico and Petrina told you about us?” I asked, curiously.
She crossed her arms tightly. “They told me to leave the island. I know they felt really bad they’d given information about me away.”
“They didn’t give it away,” I told her. “We figured it out.”
A tense look entered her eyes, and I could guess that she was running scenarios through her head, trying to establish whether or not she should send us packing. It was true that we posed a danger to her.
Instinctively, Constance padded across the room in her bare feet to pick up a tiny ceramic cat from the windowsill. “I love these.”
“They belonged to my parents,” said Jennifer, “and my grandmother and great-grandmother before that. Not much of an heirloom, I guess, but they’re very special to me.”
Constance replaced the cat more carefully than she’d picked it up. “I’d love to have something like this handed down to me. So much family history. So many precious memories.”
Jennifer raised her eyebrows. “Can I get you two a hot drink? Coffee or tea?”
Constance and I both asked for coffee, and Jennifer left for the kitchen. “Come through,” she called.
We followed Jennifer’s path to a surprisingly large kitchen. Half the wall space was of stone and the rest of blue-painted plasterboard. Everything old but well cared for. A wide archway led to a studio filled with paintings. There were three easels with paintings in progress. Almost all of the work was of ocean scenes.
I took a sip of the home-brewed coffee. It tasted especially good after being out tramping about in the storm. I nodded my head towards the studio. “Are they all of this island, Jennifer?”
“Yes, mostly. I sell them on a few different islands around here. The tourists don’t know the paintings are of Sikinos. They don’t care either, I suppose. It’s the mood they’re after.”
Chewing my lip, I decided to start the conversation that I’d come here for. “Rico and Petrina must have told you we’re after some information.”
Jennifer didn’t bat an eye. “Then you have a problem. I have nothing to talk about. I live in the here and now. See my paintings? Every day I paint what I see—how the bay looks in the different seasons and time of day. There is nothing else.”
I felt my jaw and throat muscles tightening. “I’m not sure I believe you. You stayed in Greece all this time for a reason.”
“Look around you,” she said, “and you’ll know why I’m here. Well, look on a day when it’s not storming. It’s beautiful. And I was raised in Greece from an early age. It’s my home.”
Cold disappointment rose inside my stomach. “Is that why you saw us today? So that you could tell us that and get rid of us?”
“I don’t have anything of interest to tell you. I’m sorry, I just thought you should know that. You could waste a long time in Greece waiting to talk to me. I made it easy for you.”
“We appreciate it,” Constance said before I could reply. “We can’t afford to waste any time. My daughter is just a teenager. I need to find her.”
Jennifer turned to look outside the kitchen window. “I’m sorry about your daughter.”
Constance exchanged quick, wary glances with me. I guessed she was telling me to keep my mouth zipped. I was pressing too hard.
“We have a few people we can try next,” Constance told Jennifer. “There’s a trafficking expert who’s agreed to meet with me.”
Jennifer’s hands closed firmly around her coffee cup. “Trafficking? Is that what you think happened to her?”
Constance gave an uncertain nod. “Everything else is leading to a dead end. All of these things about an ancient order are all very interesting, but I can’t imagine it could have survived all this time. There’s probably just some thin connection.” Twisting around, she peered into the art studio. “What you said about the seasons—I can see it so clearly in your work. You’ve captured the light beautifully. So calming. I wish I could take half a dozen home with me. But my husband is an art collector, and he only hangs the pictures that he thinks will be a good investment.” She flinched, as if startling herself. “Oh, I didn’t mean that yours wouldn’t be. I just meant that—”
Jennifer smiled for the first time since she’d invited us in. “You meant that he only buys the paintings of well-known artists. Not a no-name woman in a tiny Greek village who only paints in order to earn a living. It’s okay. I’m not offended. That’s exactly what I am, and I don’t aspire to be any more than that.”
“You have far more talent than what you’re admitting to.” To embolden her point, Constance took her coffee and strode into the studio. She stepped about, examining the pictures. “Your brushstrokes are lovely. I’ve learned a lot about painting techniques through my husband.” Bending, she looked through one of the three racks of pictures, each rack holding at least twenty. Jennifer must output a serious amount of work.
Constance stopped still when she reached the last of the paintings on the rac
k. I craned my head and caught sight of paintings of an olive-skinned, wiry man in a boat and diving underwater, and others of a pasty-skinned young man staring directly out from the canvas.
Looking back at Jennifer, Constance frowned. “These are incredible. Who are they?”
“The man is just someone I know. A friend. And the other pictures are of my brother,” Jennifer said, her expression growing rigid again.
I remembered her brother as being the one who’d disappeared. Noah. I wanted to jump in and start asking questions, but I held back. Constance was managing to do what I couldn’t—get a dialogue going with Jennifer.
“Your friend is beautiful. And your brother’s eyes . . .” Constance shook her head. “So soulful and expressive.”
“He was troubled,” Jennifer admitted. “I didn’t understand that at the time, because he was so much older than me. But I understand it now.”
“Yes, I can see the pain on his face.” Constance turned back to the picture. “It almost hurts to look at him.”
“My brother was a drug addict and a gambler. Noah would put a bet on anything. When he was working—which wasn’t that often—he’d put all his money through the slot machines. My parents kept bailing him out, and then he’d tumble straight back into the pit . . .” Her voice trailed away. “Noah wanted a big life. He wanted to do everything and go everywhere. But he didn’t seem to be able to get to the first rung. I’d wake sometimes in the small hours when he’d stumble home. And he’d be full of chat about his latest business idea or a girl who was the love of his life. He spoke to me like I was an adult. I didn’t mind. But nothing lasted with Noah. Not even Noah himself . . .”
“He sounds like a lot of young men who lose their way. I had a boyfriend a lot like that, once,” said Constance. “His name was Otto. But then, it’s true that I also lost my way back then.” Gliding the rack back into place, Constance returned to the kitchen. “Those paintings of Noah are so different to your paintings of Greece. It’s hard to believe the same person painted them.”
“Now you know,” said Jennifer in a flattened voice. “That’s the person behind the sunshine and fluffy clouds. A blank canvas is a thing of terror. I tackle that terror anew each and every day, and I never know what I’ll put down on that canvas.”
“The sunshine and clouds mostly win?” Constance offered a smile.
“Yes,” Jennifer agreed. “They mostly win the fight.”
“You’re a survivor.” Constance sucked her lips in, her eyes sad. “I hope I can have your strength, because I’m going to need it. Can I show you a picture of Kara? She’s my daughter.” Without hesitating, Constance drew out one of her laminated photos from her handbag. “This is her.”
At first, Jennifer put up a hand like she was going to refuse to look, but she relented and took the picture. “She’s a pretty girl.”
“She was last seen with a man named Carlisle,” said Constance with a bitter tone in her voice.
A flicker of recognition seemed to pass through Jennifer’s eyes, but she quickly adjusted her expression. I swallowed, still holding back.
Constance hadn’t even asked Jennifer if she could begin this conversation. She’d burrowed in through another route, and it’d worked. So far. Constance, despite all her uptight nervousness, had some surprisingly steely stuff inside her. I made a guess that if she got past her anxiety, she’d be a dangerous person to have as an opponent.
“And Gray has pictures of his wife and family.” Constance indicated towards me.
Grateful for the cue, I wasted no time in pulling out my wallet and flipping it open in front of Jennifer. “That’s Evie. And Willow—she’s four. And Lilly—she’s the baby.”
“Cute family,” Jennifer said. “The little one is adorable.”
“Not always. She’s got us all under her thumb.” I gave a rueful laugh. “She was really sick just before I left. The doctors finally found out what she’s got. It’s cystic fibrosis.”
Jennifer frowned sympathetically. “That’s harsh.”
“Yeah. Evie doesn’t even know.” Out of nowhere, everything hit me fresh, like a punch to the stomach. I put my wallet away, turning and staring hard through the window, my vision blurring.
I decided to stay quiet again and allow Constance to handle the conversation with Jennifer. And I didn’t trust myself to speak right now. It was like Evie was right there in front of my eyes.
“Rico and Petrina told me what brought you two to Greece,” said Jennifer.
“We’re determined to keep going until we find Kara and Evie,” said Constance.
“I’m sure they told you about the dangers?”
“Yes. And I can tell they’re very worried about you.”
“They needn’t worry about me. I’ve looked after myself for a long time.”
“But they do. Like all parents. I know they aren’t your biological parents, but I could tell that as far as they’re concerned, you’re their daughter.”
“Yes. Rico and Petrina made a life choice not to have children. And then they got me.” She laughed wryly.
“They couldn’t have sounded prouder of you.”
“They’re Greek. They’re proud of everything.” But she couldn’t hide the small smile on her lips.
Constance returned a warm smile. “We don’t want to cause them any worry in us being here. I know you want answers about what happened to Noah, and we want answers, too.”
“But I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Jennifer said. “People just . . . vanish sometimes. And they never come back. That’s how it is.”
Constance didn’t waver. “I don’t believe you’ve accepted that.”
Jennifer’s shoulders collapsed inward, and she cradled her coffee mug to her chest, her expression suddenly changed. “I expect to die doing what I’m doing. Is that what you want for yourselves? Gray, you’ve got two young daughters. And Constance, you have your husband. You should both go home to them while you still can.”
“I can’t,” I said, breaking my spell of silence. “I can’t do that without knowing I did everything in my power to bring the girls’ mother back to them. And, anyway, if I go home, my girls will lose me anyway. I’ll be arrested for my wife’s murder. Didn’t Rico and Petrina tell you about that?”
“Yes, they did. You were set up. I was forgetting. Setups are a classic move on the part of the Saviours.”
“They’ve done that kind of stuff before?” I asked her, exhaling a tense breath. “Framing people?”
“Yes, but not usually. Framing people is messy. They generally choose to kill the ones who pose a risk to them. Rico and Petrina don’t know about any of this except what happened to my parents and Noah. You mustn’t tell them.”
“Well, they know about us now.” I rubbed my jaw, thinking hard. “Look, if you’re still looking for Noah—and I think you are—you should team up with us. Maybe it’s time you stopped going this alone. It won’t help Noah if you wind up dead.”
“I don’t think my brother is still alive, Gray.”
I tried to adjust to this new piece of information without showing my surprise. “You don’t?”
“No. It’s been far too long. But I need to know what happened to him, and I need the people responsible brought to justice. If I don’t kill them myself, that is. I’m quite sure that the only reason they’ve left me alone is because I was a child when my brother disappeared. All trails had gone completely dead and cold by the time I was old enough to continue my parents’ search. The Saviours don’t realise that I never let go of Noah. They know I’ve made some investigations over the years, but they don’t know how much I know or how tenacious I am.”
“Sounds like you’re their worst enemy,” I said.
“I am. And to continue, I need to stay beneath their radar. I can’t join with you. I’ll become too visible. I’m close to finding out where and who, and I can’t risk outsiders giving my game away.”
Constance leaned forward on the kitchen bench, a determ
ined look set fast in her eyes. “But what if we know things you don’t? We didn’t tell Rico and Petrina all that we’ve discovered.”
I knew that Constance was mostly bluffing. We’d barely found out anything. We needed Jennifer far more than she needed us.
Jennifer hesitated for a moment, setting her cup down rigidly on the bench, her head bent.
I was quick to wipe the shock from my face when she nodded.
58. CONSTANCE
BUNDLING A TOWEL AROUND MYSELF, I stepped from the shower. I was a little plumper than I had been when I left my home in the States, my hips not quite so angular. I hadn’t been watching what I ate at all. I’d have to correct that when I got back home.
If I ever got back home.
Jennifer had generously offered her house to Gray and me to stay in. She’d sent us off to have hot showers, and I was immensely grateful. I’d been hot and sticky beneath my damp clothing.
I padded down the hall, making a right-hand turn into the small area that led to my room. The door to Jennifer’s room lay open, a steamy breeze drifting in through sheer, fluttering curtains. The storm had ended abruptly while I was in the shower. The sunshine and fluffy clouds of Jennifer’s paintings had returned. I took a quick peek into her room from the doorframe. Her bedroom furnishings, like the rest of the house, were simple. Whitewashed wood, clean lines. One of her paintings hung on the wall over her bed. The blues, greens and yellows were exactly right. You could feel the warmth radiating from the canvas. Hear the rustle of the swaying branches and the slap of waves against the fishing boats.
I gasped as a figure appeared at Jennifer’s window. A man. Naked. Climbing in backwards over the sill. His hair wet and body damp.
My scream sounded like a squawk as I stumbled back. “Jennifer! Someone’s breaking into your house!”
Gray had already jumped into the shower seconds after I’d left the bathroom. He wouldn’t hear.
Jennifer rushed into the hallway and peered in at the man standing in her room. He’d grabbed a sheet and had it wrapped around his middle.
“No, it’s just . . . Sethi.” She smiled.
