Identity Crisis

by Eliza Watson

  “Some guy”—Rachel sucked in a gasp of air, then let out a ragged breath—“just came into the gallery with a gun, demanding to see”—another ragged breath—“our stock of paintings in the back. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  Olivia came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the parking lot. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She blew out a calming breath. “The police are here. Plainclothes officers. Told them we need to be discreet or our clients would panic if they discovered what had happened. It’s so bizarre. He had a gun and could have cleaned out the place, but he was looking for specific paintings. Wanted to know what we’d just gotten in this past week, particularly what you’d brought in. I told him it’d been two weeks since we’d gotten anything new in.” She described the guy from the cemetery right down to his limp.

  So this lunatic was looking for paintings. The forgeries to go with the provenances she had?

  “Did he damage any of the paintings?”

  “No.”

  Since he hadn’t sliced any paintings, he likely realized her dad wouldn’t have hidden forgeries behind original paintings that were worth almost as much as the forgeries themselves. If her dad had hidden them at all, it would have been behind low value paintings, like the ones he’d owned.

  So, this guy must realize that if Olivia had found the paintings first, she would have assumed such valuable paintings were forgeries, given her dad’s past. He obviously didn’t know her well enough because she’d destroy forgeries. Well, except the forgeries from the boutique…

  “Hopefully, the security camera got a good shot of him,” Olivia said.

  “Police already checked. His face isn’t visible on camera. He knew the locations and never looked directly into them. Besides, he had on a Panama hat and dark glasses.”

  She told Rachel to close for the rest of the day, and then called Ethan.

  “Where the hell are you?” Ethan asked.

  “I ran by the museum to check on Bella but got a call from Rachel.” She gave him the skinny on the guy showing up at her gallery.

  “Is Rachel okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll send Mike over there to check out the security camera.”

  “The guy was well disguised and never looked in the direction of the camera. He knew what he was doing.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “You’ll be back now.”

  “This guy is still in San Francisco.”

  “I’m not ruling out that he doesn’t have a partner and has figured out about Wisconsin.”

  “All right. I’m on my way.” Right after she checked on Bella.

  She disconnected.

  It would take her twenty minutes tops to swing by Bella’s and make sure she was okay. She pulled Bella’s business card from her wallet and reviewed the directions to her house. While driving along the back country roads, Olivia kept glancing in the rearview mirror, playing I Spy. Nobody was following her since there was nobody behind her, period. But Ethan was right. Although unlikely, the guy could have a partner.

  Bella lived in a large brick house on an acre of mature trees. Thankfully, a thick limb from a maple tree had fallen next to the house rather than on it. When Olivia pulled in the driveway, her gaze locked on the porch, the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck standing at attention.

  The porch from her nightmare.

  Unlike Bella, whose dark hair was now white and green eyes had been dulled a bit by life’s tragedies, the brick porch looked the same with its white wooden swing. Bella walked out the front door, and Olivia’s mind flashed back to her grandma in a long floral dress, crying out Olivia’s name as she was pulled from her arms. It wasn’t only Bella’s cry she heard, but also her own. A haunting cry that sent a shiver up Olivia’s spine.

  Bella waved, and Olivia blinked back to the present, waving faintly. Olivia fought to get a grip on her emotions, taking a calming breath. She stepped from the SUV and walked toward the porch, longing to give Bella a hug and feel her grandma’s arms wrapped around her like they had been that day twenty-four years ago. To ask if she’d also suffered from nightmares all these years. If she remembered Olivia, or if her memories had faded, like Olivia’s had.

  “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Olivia said when she reached the porch.

  Bella smiled. “Well, isn’t that sweet. I’m fine. Much better than my flowers.” The potted snapdragons and marigolds on the porch were history. However, the petunias planted along the front of the house were only slightly wilted.

  “Petunias fared well,” Olivia said.

  “Always do. The secret’s in the fertilizer.”

  Olivia walked up the steps, pausing by the porch swing. She brushed a hand along the arm of the swing, wondering if her mom or Bella had rocked her to sleep on it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “My husband Stan made it for our tenth wedding anniversary. He wasn’t real handy. Took him months to make. Meant more than if he’d gone out and bought one.”

  They stepped inside, and Bella closed the door, sending dust bunnies hopping across the hardwood floor scarred with memories. Folded clothes, books, and other items filled the steps, leaving a narrow path to the upstairs. Stacks of magazines and newspapers occupied a large oak dining table.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Lemonade, iced tea?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  A painting hanging over the fireplace in the living room reeled Olivia in like a fish on the end of Roger’s pole. It was of a woman and a little girl dressed in matching yellow sundresses, dancing in a sunflower field.

  “That’s Andrew Donovan’s wife, my daughter Annie, and their daughter Livvy. Don’t think I mentioned he was my son-in-law.”

  No wonder Olivia had painted her living room walls a golden yellow and Van Gogh’s Sunflowers was one of her favorite paintings. Subconsciously, the flower meant something to her all these years.

  Her dad had obviously been more talented at copying the masters than creating original works. But even though it wasn’t the quality of the paintings in the museum, she liked it much better. The painting still seemed to come to life. She could hear herself and her mom giggling and feel the warmth of the sunshine against her face with her mom’s hands wrapped around hers. The sunflowers swaying in the breeze seemed to be dancing along with them, smiling also. They looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Annie loved sunflowers. Sunflowers and daisies.”

  So her dad hadn’t been lying about daisies being her mom’s favorite flower.

  Bella stared at the painting, deep in thought. “She was his muse.” She didn’t sound bitter toward Olivia’s dad. But she’d had twenty-four years to get over it. Olivia didn’t know how long it would take her to forgive him for committing a crime so detrimental to the art world and, even worse, sending her family into hiding. What if she never did? What if this sick feeling ate away at her forever? She couldn’t imagine how Ethan’s past had eaten him up inside.

  “It’s a beautiful painting.”

  “Yes, it is. I have some others in Annie’s old bedroom.”

  Bella led Olivia up the narrow path on the stairs to a room with pink walls and pink shag carpeting. It was neat and tidy, unlike the rest of the house. Posters of The Mamas & the Papas and other ’60s era bands hung on the walls, along with a partially nude painting of Olivia’s mom.

  She was seated at the white vanity still in the bedroom. Her reflection shown in the mirror; she was brushing her long blond hair over a naked breast, whereas the other was fully exposed. Her gaze had likely been focused on Olivia’s dad behind her, teasing him with her big, green eyes. Olivia had her mom’s eyes, but her dad’s dark hair and olive skin tone.

  “Stan had a fit when I allowed Annie to hang this on the wall.” Bella brushed a loving hand over the painting’s wooden frame. “They were both eighteen when Andrew painted it. Not like she was ten and he was twenty. Stan acted lik
e it was pornography or something. Wouldn’t let Andrew come around for weeks.” She shook her head, a sad look in her eyes. “Anyway, it’s so kind of you to indulge an old lady with her stories, but I’m probably boring you.”

  “Not at all.” Olivia had waited twenty-four years to hear all about her mom. “Did you have any other children?”

  Bella shook her head regretfully, and Olivia could feel the loneliness consuming her. She knew the feeling all too well. She ached to tell her that she was no longer alone. She could swear Bella to secrecy. Her grandma wouldn’t tell anyone her true identity if it meant jeopardizing their safety. She placed her hand against the gold band around her neck, preparing to slip it from beneath her dress’s neckline, revealing she was Bella’s granddaughter.

  Olivia’s phone rang, nearly sending her through the ceiling. She wanted to ignore it, but afraid it was Rachel with news or having a meltdown, she removed it from her purse to find Ethan’s number displayed. He was also likely having a meltdown. “Sorry. I have to take this.” She answered it.

  “It doesn’t take twenty minutes to get from the museum to here,” he said.

  “I’m at Bella Newman’s,” she said with a strained smile. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “You’ll be back now. If you’re not here in ten minutes, I’m coming after you.”

  “It’ll take me twenty. Bye.” She disconnected, then turned off the phone, not wanting to be interrupted while checking out her mom’s bedroom.

  Bella smiled. “He can’t stand being away from you. A sign of true love.”

  Olivia couldn’t imagine Ethan saying the words I love you, let alone being capable of feeling it outside of his aunt. Yet, Olivia had been with Luc almost a year and had never said the words. She’d never said the words to any man, except for her dad on a few rare occasions.

  She removed her hand from the ring, still hidden beneath her dress. Ethan would be furious if she confided in Bella, putting their safety in jeopardy. And he’d be right.

  She walked over to the vanity and picked up a perfume bottle and sniffed it. A faint citrusy scent filled her head. She took another whiff. Smell was supposedly the most powerful evoker of memories. But not even a hint of a memory teased the back of her mind.

  “Please be careful with that.” Bella took a tentative step toward the dresser, as if preparing to snatch the bottle from Olivia’s hand. “It was Annie’s favorite.”

  “I’m sorry.” She gently set down the bottle.

  Bella’s lips, pressed into a thin line, slowly curled into a faint smile. “That’s okay. It’s just that they’ve stopped making it. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to it.” She rubbed a nervous hand over her throat. “She died twenty-four years ago this past May. In a car accident.”

  “A car accident?” Olivia tried not to sound shocked.

  Why had Olivia’s dad claimed her mom died of cancer?

  A sick feeling tossed her stomach. He hadn’t even been honest with her about the cause of her mom’s death.

  A haunted look consumed Bella’s face, which paled even more as she appeared to relive the horror of that day. Olivia walked over and placed a comforting hand on her grandma’s arm. Bella patted Olivia’s hand.

  “I best get back to the museum.”

  Olivia best get back to the cottages before Ethan hunted her down. She’d call and tell him she’d be there soon. But first, she had one final, quick stop to make.

  * * *

  Bella watched Oriana back down the driveway. What a sweet young girl, listening to her stories with such interest. She seemed to really appreciate Andrew’s artwork. Bella glanced into the living room at the portrait of Annie and Livvy. The therapist she’d gone to after Annie’s death had promised the pain would lessen over time, but it hadn’t, at least not much. And Stan’s death merely compounded the pain. She missed them all dearly.

  Oriana probably found it strange that Bella kept Annie’s room the same as it had been when she was in high school. At first, she’d kept it for when Annie would visit from college. Annie moved to Chicago shortly after she got married, and Livvy had come along, so Bella put a crib in the room. As Livvy grew, she liked to dress up in Annie’s clothes and jewelry and play with her pompoms. Annie had taught Livvy several cheers, and she’d skip around the house for hours chanting them.

  “Defense, defense”—Bella clapped her hands together—“we’ll get ’em…we’ll get ’em…” What were the words? She should have written them down. Never dreamed she’d forget them.

  Bella feared she’d forget Annie completely if she packed away her things. Stan had insisted it was unhealthy that she’d kept the room intact all these years. He’d made her take down the sunflower painting over the fireplace and hang it in Annie’s room, since he never went in there. His way of healing had been not discussing his daughter and granddaughter. Bella refused to pretend they’d never existed.

  She and Stan had never been the same after Annie’s death.

  She noticed a thick coating of dust on the fireplace mantel. Before, it would have bothered her that Oriana might have seen it. Her house used to be spotless. Every Saturday morning she’d buffed the wooden mantel with lemon Pledge. She used to scold Annie and Stan when they traipsed mud in on her freshly mopped floors.

  Now, she’d give anything for muddy floors.

  She walked outside and admired her prized pink and purple petunias lining the front of the house. She knelt down and patted the dirt around the flowers. Over the years they’d won her several ribbons at the county fair. Hilda and Margaret were always trying to learn her secret for growing such lovely flowers. She blithely told them the secret was in the fertilizer. She continued patting the dirt.

  Oh my yes, her secret was definitely in the fertilizer.

  * * *

  Olivia sat in the library in front of a microfilm viewer. The front page headline read “Mother and Daughter Killed in Car Crash. Foul Play Suspected.” A photo of a wrecked car in a ditch sent goose bumps crawling across her skin. She rubbed her arms, recalling the nightmare where she was cold and alone until a man scooped her up and carried her off. Sirens played over in her head.

  The nightmare had been about the accident.

  She brushed her hand over the scars on her upper right arm, then rubbed a finger over a thin scar on her head. Her dad had claimed the wounds were from falling through a storm door when she was younger.

  Were the scars the result of the car accident?

  She scanned the article, which reported another set of skid marks made authorities suspect foul play. No mention of the mob, but who else would have intentionally run them off the road? The article was dated a few months before her dad’s trial. Was this why her dad had testified? Revenge against the mob and to protect Olivia? Had the mob merely meant the accident to intimidate her dad and not to kill them?

  No wonder her dad had lied about her mom’s cause of death and refused to talk about it. He’d lived with the guilt of having been responsible for her death. Forgiving her dad for being an art forger seemed minor compared to forgiving him for getting her mother killed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ethan pounded the last nail into the board, then admired his handiwork. A fresh coat of silvery gray paint and the Eiffel Tower would be good as new. He grabbed his T-shirt off the ground and wiped the sweat from his face. It had to be ninety out. He’d throw on a pair of shorts, if it wasn’t for the Glock in the holster strapped around his ankle.

  He glanced down at his watch. It’d been over an hour since Olivia had called and said she had one more stop to make. He’d tried calling her cell a half dozen times and gotten voicemail, and nobody answered at Bella’s house or the museum. He’d hunt her down if he knew where to begin. And sure as shit, he’d leave and a minute later she’d pull in. Losing his last witness had been tough, but it would be nothing compared to losing Olivia.

  It was unlikely whoever was after her had a partner since the guy from the cemetery met Rachel�
��s description, as did the café bomber. He appeared to be working alone, but Ethan didn’t want them to have a false sense of security. He peered out at several canoes and pontoon boats floating lazily across the lake.

  The bomber could be there by midnight.

  Their black SUV pulled into the parking lot, and moments later Olivia stepped from the vehicle. A sense of relief washed over him, and he let out a whoosh of air, feeling like he’d been holding his breath for the past hour.

  Thank God she was safe.

  She walked up, and he grasped hold of her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Don’t ever, ever, do something that stupid again. Do you understand?” She looked frightened and tried to shrug free from his grip. He realized he was grasping her too tightly, and he loosened his hold on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, but I was worried.”

  Her gaze softened, and she nodded faintly.

  “And guess I can’t trust you with the car keys.” He swept his hands down her arms and held out a hand. She dropped the keys in his palm.

  “Bella is just fine, thanks.”

  “I’m glad, but you need to answer your friggin’ phone.” He lowered his voice, since Roger was only four holes away laying a strip of artificial turf down a fairway.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have answered my phone.”

  “Damn straight you should have answered your phone. I’m not losing another witness.” He snapped his mouth shut. Not something he’d meant to admit. It didn’t exactly instill confidence in his abilities.

  Concern creased her brow. “You lost a witness?”

  He exhaled a heavy sigh, staring down at the hammer on the ground, avoiding her gaze. “I was part of the team assigned to guard a witness blown up in the safe house along with Roy. I left my post when I shouldn’t have, and when I returned, he was dead along with the witness, and another marshal was severely injured. I’ll never let down the Service again. Ever.”

  She looked floored by his confession. “Sorry. I won’t run off again. I promise.” She peered out across the lake, a faraway look on her face. “When I was at Bella’s—”