by Amy M. Reade
She laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. “You knew I was there?”
“Not until I got home. I noticed you in a picture I took.”
“That was careless of me.”
“Why were you there?” I asked again.
“I was following you, clearly.”
“But why?”
“To find the painting. I figured you knew where it was, or that you would lead me to it. I figured you had it with you in London, to sell it there, or that perhaps you had sold it to that posh gallery where you spent so much of your time.”
“It wasn’t there.”
“I know that now. So where is it?”
“I told you. I don’t know. What do you want with it?”
“It belongs to me. I am Florian’s heir, and he bought it before he died. That makes it part of his estate and, therefore, mine.”
“Why don’t you wait until the police find it, then claim it? They have to give it to you—it’s yours.”
She shook her head as if she felt sorry for me. “You don’t understand, do you? That painting is worth millions. Do really think I’m going to get it back the conventional way? No. If I don’t find that painting myself, I’m never going to see it.”
“We don’t have it, and we don’t know where it is.”
“You see, Sylvie, I don’t believe you. That husband of yours is no stranger to bad behavior. Do you think I don’t know he’s spent time in prison? Do you think I believe he could keep his felonious hands off a priceless work of art?”
Instinctively, my anger flared up. How dare she talk about Seamus like that.
“Seamus would never do such a thing,” I told her hotly. “He’s a good and honest man.” At least when it came to art.
She laughed, the sound erupting from her throat like a bark. “Ha! No one, let alone an artist living in the wilds of Scotland, can resist the historical importance of that painting and the money it would bring. Not Seamus, not anyone.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, my fists clenched at my sides.
“It would have been so easy for him to take the painting after Florian left. He could have tampered with Florian’s car whilst Florian was in the shop—it would have taken only a minute—then followed him, waiting for the inevitable. When Florian went off the road, Seamus could have taken the painting and disappeared before anyone knew Florian lay dying on some back road in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was here with him all evening, and he stayed here after Florian left, that’s how.”
“But how do I know you’re telling the truth?”
I paused. I didn’t really have an answer for that. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. It’s the truth. You’re stuck with it.” I couldn’t believe the strength of my desire to defend Seamus from Alice’s attack.
She advanced toward me and I stepped backward. “You need to leave, Alice, or I’ll call the police.”
“And what will you tell them? That you have a customer in your store who’s asking questions?”
“I’ll tell them there’s a deranged woman in my store who’s threatening me and won’t let me leave.”
“I haven’t threatened you at all, Sylvie. You wouldn’t lie to the police, would you?”
“Your very presence is threatening. Now go. Get out of here.”
“I will, as soon as you tell me where the painting is.”
“I don’t know!” I yelled, exasperated. “What’s it going to take to get you to believe me? And how do I know this isn’t all a ruse to throw suspicion from yourself? How do I know you don’t have the painting?”
That gave her pause, but only for a moment. She cocked her head and gave me a hard look. “Do you really think I’d come all the way up to this godforsaken place just to make you think I didn’t have the painting?”
“I don’t know,” I said again. “Would you?”
She pushed past me and craned her neck to look around the shop. “If we had the painting, Alice, we certainly wouldn’t hang it up in here.”
That was the wrong thing to say. She barged into the studio and started rummaging through Seamus’s unfinished paintings. “Maybe it’s in here, then.”
“Alice, I won’t tell you again to get out.” I started making my way toward my phone. But Alice was quicker than I. In two steps, she had reached my photography table and snatched my phone in her hand.
“You can’t tell me what to do. Not when you have stolen property. Now where is your big lout of a husband?”
“He’s not here.”
“I figured,” she said with a smirk. “He would have come to rescue his damsel in distress by now if he were. I asked where he was.”
“I don’t know.”
She studied me for a moment. “Why do I get the feeling you’re finally telling the truth?”
I was silent.
Her short laugh was loud in the silence of the studio. “Did he leave you? That’s a hoot! What did you do?”
It only took me a moment to turn around and run for the door. Alice must have been startled by my sudden movement, because she didn’t follow me right away. I was outside before she reached the door. It probably wasn’t the smartest choice, because she locked the door behind me and had the shop, the studio, and our cottage to herself while I fumed outside, having left my keys indoors.
I banged on the windows of the shop. “Alice! Open the door!” But when I peered through the glass she had disappeared, no doubt to rifle through the entire house looking for something that wasn’t there.
I looked up and down the lane in front of Gorse Brae and saw no one. Almost without thinking, I ran to the potter’s shop and burst through the front door.
The potter, an older gentleman with thin white hair and thick glasses, blinked at me in surprise. “What can I do for ye, Mrs. Carmichael?” he asked.
“Is Eilidh here?”
“Nay. She’ll be coming in a wee bit later.”
“Thanks.” I turned and fled out the door, no doubt leaving the potter to wonder what on earth was going on. I ran all the way to Eilidh’s house and banged on the front door. Eilidh opened the door, a look of shock on her face.
“Sylvie! What’s wrong? Come in, come in.” She took my arm and led me inside, where Seamus was sitting at the kitchen table. He stood up quickly when he saw me.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“Alice. She’s in the shop. She’s locked me out and I’m sure she’s ransacking the place. She’s looking for the Leitch painting,” I explained breathlessly.
“But the painting isn’t there! We have no idea where it is!” Seamus exclaimed unnecessarily.
“I know that, but she doesn’t believe it. She’s convinced you orchestrated the whole accident to kill Florian and take the painting.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
“Honestly, Seamus! We’re wasting time! Please just do something to get her out of there. She’s daft.”
He bolted through the door and up the lane toward Gorse Brae. Eilidh and I followed behind. He could certainly move quickly for his size.
When Eilidh and I reached Gorse Brae Seamus was out front, banging on the shop window as unsuccessfully as I had.
“Can you see her in there?” I called to him.
“Nay.”
Eilidh pulled her mobile phone out of her back pocket dialed quickly. She hung up just a moment later and said, “The constable’s on his way.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You two stay out front and watch for her to leave. I’m going around back,” Seamus said.
He jogged away but returned after just a few moments. “She’s gone. She must have left through the back door, because it’s wide open.” He shook his head ruefully. “She can’t have gotten too far,” he said, then looked at me. “What kind of car was she driving?”
“There was no car out front this morni
ng when I opened up. I remember checking specifically. She walked in right behind me as soon as I unlocked the door, so she must have been hiding in the shrubs.”
“So the car must have been hidden on a nearby lane,” he said, rubbing his chin. Just then, the constable drove up and joined the three of us in front of Gorse Brae.
“What happened?” he asked.
I told him about Alice’s appearance a short while before. “And now she’s gone,” I concluded. “I didn’t see what she was driving.”
“What was she wearing?” the constable asked.
“Typical Alice. She looked a wee bit out of place. Peasant blouse, long trousers, brogues, a fedora.”
“I’ll radio the information, but it’ll be pretty hard to find her if we don’t know what she’s driving.”
Alice was gone and they weren’t going to find her—she had gotten too much of a head start. I suddenly realized she had been holding my phone when I left. “Seamus, did you go inside around back?”
“Nay. Why?”
“I’m hoping she left my phone behind. She was holding it when I ran out.”
“Can we go in?” Seamus asked the constable.
“Aye, but let me go first.” Seamus, Eilidh, and I followed him around the back of the house. The door stood wide open; he pushed it with his foot and peered around the edge of the door. Apparently there was no one inside, so he went in and we followed closely behind.
He methodically checked each room in the small cottage. Alice had done little damage in her search for the painting, if in fact she had searched at all. No drawers were open, no closet contents spilled on the floor. When we went in to inspect the shop and the gallery and the studio, we found them in much the same condition. She had pulled a few drawers open on Seamus’s table, but the items inside were still stacked neatly, just the way I had left them when I had searched the table earlier in the day. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had put everything back as I had found it before Alice came in. Otherwise, Seamus would suspect that Alice went through his belongings and I would feel compelled to admit I had been the culprit. But I felt no such compulsion as long as no one knew the contents of the table had been touched.
My phone was on the floor near my work station. The screen was cracked; she had probably dropped it in her haste to get out of the cottage once I left. Seamus picked it up and handed it to me. “We’ll get you a new phone, don’t worry,” he said, looking me in the eyes.
“That’s okay. Maybe this one still works.” I didn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t want him to be nice to me. I wanted to stay furious with him.
The constable asked me to sit down with him in the kitchen and give a more complete statement about what had happened, and I was happy to oblige. Now that the ordeal was over, I was starting to feel shaky. I had no idea what the woman was capable of—for all I knew I was lucky to be alive. He asked several detailed questions about Alice’s appearance and her personality. I told him she was a bit odd. I explained that I had met up with her a couple times in London and that she had followed me on at least one occasion.
After promising to have local police remain on the lookout, the constable left to write up a report. Eilidh and Seamus remained at the cottage and I fixed tea for all of us.
“Do you think she really doesn’t know where the painting is?” Eilidh asked.
“She certainly seemed serious about finding it,” I declared. “She’s so strange. Each time I met her in London she did something bizarre or out of character. I came away from each meeting realizing I really didn’t know her at all.”
Seamus was giving me an arch look. “Just how many times did you meet with Alice in London?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.
It was then I realized I hadn’t told Seamus about the second time I had seen Alice, and he still didn’t know she had followed me to Westminster Abbey.
“Um, I guess…just twice,” I stammered.
“But you only told me about one time.”
“Yes.”
“So you lied.”
“No I didn’t.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “All right then, but you deceived me.” He gave me a pointed look.
I remained silent. The meaning of what he was saying wasn’t lost on me.
Eilidh broke the uncomfortable silence. “Are you going to stay here, Seamus?”
“I dinnae know.” He glanced at me. “I think I should.”
“Why?” I asked.
“What if she comes back? You don’t ever want to be alone with her again, do you?”
“No, but I doubt very much she’ll be back. Besides, Mum will be back soon. And so will Felix and Chloe. We’ll all be here. You should go back to Eilidh and Callum’s for now,” I finished in a low voice.
Eilidh looked at me sadly. “Sylvie,” she began.
“What?” There was a challenge in my look.
“Nothing. Seamus is welcome to stay at our house, of course.”
When the silence became too long, Eilidh and Seamus left. I watched them walk slowly down the front path. Seamus’s shoulders drooped.
A tiny part of me wanted to call him back, to turn back the clock to the way things were before I knew about the money and Rose. Was it better to know the truth, or had I been better off in ignorance of Seamus’s first wife?
CHAPTER 15
When Mum returned I didn’t mention Alice’s visit. She asked why I was so quiet and said I appeared nervous, but I blamed it on the situation with Seamus. She seemed to accept that explanation, though I wondered if she really believed me.
When Chloe returned she wasn’t as accepting. “What’s the matter?” she asked in a quiet voice, drawing me into the studio so Mum couldn’t hear us.
I didn’t want to alarm her with my tale about Alice, so I lied to her, too. “It’s Seamus. I’m just upset about the whole thing.”
She looked at me askance. “I’m sure that’s true, but I have a feeling it’s more than that. When I left here this morning you were angry. Now you seem scared. I know you’re not scared of Seamus, so what’s up?”
I couldn’t keep lying to my friend. “It’s Alice,” I whispered. “I don’t want Mum to know, so please don’t say anything.” I went on to tell her about Alice’s visit. She was shocked.
“And the police are out looking for her, right?” she asked with alarm. “She can’t be allowed to bully and scare you like that.”
“The constable said he would put out a bulletin, but no one saw the type of car she was driving. She didn’t park anywhere near Gorse Brae, so when she left through the back door she could have gone in any direction, maybe to a waiting car.”
“Could someone have been waiting for her?”
“Definitely. But I wouldn’t know who to tell the police to look for.”
“I don’t think Felix and I should leave yet,” she said, her face wrinkled with worry. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’ll be fine,” I waved my hand dismissively, trying to reassure her. “Mum’s here, and Seamus isn’t far away if I need him.”
“He wasn’t here when Alice showed up,” she said pointedly.
“But I went to get him, and it only took a minute,” I replied, hoping she would drop the subject. The truth was that I wanted Chloe and Felix to stay, but I knew they had to get back to London. They couldn’t rearrange their lives for me. I needed to summon the courage I would need to live at Gorse Brae without Seamus, without my mother, without my friends.
“Let me talk to Felix when he gets back,” she said.
My head was aching. Rather than work through the pain I took some medicine and let Mum watch the shop and the gallery while I rested on the air mattress. The only positive result of my friends’ departure would be to have my own comfortable bed back. I could at least look forward to that.
When I woke up an hour later, Seamus had been and gone. Mum told me he had come to retrieve some of his painting supplies—and he had told her about Alice’s vi
sit. I silently cursed him for making her worry.
“You should have told me,” Mum scolded. “I wouldn’t know anything if it weren’t for Seamus. He’s worried about all of us in the cottage with Alice on the loose.”
“If you’re suggesting that I ask him to come back, I can’t do that,” I replied.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Mum said. “I’m just telling you what he said. He said he’s worried.”
“So am I,” I admitted. “But if Seamus and I split up, I’m going to have to get used to being on my own. I can’t go running to him every time I’m scared of something.”
“Don’t you think it’s a wee bit too soon to be talking about splitting up?” she asked gently.
My head and shoulders drooped. “I don’t know what to think,” I told her in a plaintive voice. I hated to hear that tone coming from my own mouth. “I just can’t imagine having him back here right now. He lied to me, Mum. It was a pretty big lie.”
“You’re right,” she conceded. “But maybe he’s paying for it now. It’s not as if he had an affair.”
“I know that, but he has been involved with another woman since we’ve been married, even if it wasn’t a romantic relationship. And he deceived me about it.”
“What would you have said if he had told you?”
“I honestly don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I think it matters. If you would have reacted with screaming and threats to kick him out, then it’s no wonder he didn’t tell you. He would have been afraid of your reaction.”
“Seamus? Afraid?” I let out an ugly laugh. “He’s never been afraid of anything in his whole life!”
Mum continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “On the other hand, if he thought you’d react with understanding, he might have been willing to discuss it with you.”
As much as I hated to admit it, Mum had a point. Was it possible Seamus had wanted to talk to me about Rose for a long time, but apprehension over my reaction stopped him? Was I really that much of a shrew?
But that didn’t excuse his behavior. I still had a right to know how much he made and where the money was going. Married people talked to each other. Married people shared things with each other. And if Seamus thought I was being a shrew, he should have talked to me about it.
