Faintly she heard his voice and she followed the sound into the hallway, where he and Amy were standing before a black-and-white photograph.
“Maura, come look at this,” said Daniel. “It’s the Piazza San Marco as most people have never seen it. Deserted!”
“I woke up at four a.m. to take that shot,” said Amy. “It was the only time tourists weren’t mobbing it.”
“You took the photo, Amy?” asked Maura.
“We were in Venice for my sixteenth birthday.” She smiled at the image. “That’s the trip that made me love art history. I can’t wait to go back to Italy. Dad says next time, we’ll visit the Uffizi Gallery. I wrote my senior thesis about a painting there, and I’ve never seen it in person.”
“Your dad said there’s a triptych in his study that Daniel might like to see.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. Mom thinks it’s a fake. Maybe Daniel can tell if it’s real or not.”
Amy led them down the hallway and flicked on the light. It took only a glance to see that this study belonged to a doctor. The bookcase was filled with many of the same medical texts that Maura had in her own home office: Harrison’s and Schwartz, Sabiston and Zollinger. The volumes flanked a framed photo of Mike and Julianne in their wedding finery, with little Amy standing between them. She looked about ten years old, a fairy princess with a crown of roses on her short black hair.
“Here’s the notorious triptych,” said Amy, pointing to the painting on the wall. “Mom thinks Dad got ripped off, but the antique dealer in Athens swore it’s a hundred years old. What do you think, Daniel?”
“I’m not expert enough to speak to its age or authenticity,” said Daniel, bending in close to examine it. “But I can identify these saints. They’re iconic figures in the Greek Orthodox church. The female at the center is Theotokos, whom we know as Mary, mother of Jesus. On the left panel, that’s clearly John the Baptist. And on the right panel, based on the design of his robe and collar, it would have to be Saint Nicholas.”
“The Bishop of Myra,” said Amy.
Daniel smiled. “Not everyone knows that the real Santa Claus was Turkish.” He pointed to the bottom corner. “There’s a fragment of text here. Maura, come take a look. You know a little Greek, maybe you can read this.”
Maura moved in for a closer look. “It’s so small. I need a magnifying glass.”
“My dad has one here somewhere,” said Amy, and she turned to the desk. “I think he keeps it in the top—”
Maura heard a loud gasp and turned. Amy stood frozen, her hand pressed to her mouth, staring through the window.
“What is it?” said Maura.
“He’s here.” Amy backed away from the window. “He found me.”
“What?”
Amy turned, wild-eyed, to Maura. “The man from the cemetery!”
Daniel crossed to the window and peered out at the backyard. “I don’t see anyone out there.”
“He was by the tree, looking at me!”
Daniel headed for the door. “I’m going outside.”
“Wait,” Maura called. “Daniel?”
She was right behind him as he ran out the back door, into a night so thick with humidity it was like walking into a wall of steam. Together they stood on the lawn, scanning the darkness. From inside the house came the sound of jazz and the muffled voices of the Antrims’ guests, but outside there was only the chirp of crickets. Maura turned and saw Amy standing in the study window, anxiously watching them.
“There’s no one here,” said Daniel.
“He had time to run.”
“If anyone was here at all.”
She looked at him and said quietly: “You think she imagined it?”
“Maybe she saw her own reflection. Thought she saw someone out here.”
Maura walked across the damp grass and crouched beneath the tree. “Daniel,” she said quietly. “She didn’t imagine it. There was someone here.”
He dropped down beside her and stared at what was clearly pressed into the soil: shoe prints.
She pulled out her cell phone and called Jane.
* * *
—
“A fitting end to a crazy night,” said Jane. “First my mom disarms a man with a gun. And now Amy’s stalker seems to be back.”
“You neglected to mention my triumphant debut on the piano,” said Maura.
“Oh. Yeah.” Jane sighed. “I’m sorry about cutting out of your concert early, Maura. But when I read that text from my mom—”