Now, we just needed to find her.
The shops were shuttered against the storm, with only one café open. Constance and I made a beeline for it and stood dripping under the awning.
I peered inside the window. The café carried paintings on the walls—paintings that matched Jennifer Bloom’s. A man in his sixties or seventies sat outside on a stool, smoking a cigar.
“Hello?” I called, crossing to him. “We’re looking for Jennifer Bloom.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.” His accent was thick.
“She painted the pictures inside your café. We were told she lives here.”
“I don’t know,” he said again in a casual voice.
“Is there anyone about who would know?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I made a guess that the locals had been asked not to give away her home address to any strangers on the island. Or maybe he didn’t like giving away information for free. I was considering trying to give him a tip when Constance stepped up behind me.
“This is getting us nowhere,” she whispered.
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.