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.