All the works looked so familiar to her, as though she had seen them before. Tess’s skin began to crawl when she realized why.
Her dreams.
These were scenes from the dreams she’d been having over the past several nights. Walking down the dark streets of Wharton.
Could it be? Tess ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. It couldn’t be. That was silly. She looked closer and thought back to the images that had run through her mind on previous nights.
There was the house where she had looked into the window. There was the woman she had followed. There was the cliff she had peered over. The crumpled mass she had seen in the dream was not in the painting, but she was certain it was the same location.
In her dream of the woman in the paisley robe, she hadn’t seemed afraid. Not then. But in the painting, it was clear. She was not a willing subject for the artist.
What was this? What was happening?
All at once she felt cold. It was as though the temperature in the room dropped in an instant. She breathed out and could see her breath wafting through the air.
Tess called for Storm, and the two of them bolted out of the studio. She slammed the door behind them and shoved the steamer trunk across the threshold. She stacked her “alarm items” on top of it and stood there for a moment, trying to quiet her racing heart.
The light in the studio went dark.
Tess hurried down the hallway to her room, Storm at her heels. She shut the door behind her and pushed her dresser in front of it for good measure.
She took a sip of water and slipped under the covers. Storm didn’t hop up on the bed with her. Instead, he curled up in front of the door. Tess glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Four thirty. There would be no more sleep, that was for sure. She grabbed the television remote and turned to a local channel for the early morning news. Anything to get her mind off what had just happened—or hadn’t happened—in the studio.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tess opened her eyes. Light was streaming in around the blinds in her bedroom, and a game show was on the TV. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Almost eight thirty. Somehow, she had fallen back to sleep, and Storm was curled up at her feet.
She reached down and scratched Storm around the ears. “Is it time to go out?” He jumped off the bed and stood at the door in response.
Tess pulled on jeans, a sweater, and socks and slipped into her bathroom to run a brush through her hair. She splashed some water on her face and held the towel to it for a long minute, shaking her head.
What had happened last night?
Tess shoved the dresser away from her door and opened it, following the dog toward the back stairs. She looked over her shoulder at the door to the studio. Her makeshift alarm was still intact. She needed to get somebody here today to put a lock on that door.
After a brisk walk with Storm—the temperature was creeping up from below zero—she filled his food and water bowls and brewed herself a pot of coffee. She poured a steaming mug and added a splash of cream, sank into the armchair by the kitchen fireplace, picked up her phone, and dialed.
“Honey!” her mother said. “How’s everything in Wharton?”
“Good, Mom,” Tess said, her voice catching in her throat. How she wished her parents were here with her now. No matter how old she got, she would still be their daughter. At this moment, she needed the sense of parental protection that she was lucky enough to have felt all her life. “Is Dad around? I have a couple of questions about the house.”
“Indy!” Tess heard her mother call out. “It’s Amethyst. For you.”
A moment passed. And then: “Sweetheart!”
“Hi, Dad,” Tess said, all at once melting into his little girl again. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes.
“Your mom and I have been out walking on the beach this morning,” her father said. “I’m sorry about that. I hear you’re still in the deep freeze in Wharton.”
Tess chuckled. “I just got back from a walk myself, and yes, we’re still below zero,” she said. “But it felt good. Especially after the night I had last night.”
She winced. There it was. No going back now, but she was unsure of how to broach this subject with her father. What did one say? She wished he were here to view the paintings for himself.
Indigo Bell was silent for a moment, reading his daughter’s tone more than her words, as he had always done. “What’s the matter, honey? Did something happen?”
Tess took a sip of her coffee. “Dad, I had the door to the back room opened yesterday,” she said, slowly.