But she said, “Thanks, Dad,” anyway.
“So, what are the images in the paintings?”
Tess’s stomach tightened. The words caught in her throat as she tried to get them out. “Scenes from Wharton,” she said, her voice wavering just a bit. “Streetscapes at night. There’s a portrait of a woman. And an image of the cliff at night. They’re kind of . . .”
“Kind of what?”
“Disturbing, I guess you’d say.”
“Hmm,” Indigo said. “It’s true Dad could get a little dark. Maybe he was exploring that side of his creativity.”
“Maybe,” Tess said. “And you’ve never seen them before? You didn’t know they were in there?”
“I had no idea, honey,” her father said. “If I had, they’d have been in the safe or sold long ago.”
That made sense. But why would her grandmother have stashed them away? She was going to ask her father, but for some reason, she bit her tongue. Not now. When he was here, in person, and could see them for himself.
“Now,” Indigo began. “You said you had something else to mention.”
Tess cleared her throat. And down the rabbit hole she went. “Okay, you might think this is a strange thing to ask, but, Dad, is this house haunted?”
Her father huffed. “Haunted? No. Not that I know of. I’ve certainly never thought—I mean, sweetie, you know I grew up there.” And then, to Tess’s mother: “Tess thinks La Belle Vie is haunted.” The tone of his voice was one of amusement.
“Haunted?” she heard her mother say. And then laughter.
So, that was how it was going to be, then. Tess understood the subject was closed. Her parents had a certain set way about them. Talk of hauntings, ghosts, or anything unexplainable wasn’t exactly on their roster of acceptable conversation. Another reason to not mention more about her thoughts about the paintings.
So, she chatted with her parents for a bit about other things—doings in Florida, what Eli had been up to, the latest news of the world, something about a bridge tournament they were participating in—and soon they hung up.
Tess pushed herself up from the sofa and wandered over to the window. It looked cold outside. The snow had the sort of bluish hue that always seemed to reflect out on the coldest of days. Not a single car was driving down the streets that Tess could see. It was like Wharton was a ghost town.
She made her way back into the kitchen and turned on the flame under the kettle. Tea sounded like just the thing. And then what?
Tess looked around for Storm. He was usually by her side. But now he was nowhere to be seen. She carried her tea mug up the back stairs, somehow knowing where he would be. She found the dog lying in the hallway outside the still-open door to the studio. Not growling. Not threatening. Just lying there. A sentry.
She peered over his shoulder into the studio. With the paintings gone, it was just a room in disarray.
“What do you think, Storm?” she asked the dog, scratching behind his ears. “Should we clean it up?”
A moment later, she was opening the closet at the end of the hall, at the top of the back stairs. Her family always kept cleaning supplies there for the second floor so they wouldn’t have to haul brooms and dust mops from the kitchen all the way up the stairs.
She grabbed a spray bottle of wood cleaner, a broom, and several bags and started back down the hall. Storm scrambled to his feet and followed her into the studio, where she set about gathering all the bottles, dried paint canisters, papers, and other debris that had been strewn around the room. She made the executive decision to throw away the glasses—many were broken anyway—instead of washing them. It felt a bit unseemly to think of using them again. They had been shut up, out of time, for decades. Who knew what might come from drinking out of them now?
Tess had always been a touch superstitious. She didn’t have a firm belief in things otherworldly, but she was the kind of woman who wanted her bases covered, just in case.
She was finishing sweeping the floor when Storm rushed out of the room and down the back stairs, barking. Then she heard the rapping. Someone was at the back door.
Tess made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen and saw Wyatt’s smiling face peering in through the window.
She opened the door to let him in.
“Hi!” she said. She furrowed her brow at him and cocked her head to the side. “Did we have an appointment today? Am I forgetting something?”
Wyatt smiled. “I’m afraid this is an unauthorized stop-by,” he said. “Do you hate that? I was doing a little job down the block and thought I’d come by to talk about the renovations you want to do in the studio. We could talk over lunch?”