If Joe had any information about this woman, who she was, or what—if anything—had happened to her, the mystery might be solved. As easy as that. As she carried the paintings from the drawing room to the kitchen, Tess hoped that Joe would recognize her and say she had lived a good, long life. But somehow, she knew that simply wouldn’t be the case.
Back in the kitchen, Tess set the paintings against the wall, facing out.
“Pop,” Wyatt said. “We’re wondering if you know who this gal is. The woman in the portrait.”
Joe squinted at the image for a moment that seemed to drag on forever. It was as though the house itself were holding its breath, listening.
“Why, yes,” he said, finally, nodding. “I believe I do know her. That’s Daisy. Daisy Erickson.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Wyatt and Tess locked eyes. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Wyatt said, “Do you remember anything about her?”
“You bet I remember,” Joe said, looking closer at the painting. “She was a schoolteacher. And a friend of your mother’s.”
Wyatt’s mouth dropped open. “Mom knows the woman in this portrait?”
Joe nodded. “They were great friends. All throughout school.”
Tess squinted at the painting to get a better look. She had assumed the woman was a contemporary of her grandfather’s. From his era. Joe’s era. But Joe was telling them this woman, Daisy, was much younger. Her parents’ age.
That shone a whole new light on things.
“Is she still here in Wharton?” Tess asked, raising her eyebrows. “She might like to see this painting by the great master.” Maybe this whole mystery would evaporate into thin air, just like that.
But Joe shook his head. “No, Daisy has been gone from here for a long time. Decades, I think. Kathy was upset when she left.”
“Oh,” Tess said, drawing out the word. “Do you know where she went? The Twin Cities, maybe?”
Joe looked off into the past. He shook his head. “That, I couldn’t tell you,” he said.
“What about this one?” Tess said, pointing to the second painting. “Is that her, too? Daisy? And her husband?”
Joe looked closely at the second painting. “You know, I think it is. That looks like old Frank right there.” He pointed to the dour, angry figure depicted in the living room.
The old man turned to Tess and Wyatt then, a look of confusion on his face. “What a funny thing for Sebastian to paint. It’s not a very happy scene, is it?”
No indeed, thought Tess.
Joe sighed and leaned back in his chair. He looked from Wyatt to Tess. “It’s been a nice day, kids.”
Wyatt glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly two thirty. “We should get you home, Pop,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll bet you’re getting tired out.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Joe said, looking at his watch. “Sophie will want me home for dinner. You’re both welcome to have a meal with us, of course. You know how she loves company.”
His sweet face tugged at Tess’s heartstrings. She knew from Wyatt that Joe’s wife had been gone for many years. But who could say she wasn’t still with him? Watching over her vulnerable, kind husband as his mind slowly faded. Tess brushed away a tear.
Wyatt turned to her as he helped Joe into his coat. “Why don’t you ride along?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “We can call my mom on the way back. Maybe she can shed some light on the situation. She might still be in touch with Daisy, for all we know.”
That was a good idea, Tess thought, but she had something to do first.
“You warm up the car and get Joe buckled in,” Tess said. “My dad wants me to take some photos of the paintings. I’ll go do that now and get them back into the safe. Then I can join you.”
With that, she carried the two paintings back into the drawing room, pulled the others out of the safe, and propped them up against the wall, side by side. In order. If she was going to send these photos to her dad, she wanted him to get the full impression of the “storyboard.”
During the drive, the three of them chatted about the weather, how odd it was to have so much snow in Wharton.
“Back in my day, we used to shovel a path on the ice all the way to the island,” Joe said. “We used to skate back and forth. Drove our mothers crazy. The ice was never safe, you see. But we were rascals.” He gazed out the window with a slight smile on his face, remembering. “Where are we going?” he said, finally.