Via Dolorosa(72)

“Why?”

“Because,” James said, “he’s looking for his daughter.”

“Faye?” Nick recalled the name, recalled the dog-eared photograph of the beautiful little girl Roger kept in his wallet.

“Two years ago she was lost in the sound. Drowned. They never found her body, so every night Roger goes out and looks for her.”

“Oh, Jesus.” And quickly, he was trying to remember if he had possibly said something that, in his ignorance, had offended Roger. But no—what would he have said? He could think of nothing.

“You want me to say something to him, Lieutenant?” James said.

“No. Thanks, but no, James.” He waved a single hand. “Just pretend you never told me anything about it, in fact. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Nick ordered coffee and brioche, a light lunch, and ate by the windows. There were some people outside, moving down through the courtyard toward the beach. Emma had been asleep when he’d returned to the room last night, and she’d gotten up early this morning. He knew she had tried her best not to wake him, but he had been awake nonetheless, though he did not say anything to her as she rose and made her way into the bathroom. He heard the shower run for quite some time. He thought, too, that he must have fallen asleep while she showered, because when he opened his eyes again the sun had shifted position outside and he was alone. A note was left on the nightstand beside the bed. Now, as he ate, he took the note from his pocket and unfolded it on the table: too nice to stay indoors. will be on the beach. have a nice lunch. please shower.

Mr. Granger’s shadow fell across the table. Polite, the bell captain stood without expression and nodded when Nick looked up.

“Good afternoon, Nicholas,” Granger said.

“Hi.”

“How’s everything?”

“Very good.”

“Emma?”

“She’s down by the water.”

“Yes,” Granger said, “it’s lovely today.” He extended a hand toward the empty chair at Nick’s table, but did not sit and did not ask about sitting. Instead, he said, “I hate to disturb you during lunch, Nicholas, but I needed to speak with you. I didn’t want it to wait. I know you’re going back to paint once you’re done here, so I didn’t want it to wait.”

“It’s no problem. Have a seat. I wanted to ask you something, too.”

Granger sat and folded his hands atop the table. The bell captain looked very small and compact sitting across from him at the table.

“The hotel manager, Mr. Vastovets, spoke with me last night, Nicholas. He expressed some concern about the mural.”

“I know it’s taking a while. I’m a little rusty. If it helps, I can—”

“No, no—it’s not that. You can take all the time you need.”

“Oh,” he said. “All right…”

“It’s just, Mr. Vastovets,” Granger said, shifting his eyes toward the floor, “he’s concerned that the mural is leaning further and further away from what you’d originally proposed and more toward—well—toward being a bit—uh…”

“Yes?”

“It’s become violent,” Granger said, his voice flat.

“He said it’s violent?”

“It is violent. Have you seen it?”

“Of course I’ve seen it. I’ve been painting it all morning.”

Granger’s eyes fell on Emma’s note. Then they turned back to Nick. The bell captain said, “You are an excellent painter, Nicholas. I’m genuinely glad we were able to work this out, and I’m even more glad that I finally got to meet the great Lieutenant. Mr. Vastovets, he wanted me to speak with you, Nick. He’s hoping—we’re hoping—we’re—if it’s possible…”

“Have any of the guests complained?”

The question seemed to catch Granger off guard. “Complained?”

“Yes. To the manager. Have any of the guests complained?”

“Actually, yes,” Granger admitted. “I believe that was what prompted Mr. Vastovets to speak with me, and for me to speak with you.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know that.”

“Was it a woman—”

“I don’t know that, Nick. I wasn’t told. Mr. Vastovets simply said one of the guests commented to him that the mural was very brutal for the hotel. It is the first thing you see when you come into the lobby, you see, and it was our concern that, well, maybe…”

“I’m sorry,” Nick said.

“It’s just, it isn’t what you’d proposed when we first talked about the mural.”

“I understand.”

“It was supposed to be a serene—a serene, uh—”

“Yes, I understand.”

“You can fix it, right?” Granger looked hopeful.

“Of course.”

“We understand if it takes a little more time.”

“I will do it quickly,” he promised. “I’ll work all day today, fixing it.”

“Good,” Granger said, visibly relieved. “That’s good, Nick.”

For some reason, both their eyes had come to rest on Emma’s handwritten note. Self-conscious that all his and Emma’s innermost secrets could be betrayed by prolonged exposure to those few innocuous sentences, Nick gathered the note in his hands, folded it a number of times, and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt.