Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(78)

“Wait,” Amelia said. “He just came in and looked around? He didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing important. Something about you being a good artist.” Her fingers trembled on the keypad. She missed the final digit in 911 and had to start again. “Damn it. He liked your canvas, I mean, really liked it. He could barely keep his eyes off it. Then he talked about The Three Musketeers for some stupid reason. Some ‘all for one, one for all’ bullshit. He’s obviously some loon. The second he walked out, I locked the door on him. No way he was getting back in here.”

Amelia placed a hand on Joie’s, stopping the call. “Then it’s over.” Though she sounded calm, every neuron in her body fired, excitement crackling through her like sparks off a roaring fire. “And I know exactly who that was.”

“Well, who?”

“My Uncle Frank. Not actually my uncle but an old friend of my father’s. He’s practically part of the family. A bit odd, but he’s okay.” She saw the skepticism in Joie’s eyes. “Really.”

Joie held the phone in her hand. “Uncle Frank.”

“Yep. He scared you, huh?” She chuckled. “You were perfectly safe. Winston too. But what’s with the ‘one for all’ business?” Keeping it light, keeping it normal, but she knew. She knew who and why, and the moment was suddenly as bright as a Christmas morning. The day. It was here. Now.

“Not funny. You weren’t around. You didn’t feel the temperature of the room drop when he walked in, and you didn’t see Winston freak out. He went off.”

Amelia glanced down at Winston. He was watching her, but it didn’t look like she was going to get her customary rush or cuddle. Something had changed between them. He growled at her, then backed away, drawing closer to Joie. Amelia gave him a sympathetic pout. “Poor Winston.”

Joie exhaled, relief flooding her. “Wow. Okay. Uncle Frank. Tell me something. I’m telling you, old dude needs to work on his people skills.” She slid the phone into her pocket and padded back to her side of the studio, Winston trotting along beside her.

“He’s all right once you get to know him.” Amelia stepped up to her canvas, her back to Joie, physically incapable of getting the smile off her face. “He said I was a good artist, huh? That’s wild. He say anything else?”

“Loved your painting. Didn’t say squat about my shit. But the real creepy part was after he left, he just stood out front looking around; then he walked off whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world. I mean, who whistles? And who doesn’t have a care in the world? The world’s sinking like a rock, and he’s just living the dream, apparently, and in a mood to whistle? Think about it. When’s the last time you even heard someone whistle?”

Amelia turned, a brush in her hand. “Nothing wrong with whistling.”

“When you’re a creepy old dude who scares the Milk-Bones out of an innocent dog? Yeah, there is. That’s elevating the creep factor by like a million.” Winston stood up, moved off his doggy pad, and eased in beside Joie.

Amelia squatted down and called for Winston. “C’mere, boy. Where’s my hug?”

Winston growled, refusing to move. Joie reached down to comfort him. “See? He’s still not right. He’s even growling at you now.”

Amelia stood watching Winston for a moment, and then she turned back to her work. It was too momentous a day to worry about dog cuddles and growls. She felt too good, too light. She began to hum.

“I’m telling you,” Joie said as she began to chisel, “you say he’s harmless, fine. But the hairs rose up on the back of my neck. He felt dangerous, like he was cold all the way through. There’s something off with that guy, family friend or no family friend.”

Amelia felt Joie’s eyes on her back but didn’t turn around. She had work to do. He’d seen her painting and admired it, but had he really seen it? Did he fully appreciate her vision? “Was there anything else he said, Joie?”

“I don’t think so, but . . . you’re humming.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll stop.”

“No, you’re humming the same song he was whistling.”

Amelia smiled and squeezed her eyes shut for one blissful moment. “How weird is that, huh?”





CHAPTER 54


“I’ve found it!” Li shot up from her chair, signaling to the entire team. “Yep. You heard it right. Detective Vera Li has cracked the code.” Everyone gathered in to hear as Li read from her notebook, holding court. “Silva’s missing year. She was last on staff at Mayo. Before that, Johns Hopkins. That’s all squared away, no problems; then she drops a year before she comes here.”

“Her sabbatical,” Foster said, “according to Gershon.”

Li shook her head. “Stillman-Gates, the Westhaven of Baltimore or maybe a half step up. But the question, my friends, is not how she got to Stillman but why she left Mayo.” Li waited. All the tired cop eyes in the place were on her; no one was in the mood for a magic show.

“Consider the question asked?” Symansky said, the bags under his eyes large enough to carry a week’s worth of groceries.

Griffin, who’d come out of her office for the details, stood with her arms crossed, looking at least a year older than she had the day before. “Li, do not make me come over there.”