The Stroke of Winter(46)

Joe stared at his grandson for a long moment. “A murder? In Wharton? I don’t think there’s ever been a murder in Wharton.”

But Tess knew that wasn’t true. A few years earlier, the truth had come to light about the murder of Wharton resident Addie Stewart, which had happened a century ago. Joe would certainly know about that. Wouldn’t he?

As Joe was enjoying his soup, Tess noticed Wyatt slip his phone from his jacket pocket. He eyed her. A moment later, she heard her own phone beep. She fished it out of her purse and saw a message from him.

Should we take him to see the paintings? He might be able to identify the woman.

Tess caught Wyatt’s eye and nodded.

If Joe knew anything about any possible murders in Wharton, maybe his memory needed a kick start. Seeing the woman in the paintings might be just the thing.





CHAPTER TWENTY



After finishing their meals and bundling up, Tess helped Joe into the car. He dozed during the drive back to Wharton—Tess supposed that was common at his age.

As they drove, Tess remembered her father had changed the combination to the wall safe. She’d need that if Joe was going to get a look at the paintings. She grabbed her phone and texted her dad, not wanting to wake up Joe.

Dad, I need the combination to the wall safe.

Why?

I want to take a quick look at a couple of them. I’ll put them right back and text you when I’ve done it.

She didn’t tell him about showing the paintings to Joe. Her father had been so adamant about nobody else seeing them, that bit of information caught in her throat.

He didn’t text back right away. Tess sat there staring at her screen. She should’ve thought of this before they headed out of Salmon Bay. They might be making the drive for nothing.

She looked at Wyatt. “I need the combination to the safe,” she said, her voice low. “Otherwise . . .”

Wyatt nodded, understanding. He pulled the car onto a side road, and they waited for a moment. And then, it came. A complicated series of numbers, letters, and symbols, along with a message.

Honey, while you have them out, will you take photos of each one and send them to me? Front and back, please. Dying to see what they look like.

Sure, Dad.

She should have done that immediately, she thought.

Also, I contacted Bill Parsons and adjusted the home insurance to account for the paintings being there.

Insurance! She hadn’t even thought of it.

Tess responded, “Got it,” to Wyatt before he pulled back onto the road. But that exchange with her father rattled around in Tess’s head for the rest of the drive. Something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on quite what.

Joe stirred when they pulled into the driveway. He looked out of the window and smiled. “The old town looks the same,” he sang. Tess knew it was a line to an old song she had heard her dad sing from time to time.

She and Wyatt helped the old man into the house, then shook the cold off their coats and hung them up in the entryway.

“Look at this good boy,” Joe said, scratching Storm behind his ears. The dog happily curled around him.

“Pop is great with animals,” Wyatt said.

“This is one good dog right here,” Joe said. “He reminds me of a dog Sebastian had, back in the old days.”

“Is that so?” Tess asked.

“A white dog. Just like this one. He used to walk the dog all around town. At all hours.”

A tingle snaked its way down Tess’s spine. So that was how he got a look in people’s windows.

“Can I offer you gentlemen anything? Tea? Coffee?” she asked.

Joe’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a beer?”

Tess glanced at Wyatt. The old man had had one at the restaurant. Should he have another?

“Why not?” Wyatt said. “I’ll have one, too.”

He helped his grandfather get settled in the armchair by the fireplace and took a moment to stoke the fire as Tess poured their drinks.

“I’ve got something I’d like to show you, Joe,” Tess said. “It’s a painting of my grandfather’s. Wyatt and I came upon it during renovations.”

“I’d love to see it,” Joe said.

“I’ll go get it,” Tess said, locking eyes with Wyatt, who nodded back at her. “Two, actually.”

Tess hurried into the drawing room and opened the wall safe. The paintings were stacked inside, just as she had left them. At the utterly normal sight, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. No mysterious arrangements of the paintings today. She pulled out the portrait of the woman and the one depicting a view through her window on the rainy night. Okay, she thought. This is it.

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.