The Stroke of Winter(57)

“Where are they now?” Nick asked. “The paintings.”

“In our wall safe,” Tess said.

“Show me,” Nick said, pushing his chair back from the table.

Together, they walked down the hallway to the drawing room. Tess flipped on the light—nothing was amiss. All was as she had left it hours earlier. Just to make sure, she keyed in the code to the safe, opened the door, and saw the paintings safely inside. She closed the safe door quickly.

“They’re in there,” she said.

“Does anyone else have the code to the safe?” Nick asked. “Anyone who could’ve seen you open it?”

“Other than Wyatt, no,” she said. “And my dad can change the code remotely—actually, I’m surprised he hasn’t done that already. So even I won’t be able to open it.”

“Chief?” a voice came from down the hallway. “Nick?”

“In here,” Nick said, poking his head out of the doorway. Two of his officers came into the room.

“I take it you didn’t find anyone,” Nick said. “Nothing suspicious?”

One of the officers shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nobody broke in, as far as we could tell. And obviously we didn’t find anyone, or any evidence they had been here and left. No footprints in the snow, that kind of thing. But . . . can we have a word?”

Nick held a hand up to Tess and Wyatt, as if to say stay. Then he joined his officers in the hallway.

A moment later, he reentered the room.

“Tess, do you have someplace else to stay tonight?” Nick asked.

She and Wyatt exchanged a glance. Before she could say anything, he said, “Yes. She can stay with me.”

“The dog, too?” Nick asked.

“Of course.”

“What is this all about, Nick?” Tess said. “Why do I need to leave my own house?”

Nick crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Tess, the studio is a crime scene.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX



Tess just looked at him, her mouth agape. “What?” she said, finding her voice. It sounded thin and far away. “What are you talking about?”

“Tess, the bathroom up there is covered in blood,” Nick said. “Dried blood. We need to get a forensics crew over here and analyze—”

“Blood? That has to be a mistake. Are you sure?” She looked at Wyatt, who seemed equally as stunned.

“Pretty sure,” Nick said. “You had to have noticed it when you were in there. The stains on the walls and the rags and, well, everywhere.”

Tess shook her head. “It was a painter’s studio,” she said, drawing her words out slowly. “My grandfather’s studio. Yes, we saw the stains. But we assumed it was paint.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “A reasonable assumption. But until forensics does its work, we’re not going to know for sure. We’ve already made the call to the cop shop in Duluth, and a team will be here within a couple of hours. They’re on their way.”

He continued to talk, and Tess continued to answer—

“And I can’t be home while they work?”

“No,” Nick said. “I’m sorry, but you know the drill.”

—but her mind was someplace else.

Blood. The word rang in Tess’s ears and then engulfed her, the realization wrapping around her like a shroud. It wasn’t paint on the rags and the walls as she thought it was. It was blood.

What had happened in that room? Was that the real reason her grandmother had closed it off? Did she know? Her sweet, funny, wickedly intelligent grandmother. What had Serena known? What had she experienced? Had she come upon a murder?

And what was the scratching? The screaming? What were the dogs barking at? A shadow of what had happened in that room? Were they trying to protect a ghost? Prevent a murder? Had opening that room unleashed the pain of what happened there long ago?

“It’s okay, Tess, you can come and stay with me,” Wyatt said, pulling Tess back into the moment. “Storm, too. Not a problem at all.”

Tess looked from Wyatt to Nick and back again. She sighed. Whatever had happened in that room, it was in the hands of the police now. The veil was lifted. There was no hiding it anymore. If her grandmother had shut that room up to bury a secret, it was going to see the light of day whether anybody liked it or not.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll just go and pack a bag. How long am I going to have to be out of here?”

Nick shrugged. “It shouldn’t take more than a day.”

Tess was headed up the back stairs when Nick stopped her. “How long did you say that room was closed off?”

She put her hand on the doorframe. “I don’t really know. I think since before I was born. I don’t ever remember it being open.”

“Okay, then,” Nick said. “We’re dealing with a decades-old crime. If indeed it was a crime. You go on and grab a few things. My officers are still up there.”

Back in her room, Tess wasn’t sure what all to take. Pajamas, for sure. Slippers. A change of clothes. She grabbed some makeup—minimal—and her hairbrush. Was that all? Oh! A toothbrush, too. Nick said it would only be a day.

She made her way back down to the kitchen, where Wyatt was scooping some of Storm’s food into a plastic container.