The Stroke of Winter(80)

“Good for you,” Indigo said, patting Wyatt on the arm. Then, he turned to Grant and Hunter. “And you two? I’m sure I’ve seen you both around town, but we’ve never been introduced. I’m Indigo Bell.”

“Dad, meet Grant and Hunter,” Tess said. “They helped open up the studio.”

“I see,” Indigo said. “Good, good, good.” He looked around, smiling slightly. “I see everyone has a drink but me,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Darling, pour your old man a Scotch, will you?”

Wyatt did the honors, handing a glass to Indigo.

Meanwhile, Jill had hugged Jane, and the two were chatting.

“I didn’t expect you back until spring,” Tess said. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you call and tell me you were coming?”

A look crept onto Jill’s face, then. Guilt, mixed with a bit of chagrin. “You know your father. When he gets something into his head . . .”

Tess noticed Grant and Hunter were quietly putting away the devices and the laptops.

“We really need to be going,” Grant said, closing the heavy case with finality. “Don’t we, Hunter? But it was a pleasure meeting you both.”

“That would probably be best,” Indigo said. “We’ve come a long way to spend time with our daughter. You understand, of course.”

“Of course!” Jane piped up. She enveloped Tess in a hug. “Check your text messages,” she whispered in her ear. And then louder: “Tess, I’ll be in touch tomorrow. You three have a great reunion tonight.”

Wyatt, too, was bundling up.

“I’ll walk you out,” Tess said, under her breath.

“So nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Bell,” Wyatt said.

“Nice to see you, son,” Indigo said.

Tess stepped out into the cold with Wyatt, not bothering to put on any wrap. The cold felt good on her skin. They walked halfway down the driveway, and Wyatt stopped.

“I really don’t like the idea of leaving you here,” he said. “I get it, I can’t stay here with you, and you can’t come home with me, not with your parents bursting in like that. Plus, you probably don’t want them here by themselves, after . . . you know.”

“I know,” Tess said. “But I’m not sure what else I can do. They’re here, they’re tired from the journey. What, am I going to get them a room at Harrison’s House? I mean, I could, but they’d never go. It’s just not feasible. We have to stay here.”

“Why did they come so abruptly, do you think? Isn’t that weird?”

“Very weird,” Tess said, looking back up toward the house. “I guess I’ll find out.”

“I’ll keep Storm at my house for the night,” Wyatt said. “Unless you want him here with you.”

Tess thought about that for a moment. On one hand, she’d love the big wall of protection Storm provided her, given all that had transpired in the house that night. But on the other . . . her parents. It might be too much with the dog, too.

“You keep him for the night,” Tess said. “That will give you an excuse to come back here in the morning.”

Wyatt put his arms around her and drew her close. “I really hate leaving you.”

“I hate it, too.”

Wyatt kissed her quickly—like they were teenagers under parental supervision—and sighed. “Will you text me later, when you’re in bed? I want to know everything is okay. After what happened here tonight . . .”

“I know. But now that my parents are here, I think it will be okay. I’ll shut myself up in my room and hang on until morning.”

“Okay,” Wyatt said. “I still wish you were coming with me.”

“Me too,” she said.

Back inside, she found her mother sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine. Tess thought she looked so very tired.

Tess poured herself a glass of wine and joined her.

“Mom, what is this all about?” she asked, settling into her chair. “Why would you rush back here without even telling me you were coming?”

Jill had that same guilty look on her face.

“Your father needed to see those paintings for himself,” she said. “You know how he gets.”

“Is he . . . ?” Tess asked.

“Yes, he went to open the wall safe,” Jill said. “I waited here for you.”

Tess pushed her chair away from the table and, along with her mother, hurried down the hallway toward the drawing room. She couldn’t help but notice it felt so different than it had just an hour earlier. No presence hung in the air. No spirits were floating in the ether. It made Tess wonder if all of it wasn’t just a product of the spectacle of it all—the electronic devices, the ghost-o-meters, the recordings stirring up—what? Imagination?

But then, she knew it hadn’t been some kind of hysterical reaction. Some kind of trick. She had felt what she’d felt. Seen what she had seen. Heard the ghastly things she had heard. She had fainted, and it was all captured on Grant’s various electronic devices.

In the drawing room, she saw her father had the safe open and was taking the paintings out of it, one by one.

He seemed determined, but more than that, almost manic to get them out of the safe.