The Stroke of Winter(83)
Tess thought about the obsession the paintings implied. “Grey was the one obsessed with Daisy?” she said.
And as soon as she got the words out, they made perfect sense to her. Of course he was. She had married another man. That alone could turn love into obsession. But to know she was desperately unhappy? That would stoke the fire even more.
Of course a spurned lover would have been the one peering into her windows and following her down the street. Not his father. The very thought of it being Sebastian Bell sounded ridiculous to Tess now.
“So, what happened here?” she pressed on. “Grandma closed off this studio. There’s blood all over the place. Who died, Dad? Was Daisy murdered here? Who did it? And, Grey disappeared. Did they run away together or . . . I mean the blood suggests they didn’t, right?”
Indigo let out a great sigh. “The truth is, honey, I don’t know. I was away at college. You know Grey was a few years older than me. He went missing around the same time that my dad died. Your grandmother had already closed up the studio by the time I got home, and that was that.”
“You didn’t even—”
“Tess,” her mother interjected. “You need to remember something. When Indy was away at school, his brother disappeared, and his father died. His whole world—our whole world, because I was a part of it by then—had been turned upside down. Serena was inconsolable. You can’t imagine the grief in this house. I’m surprised all of that emotion isn’t still here, filling up the cracks in the foundation and the holes in the ceiling.”
Maybe it was, Tess thought. Maybe it was.
Tess hurried downstairs to retrieve her parents’ bags. They were exhausted by everything they had been through that day, the trip, the discovery of the studio, all of it. She wasn’t going to press her father for more information before he got a good night’s sleep.
While they were getting settled in their guest room, Tess made a tray with two snifters of cognac—her father’s traditional nightcap—a pitcher of water and two glasses, and some chocolates. Back in their room, she found them both in bed, propped up against their pillows, a book in her mother’s lap. Tess set the tray on their dresser’s marble top and brought their glasses to their respective nightstands. Then she lit a fire in their fireplace.
“Darling, you’re too good to us,” Jill said, taking a sip of her cognac.
“A perfect innkeeper,” Indigo said, smiling weakly. “You have found your calling.”
Tess smiled at him. What a kind thing for him to say. But, then again, her parents, for all their faults and eccentricities, had always been supportive of anything she had ever wanted to do.
And in a way, she could understand Sebastian and Serena’s disdain for Daisy when she had spurned their son, because she knew her own parents felt the same about Matt.
Curled up in bed in his (no doubt, designer) pajamas, Indigo looked small. Vulnerable. Not the giant of a man Tess had grown up with. She thought of Joe in his assisted-living apartment, having to sign in and out, and hoped it would be many years before her own parents needed that kind of care.
After hugging and kissing them both, Tess retreated to her room and started to shut her door, but then decided to leave it open a crack. Just in case her parents woke in the middle of the night and needed anything. She lit a fire, brushed her teeth, washed the day off her face, and put on her pajamas. After slipping into bed, she grabbed her phone, which she had set on her nightstand earlier with the intention of plugging it in for the night. When she glanced down at it, she saw she had two messages.
One was from Wyatt. Good night. I hope you can get some sleep, considering. If you need anything, if anything happens in the middle of the night, any scratching or . . . whatever, call me. I’m leaving my phone by my bed. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning with this guy. He attached a photo of Storm sleeping on Wyatt’s bed.
The other was from Jane. Hey, I didn’t want to say this in front of your parents, but did you notice how the energy changed when they came into the house? It all just shifted. I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble with the spirits tonight. If you do, call me. I’m keeping my phone by the bed. Tess smiled. Both of them, so concerned. But those spirits aren’t gone. I’ll come over tomorrow, and we’ll try to get some answers.
That had to be good enough for now. After everything that had happened that day, she was exhausted. Ghosts or no ghosts, she had to get some sleep. Tess plugged her phone into the charger and turned out the light. She drifted off, watching the flames in the fireplace dance and sway, comforted her parents were right down the hall.
But her dreams were sinister and foreboding. It was as though the world had become one of those paintings, with dark swirls and eddies in the sky. She felt a sort of manic obsession, a frantic need, a hunger. So she walked the streets of Wharton, in search of it.
Tess jolted awake, her sheets damp with sweat. The fire was out. She glanced at the clock—5:00 a.m. She groaned. Just enough sleep to be fully awake hours before she really had to get up.
She lay there for a few moments, eyes closed, trying to will herself back to sleep, when she heard her parents’ voices.
“Come back to bed, Indy,” her mother said, her voice a harsh whisper. “Before you wake Tess.”
“No,” her father said, “I have to do this. Now.”