The Stroke of Winter(85)

And so, in the bright light of day, as the sun streamed into the kitchen at La Belle Vie, they watched the video of what had happened in the studio the night before.

Tess’s parents were stunned into open-mouthed silence.

“There has to be some kind of reasonable explanation . . .” Jill said.

But Indigo was shaking his head.

“That song,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth, as if he were searching his memory. “Grey used to sing it all the time. To Daisy.”

A shiver shot through Tess, and she and Wyatt exchanged a glance. But Jane just gave a knowing smile.

“That does not surprise me,” she said. “You may know I’m a little . . . sensitive. A feeling overtook me last night that I couldn’t shake. I’ve been turning it over in my mind. And I’m pretty sure that whatever happened in the studio all of those years ago happened between Grey and Daisy.”

She turned to Indigo. “Can you tell us everything you remember from that time? It would be a great help.”

Indigo raised his coffee cup to his lips and eyed his wife over the rim. She nodded. “It’s time, Indy.”

Time? So, they did know something they weren’t sharing.

Tess’s father took a deep breath and then began to speak.

“Somewhere, buried down deep, I had the idea that it would turn out this way. That’s why I didn’t stop you from opening up the studio. I had the feeling the truth might be lurking in there, dormant, silent after year upon year.”

He took a sip of his coffee, pausing for effect.

“During the summer of my junior year of college, I had an internship at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. I knew I couldn’t be a great artist like my father, but I loved it all the same, and I thought learning the business of art, how to run a museum and a collection, would let me be part of his world in a way that he needed. I was right about that, by the way. In any case, one afternoon, the director of the museum came and found me to tell me I had a phone call.

“It was my mother. The great Sebastian Bell was dead. He died of a heart attack, she said, and I needed to come home quickly. Of course, I dropped everything and rushed to my mother’s side. When I got here to La Belle Vie, I found my mother alone and grieving and the studio boarded up. The whole house was shrouded in black cloth.

“My father had already been cremated, per his wishes—or so she told me—and she gave me strict orders to never enter the studio again. It was to remain as it was when he took his last breath, at the easel, forever, throughout time.

“What I didn’t know then was, Grey had gone missing. Of course, I asked her where he was, why he wasn’t with us, and she said he had been gone for days. Daisy, too. She speculated they had run off together.

“It didn’t make any sense to me. So, I asked around. His friends, her friends. Nobody had seen them. Nobody knew anything. I even talked to Frank, whom I had always hated, but I have to admit feeling a little sorry for the man. His wife had apparently run off with my brother, leaving two young children for him to raise alone.”

Indigo took another sip of his coffee.

“After my father’s funeral—hundreds of people attended from all over the world—I went back to my internship in the Twin Cities. I didn’t know what else to do. My mother was grieving, but she pushed me away. She needed time to herself, she said. I should go and finish my education, she said. And then I could come home and take up the business of tending to my father’s legacy. It was in my hands now.

“And so, I did. I graduated from school with degrees in art history and business, and you know the rest. We never heard from Grey again, despite looking for him for years. Frank moved from Wharton, and we never saw him or Daisy’s children again, either. Your mother and I got married, you came along, and I spent the rest of my life running the foundation. Now Eli is set to take it over.”

“But that’s not all there is to the story. Isn’t that right?” Jane asked.

Indigo let out a dejected, defeated sigh. “No,” he said. “That’s not the whole story. Because, you see, I couldn’t just let it go. I couldn’t just accept what my mother had told me. Grey, suddenly disappearing without a trace? It was preposterous. If he and Daisy had run away together, he would’ve contacted me. Would’ve told our mother. And more than that. The more I thought about it, the more I realized they didn’t even need to run away to be together. My father, with all of his power and influence, could have forced Frank out of the picture. A million dollars to walk away? Frank would’ve taken it in a heartbeat.

“But the bigger thing that kept nagging at me about the whole thing was—Daisy.” Indigo shook his head. “She loved those kids. No matter how much she loved my brother, she loved her children more. She would not have left the kids. Period.”

Tess felt a whoosh of cold waft over her, even there, in front of the fire. She caught Jane’s eye. Jane felt it, too.

“And, there’s something else. Something worse. When Daisy and Grey broke up before she married Frank, it was for a good reason. A very good reason.”

Wyatt, Tess, and Jane were all leaning forward, hanging on Indigo’s every word.

“What reason?” Tess whispered.

Indigo closed his eyes for a moment. “It was the madness, my dear.”