What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(62)

She appeared at the bottom of the staircase. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Everything is being handled.” Sharp descended, stepping off the last stair onto a concrete floor. The basement was large and unfinished. Boxes filled a row of utility shelves against one wall. In the middle of the space, an open box sat on a long worktable.

Eliza hugged her arms, as if her heavy sweater and fleece boots weren’t enough to keep her warm. In the middle of the room, Haley stood in front of an easel. Dressed in black yoga pants and a thick hoodie, she swirled a paintbrush in frantic circles on a canvas.

“Two of the three trespassers are on their way to the sheriff’s station.” The deputy gave their names and showed the women their photos on his cell phone. “Do you know either of these men?”

Eliza and Haley shook their heads.

“The third man was Adam Carter, Noah’s brother. Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” the deputy assured them. Then he took statements from Eliza and Haley and left.

Sharp scanned Eliza’s face, then Haley’s. Eliza’s face was strained. Fresh lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes. The overhead fluorescent lights didn’t help, but Haley was gray. Her eyes were haunted and dark, and the purple circles under them weren’t from this afternoon’s incident. She clearly hadn’t slept in some time.

“Are you both all right?” he asked them.

“Eric assured us we weren’t in any danger.” Eliza shivered. “But I admit, the incident was disconcerting.” She glanced back at Haley, whose paintbrush trembled. “I’m glad he was here, and tonight at six a new bodyguard will take his place.”

Sharp wanted to hug them both but felt too awkward. Guilt flooded him. He’d let Ted down. He’d promised to take care of his family, and he didn’t even know them well enough to comfort them when they needed it.

“I didn’t know you were an artist.” He crossed the concrete floor and stood behind Haley. He nearly flinched when he saw her painting. The entire canvas was covered in shades of red.

“I haven’t painted in a long time.” Haley mixed thick red and black paint on a square of white glass.

“The psychiatrist suggested art therapy.” Eliza slid off her stool and joined Sharp. “I dug out Haley’s box of art supplies. It hadn’t been opened since we moved into this house.” Her eyes widened as she took in Haley’s artwork. Sharp and Eliza shared a concerned look. Then she glanced away.

“Sounds like a great idea.” Sharp stood back a few feet, trying to make sense of the chaotic painting. He could sense there was a bigger picture in all the shadows and subtle differences in color, but he couldn’t see it. To him, the painting looked like smeared blood.

Like the crime scene.





Chapter Twenty-Seven

Morgan stood in the foyer of Eliza’s house. Through a tall window next to the front door, she could see activity at the bottom of the driveway. Cameramen were packing up equipment as reporters climbed into vans. It seemed as if one or two news vans had already left.

“Is something going on?” she asked the deputy zipping his jacket at the front door.

“Yes, ma’am.” He settled his hat on his head. “The sheriff just announced that the female body found this morning has been officially identified as the missing woman, Shannon Yates.”

The media would want to jump on the new story. Maybe they’d leave Haley alone for a while.

“You’ll let us know if you have news about Adam?” Morgan asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” The deputy let himself out.

Morgan locked the door behind him.

Lance and the bodyguard were conferring down the hall. Morgan headed for the basement door. She wanted to check in with Haley and see how her appointment with the psychiatrist had gone. The basement was chilly, and the smell of sawdust made her sneeze. Haley was painting at an easel. Eliza and Sharp were standing behind her, looking over her shoulder with worried eyes.

Haley looked battered. Her eyes were sunken, her face ghostly.

“Art therapy?” Morgan walked closer, her heart clenching. The poor girl.

“Yes.” Haley didn’t look at her. Her painting held all her attention. “I’d forgotten how much I like to paint.”

Morgan drew up as she took in the red on red of the canvas. At first glance, the swirls seemed chaotic, but the shape of two hands, palms up, soon took shape. Two immediate associations came to mind. First, the literal interpretation of Haley seeing her hands covered in blood. But a second, more metaphorical, meaning nagged at Morgan. Had Haley been caught red-handed?

She touched Eliza’s forearm. “I’d like to speak to Haley alone for a few minutes.”

“I need to speak with Eric before he leaves anyway.” Eliza turned toward the stairs. Sharp went with her.

Morgan stepped up next to Haley.

Silver glittered on the girl’s arm as she put her paintbrush to the canvas. An ID bracelet.

“You found your medical alert bracelet?” Morgan turned her head to read the inscription.

Haley shook her head. “Mom bought me a new one.”

“Have you remembered anything else?” Disturbed, Morgan watched the brush push and blend the thick red paint on the canvas.

“No,” Haley said too quickly. With shaking hands, she set the glass palette and brush on the worktable. She drew in a hitching breath, clearly battling for control.