"I meant every word." Cynthia glanced around, as if to check if anyone was within easy earshot. A young couple with two small children was exclaiming over a series of botanical fern prints. Cynthia sighed at them, then regarded Annie with absolute gravity. "I spoke to Garvin last night. He told me about the break-in at your apartment. I'm very sorry I was so rude to you last night. The shock—well, there's no excuse." She kept her voice low, dignified. "The police have contacted us to find out if we have any reason to believe Vic Denardo's in the area. Of course, we said no. We don't."
"But Sarah," John said in a tortured voice. He averted his eyes, staring down at the toddler with the young couple, who was twirling her jet-black hair around her finger and staring up at him. He gave her a distracted smile, then turned back to Annie. "My sister could be in danger from this man. He...It's possible he..." His eyes shut, and the little girl toddled back to her parents.
"You must know who Vic Denardo is," Cynthia said briskly, her voice still low.
Annie nodded. She could have said more, but didn't. Last night's rules no longer applied, but she still didn't want to act precipitously and blurt out things better left for others to explain. She was the outsider.
Cynthia eyed her, then inhaled, as if guessing Annie was holding back. "Sarah didn't tell us where she's staying. If there's a reason she needs to keep it a secret—"
"I don't know that there is," Annie said. Wasn't half the point of her showing up last night to have her presence in San Francisco and her whereabouts out in the open? But with the break-in, the emergency with Otto, Garvin might have decided to change his plan.
John touched his wife's arm before she could lose patience. She had a prickliness to her that Annie could appreciate, although she didn't doubt Cynthia Linwood's sincerity in her comments about her gallery. She didn't seem the kind of woman to engage in insincere flattery.
"When you see my sister next," her husband said, "please tell her I would be happy to arrange for her security if she should feel any threat from Vic Denardo. I have no idea what their relationship has been since she left San Francisco." He paused, swallowed visibly. "I don't want anything to happen to her."
"I'd be glad to tell her." Annie managed a quick smile. On top of seeing his sister for the first time in five years last night, he had just learned that the chief suspect in the murders of his daughter and father might be back in San Francisco. "I'll probably see her later today. Garvin's meeting me here around six. My dog was injured last night during the break-in. He's recuperating at Garvin's house." She started to say more, then decided that was enough. Let John and Cynthia Linwood figure out her relationship with Garvin MacCrae on their own.
The couple with the two small children departed, promising to return once they'd decided between two different fern prints.
"Please," Cynthia said, "tell Sarah we're concerned for her safety. We'll do everything we can—whatever she wants—" She winced, sighing. "This is so awkward. There's no getting around it. I wish I knew what possessed Garvin to spring this on us the way he did." She broke off with obvious effort, and smiled thinly. "I'm sorry. This hasn't been an easy twenty-four hours. I don't mean to offend anyone."
"It's all right," Annie said, "I understand."
John Linwood drew back his shoulders and took in an audible breath. He'd lost his father and his only child five years ago. He was a handsome man, Annie realized; much better looking than his younger sister, although he didn't have her air of freedom about him, of utter disinterest in who approved of her and who didn't. "I didn't get to spend as much time last night with Sarah as I would have wished," he said. "Please tell her that, Ms. Payne. She's a painter now, isn't she? She said so last night. Is she good?"
Annie nodded. "I think so. I think she's very good."
Her words seemed to please him. "I'm glad for her, then."
"Oh, I don't think she gives a fig if anyone else thinks she's any good, just that her work has meaning for her."
John Linwood's thick gray eyebrows went up, and suddenly he looked very much like his sister, knowing, insightful. "It matters to her, Ms. Payne. Trust me on that one. Sarah wants all the recognition and attention she can get." His words were matter-of-fact, without any apparent harshness or bitterness. He withdrew a business card and, borrowing a pen from her desk, jotted down two additional numbers. "You can dial any of these numbers, day or night, to reach either Cynthia or me. Please feel free to do so."
Annie tucked the card into her hand. "I will."
The Linwoods started to leave, but John hesitated, turning back before reaching the door. His eyes, not as vivid as Sarah's, focused on her with penetrating steadiness. "I want you to know, Ms. Payne, that we appreciate your befriending my sister. She's had a difficult few years. We all have. She's become an eccentric, I can see that. But I don't want her eccentricities or your knowing her to hurt you in any way." His ambivalence about his sister was almost palpable, but he gave Annie a courtly smile. "I hope your dog will be all right."
"Thank you."