"Before you called. You could have—"
"Annie," she said patiently, "the purpose of last night was to let people—Vic Denardo included—know that I had returned to San Francisco and had put you up to buying the painting of Haley. That's all well and good, but Vic—as you saw for yourself today— isn't going to be satisfied until he knows where to find me. Now he will, and not through you."
Garvin, Annie noticed, was taking Sarah's news in stride, as if he'd expected nothing less of her than an interview in the Sunday paper. "What did you say?" Annie asked. "This reporter—"
"I gave him a complete interview." Sarah regarded Annie calmly, but her face was gray, fatigue making the lines more prominent. "He asked about the murders, about my life these past five years. I indicated I'd done some paintings. He assumed it was a hobby, a way of coping, and I let him. I'd covered up all my canvases."
"Why?"
"I didn't want the public to come to my work through a tawdry article in the Sunday papers. If and when my work is shown, it will be at your gallery, Annie. This is the proper forum for any discussion of my paintings." Her eyes clouded. "Unless you change your mind about wanting to represent me."
Only if you're a murderer, Annie thought. She winced. How could she think such a thing? It was ghoulish and disloyal. Of course Sarah Linwood wasn't a murderer. That was just Garvin MacCrae being Garvin MacCrae, keeping his options open, no matter their insanity.
"I won't change my mind," Annie said, with a quick glance in his direction. His face was impassive.
"Talking to the press wasn't a rash decision," Sarah went on. "I've no regrets. If Vic or anyone else wants to find me, I'm here."
"You shouldn't be up here alone." Garvin's voice was even deeper than usual, but his expression was still unchanged.
Sarah shook her head. "That's the only way I will stay up here. Now, if you'll excuse me." She sank back against her chair. "I'd prefer to be alone."
Garvin opened his mouth to speak but apparently changed his mind and tore open the front door without a word. His movements were stiff and icily controlled. From the flash of anger in his eyes, Annie guessed he'd been about to tell Sarah to go to hell. Sarah acted as if she were oblivious to his irritation, but she was too perceptive for that. She wasn't upset, Annie saw, just not unaware.
"Are you sure you don't want us to stay?" Annie asked her.
Sarah smiled. "I'm sure."
"At least lock your doors."
She didn't answer.
Outside, the clouds and fog and mist had gathered around Sarah's hilltop, cutting off much of the view of the sprawling city and bay. Annie suddenly felt isolated and claustrophobic, unable to get a decent breath.
Neither she nor Garvin spoke on the way down the steep, narrow, twisting street to the bottom of Sarah's hill. Not until they reached Market did Annie feel calm enough to speak. She gave him a quick sideways glance. "You look as if you could pick up Sarah's house and heave it into San Francisco Bay."
"I just might," he said through clenched teeth.
"It wouldn't make you feel any better."
"Neither would sitting out on a rock waiting for the sunrise."
Annie settled back, unperturbed. "This is San Francisco. You'd probably be hauled off as a nuisance or a nutcase before dawn."
He didn't relax. He had a vise grip on the wheel. "Sarah's a self-pitying, self-absorbed old crank. Damn her for not consulting us. If we hadn't come up here tonight, we'd be reading her interview in the Sunday paper along with the rest of San Francisco."
"It's her way of protecting us."
"The hell it is. She loves the drama. She's always wanted to be the center of attention. Instead of gambling with money, now she's gambling with people's lives—her own life." He gave Annie a quick glance, his eyes dark slits. "She might be a brilliant artist, Annie, but she's a pain in the ass."
After Sarah's performance, Annie couldn't argue. "Do you think she's okay for now?"
He breathed out in a quiet hiss. "Your guess is as good as mine. Either way, there's not much we can do."
Annie nodded. They couldn't protect Sarah from herself. Even if Garvin had his own agenda, he was right about that much. "I suppose not." She stared out her window at the fog and rain. "I want to see Otto."