She swept past us into the house, the sound of swishing silk following her as she headed for the stairs. We looked at one another and then, without a word, walked in the direction of Marc’s office.
This room had apparently been off-limits to Rebecca’s decorating skills, meaning it wasn’t pink, but neither had anyone with any knowledge of design touched any part of it. It resembled a college dorm room rather than the office of a successful businessman, with a mishmash of furniture and with random pictures hanging on the walls. A tall file cabinet stood between the windows next to an antique partners desk; the file drawers were locked, as were the desk drawers. A large safe sat on the other side of the desk, its door solid and very, very locked.
“So, we’re looking for a painting?” Ginny asked.
“Yes. A small one of the fountain in my garden. I don’t think it’s tiny, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. I’m thinking a thick gilded frame since all the other paintings we saw at the museum had the same frames.”
“Like this?” Jayne asked, reaching into the space between the desk and file cabinet where a small painting had been casually placed on the floor. “If this is the right one, Marc is either incredibly lazy or just plain stupid.”
“Do I have to pick just one?” I asked, feeling my mother’s disappointed gaze on me.
I looked at the painting, recognizing my garden and trying to see what Marc had found so important. It showed the fountain and the area around it in the glow of early morning, heavy dewdrops sitting atop grass blades and rose petals and even on the nose and extremities of the perpetually peeing boy in the fountain. The sun reflected off of the myriad drops, creating pinpoints of light throughout the scene in what appeared to be a nod toward promise and hope. Definitely not something I would have assumed would attract the attention of someone like Marc Longo.
“I don’t get it,” Jayne said. “What’s so special about the painting?”
“Maybe it is a hoax,” I said, the word sounding oddly familiar. “Shake it and see if anything rattles.”
She gave it a gentle shake, then pressed her fingers carefully along the back. “If a big diamond was hidden inside this painting, it’s not there anymore.”
The sound of movement from upstairs startled us. “We need to go,” I whispered. “I don’t want Rebecca to find us in here.”
“She practically gave us permission,” Jayne said.
“Yes, but if she finds us, then she’ll have to lie to Marc, and that’s what she was trying to avoid.”
“Okay.” Jayne drew out the word in a perfect imitation of Nola. “Let’s take the painting with us, then.”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not. We don’t want Marc to know we’ve seen it, so make sure you put it back exactly where you found it.”
The clack of low-heeled slippers crossed the wood floor somewhere upstairs. Ginny moved to the door. “Quick, Jayne, hold up the painting. I think it would be a good idea for Mellie to take pictures. I’ll play decoy and make lots of noise in the powder room.”
She disappeared into the hallway while I shared a moment of surprise with Jayne at the incongruity of our elegant mother playing decoy in a bathroom.
Jayne did as she’d been told while I took photos from every angle, with and without flash, in bursts—as Nola had shown me how to do—and in panorama. I even did a slow-motion video just to be thorough.
Ginny appeared in the doorway. “Hurry, girls. Did you get what you needed?”
I nodded as we followed her out into the hallway. As we passed the powder room, she dashed inside and did a quick flush of the toilet and ran the tap before turning on the light. “I’ll leave it on so she knows we were in there,” she said conspiratorially.
“I’ll meet you at the car,” I said. “I just want to grab something.”
Jayne took hold of my arm and led me to the front door. “Rebecca said to leave the doughnuts there. Would you deprive a pregnant woman?”
I wasn’t allowed to answer as I was practically dragged out the door.
We’d piled into the car and were headed back to Highway 17 to return to Charleston when my phone rang. Ginny pulled the phone out of my purse and looked at the screen before I could tell her not to.
“It’s Beau Ryan. Do you want me to answer it?”
I shook my head and pressed the phone button on my steering wheel, which was the extent of my knowledge concerning all the high-tech items apparently loaded into my car. Otherwise I was blissfully unaware of them.
“Hi, Beau. Please don’t tell me you’re done with the fencing already.” I was already planning how to ask him if I could pay in installments when his words caught my attention. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“There’s been an accident.”
I braked suddenly, making the driver behind me blare his horn as he swerved his car around me. “What? Is anybody hurt?” My mind immediately flooded with pictures of the twins poking each other’s eyes out with plastic rakes. And of a car accident involving Nola. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I braced myself.
“No, thankfully. It’s just Marc Longo.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I looked over at my mother giving me an admonishing stare. “I mean, is he all right?”
“Well, it looks to me like he might have a broken foot. I called nine-one-one and Mrs. Longo. Her phone went right to voice mail, so she might have turned it off. The ambulance is already here and EMTs are stabilizing him before taking him to the hospital.”
“Did you see it happen?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d gone inside for a drink of water in the kitchen—Mrs. Houlihan always leaves me a pitcher and a couple of cookies. I heard noises from the front parlor that sounded like clock chimes being knocked together, so I went to investigate. Marc was standing on one of the dining room chairs—”