I shook my head, remembering thinking the same thing, trying to recall where I’d seen it written recently. “No, it’s not. But it fits.” I pulled out my phone and opened it to the pictures I’d taken earlier. I scrutinized the up-close shot I’d taken of the cherub’s face, the starbursts of light dotting the stone.
“Let me see that.” Dad took his glasses from his pocket and put them on as I handed him my phone. He scrolled through the various photos, his finger moving back and forth across the screen. “That’s a beautiful painting, isn’t it? I love the garden all covered in dew—we gardeners call those angel kisses.”
I smiled. “That’s sweet. I used to think of dewy grass as something to avoid unless I wanted to ruin my shoes.”
“And you don’t anymore?”
“Maybe a little. But now I’ll think of it as angel kisses.”
He continued to move between photos, bringing the screen close to his face. “So, what exactly am I supposed to be looking for?”
“That’s a very good question. Just something valuable. But all we could see was the fountain and the dew. And the peeing statue.”
“And the dog.”
“What?” I leaned in to get a closer look. “Where?”
He expanded the screen and with a green-stained finger pointed to a small brown figure sitting at attention in the grass next to the fountain, blending perfectly into the shadows of the bushes behind him. I blinked, just to make sure he didn’t go away.
“It’s like an optical illusion. But once you spot him, you can’t not see him. I wonder if that was intended by the artist.”
Dad adjusted and minimized the photo. “Whoever the artist was, he or she didn’t sign it. Assuming it was a commissioned piece, I’m confident that the inclusion was intentional. We’ve certainly learned over the years that the Vanderhorsts love their puzzles.” He moved through the photos again, stopping on a close-up I’d taken of the bushes, where the dog was clearly visible now that I knew what to look for.
“Nola thinks his name is Otis,” I said, squinting to see better.
“I’m not going to ask why she thinks that.” He brought the phone closer to his face, blocking my view. “Maybe it’s on his collar.” He stayed poised that way for a long moment before sitting back, an odd expression on his face. “Well,” he said.
“Well, what? Is his name on the collar?”
“No,” he said slowly. “But those bright spots on his neck that look like giant dewdrops? I’m pretty sure they’re not.”
I unceremoniously grabbed the phone out of his hands and brought it closer to my eyes. I focused my gaze on the dog’s furry face, moving slowly down to its short, thick neck. “I don’t . . .” I began.
“Here.” Dad handed me his reading glasses.
I put them on and stared at the brown spot in the picture. It was the first time I’d seen Otis’s front end—assuming it was the right dog. Jack was always telling me how I shouldn’t assume, but in this case, I thought I had enough reasonable evidence. A thick black collar appeared to be studded with three large stones of equal size sparkling like dew. They were set into the collar, and at first glance I would have thought them to be cut crystal. Except for the fact that we were looking for a missing diamond, I would have settled with that thought.
I met my father’s gaze. “I never even thought about the possibility that the diamond was cut again. It would have made it easier to hide, wouldn’t it?”
A wide grin crossed his face. “In today’s dollars, the diamonds would still be very valuable, not just because of their provenance, but also because the Hope Diamond is a rare blue diamond. And Marc Longo apparently believes they’re hidden in your clock.”
I sat back against the iron bench, my thoughts stopping and starting, jumping from one thing to the next. “But they’re not,” I said. “And since they’re not, where are they?”
My father stood, offering me his hand to help pull me up. “It’s anyone’s guess. But I sincerely hope you find them before Marc Longo does.”
CHAPTER 29
I awakened the following morning from a fitful sleep to find a dozen missed calls from Jack. I’d put my phone in do-not-disturb mode not out of spite but because I needed time to think and absorb what my father had said to me in the garden. It was most important because my heartsickness had morphed into a red-hot anger. Remembering my promise to be a better version of myself, I quickly turned off the do-not-disturb mode.
The voice mail icon alerted me to a waiting message, but instead of listening to it right away, I sent an obligatory text to Rebecca asking about Marc—broken foot, pins in bones, he’d survive—then went into the bathroom to start my shower. I needed to be dressed and in full makeup first, feeling like I was suiting myself up in armor before heading out to battle. Not that I thought of my marriage as a battleground, but if my parents thought I was a warrior woman, I needed to dress the part so I could pretend they were right.
I sat down at my dressing table, put my phone on speaker, and listened to the voice mail. At the sound of Jack’s voice, I closed my eyes, wanting at least to imagine that he was in the room with me.
“I don’t blame you for turning off your phone. I can’t blame you. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, Mellie. For everything. For that night especially. That shouldn’t have happened—not when everything is so unsettled between us. It just felt right at the time, and I gave in to it. Delayed gratification isn’t something I’m good at. At least not where you’re concerned.”
I found myself leaning forward, as if Jack were standing in front of me and I could touch him. My hurt and anger could never mask how much I loved him and what the mere sound of his voice did to my heart.
“Anyway, I know we need to talk. Face-to-face. I have a lot to tell you. I had to catch a flight last night to DC to do some research, so I couldn’t wait until you returned from Rebecca’s. I moved my things back to my apartment since it appears the filming has stopped—at least for now.