Flynn knew it wasn't the mouth that showed Brad's mood. It was the eyes. When they smiled, he meant it.
They did so now. "Son of a bitch. It's good to see you."
"I never figured you for coming back, not for any length of time."
"Neither did I. Things change, Flynn. They're meant to, I guess. I've been itchy the last few years. I finally figured out I was itchy for home. How are things with you, Mr. Editor in Chief?"
"They're okay. I assume you'll be subscribing to our paper. I'll make arrangements for that," he added with a grin. "We put up a nice red box next to the mailbox on the road. Morning delivery out here usually hits by seven." "Sign me up."
"I will. And I'm going to want to interview Bradley Charles Vane IV at his earliest convenience."
"Shit. Give me a while to settle in before I have to put on my corporate hat."
"How about next Monday? I'll come to you."
"Christ, you've become Clark Kent. No, worse, Lois Lane—without the great legs. I don't know what I've got going on Monday, but I'll have my assistant set it up."
"Great. How about we grab some beer and catch up tonight?"
"I can get behind that. How's your family?"
"Mom and Joe are doing fine out in Phoenix."
"Actually, I was thinking more about the delicious Dana."
"You're not going to start hitting on my sister again? It's embarrassing."
"She hooked up with anybody?"
"No, she's not hooked up with anybody."
"She still built?"
Flynn winced. "Shut up, Vane."
"I love yanking your chain over that one." And with a sigh, Brad was home. “Though it's entertaining, that's not why I asked you to come out. There's something I think you're going to want to see. I did some thinking when you told me about this deal Dana and her friends got themselves into."
"You know something about these people up at Warrior's Peak?"
"No. But I know something about art. Come on. I had them put it in the great room. I'd just finished uncrating it personally when I heard you drive up."
He walked along the deck, around the corner of the house to the double glass doors bordered by etched panels.
The great room boasted a towering ceiling with a circling balcony, a generous fireplace with hearth and mantel of hunter-green granite framed in golden oak. There was space for two sofas, one in the center of the room, the other tucked into a cozy conversation area along the far wall.
More space spilled through a wide arch, where the piano stood and where Brad had spent countless tedious hours practicing.
There, propped against the hearth of a second fireplace, was the painting.
The muscles in Flynn's belly went loose. "Jesus. Oh, Jesus."
"It's called After the Spell . I got it at an auction about three years ago. Do you remember I mentioned I'd bought a painting because one of the figures in it looked like Dana?"
"I didn't pay any attention. You were always razzing me about Dana." He crouched down now, stared hard at the painting. He didn't know art, but even with his limited eye, he'd have bet the farm that the same hand had painted this that had created the painting at Warrior's Peak.
There was no joy or innocence here, however. The tone was dark, a kind of grieving, with the only light, pale, pale light, glowing from the three glass coffins where three women seemed to sleep.
His sister's face, and Malory's, and Zoe's.
"I have to make a phone call." Flynn straightened and dug out his cell phone. "There's someone who has to see this right away."
Chapter Nine
She didn't like to be told to hurry, especially when she wasn't given a good reason why. So, on principle, Malory took her time driving to the Vane house.
She had a lot on her mind, and a little drive in the country was just the ticket, she decided, to line those thoughts up in some organized fashion.
And she liked tooling along in her little car over the windy road that followed the river, and the way the sun sprinkled through the leaves overhead to splatter patterns of light on the roadbed.
If she could paint, she would do a study of that—just the way light and shadow played on something as simple and ordinary as a country road. If she could paint, she thought again— which she couldn't, despite all the desire, all the study, all the years of trying.
But someone sure as hell could.
She should've tried to track down Dana and Zoe before driving out here. Really, she was supposed to be working with them, not with Flynn. He was… like an accessory, she told herself. A really attractive, sexy, interesting accessory.
Boy, she loved accessories.
Not a productive train of thought.
She switched the car radio off, steeped herself in silence. What she needed to do was find Dana and Zoe, tell them what she'd discovered. Maybe if she said it all out loud she, or they, could decipher what it meant
Because at the moment she didn't have a clue.
All she knew, in her gut, was that it was important. Even vital. If not the answer, it was one of the bread crumbs that would lead to the answer.
She turned off the road and onto the private lane. No gates here. No circling walls. The Vanes were certainly wealthy enough to rate them. She wondered why they hadn't chosen to buy Warrior's Peak instead of building by the river, closer to town.
Then the house came into view and answered her question. It was beautiful, and it was wood. A lumber baron would hardly build or buy in stone or brick. He would, as he had, build to illustrate the art of his product.
The wood was honey gold, set off by copper trim that had gone dreamy green with age and weather. There was a complex arrangement of decks and terraces, skirting or jutting from both stories. Half a dozen rooflines peaked or sloped, all with a kind of artful symmetry that brought harmony to the whole.
The grounds were informal, as suited the site and the style, but she imagined that the placement of every shrub, every tree, every flower bed had been meticulously selected and designed.
Malory approved of meticulous design and execution.
She pulled up beside a moving van and was about to step out when she heard the wild, delighted barking.
"Oh, no, not this time. I've got your number, buddy." She reached into the box on the floor beside her and pulled out a large dog biscuit.
Even as Moe's homely face smooshed against the car window, she rolled it down. "Moe! Get the cookie!" And threw the dog biscuit as far as she could manage.
As he raced in pursuit, she nipped out of the car and made a dash for the house.
"Nice job." Flynn met her at the door.
"I'm a quick study." "Counting on that. Malory Price, Brad Vane. Already called it," Flynn added in subtle warning as he saw the interest light in Brad's eye.
"Oh? Well, can't blame you." Brad smiled at Malory. "It's still nice to meet you, Malory."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's guy-speak," Flynn told her, and dipped his head to kiss her. "Just bringing Brad up-to-date. Dana and Zoe on the way?"
"No. Dana's working, and I couldn't reach Zoe. I left messages for both of them. What's this all about?"
"You're going to want to see it for yourself."
"See what? You drag me out here—no offense," she added to Brad, "you have a beautiful house—without any explanation. And I was busy. The time factor—"
"I'm starting to think time's a real factor." Flynn tugged her along toward the great room.
"Excuse the disorder. I've got a lot going out, a lot coming in today." Brad kicked aside a chunk of broken lamp. "Flynn tells me you managed the art gallery in town."
"Yes, until recently. Oh, what a fabulous room." She stopped, absorbed the space. It needed paintings, sculpture, more color, more texture. Such a wonderful space deserved art.