Though several lamps are on, Alison doesn’t seem to be around. Unless the door in the back wall leads to another room in the studio and she’s working in there.
I step even closer to the window. From where I’m standing, some of the paintings aren’t much more than a blur of color—blues, greens, and yellows, punctuated in places with black—but I have a good view of one directly across the room from me, resting on the floor. It features a pretty, long-haired woman in a white dress, floating Chagall-like in midair.Beautiful,I think, and then shudder as I register more details. The straw basket in the woman’s hand is overflowing with fat brown mice, some of which are scurrying down her legs.
Another “dream,” I suppose. The deeply unsettling kind that still gnaws at you as you brush your teeth.
“Can I help you?”
I nearly leap out of my skin. I spin around to find Jeffrey Handler just a short distance away on the path. He’s the tiniest bit out of breath, like he might have hurried on foot from wherever he’s been until now.
“Oh, hi,” I say. That’s all I come up with in my flustered state.
He simply stands there without saying anything, and even in the dim light, I can detect the tight set of his jaw.
“I was looking for Alison,” I add, scrambling. “She invited me to drop by her studio.”
He squints as if confused.
“Alison isn’t here,” he says. “She’s out for the evening.”
Has he guessed that I’ve fudged the truth? Hopefully he’ll tell himself I’m simply a jet-lagged, grief-addled woman, unsure of which end is up.
“Ah, okay. No worries.”
“Itisworrisome, though—that you’ve come all this way for no reason. It’s not like Alison to forget a meeting.”
“She didn’t forget,” I say. I move away from the window and plant myself back on the path. “We hadn’t set up a specific time. I just took a chance she’d be here.”
“I see. Well, do check with her first if you find the time to stop by again,” he says. He shifts position slightly, and thanks to the direction of the light, I can see his face better now. He looks slightly vexed, like I’ve tapped his bumper with my own in a parking lot. “I’m sure she’d love to show you her work, but she’s quite busy lately, and there’s no guarantee she’ll be in the studio on any given day.”
“Will do.”
He goes quiet again and seems to study me.
“I take it you’ve had a busy week so far,” he says finally, his tone softer now.
“Fairly, yes ... And, oh, I got the copies ofThe Muse. Thank you for your help on those.”
“Happy to do what I can.”
I take a breath, no longer quite as flustered. “At dinner, you also mentioned that you might have some of Melanie’s work in a file at home. You probably haven’t had a chance to look yet, though.”
He clears his throat. “No, actually, I did look at lunchtime today and was going to email you. Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything.”
“Well, I appreciate the effort,” I say, disheartened by the news. “And—and there’s no other place her work might be?”
A beat passes. And then another.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Good night, then. And sorry to disturb you.”
“Wait,” he says as I start to brush past him. “Would you like me to call you a cab? You can come in the house while you’re waiting.”
Instinctively, I glance in that direction, where the only light burning is over the stoop. A faint ripple of fear runs through me.No,I think.I don’t want to go into that house with you and wait for you to call a cab.
Chapter 19
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” I say. “I’m in the mood for a walk again.”
