“What time was that?”
“It was around five-thirty, I guess. Maybe a little later. A little later, I guess. There was a rave, and I really wanted to go. I’m almost eighteen!”
“Not for another eleven months,” Opal said, sharp as a blade. “We trusted you, Fiona.”
More tears leaked. “Pats and Haven and Rush and Zoe all went.”
“And we’ll see if their parents knew about that.”
“You can’t narc on them!”
“Oh.” This time her father spoke up. “Watch us.”
“Let’s get into that later.” Eve held up a hand before the situation devolved again. “Did you see anyone, hear anything when you got home? Someone on the street, near the house.”
“I didn’t, and I was really careful. Until I found her. I think I screamed when I realized… When I realized she was dead, I think I screamed. And I just ran back up the steps, then to the front door. I just started banging and yelling for Mom and Dad. I didn’t even think at first that I had my swipe, the passcode. I was just scared.”
“We couldn’t understand her at first.” Opal spoke, calmer now. “She wasn’t making sense, and of course, she was fully dressed. We realized she’d been out, and we were angry. Then she’s shouting about a dead woman, and we were terrified she’d been in an accident.”
“She was totally whacked,” Trent put in, then shrugged at his sister’s hard look. “I’d probably be totally whacked if I found a dead body. I was going to go out and see what the what, but Dad wouldn’t let me.”
“I went out myself. I was sure I’d find someone had tossed some old clothes or garbage down there, but…” Roger closed his eyes. “I saw her.”
“Did you touch anything? Either of you.”
“I—I started to shake her shoulder, but then I realized.” Fiona sucked in a sob. “Her eyes. They were open and staring. I yelled at her, like I said, when I first saw her, and she didn’t move.”
“I didn’t go all the way down,” Roger continued. “I took a flashlight, and as I started down—thinking, like Fiona at first, she was sleeping or passed out—I could see.”
“He came back in, and we called the police,” Opal finished.
“You have a lot of art,” Eve commented.
“Opal’s an artist,” Roger told her, with pride.
Opal waved that away. “I like to think so, but I’m more a patron. Roger and I own the Charles Street Gallery in the Village, and an attached art supply store with a studio space above.”
“Studio.”
“Yes. We bring in an artist whose work we’re featuring to teach and guide students. Once a week for a month, then another artist, perhaps another medium.”
“Peabody, the painting.”
Peabody took out her PPC, pulled it up. “Do you recognize this.”
Opal glanced at the screen. “Of course.Girl with a Pearl Earring.”
“Wait.” Fiona snatched at the PPC. “That’s what she’s wearing! That’s how she looks!”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s right.” Eve drew Opal’s attention back to her. “The victim was dressed and posed to replicate this painting. Does it have any specific meaning for you?”
“What? No. I mean, of course it’s a magnificent portrait, but I don’t understand. Why would anyone… It’s just sick, and horrible. Why would anyone do that, and leave her here, on our doorstep?”
“Maybe you pissed somebody off.”
“Trent!”
