On a presque fini, mon chéri.
Almost done with what?
The men continued into broad sunlight, forcing me to hang back and release the shadows that had concealed me. I burned to chase after the painting, but that was for Mina and Marius to do.
Do not mess this up. Do not mess this up,I ordered myself again and again.
So I didn’t follow. I stared at a shop window while my mind spun.
Who was that boy? Who was his mother?
They weren’t guests at that Easter depicted in the painting, I was sure. Their manner of speech was a little dated, and their voices emerged from a greater distance.
Or a different layer of the painting, I realized.
I turned and headed back to the café, where Roux waited, staring.
“What was that about?” he demanded.
I sank into a chair, trying to make sense of what I’d heard.
“You just disappeared. How did you do that?” Roux went on, keeping his voice down.
Shadow-weaving. I was amazed that it had actually worked, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Whatever is hidden in the painting has to be worth a fortune,Marius had said.
Moneyhad been one of our guesses, anddocumentshad been another. But neither explained the voices of the boy and his mother.
I ran a finger along the café table, recalling the unusual thickness of the frame.
Gordon is a crook and a liar, and he’s used you,Roux had once said.
I stared into the distance, moving the puzzle pieces this way and that.
Then it hit me, and I stared at Roux.
“There’s a painting behind the painting.”
He stared. “There’s what?”
“There’s a painting behind my father’s painting. That’s why the frame is so thick. That’s what everyone is after — the hidden painting,” I said.
He considered. “Makes sense. But what?”
“Something with a mother and a little boy.”
He stared at me. “Did you see it?”
I shook my head.
“Then how do you know?”
* * *
Trust medidn’t work that time, so I did my best to explain. Roux listened, intently at first, then skeptically.
“You can hear paintings?”
