She studied Jessie’s watercolor, with its lovely washes of blue sky and tawny sand.
In the watercolor, two children kneeled on the sand, with a whimsical sand structure rising between them, not so much a castle as a conglomeration of towers still holding the shapes of plastic pails. A seagull perched on the sand, gazing out to sea. Its profile echoed the shape of the rock formation at the far end of the beach, the one Luke had recognized. The piece had a timeless quality that pulled you in and invited you to pull up a beach chair and let the sun warm your face.
How could anyone have allowed it to end up under a refrigerator?
“It looks idyllic, doesn’t it? Like a child’s dream,” she murmured.
“Jessie is extremely talented.” Jack smiled as he gazed down at his sister’s work. In his open-collared white shirt and jeans, he looked almost like a normal person, only about ten times more attractive. But of all his appealing qualities, the way he talked about his sister topped the list for Tina.
“Did she mention this watercolor to you?”
“No, she said she was working on something about ghosts.”
“Well, that’s cryptic.” She squinted at the watercolor. “Maybe these two children are the ghosts, in some kind of metaphorical way. Lost innocence or something.”
He shot her a surprised glance. “You might be right. I like that. It…well, that would be a familiar theme for Jessie.”
“Why?”
When he hesitated, she drilled him with a stern gaze. “This is for her, remember? So we can find her?”
“Okay.” He threw up his hands. “Jessie was abused by a friend of our family. It happened after I joined the Army, and she didn’t tell anyone until later. I’d say most of her art is about processing that trauma.”
“Okay. Okay. Thank you for telling me. I promise I’ll respect her privacy.” She touched his arm, sensing his discomfort. “But this could be helpful.”
“How?”
“It’s another possible connection. Marigold mentioned that Adam has some kind of expertise in dealing with emotional trauma, like what Jessie experienced, and what Naomi Martin did, at the time of the murder and possibly before.”
He wrinkled his forehead. “Sorry, but that sounds like a real stretch. Is trauma that unusual?”
“No. But here’s something else.” She lifted the watercolor so he could fully take it in. “This artwork is channeling pure nostalgic love, like the happiest time in someone’s life. If these two kids are in fact the Martin children, and Seth Baker is actually Lloyd Martin, telling Jessie stories about his old life here, why were they so quick to leave?”
“Didn’t Heather say it was because they were afraid of the gossip?”
“Does that reasoning hold up? What’s your take, Hollywood?”
Jack made a little face. “No one gossips about me. But one of my costars got caught up in a scandal. The paparazzi caught her having dinner with a married A-list star, looking a little too intimate. They camped outside her house. She got swarmed on social media. She had to check into a hotel and disguise herself as a DoorDash driver to get to work. She would have done anything to make it stop. Being the target of gossip sucks.”
“Did she move?”
“No, it blew over and everyone moved onto the next scandal.” He shook his head at the memory and opened the fridge door. “But it sure was hell while it was happening. Want a soda?”
“Exactly my point.” She accepted a can from him, realizing that he was right. They were starting to grow on her. “That’s why I’m not buying that explanation. I think they had another reason to leave.”
“Like what, murder?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying I want to talk to her. To Kate Mansfield, as she’s called now.”
“I’m coming,” he said instantly.
Oh shit. She should have known he’d say that. “Not necessary. It’ll be a quick day trip.”
“You’re still recovering from a head injury. I’m coming. Besides, if this sandcastle kid is the guy we’re looking for, there’s no way I’m missing out on this.”
With a sigh, she gave in to the inevitable. If she really hadn’t wanted him to come, she shouldn’t have mentioned it. She took a long swig from the can, making a face as the bubbles hit her nostrils. “I’ll have to figure out a way to question her without setting off any alarms.”
“Now you’re talking my language. Acting.” He paced across the linoleum floor to the window. “She works at a craft shop, right? The obvious thing would be to play a couple on vacation who wants to make a scrapbook of our trip.”
