“Hiiiiiiii, Fliss. Where are you?”
“Hey, dude! I’m at my dad’s, you know that. How’s Australia?”
Ethan tells me all about the pool in his grandparents’ back garden and the koala bear at the zoo that he thought was going to poop on him and the unlimited ice cream he got after dinner. I gasp and laugh in the appropriate places and realize that a dose of my little brother’s happiness is exactly what I needed. I wish I was there with them instead of being Miss Independent. When Mom eventually wrestles the phone from him, I feel almost back to normal.
“We have to get him to bed, Fliss, but I’ll keep checking in. Your dad said he’ll sort you out a new phone if the police…if you don’t get it back.”
“Okay. Thanks. Say hi to Darren, and give Ethan a big squeeze for me.”
“If he sits still I will. Love you, honey.”
“Love you too.”
The call ends, and increasingly worried texts from Dad that must have come through in the early-morning hours fill the screen. I send one to let him know we’re okay and that I’ve spoken to Mom and he doesn’t need to ring me. I have no idea what time it is there, but he sends a message straight back to say the hotel is organizing his flight home. Thank god. As much as we were looking forward to having the place to ourselves, that has quickly changed.
Before I forget, I quickly shoot a text to Alessandra, like I promised, then push myself off the sofa and head for the bathroom. I need a scalding hot shower. As I pass through the hallway, I spot the tarot card and a pink crystal Kim must have left for me yesterday. It sits on the console beneath the space where the portrait hung, and there’s a Post-it stuck to the well-worncard.
The Hermit—knowledge and wisdom.
Rose quartz—promotes healthy, harmonious relationships.
K x
I leave them where they are, even though the meaning behind the crystal is touching. Maybe I’ll let Kim tell me more about it when they get home, which should be soon.
I lock the bathroom door behind me and make sure the shower is steaming before I scrub my skin red raw. The word “knowledge” swirls around in my head as I try to distract myself. We’ve missed the pottery session but should still be able to spend the afternoon working on our projects.
My mind drifts to the painting. What are the chances that I should find a missing self-portrait stuffed with pictures of The Four? I wonder if Professor Williams was keeping his find quiet because he was trying to prove that the painter really did murder those women, before he went public with the knowledge.And then the curse got him before he could…
I shake my head at the unpleasant thought. I haven’t had a chance to look through the papers yet, but I’m in need of a distraction to take my mind off last night, so what better time thannow?
I dry off from the shower, go back to my room and get dressed before gently shaking Izzy awake. She yawns as I take my notebook from the desk and extract the papers.
I have some reading to do.
ELEVEN
“What are you doing?” Izzyreappears in the bedroom doorway, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
“Just looking at some articles,” I say from my position on the floor. I twist around to look at her properly. “Are you okay? What did your mom say?”
“I’m fine, but she almost got in the car to come and get me.” Izzy sighs, sinking down next to me. “But I think I talked her down. She’s going to speak to your mom and seems happy that your dad is on his way home, but I don’t know how long that will last. She made me promise to have my tracking on twenty-four seven and was about to call the police to hound them about our phones.” She looks at the floor. “If she wasn’t in the middle of all this stuff with my sister, she’d be knocking at the door, but I think the only reason Sophie hasn’t relapsed yet is because Mom is with her all the time, so it’s better for her to stay put.” Izzy goes quiet then, picking at the hot pink polish on her fingernails. “So.” She tries again, crouching to look at one of the newspaper clippings. “What is all this?”
I shrug, holding up the sheaf of paper. “I’m not sure yet. When that painting was here, Dad and Kim went out for a bit,and it fell off the wall. The back panel cracked and all this stuff was inside.” I hold up my hand so she can see the red line of the healing paper cut. “I reopened this trying to get them all out—it still stings when I wash my hands. Anyway, they look like articles about The Four, when they were bought and sold, all that stuff, but these are handwritten notes. They’re hard to make out, though.” I point at the letterhead on the thick writing paper as Izzy tilts her head to read them.
“Professor Williams? Didn’t you find the painting at his house?”
“Yeah. Do you remember him?” I ask. Izzy thinks for a second, then shakes her head. “I didn’t either, until Dad told me about his wife. She used to make really good chocolate cake.”
“So you think he put these in the painting? Why would he do that?”
“He must have. I think he was looking into links between The Four and a serial killer. Look here.” I start to show her a bunch of Professor Williams’s notes that I found this morning, but Izzy raises her eyebrows at me, and I know it’s too soon to talk to her about this particular theory, so I drop it. “Think about it, Iz. He was an academic, so if The Four were real women, then surely there would be historical documents about them somewhere. I bet the self-portrait would have been way more valuable if he had some actual evidence they were murdered…” I feel my jaw drop and eyes widen in what I can only assume looks like a cartoon “Aha!” moment. “Izzy, that’s it! If he had solid proof that the self-portrait was of a killer, it would be even more sought after. No one knows where he got it, which means he probably bought it on the black market. What if he was never planning togo public with it, he was going to verify it and sell it privately to the highest bidder?”
“But then he dropped dead from a heart attack, and someone was killed on the first night it was shown publicly?” Izzy wraps herself in a hug. “I think both of those things put big ticks in thepainting is definitely cursedbox.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, he obviously never got to the bottom of it.”
“And if I know you, Felicity Keller, future investigative journalist, you’re thinking of picking up where he left off?”
