“No thanks,” he says as Izzy releases him. “I’ve already got the jitters.” His eyes are red and sore-looking, and my heart breaks for him. Jen was his friend. “Maybe a water?”
“Done.” I start to reach a hand toward him and hesitate, wrapping it round the strap of my bag instead. “I’m so sorry, Noah. Jen seemed like a really good person.” I want to say more,but Ihave no idea where to go from there. I look at Izzy for help as Noah lowers his eyes, and she shakes her head slightly.
“Get me a flat white, Fliss?” she says instead, sitting down beside him.
I nod and go to the counter, grateful she’s given me a few moments to myself. I’m so bad at all this feelings stuff. I switch straight to autopilot, because dealing with anything is easier when emotions are out of the equation. I learned that when my parents split up, but unfortunately it means I have no idea how to act in these situations. I was the same when Izzy’s dad died; I just couldn’t talk to her about it. I’ve gotten a little better over the years, but my initial reaction is still to shut out my emotions, especially if they’re bad ones.
I order the drinks, getting myself a caramel macchiato that I don’t really want, but having a cup will give me something to fiddle with. I move to the end of the counter while the barista does his thing. My mind wanders to the last time we were in the café, and my hands start to sweat as the night we found Helen flashes through my mind. We walked in through the gallery this time, not the staff entrance, but I can still picture the locker room so clearly…I blink away the memory before panic overwhelms me, but I’m on a roll. A second person has been killed in less than a week. A second person who we met just before they died. I give myself a literal shake as unwelcome thoughts of the painting and its supposed curse invade my mind. I am not going down thatroad.
“Flat white for Fliss?” The barista calls my name as he putsa white mug down next to a glass of water on a small black tray. “The macchiato will be ready in a minute.”
“Thanks.”
He starts up the milk steamer and I glance over at Noah and Izzy, who look deep in conversation. Izzy’s one of those people who always seem to know exactly what will make someone feel better. How can people do that? I check my phone for news updates about Jen, but everywhere is running the same basic story.
“All yours.” The barista puts a second mug down and retreats to the other side of the coffee machine, where he surreptitiously swipes on his phone under the counter.
I grab the tray, grateful the surface is coated in thin rubber to prevent spillages. I steel myself for the emotional conversation I’m about to walk in on.
“Here you go,” I say as I reach the table. I put down the tray carefully.
“Thanks.” Noah takes his water and looks at me. Something unspoken passes between us, an electric current in just a glance. I sit down, my cheeks growing warm as I busy myself by taking the other drinks off the tray. “It’s okay, Fliss. We don’t have to talk about it. Izzy says you don’t like delving into all that stuff.”
“No, honestly, it’s fine. We should talk about Jen,” I say, but I want the tiled floor to open up and swallow me whole. I am not equipped for the real-life side of crime.
“I don’t really know what else to say.” He sighs. “It all feels surreal, to be honest.”
“Yeah.” I nod, picking up my coffee. “I get that. I can’t believeit either. It’s just so awful.” I pause before deciding I might as well go for it. “So is Jake’s mom on the case? Did he tell you what happened?”
“Fliss,” Izzy says, her voice low. A warning.
“It’s fine.” Noah stares down at his glass, turning it around without lifting it off the table. “Yeah, she is, but all Jake knows is that it was…done on purpose.” He pauses. “He was pretty shaken up. He said he heard his mum on the phone really early this morning and she was saying things he couldn’t make senseof.”
I literally bite my tongue to stop myself from asking questions, but luckily Izzy’s curiosity gets the better of her and she does it for me.
“Like what?” she asks.
“Really random stuff, something about a crown, some flowers. Jake said he thought he was dreaming, because the call had woken him up and his mom was in the hallway outside his bedroom.”
“Weird,” Izzy mutters, and the three of us fall into an uncomfortable silence.
My brain is whirring, synapses working overtime. I feel like there has to be a connection between the murders, but I don’t know what it is. I’m desperate to grill Noah some more, or even better, get him to call Jake, but I know I can’t do that. There has to be another way to find out exactly what happened to Jen. I glance at the curved partition wall that separates us from the gallery and realize I want to go see The Four.
I can almost feel them calling to me.
“How are you feeling?” Noah asks Izzy, forcing a change in subject. “You didn’t look so hot last night.”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m fine, I just didn’t eat enough. Got a corker of a bruise on my face, though.”
“You’re lucky it’s not a black eye.” He smiles weakly. “Bet you won’t be able to drink sangria for a while now.”
“Nope.” Izzy wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, who drinks sangria? No more red wine for me—”
“Back in a sec.” I jump up, thinking about my actions a millisecond after I carry them out.
I ignore the look Noah and Izzy exchange, leave my coffee and wind through the tables and chairs at full speed, like I’m possessed. I cross the threshold at the partition wall and enter the gallery. It’s busy enough, tourists strolling around and talking quietly among themselves, some snapping pictures they’ll probably never look at again. I huff in frustration as I weave through them, not stopping until I turn the corner, where I stop directly in front of The Four.
They avoid my gaze as I study them intently. They are still so striking up close, small compared to some of the more elaborately framed portraits, but roughly life-size. I move so close that I can see the path the brushstrokes cut through the paint, the play of light and shadows that all work together to depict four different faces. Even with the echoes of the skull pentimento beneath, there’s something so startlinglyaliveabout them, it’s almost as if they’re only holding their breath.
