Page 74 of The Dead Come to Stay
“The windows to the soul,” Gwilym added.
“Exactly. It’s a psychological portrait of a woman in love.”
“And Gwen couldn’t live with it? I guess she didn’t go in for polyamory.” Gwilym hovered over the dessert menu. “Actually, I’m not sure Ida was all that into it, either. Some accounts say she felt like a drudge, looking after all the kids while Dorelia continued to model.”
Jo ordered, then sat back thoughtfully. Two women, one adored, the other rejected. Like the Bible story about Jacob’s wives, Leah and Rachel. Was it motive for murder? Was Gwen’s jealousy and heartbreak bitter enough to lead to bloodshed?She wouldn’t, Jo thought. Would she?
“I wonder what would have happened if theyhadlived all together,” she said. “Happily, I mean. Or at least openly, like the artists.”
“Artists can get away with that a lot better than lords, I think,” Gwilym suggested. “Marriages of convenience and secret trysts for king and country.”
Secrets.There shouldn’t have to be secrets—Jo hated them. Look what they did to her mother... to her relationship with her mother, too. Look what had happened to Aiden, and then to Arthur, since he couldn’t bring himself to come out of the closet. Look at how the world crushed and squeezed anyone who was different for the sake of “society says.”
“You’ve gone quiet,” Gwilym said. Jo blinked at him. Dessert had come and she’d been staring into space.
“Sorry. It’s just—you know, my uncle was going to propose to Arthur. I don’t think Arthur knows. Chen said he was tired of hiding. Told her he’d even give up theHidingpainting—”
Jo’s brain ground gears.He was going to give the painting back.More importantly, he was going to take Evelynhome. Jo jumped out of her seat, remembered they were in a restaurant and forced herself to sit back down.
“Okay. So we all notice that Evelyn appears to be looking the wrong way. It’s subtle. Takes you a minute to see it.”
“Yeah, because it was repaired, so they looked at a photograph instead of the real thing. And because you said Uncle Aiden wanted Evelyn’s eyes to be looking at him.”
“I know, that’s what we decided. But what if—what if—it’s more intentional than that? What if it’s aclue?” Jo almost squeaked the last word out.
“How do you mean?” Gwilym asked, half standing himself now.
“I have an idea. We need to take Evelyn to Arthur’s flat,” she said, digging out her phone. “I want Chen to be there, too. Are you busy?”
“Selling antiques out of my by-appointment-only in Swansea?” Gwilym asked, twirling his mustache. “Not likely.”
Jo hadn’t really thought so. She raised her hand as if in primary school to catch the waiter’s attention, thumb typing texts to Chen and Arthur with the other.
“We’re going to Newcastle first thing tomorrow.”
Chapter 22
Debriefing occurred at six, Thursday morning. The sun had not yet come up, but at least the office was pleasantly cool. Green looked as mysteriously well-rested as ever; Gridley looked daggers at the clock. Andrews—very intelligently—brought a mother lode of pastry, and MacAdams had taken the initiative to bring everyone’s preferred beverage: double-espresso, flat white and Andrews’s “dirty” chai. They all looked tired, but perhaps none more so than Struthers, who was just walking in. He didn’t take coffee, so MacAdams sent Andrews to make a strong cup of tea.
“Thanks for coming, Eric,” he said.
The pathologist smiled weakly. “Would be all right if I’d had a full night of sleep,” he said.
MacAdams clapped him on the shoulder in a way he hoped was bracing. After returning from Jo’s cottage the night before, he’d called Struthers back to his lab. Knowing the murderermayhave been back on-site, they needed—first, a much closer time of death, and second, a thorough reexamination of Foley’s belongings. MacAdams hadn’t been idle, either. He lifted documents from the printer and handed them around.
“Sea change,” MacAdams said, taking his position in front. “I know it’s tempting to follow the artifact trade, but I don’t think that’s what got Foley murdered.
“We’ve been struggling with this case for two reasons. First, we didn’t know Foley, the man. Now we do, thanks to Tula Byrne. Second, we had no sense of the murderer apart from seemingly random weapon of choice. Now, we’ve got a bit more.”
“All because Jo didn’t lock her front door?” Gridley asked through a puff of powdered sugar. And when you put it that way, it did sound thin. But MacAdams rallied:
“Small details break cases,” he said, returning to the board. “Let’s make a list. The murderer ice-packs the body, then later returns to the cottage for soap, so he’s careful—fastidious,” he said, borrowing Jo’s word. “What else does this tell us?”
“They’re bold? It’s a hell of a risk, going back,” Green said. “What if someone saw him?”
“Yeah. Plus, how’d he know he could get in, even?” Andrews asked. “Weknow the door was unlocked, but did he?”
“Or she,” MacAdams said. Green acquiesced this time.
