Stella had her headphones on, humming and swaying to the music only she could hear and momentarily stopping to brush some paint on the canvas.
“Stella,” I said, not wanting to scare her.
She didn’t answer.
I moved around her to the other side of the canvas, and she took her headphones out. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. That was a quick call.”
“I have to run out for a bit, but I’ll be back.”
She stuck her hip out. “But you just got here and I have a lot more debauchery planned.”
“I’ll be done before you know it. I’ll lock the front door behind me. Call me if you leave or have to go run some errands. If they can wait, just put them off until I get back.”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t have any plans later but to seduce you and then go to the art gallery. I can wait until you return.”
I chuckled, unable to stop myself. She hadn’t changed. “Debauchery and seducing me, huh?”
She shrugged. “Talk of sex was the quickest way to run you off when we were younger. I thought it might work again.”
“Not likely,” I said as my gaze landed on her kissable ruby lips.
She smiled and rested her hand on my chest. “I’ll probably take a nap, so grab my keys on my dresser and take them with you so you can let yourself back in.”
I put my hand over hers, holding it to my chest. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too.” Her face softened. “Have fun and stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t confuse me with your brother,” I said.
“I’m well aware we aren’t related.” She gave a saucy wink.
The house keys were on the bedroom dresser, along with a framed picture of the three of us from the lake house where we’d spent one summer. We were all sunburned with wet hair and smiling as if nothing else mattered in the world. Back then, it didn’t. Back then was before I realized killers roamed free and everyone was a potential target. We’d been so naïve to think any differently.
I’d turned to leave when I saw the pill bottles and a thermometer sitting on her bedside table, reminding me she was sick.
I’d get those answers, too, before I left.
4
Stella
She couldn’t believe he was here. She stood by the window and watched as he climbed into the SUV. He hadn’t changed. Well, taller and every bit sexier. What had her brother been thinking?
“This is my fault. I brought this on myself.” She should have contacted Grant and been more open about everything going on. Maybe then she wouldn’t be in this predicament. How much could they really know?
She stepped away from the window and left the room, jogging down the stairs to the basement, only stopping to get the hidden key.
Shoving it into the lock, she yanked the door open and flicked the light switch, jogging down the steps.
Rows of stacked paintings lined a few of the walls. She’d gone the extra step of using sheets to cover the ones she was concerned about anyone else seeing. He’d witnessed her secret once before when her father died, but there was no way either him or Grant could have guessed how that secret had manifested.
She couldn’t undo the detailed pictures, just like she couldn’t stop them from coming. Her latest was sitting in the corner uncovered, the paint still tacky to the touch. This was the real reason why she’d gotten a late start on the other painting. She’d needed to get this one out of her head first.
The street corner she’d never seen before. A woman was resting against the light pole. A man leaned into her as they kissed.
Each painting was a piece to a story, normally ending in a crime and transgression of some kind, but only when all the paintings were done would Stella figure out what had transpired. Sometimes she’d even painted the killer’s face. Sometimes she just saw the crime after it was done.
It didn’t matter what she painted or how. She could never tell anyone. No one would believe her, or worse, they’d assume that she’d been the one to commit the violent acts.
