The Stroke of Winter, page 16
Tess’s heart sank. So, they were no closer to solving this mystery after all.
“And you don’t know where the family moved?” Wyatt asked.
“The family?” Kathy asked. “Oh, honey, she didn’t leave with her family. She left them. Ran off, people said. What a terrible term. But that’s what people called it. The talk was pretty ugly, I can tell you that.”
“She ran off,” Wyatt said, elongating the word. More of a statement than a question. “Do you know why?”
Kathy sighed. “This is ancient history,” she said. “But I really don’t feel good about airing my friend’s dirty laundry, even after all of these years.”
Tess and Wyatt exchanged a glance.
“It could be important,” Wyatt said. “It might even help us find her, or at least find out what happened to her.”
“I don’t know how,” Kathy said. “Listen, honey, I have to run—”
“No, Mom,” Wyatt said. He caught Tess’s eye, and she nodded. What’s one more person knowing, she thought. The word was getting out fast. “You don’t understand. Tess found a couple of portraits of Daisy at La Belle Vie during the renovation.”
“What?” Kathy said, her voice a harsh whisper. “Paintings of Daisy?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “They seemed rather . . . disturbing.”
Kathy was silent for a moment. “How so?”
“One is from the point of view of someone standing on the street, looking into the windows of her house. It’s really disturbing, Mom, as though her husband was going to erupt at any minute. Is that accurate, do you know? Was Daisy’s husband that kind of man?”
More silence from Wyatt’s mother, as though she were turning the thoughts over in her mind.
“Okay, kids,” she said. “I haven’t said this out loud for a few decades, but yes. Yes, he was. Daisy’s husband, Frank—that bastard—was not a good man. He was abusive. To her and the kids. We didn’t use that term back then. But that’s what it was. She confided in me . . .” Kathy’s words trailed off. “But I think it’s okay now, after all of this time, for me to tell you.”
Tess’s stomach knotted. The vision of the painting, the view inside Daisy’s house with the husband glowering in the living room and her crying by the stove, screamed in her head.
“Can you shed any light on what was going on during that time? When she was married to this Frank and had young children?”
“She was talking about leaving Frank, but I thought it was just her venting to a friend, you know?” Kathy went on. “Back then, women just sort of stuck it out. That’s the way it was. But she did go.”
“She never contacted you afterward?”
“No,” Kathy said. “It really hurt for a while, if you want to know the truth. We were good friends. I thought she’d come to me. Or let me know where she was. That she was safe. But she just vanished one night, and I never heard from her again. Like she was in witness protection or something.”
“Was she?” Wyatt said. “Do you think she was in witness protection?”
“Oh, goodness no,” Kathy said. “We had no idea about anything like that back then.”
“So, then what?” Wyatt asked. “She went missing. Did her husband—Frank—ever file a police report?”
“He did,” Kathy said. “All of us were questioned. He was investigated by the police. At least that was the rumor around town.”
Kathy was quiet for another moment, as though deciding whether to voice her next thought. Both Wyatt and Tess stayed quiet, too, allowing her the space to make that decision.
“I’ve always suspected he killed her, to tell you the honest truth,” she said, finally. “I hate to say it out loud, but that’s what I’ve thought, in the back of my mind, over the years. I really didn’t believe Daisy would leave her children. No matter how bad it got with Frank. The police sort of thought that, too.”
“So, they knew he was abusive?”
“Honey, this is a small town. Everyone knew everything. And yes, we all—including the police—knew Frank was a wife beater. Again, another horrible term. This story seems to be full of them. But that’s what abusers were called at the time. And I told the police that, too. I didn’t sit silently by. You should know that. They investigated but didn’t find anything.”
“What happened to him?” Tess wanted to know.
“Frank? Nothing. He took the kids and left Wharton a year or so later, and nobody has heard from him since, that I know of. Good riddance to him. But not the kids. I would’ve loved to have seen Daisy’s boys grow up. I’ve worried about them over the years, living with that monster without Daisy there to get in between them.”
Wyatt winced at Tess before posing his next question. “Mom, this may sound like an off-the-wall question, but do you know if Daisy ever had a relationship with Sebastian Bell?”
Kathy was silent for a moment. “A relationship? What do you mean?”
“Well, you know. A relationship.”
“Daisy knew him. We all did. Everyone in town did. The world knew of him. He was already famous during those days. They had just opened the art gallery, if I’m remembering correctly. But a relationship? You’re talking a romantic one?”
“Yeah. That’s what I was asking.”
“No,” Kathy said. “Kids, I don’t know if I should be saying this, but after all this time . . .” She sighed. “Sebastian wasn’t the Bell Daisy was involved with.” Kathy paused for a beat. “It was his son.”
Tess took a quick breath in. “My dad?” she squeaked out.
“No,” Kathy said. “Not your dad. His brother. Grey.”
“What?” Tess said, looking at Wyatt and shaking her head. “I had no idea.”
“There’s no way you could have known,” Kathy said. “This is ancient history. Way, way before your time. Daisy and Grey were high school sweethearts. She wound up marrying Frank—a huge mistake—and broke Grey’s heart. But I know for certain they never stopped loving each other. I was right there. I was her best friend.”
Tess’s thoughts were racing. “But, if she loved Grey, why did she marry Frank?”
Another sigh from Kathy. “You might know,” she said. “It feels like I’m opening the barn door and letting all of the horses out, but . . . this was a long time ago.”
“Pregnancy?” Tess asked, wincing.
“Yep,” Kathy said. “You got it. She and Grey had broken up, and Frank swooped in. Nobody could understand it. I couldn’t understand it. He was a high school jock. Football star. Popular and handsome, but we all knew he was an egomaniac and sort of a jerk. As it turns out, worse than that. I think Daisy was just going with him to make Grey jealous. But by the time Daisy realized what a bastard Frank really was, and how much she still loved Grey, she was trapped.”
Something was scratching at the back of Tess’s mind. “Grey went missing, too,” Tess said, drawing out the words, reaching to try to remember the circumstances. “I think it happened around—”
“The Fourth of July,” Kathy finished the sentence. “They disappeared at the same time. I hope I’m not talking out of school, here.”
“Mom, do you think they went away together?” Wyatt jumped in.
“I really don’t know, honey,” she said. “This is terrible to say, but I’ve had two thoughts about it all of these years. Like I said before, part of me thinks Frank killed her and Grey left town out of grief. But part of me has held on to the hope that maybe they left together. Maybe they’ve been living happily ever after somewhere, in some little town halfway across the country. Or halfway across the world.”
Tess and Wyatt held each other’s eyes for a moment. “Mom, thanks for all of the info,” Wyatt said. “You’ve been really helpful.”
“Okay,” Kathy said. “I should go and start dinner for your father. And by start dinner, of course I mean make reservations.”
Wyatt chuckled. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Wyatt clicked off his phone. And that was that.
The knot in Tess’s stomach told her that Daisy and Grey did not have the kind of happy ending Wyatt’s mother hoped they did.
Her mind was racing, and everything—all the weirdness of the past few days—was coalescing into a dark miasma of ugliness.
Her grandmother Serena shutting up the studio abruptly, never really explaining why. The strange paintings that seemed to Tess to be a sort of unhinged confession. Of stalking. Of looking in people’s windows. Daisy’s windows. Daisy and Grey disappearing at the same time.
What did it mean? Why had Sebastian painted that sad portrait of his son’s love?
Tess thought about her disturbing dreams. The scratching, only at night. The red slash across the wall in the studio that hadn’t been there before.
It seemed to point to only one thing. La Belle Vie was haunted by the ghosts of the past. And Tess had the sinking feeling she was starting to discover just who those ghosts were.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
They drove in silence for a bit. Tess noticed the sky melting into the purple and pink hues of Wharton’s spectacular twilight. The lake shimmered in the distance as the sun itself seemed to soften.
As magical as it was outside, Tess knew it would be but a fleeting moment until darkness fell. And she was growing more and more anxious at the thought of the strange happenings inside her own house.
As Wyatt rounded the corner into Wharton, she turned to him.
“I suppose you have to get back to the dogs . . . ?” she said, a hopeful lilt in her voice.
“It’s getting to be about that time, isn’t it?” Wyatt said. “I’m sure they’re circling their dishes wondering where I am.”
Tess managed a smile. Wyatt narrowed his eyes at her and smiled.
“Why don’t you come with me? They can enjoy their supper while you and I enjoy a drink, and then I can walk you home with them. I live just a few blocks from you—you probably didn’t know that.”
“Oh, what a relief,” Tess said, exhaling. “Not about you living close by, though that’s nice, too. I really wasn’t excited about facing the house alone right now. Not after what we learned today.”
“I figured as much,” Wyatt said, pulling into his driveway. “I don’t blame you.”
As Tess got out of the car, she saw that Wyatt’s house was typical of the grand homes in Wharton: a Queen Anne Victorian with a curved turret, dramatically angled rooflines, and a wraparound porch. The exterior was painted a smoky green, accented with a red-tiled roof and multicolored stained-glass windows. She knew this home well.
“I’ve always loved this house!” Tess said, smiling up at it. “My dad calls it the mayor’s house. That’s because it literally was, right? Joe lived here?”
“That’s right,” Wyatt said as they walked up the porch stairs. “Come on in and meet the girls.”
Wyatt opened the door, and they were greeted by two enormous malamutes, one black and white, one red and white. They had great smiles on their faces, and their tails were wagging furiously as they curled around their man.
“Luna is the black one, Maya is the redhead,” Wyatt said.
“They’re beautiful,” Tess said, marveling at Luna’s bright-yellow eyes. “And big.”
But not much bigger than Storm, Tess thought. They would make quite the trio. She wondered if they’d get along.
Tess looked around. The living room, just off the front door, was elegant but lived in. Wyatt definitely used those “front rooms,” as they were called back in the day. Many people didn’t. They had been saved for company. But Tess saw a book here, a coffee cup there, a sweatshirt thrown over a traditional wingback chair, slippers by the couch. Dog toys all but destroyed on the floor. This man lived in this elegant house. He didn’t tiptoe through it.
“Come on, girls,” Wyatt said. “Let’s get you out.”
Tess followed them through the house to the back door, just off the kitchen. Not unlike hers. She noticed the houses were very similar in layout and design—probably built during the same era, if not by the same builder, she thought.
Wyatt opened the back door, and the dogs scrambled outside. He filled their bowls from a big plastic bin in the corner of the room and topped off their water dishes. By that time, the girls were ready to come in for their supper.
All that handled, he turned to her.
“Glass of wine?”
“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”
He reached into the fridge for a bottle and poured a glass for her and a beer for him.
“Let’s go into the den,” he said, leading her out of the kitchen through another door and down a back hallway. They emerged into an enormous room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A heavy wooden desk sat at one end of the room, a black-leather sectional couch at the other, in front of a huge flat-screen television that hung above the fireplace. Two dog beds sat on either side. Tess noticed a couple of afghans strewn across a black-leather ottoman, along with a couple of books. A coffee cup sat on one of the end tables.
“I spend most of my time in here,” Wyatt said, sinking onto the couch.
Tess joined him. “I can see why. It’s really comfortable. The whole house is, Wyatt. It suits you perfectly.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “It’s home. I moved back in here about five years ago or so. Maybe a bit longer than that. I was just coming out of a divorce, and Pop needed a watchful eye on him.”
Tess settled back into the couch and took a sip of wine. “What kind of fool woman would let you go?” she asked, smiling at him. “You seem like a pretty great guy to me.”
Wyatt smiled, and Tess thought she caught a glimpse of a blush. “One who didn’t really like Wharton.”
Tess leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “I needed to come back here for Pop, but I always knew I’d end up living here again. Wharton is in my blood, quite literally. I could have compromised by getting a vacation home up here and, I don’t know, spending the summers. But she didn’t even want to do that.”
“I’m astonished,” Tess said.
“I was, too,” Wyatt said. “And so let down. Yeah, there were other things wrong but . . . that was the nail in the coffin, so to speak.”
“Wow, unreal,” Tess said.
“She was more of a city person,” Wyatt said, sipping his beer. “I knew it from the start, too, if I’m being honest with myself. You can’t change people, no matter how much you try.”
“So, did you—” Tess stopped her thought in midair. She didn’t want to ask too much. It seemed intrusive.
“Yeah, I think I know what you’re getting at. We lived in the Cities and came here for vacations, which was fine to begin with,” Wyatt said. “But when my grandma died and Pop started going downhill, I knew I had to be here more.”
“And she wasn’t okay with that?”
He shook his head. “She never came with me. And as Pop needed me more and more, my visits got longer and longer. She stayed at work.”
“Could she have worked remotely?”
Wyatt raised his glass. “Yes, she could have. She just didn’t want to.”
“With your family history . . .” Tess said, afraid to finish the sentence.
“It was sort of crazy, wasn’t it?” Wyatt finished that thought. “I see that now. It made me realize we just couldn’t have worked, in the end. Family, roots . . .”
“It’s so important,” Tess said. “Eli’s dad didn’t really get it up here, either. He liked visiting, but I don’t think there was any way he would have agreed to live here full time.”
“When did you guys split up?”
“It’s been going on a decade now,” Tess said.
“Your son was how old?”
“Twelve.”
Wyatt winced. “That’s hard.”
“It was,” Tess said. “For both Eli and me. But we got through it. And Matt was great when Eli was hospitalized.”
Wyatt’s eyes grew wide. “Oh no.”
“Yeah,” Tess said. “Car accident. Actually, his dad, Matt, came in from Las Vegas, where he lives now with his new wife, and spent several weeks with us as Eli got back on his feet.”
“It sounds like your relationship is okay now, then,” Wyatt said.
“Oh yeah,” Tess said. “It has been for a long time. We needed to be good coparents for Eli. And we were. It’s sort of wonderful now because so much time has passed, we can just appreciate what we genuinely liked about each other and don’t have to deal with what we didn’t.”
“Not all divorced couples are so civil,” Wyatt said. “I haven’t so much as talked to my ex since we split.”
“I get that,” Tess said. “You didn’t have any kids to tie you together.”
The conversation turned to other things, then. Where they went to college, significant experiences. Funny tales from childhood. Painful ones, too. “The great telling,” Tess’s grandmother used to say. The time in a relationship where you reveal who you are through the important stories that shaped who you were. Tess thought of Joe then, and realized these were the stories she’d remember if she were lucky enough to reach his age. She had a feeling that this night, with the way Wyatt was looking at her, and the way she was looking back, could become one of those stories.
She had a vision just then, a picture of the two of them snuggling together on this black sofa, a bowl of popcorn on Wyatt’s lap, and the three dogs curled up by the fire.
Was this a flash of their future? As she sat listening to this man talk about a crazy trip he had taken with some high school friends, the world seemed to melt away. All Tess could see was his chiseled face, his green eyes, and his infectious grin. And for the first time in a very long time, she had hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The walk back to La Belle Vie was chilly. Tess could see her breath. She took Wyatt’s arm and snuggled close to him as they walked.
