Ellie and I had just finished reading a story, and I was settling down to watch television when my mobile phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was the police.
“Dr. Dobbins, we have some information for you about the flat where your ex-husband was staying with Ellie.”
“Yes?”
“We still don’t know who rented the apartment, but we found some items that we were hoping you could shed some light on.”
“Such as?”
“Was Neill a painter?”
“No. Neill never showed any interest in art. Why do you ask?”
“There were a lot of painting supplies in the flat. They were in a large box in one of the closets.”
“Maybe they were Ellie’s. Maybe he bought them for her to play with, since she didn’t go to school.”
The officer sounded doubtful. “These were an adult’s tools. They’re too big for a child’s hands.”
“Maybe Neill’s girlfriend?”
“We haven’t been able to find out anything about a girlfriend,” the officer replied.
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t help. I’ll ask Ellie if she remembers anyone painting. Is there anything else?”
“We found the passports belonging to you and your daughter.”
“Wonderful! We can go back to the States as soon as all this is cleared up.”
“You can go back now if you’d like.”
“I need to see this through to the end before we go. To ensure that Ellie isn’t in danger anymore.”
“We’ll be in touch as soon as we know more about the night your ex-husband died.”
“I have a quick question. Was there anyone else at the scene that you remember? I mean, besides me and James and Neill?”
“ The onlookers, but our officers talked to most of them, and they’ve been cleared of any suspicion. I’m not aware of anyone else in the area.”
After I hung up, I thought about the dream I had had about the night Neill died. Why had my subconscious conjured a person lurking in the shadows? Was it possible someone had really been there? Could I have caught a glimpse of a person and didn’t register it at the time?
When I tucked Ellie into bed that evening, I tried to find out more about the painting supplies. “What sort of things did you do at the flat when you were staying with Daddy?”
“Played.”
“Did you ever paint?”
“No. But sometimes that lady did.”
I gripped the sheets a little tighter. “What lady?”
Ellie screwed up her lips, her characteristic thinking-hard look. “I don’t remember her name. But she painted.”
“What did she paint?”
“Pictures of outside.”
“Were they pretty?”
Ellie shrugged.
“Was she nice?”
“She never said anything. Just painted.”
“Do you know her name?”
Again the scrunched-up mouth, then Ellie said, “No.”
Another dead end.
It was a good thing we got outside during the nice weather, because it quickly changed to rain, which fell steadily for the next several days. I only heard from the police once, when they called to tell me they had spoken to Beatrice and she had no idea why Neill had suggested contacting her before he died.
I had almost forgotten about the opening exhibit cocktail party James had mentioned, but then I got a text from him.
Would you like to go to the cocktail party for the new exhibit?
I took my time answering his text. I still hadn’t decided whether to go. I was torn—if I went, would I wallow in self-pity afterward, wishing James hadn’t decided to break off our relationship? Would I be angry? On the other hand, if I stayed home, would I regret it? Would I wish I had gone to meet new people and show James that I was perfectly happy without him?
I decided to go.
When the evening arrived, I was nervous. I spent way too long trying to decide what to wear, finally settling on a navy blue dupioni silk dress with a wide sash, flared skirt, bateau neckline, and scooped back. I paired it with navy suede pumps and simple gold jewelry, and pulled my hair into a French chignon. Seamus whistled as I checked myself in the mirror next to the front door one last time before leaving the flat.
“James is going to take one look at you and beg for forgiveness,” he said.
Laughing, I thanked him and Sylvie again for watching Ellie for the evening and left for the waiting cab. I smiled to myself, pleased that I had taken so much time and care to dress. Was Seamus onto something? Did I really want that from James?
I thought the answer was yes.
At the museum, several groups of people stood in the atrium, talking quietly, sipping champagne and nibbling on appetizers that were being passed around by tuxedo-clad butlers. I accepted a flute of the sparkling citron-colored champagne, then nodded greetings to several museum employees I knew as I made my way through the throng in search of James.
I found him talking to a man near the reception desk. He glanced over at me, then did a quick double take, his eyes widening. I smiled to myself.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said.
“Thank you.” I suddenly felt shy.
“Have you met any of the artists here?”
“Not yet. I’ve only talked to you.”
He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward a small group of men and women. He introduced me to everyone, and we talked for several minutes. They were all artists whose works were being featured in the new exhibit or elsewhere in the museum. Several of them asked me about my work and the research I had done on Scottish impressionists.
“Aye, that McTaggart was a wonder,” one man said. “He had a vision, and his hands just followed what was in his head and his heart.” As much as I agreed with him and could have talked about McTaggart all night, the conversation in this small group was slow and ponderous. Not surprising, really, since many artists approached their art in the same manner.
The talk of impressionists, and McTaggart in particular, had me thinking again. And the more I thought about it, the more I was sure that faked painting had something to do with what had happened to Neill. And to me and Ellie, too.
James suggested we leave early and get a drink. We went to our favorite pub and slid into a booth.
“We couldn’t really talk the other day with Ellie at the table,” James said. “How have you been?”
“Fine. And you?”
“You know, busy at work.”
Our conversation continued in the same stilted manner as we talked about Seamus’s painting, a new exhibit at the Scottish National Museum, and several of James’s co-workers.
Finally, our safe topics had been exhausted, and we fell silent. Both of us looked around the restaurant awkwardly until our server brought our orders. We ate in silence until James set down his knife with a loud clink and announced, “I’ve missed you.”
I must have betrayed my surprise, because he continued in a rush of words. “That shouldn’t take you unawares. Of course I’ve missed you. I didn’t leave your flat that last time because I wanted to. I left because I couldn’t bear the thought of the pain if I stayed. I was devastated.” He spread out his hands. “I didn’t want us to stop seeing each other. I’ve had an awful time of it, Greer. I just didn’t want to feel this way, or even worse, later on.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it when I realized I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you understand why I had to make that decision?” he asked.
I nodded slowly. “I think so. But you know the old saying, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Don’t you agree with that?”
“I do. But that doesn’t really apply, does it? We’ve loved and lost.”
“But why did we have to lose each other?” I blurted out without thinking.
He put his hand over mine. “Maybe it was a mistake.”
“Maybe what was a mistake?”
“Maybe we should stay together for now.”
“But you’re right—it is going to end someday, when Ellie and I go back home.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. But you have a point, and I confess I’ve been thinking the same thing for these past days. Why should we both be miserable now, while you’re still in Edinburgh, when we can postpone the misery until you leave? A complete turn-around from what I felt not long ago, but I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
He picked up my hand and raised it to his lips. “I’m glad we’ve talked. So am I going to see much more of you and Ellie until you go back to the States?”
“That would be nice.” My eyes were hot with tears, but I blinked them back and smiled at James. “I’m very happy.”
“Me, too.”
James walked me home after we left the pub. It felt right to be encircled in his arm, my head against his shoulder. The moon, full and round, lit our way back to the flat. He accompanied me into the living room, and Sylvie and Seamus looked up in surprise.
“Hi, Mum! Hi, James!” Ellie cried, running over to hug me.
“What’s this?” Seamus asked, rising from the floor where he had been playing dolls with Ellie. He walked over and pumped James’s hand several times.
“We had a wee talk and decided the whole thing was silly,” James answered, smiling at me. “Why feel terrible now when we can postpone it and feel good?”
“That’s what I would have done,” Sylvie said.
“This calls for a celebration,” Seamus boomed. “Drams all around!” Then he looked down at Ellie. “Except for you, little bairn. You get ginger ale!”
It was like we never skipped a beat, the five of us, sitting in the living room, talking and laughing and enjoying the company. We steered the talk away from any discussion of Neill or the police investigation surrounding his death so Ellie wouldn’t be upset. But as soon as I put her to bed, James began asking questions about what had happened since we had last spoken of Neill.
“The police haven’t made much progress,” I said with a sigh. “Beatrice had no idea why Neill suggested we look for her after his death. And though they found paint supplies in the flat where Neill was staying, that hasn’t been much help. They don’t know who the supplies belong to, and they still don’t know who owns the flat. Ellie says a woman would come over to paint, but she doesn’t know the woman’s name. Or she can’t remember it, if she ever heard it. I suspect it was Neill’s new girlfriend.”
James grimaced. “I’m torn. On the one hand, there must be something the police can do to hurry this up and bring Neill’s death to a conclusion. You and Ellie will both be safer. On the other hand, once it’s cleared up, you and Ellie leave to return to your lives in the States.”
“I just don’t want the police to forget about it,” I said.
“Have you told them what Ellie said about the woman who painted in the flat?”
“No. I didn’t even think to do that. I’ll call them first thing in the morning and let them know. Maybe that information can help them in some way.”
When James left later that evening, after Sylvie and Seamus had gone to bed, I walked him to the door and he gave me a long, lingering kiss. I felt goose bumps on my arms and legs, so happy to be back in his arms. He released me and held me away from him.
“I don’t even want to think of what the future holds. I’m just grateful for what we have now.”
I nodded, too happy to speak, and he left. I slept well that night, even though I was curled up in Ellie’s bed. It was probably time for me to start sleeping in my own room again and stop worrying about Ellie being spirited away in the night, but I wasn’t ready for that yet.
Early the next morning, I called the police department in Bell’s Loch. When I told the constable that Ellie had remembered a woman coming to the flat to paint, she said it made sense.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Just yesterday we found evidence at the flat that a woman had likely been there.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“A piece of hair, quite long.”
“How do you know it was a woman’s, not just a man with long hair?”
“We don’t know, that’s why I said ‘had likely been there.’”
“Do you think you can find out who the woman was?”
“We can do a DNA test on the hair, but it will take some time. If Ellie could remember the name of the woman, that would be a big help.”
“I’ll do what I can to encourage her memory, but I don’t want to put too much pressure on her. She’s more likely to remember if I’m not trying to force the issue.”
“You’re right. Just do what you can on your end, and we’ll keep working on our end to figure out who we’re dealing with.”
That day, I took Ellie to the Edinburgh Zoo. We wandered around the exhibits for hours, doubling back to see her favorite animals and enjoying lunch outdoors. Ellie seemed happy, her thoughts far away from Neill’s flat. I tried casually to bring up the subject of the unknown woman.
“You know, it would be fun to have a painting of some of these animals, don’t you think? I wonder who we could ask to paint them for us.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know,” Ellie replied.
“How about that woman who painted those pictures in the flat where you used to stay?”
“Yeah, I guess she could do it.”
“If only we knew her name…”
“I can’t remember her name. Just that she had kind of long hair.”
So the hair the police found probably did belong to our mysterious painter.
“If you think of her name, tell me and maybe we can find her.”
“Okay. How about Seamus?’
In the end Ellie thought it would be best if Seamus painted the animals for us, but at least I had wedged a thought into her head about the woman at Neill’s flat. Maybe Ellie would remember her name when she least expected it, as adults often did.
That night after I had put Ellie to bed, I was sitting in the living room with Sylvie when the phone rang. Sylvie answered it and handed the phone to me.
“Who is it?” I whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Hello?”
A voice growled on the other end. “I know where you live, and I’m coming after you and that kid of yours.”
“Who is this?” I demanded. My heart skipped a beat.
“You’re in this just as deep as the rest of us. You’re never out of my sight.”
I hung up and leapt off the sofa. Rattling the front doorknob, I made sure it was locked. Sylvie looked at me in amazement. “What on earth’s goin’ on?”
I told her about the phone call.
“Where’s Seamus?” I asked, my voice tight and tense.
“I don’t know. He went out for a walk, I guess.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“I don’t know,” Sylvie snapped. “I’m not his keeper, you know.”
I ignored her sarcasm, well aware that she was as nervous as I was. I opened my bedroom door a crack to check on Ellie; she was fast asleep.
When I returned to the living room, I rang up the police. Though I now dealt with two police departments—one in Edinburgh and one in the Lothians—I left a message for Officer Dunbar in the Edinburgh station, whom I was told was outside taking a break. When she called back a few moments later, I told her about the threatening phone call and asked her what I should do about it.
She thought it was a prank, someone who had gotten my home number somehow and was trying to scare me. When I disagreed and suggested it was someone connected with Neill, she sighed and said she would ask someone to check it out and get back to me. I hung up thoroughly dissatisfied and, for the first time, dismayed at the lack of interest being shown by the police.
Sylvie had rung up Seamus on her mobile phone. I could hear them talking, her voice urgent and tense. She hung up and turned to me. “He’ll be home soon. He ran into some old friends and they’re having a drink in some pub. I told him to hurry up.”
We sat on the sofa, listening for every tiny sound. We must have looked timid and pathetic, but we were scared. I wished I hadn’t worried her by telling her about the phone call, but she had a right to know.
As the minutes turned into an hour, I began to wonder where Seamus was. Why wasn’t he home yet? Had the person who called me gotten to him? Was Seamus lying, hurt, on a sidewalk or in an alley somewhere? Had he met the same fate as Neill?
Then something much worse occurred to me: What if Seamus had something to do with the phone call? What if he was behind it? What if all my suspicions about his recent behavior were justified? My mouth ran dry as I tried to swallow. I fidgeted with my hands until Sylvie, ashen and still, finally snapped, “Stop that!”
“Stop what?”
“Fiddling with your hands, that’s what!”
“Sylvie, I can’t help it. That’s what I do when I’m nervous. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” she said, giving me a small smile as a peace offering. “I just can’t believe Seamus isn’t home yet. Where in the world is he?”
She didn’t intend for me to answer, and I couldn’t hurt her by sharing my dark thoughts with her.
We sat in silence for several more minutes, until we heard a scraping sound at the door. I shot up like a rocket, running to look through the peephole.
It was Seamus. I unlocked the door and held it open. He stumbled over his feet on the way in.
“Seamus, are you drunk?” Sylvie asked, her hands on her hips. I hadn’t seen her eyes blaze like that since we were teenagers.
“I am, lassieeee,” he slurred.
“You make me sick! And you reek of alcohol. Get out of those clothes and take a shower.”
Seamus waggled his finger at her. “You can’t tell me what to do. We’re not married.”
Sylvie stood facing him, her nostrils flaring, and pointed at their bedroom door. “Get out of my sight. We needed you here tonight, and what do you do? You get filthy drunk! I’m disgusted.” She threw up her hands and spun around on her heel. I followed her into the kitchen with a last glance at Seamus.
“What do you think is wrong with him?”
“He’s drunk!” she spat.
“I know that. What I mean is, what made him go out and get drunk? That’s not like him.”
She threw up her hands again. “I don’t know. He’s not been himself lately.” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, looking down at the floor. “Maybe I’m too hard on him. Maybe he’s going through something he doesn’t want to talk about.” She looked up at me. “What do you think?”
I didn’t know what to think. I had seen Seamus behaving strangely, but something had kept me from telling Sylvie about it. I didn’t want to burden her with it now. And I trusted him. I hated to think my trust may have been misplaced.
“I don’t know what to think, Sylvie. Maybe you should have a talk with him.” I lowered my voice. “Does he know that I know about his time in prison?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “So don’t mention it to him.”
“I won’t.”
“You know, you might have something there. That time in his life is something I never really think about. But maybe he’s gotten back into that crowd. Maybe someone got in touch with him, and he didn’t have the willpower to say no. I’ll talk to him about it. Not now, though. He’s a mess.”
I could hear Seamus singing in the shower as I checked and rechecked the front door lock and peeked in on Ellie. I was still shaken over the phone call, but Seamus’s drunken appearance had at least given me something else to focus on.
My little girl was still sound asleep. I couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to her again. I traced my finger across her cheek, then crawled into bed with her. I held her in my arms all night. She stayed asleep, but I laid awake, going over the phone call a thousand times and wondering who was behind it. I didn’t believe for a single second that it had been a prank.
I woke up the next morning with a headache and a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t stop worrying about the phone call and whatever was causing Seamus to act so unlike the happy, grounded man I knew. As I was pouring my tea in the early dawn, Seamus walked into the kitchen and sat down heavily at the table.
“You okay, Seamus?”
“Och, I’m in trouble. Sylvie’s fair ragin’ at me. And my head’s killin’ me. Got any more tea, Greer?”
I poured him a cup and sat down across from him. “Want some unsolicited advice? Leave Sylvie alone for the day. Go somewhere and paint. She won’t be as angry as time goes by, but the more she sees you today, the more she’ll think about last night and get mad all over again.”
He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot and his hair standing up in all directions. He looked like a hawthorn bush.
“I’ve learned that about her. I wanted to sleep this off, but I think you’re right—maybe she’ll be in a better mood if I disappear for the day.” He stood to go.
“Wait, Seamus. Just one thing. Did Sylvie tell you about the phone call I got last night?”
His eyes narrowed, and he scratched his beard as he shook his head slowly. I searched his face for any sign that he knew what I was talking about and was trying to stall for time. I didn’t see anything.
“If she did, I honestly don’t remember it. I’m sorry, Greer. What phone call are you talking about?”
I told him. His eyes grew wide and his moustache twitched. “I’m such an eejit. I never should have gone out last night.”
“You couldn’t have known what would happen, Seamus.” I hoped I was right, and that he hadn’t been behind that phone call. “You’re entitled to go out once in a while and blow off some steam.”
He shook his head and left the room, returning a few moments later, his painting supplies tucked under his arm and a bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m goin’ out. I’ll be back in time to fix dinner.” He left with a dejected look, his gait slow and his shoulders drooping.
I was still sipping my tea when Sylvie came in. She grabbed the small pitcher of milk and slammed the refrigerator door shut.
“Have you seen Seamus this morning? I wanted to talk to him.”
“He just left.”
“Where’d he go? He knows I wanted to talk to him.”
“You wanted to talk at him. I sent him out for the day to paint. You two can talk tonight, after you’ve had a chance to calm down and think this through. Besides, all this drama isn’t good for you while you’re still recovering from a concussion.”
“I didn’t ask for this drama,” she said, raising her eyebrows and nodding in my direction. Meaning, of course, that it was my fault.
“You’re right. I take full blame. Or, at the very least, I share the blame with Neill. I’m sorry about that, but I didn’t ask for this, either. If I hadn’t gotten that phone call last night, you wouldn’t have been quite so angry at Seamus for going out and coming home drunk. You were just scared because he wasn’t here. So was I. I’m still scared.”
* * *
“I didn’t mean those things I said,” Sylvie mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
Sylvie, Ellie, and I spent the day at home. It was a beautiful day, and I knew Ellie longed to play in the park nearby, but I wasn’t comfortable with the idea. I suggested that we spend some time in the garden behind the flat instead. She was delighted. She brought a doll and a stuffed sheep James had given her and played with them while I sat on one of the uncomfortable wrought-iron chairs and watched her. I kept a constant eye on the walls around the garden—I didn’t want anyone surprising us out there. Only one person came by—James. He had called the phone in the flat. Sylvie told him about the call the night before, and he stopped over to see if we were all right.
While Ellie sang to her doll and sheep, James and I sat at the table, talking quietly about the phone call. He, too, thought it was probably someone connected with Neill, probably trying to get more money from me.
“I’m worried about your safety. And Ellie’s, too. I don’t think you should be going anywhere alone. Make sure Seamus or I am always with you.”
“What do you think of Seamus?”
“What?!”
“Shhh. What do you think of Seamus?” I repeated, lowering my voice so Ellie wouldn’t hear us. “I mean, we really don’t know him very well, do we? What if he’s behind the phone call? What if he’s behind some of the other things that happened, like the attack on Sylvie? He acted strangely after that.”
“I’m so surprised to hear you say all this. I had no idea you suspected Seamus of anything. You think he had something to do with the phone call? Or Sylvie’s assault?”
“I don’t know. I hate suspecting him, but he hasn’t been acting normally lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“He came home stinking drunk last night, a full hour after Sylvie called him in a panic and asked him to come home. It was like he didn’t realize she was upset. And I can’t help but go back over the day Sylvie was hurt and Seamus met us at the hospital. He kept asking her questions, even after the doctor told us she had to stay calm, about what she may have seen at the flat before she was hit.”
James leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know that those actions rise to the level of being a suspect in this whole affair. Maybe he was just out with friends, having a drink, and time and good sense got away from him. Maybe the day Sylvie was hurt, he was just concerned about her and wanted to find out if she had any more information that could help catch the person who did it. Have you mentioned these things to the police?”
“No. I don’t know if I should. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there. But I do know that I’ll be keeping a closer eye on him now.” I wondered if James would feel differently if he knew more about Seamus’s past. But I couldn’t tell him. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t betray Sylvie’s trust.
James left, but Ellie and I stayed in the garden. It wasn’t long before my fear began to get to me, and I told her it was time to go inside. She didn’t want to, but I promised her we could watch a movie.
Sylvie was still annoyed at lunchtime, but she seemed to have mellowed a bit. At least she wasn’t slamming doors and swearing under her breath. I hoped she could lose the last of her anger before Seamus came home for dinner. And though it was against her doctor’s orders, she sat on the sofa with Ellie and me and watched movies all afternoon.
Shortly after our last movie ended, I got a text from Seamus.
Is it ok to come back?
Yes, I texted back.
Is she still mad?
Not 2 bad.
Be there soon.
Seamus was back at the flat within thirty minutes, bearing all his painting supplies and two bags of groceries. He set everything on the kitchen counter with a thump. He turned to Sylvie, Ellie, and me, rubbing his hands together. “A real treat for dinner tonight, my ladies. Cottage pie, cauliflower, pickled onions, and Empire biscuits.”
“What are Empire biscuits?” Ellie asked.
Seamus tweaked her nose. “They’re biscuits with jam and icing. How does raspberry jam sound?”
“Good!”
“Then we shall have raspberry Empire biscuits. I think we should call them raspberry Ellie biscuits, don’t you?”
Ellie threw her head back and laughed.
Seamus got to work on the cottage pie first. He dry-fried the lamb while the potatoes boiled, then added the vegetables and other ingredients to the meat. Ellie watched in fascination as Seamus deftly sliced mushrooms and diced carrots. He showed her how to thicken the meat mixture with flour, butter, and broth, and let her help stir everything together. The pie was assembled and in the oven in no time. Sylvie announced that she had a raging headache, most likely from watching movies during the afternoon, and was going to lie down until dinnertime.
Seamus was ready to make the “Ellie biscuits.” He let Ellie help him make the dough, then they rolled it out and cut it into rounds. He left them next to the oven to pop in when the cottage pie was ready. He turned to Ellie. “Next we’ll put some raspberry jam in a bowl, and we scoop a bit of it onto each biscuit when it comes out of the oven.”
He opened the refrigerator door and rummaged around, then closed the door and went to the cupboard. After rifling through its contents, he looked at Ellie again. “I’m sorry, lass, I don’t seem to have any raspberry jam. How about strawberry-rhubarb? We have some of that.”
Ellie wrinkled her nose. “That’s okay. Maybe we can have the cookies without jam.”
I jumped up from the kitchen table. “I’ll run over to the shop and get some raspberry jam. Ellie biscuits won’t taste the same without it.”
“Och, Greer, you don’t have to do that,” Seamus said. “I’ll go.” He untied the apron he always wore around his waist while he worked in the kitchen. “Wait. I’ve got to cook and mash the cauliflower. Are you sure you don’t mind going, Greer?”
“Not at all. Be back in a jiffy.”
I took a raincoat from the hook by the front door, gave Ellie a peck on the cheek, and hurried out into the fine mist that was falling from the sky.
I had already forgotten my promise to James that I wouldn’t go anywhere alone.