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Sean’s voice came through the phone. “When was the last time you saw them?”
Rose’s heart thudded. The memory dropped down from the sky. “It must have been 2001 or 2002,” she said. “I was in Manhattan with Oren.”
What Rose didn’t say wasThat was right after my final miscarriage. That was right after I fully gave up trying to get pregnant.
“But that was years ago,” Rose breathed.
Suddenly, an idea smacked Rose over the head.Oren is involved in this.
Oren is the one who took my sculpture.
She wasn’t sure why it was suddenly so startlingly clear.
But Oren was probably aware that she’d recently bought the Grayson Estate. He probably wanted to mess with her. He probably wanted to keep her from digging through his things.
It’s a warning,she thought.
“I can get a warrant immediately,” Sean said over the phone. “We can be in Manhattan by this afternoon.”
“No,” Rose said.
Sean took a breath. “What do you mean?”
“I want to do this differently.”
Sean sighed. She imagined he was thinking:She has no idea how police work operates. She’s in over her head. She’s arrogant.
But maybe because Sean was a kind and considerate man, he took a deep breath and asked, “What did you have in mind?”
Rose pinched her lips together. A plan formulated in her mind. Could she trust Sean with her idea? Then again, who else could she trust?
“I’ll tell you,” Rose said, “but you have to promise to keep an open mind.”
“I promise,” Sean said. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you. As long as it isn’t a crime.”
Rose set to work late in the morning on her strategy. At the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a bunch of jitters in her stomach, she dialed the phone number for Mrs. Walden’s philanthropic organization. Mrs. Walden began the organization in the late 2000s to donate fundsto lower-class neighborhoods in greater New York City. Rose knew it was also a way for the Waldens to expense their cash. Nothing the wealthy did was ever selfless.
A secretary answered. “Thank you for calling The Walden Group. How can I help you?”
Rose put on her brightest and shiniest voice. “Hello! My name is Brenda Sparrow. I’m the portraitist hired to paint Mrs. Walden. Would you mind passing me through to her office phone? I recently purchased a new phone and unfortunately lost all of my contacts.”
“Mrs. Walden isn’t in today,” the receptionist said, “but I’d be happy to pass along her number.”
It was too easy.
Within a minute, Rose had Mrs. Walden’s personal cell phone number. She didn’t hesitate and called immediately. But Mrs. Walden wasn’t the sort of woman who answered calls from numbers she didn’t recognize. This left Rose with the terrifying decision of whether to leave a voicemail.
She decided to go for it. What else could she possibly lose?
“Mrs. Walden,” Rose said, her voice musical, “my name is Brenda Sparrow. I’m a professional painter of portraits of the Manhattan elite—those I feel make a true difference in our iconic city. A friend of yours recently mentioned you as a potential candidate for my project. The paintings will be featured in an exhibit at the MOMA later this year. Please call me back and let me know if you’d be interested in sitting for your portrait. We’d love to include you in the exhibition, but time is limited.”
Rose hung up and winced. She’d said “a friend of yours” without mentioning a name. It wasfishy. It was risky. Why would Mrs. Walden trust a strange message like this?
But Mrs. Walden herself called before noon.
“Brenda Sparrow!” Mrs. Walden’s voice soared. “You’d like me to sit for a portrait for the MOMA? What a sensational idea.”
Rose’s heart thrashed.It was too easy to manipulate a rich person. You just had to tell them how important they were. Just as important as royalty.
