Page 29 of Tear of Destiny
“What is it?” asks Kate. “Have you found something?”
“I… I’m not sure,” I mutter absently. But there’s no doubt. The corridor in the photo is the one Rosie took me to. I recognize the vases with their elegant lines and curled handles. But the painting is what really grabs my attention: a beach, which I know is strewn with seaweed, driftwood, and flotsam, with a bright blue sky above it. The photo in the newspaper clipping is black-and-white and very small. If I hadn’t been in that very hallway myself, I probably wouldn’t recognize it. But having seen it firsthand, I have no doubt.
“The photo with this article – it’s the corridor Rosie took me to,” I explain to Kate.
She raises her eyebrows “Weird, and too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
I agree. Something doesn’t add up. I have the feeling I’m only missing a tiny piece of the puzzle and that I just need to take a closer look. I let my eyes wander over the wall in the hope of finding the answer there. There must be a connection, I’m sure of it.
And suddenly I stop, not daring to breathe. My fingers tremble slightly as they reach out toward the flyer. An art exhibition entitled ‘Beach Combing.’ I know who painted the picture. Patricia Morgan. Charles’ girlfriend who was killed by Frida. The flyer has photographs of vases and sculptures and a couple ofpaintings by Patricia. One of them is the beach scene I saw in the retirement home.
“How did that painting wind up in Two Trees?” I stammer.
Kate looks at it too. “Maybe Charles donated it to the home?”
I find that hard to imagine – the timeline doesn’t fit.
“I’ll ask Rosie. She knows something, I’m sure of it. It can’t be a coincidence that she took me to that corridor.”
Kate nods. “Okay. I figured we would go back there, so I came up with a plan.” She winks at me conspiratorially. “I’ll buy you time so you can talk to Rosie.”
I shoot Kate a grateful look and then return my attention to the display wall one last time. I feel as if I’m finally about to unravel the mystery.
Chapter 13
This time we ride in Kate’s father’s car. He’s sacrificed one of his few days off for us. In a few minutes, we’ll be at the retirement home, and I’m so glad we didn’t have to take the bus – an impossible undertaking when I think of all the boxes in the trunk. They’re packed full of books, painting supplies, games, needlework supplies, plus some wood, chisels, and clay. Kate collected it all, and her mother was a big help, asking for donations from her network. It’s all for the retirement home residents, who are always happy with a little diversion and variation in their activities.
“It was a really nice idea, honey,” says Kate’s father, looking at her in the rear-view mirror. “It’s nice to be able to do something for other people. Maybe your mother’s charitable streak has rubbed off on you after all.”
Kate rolls her eyes. It’s not as if her mother does this work purely out of a desire to help people. Her main motivation is using the events and her network to showcase herself and garner recognition.
“The people there are really lovely, and I just wanted to brighten their day a little,” says Kate.
The management has been informed of our visit and donation. They’re well positioned financially, but they still appreciated the kind gesture and were happy to accept.
Kate’s dad helps carry the boxes to the reception and then says goodbye.
“I’ll come back for you around four,” he says, giving us a wave and a cheerful smile.
One of the caregivers comes to help us carry everything into the recreation room. The residents immediately gather around curiously to look in the boxes. One or two quickly retreat with a book. Two women decide to try out the new paints, and a small group takes a selection of games to one of the tables. Kate and I join this group and play a round with them. I keep glancing at the door and wondering if the moment has come for me to slip away.
When we finish the game, I stand up and pretend to watch two of the residents painting. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the caregivers, who are totally absorbed in caring for the residents. I leave the room at a moment when I’m sure nobody’s watching, hoping I can find the corridor Rosie led me to last time. My sense of direction isn’t the best, but I find my way in the end. Fortunately, the corridor is empty, and I can take a look around undisturbed. I go straight to the painting of the sea, sky, beach, and washed-up items. Yes, it’s the same painting I saw on the flyer. At the bottom, it’s signedPatricia Morganin flowing brushstrokes.
“So it really is hers,” I mutter to myself.
“I thought you’d be back.”
Startled, I spin around. “Rosie,” I say in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
She tilts her head and looks at me as if she can’t believe I’m seriously asking her that. “I heard that you and your friend were back. So I thought to myself, I should come here.”
I nod slowly and point at the painting behind me. “This painting is by a woman named Patricia Morgan. Does that name mean anything to you?”
She looks at me again as if I’m a total imbecile. Without replying, she simply turns around and walks off down the corridor. I follow her after a moment’s hesitation. Rosie keeps walking and then stops in front of a door and turns to face me.
“I don’t understand why everyone always wants to see her. That man was very interested in her too. But I guess that’s how it is when you’ve created something so impressive.”
I frown and mutter, “I don’t understand.”