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“Thanks, Ms. Irene.” Mindy looks at me, shaking her head. “Let me know if you need my help tomorrow. And tell us what happens.”
“You bet.”
Looks like I’m spending another night in Harristown. Reaching in my coat, I pull out my phone to message Angel.
14
Angel
It’s been three days since I started working on Winnie’s portrait. I’ve finished her hair, face, and torso, and I’ve started blocking in the background. I confess, I’m pushing as fast as the oil paint and oscillating fan will allow.
I arrive with Rosalía at seven in the mornings and work until lunch, then I take a break and return in the evenings around supper time. Sometimes Winnie sits in the room and reads while I work. I’m tempted to ask her why she doesn’t just check the surveillance cameras Rose told me she has, but I don’t.
Deacon is still in Harristown on his mysterious quest, which actually is okay. I’m not sure if he’ll approve of me working with Winnie. He always acts embarrassed the few times she comes up—not that I blame him. She’s the type of relative you want to hide.
It’s seven at night, and I’m testing the paint, frowning that it’s still damp. Dammit. I’m ready to be finished here, out of this house, and away from how hopeless it makes me feel about uniting our families.
“Have you had dinner?” Winnie’s voice is behind me.
My hands tighten on the brushes. “Are you speaking to me?”
“Do you see anyone else in the room?” Her voice is sharp, but when my eyes cut to her, she looks away, around the room, almost as if she’s embarrassed. “Anyway, if you’re hungry, you could join me for a little something… nothing fancy.”
We’re seated around one end of a mahogany table long enough for twenty, waiting for the servers to bring out our food. Winnie is at the head, and I’m to her right. The room is enormous, with the same wood-paneled walls and a massive fireplace with an actual fire burning. I realize the air-conditioner must be turned to full blast because I’m not hot at all. Global warming much?
Glasses of white wine are beside each of our chargers, but I won’t touch mine. I don’t want to give her more ammunition to use against me.
“My nephew usually has dinner with me once a week. When he’s in town.” Her voice is wistful. “Deacon is like a son to me.”
My lips press together, and I do my best to keep my expression neutral. “That’s nice.”
“He’s a wonderful boy… Man. He’s a wonderful man.” Leaning back, she lifts the heavy crystal goblet of wine and takes a sip. “It’s so hard to let them grow up.”
She doesn’t seem to be talking to me, so I look down at my hands in my lap. The door in the back-left corner opens, and a woman enters carrying two shallow bowls. She places each one in front of us, and another woman is behind her carrying smaller plates of chopped grapefruit, and what looks like two different types of oranges.
Leaning closer, I study my plate. Is this…
“I have a chef, but this is actually my own special recipe.” She lifts a fork of the pale beige and yellow dish, and I don’t even need her to tell me. “It’s baked macaroni and cheese… and I put an egg in the sauce before baking.”
She grins like it’s so amazing to eat baby food.
“Is that so?” I manage to smile. “Would you mind if I just grab my bag? I left it in the room where I paint.”
Her brow wrinkles, and I can tell she’s preparing to find some reason to say no. Too late, I’m out of my chair fast, hustling to the room where I left my purse beside my art supplies. I swipe it off the floor and quickly dash to the enormous dining room before she has a chance to finish that sentence.
“Are you taking medication?” She’s still frowning as I feel around for the small bottle of Tabasco sauce I keep for emergencies.
“No, thank goodness.” Giving the dish a few hits, I toss a few dashes on the citrus as well for good measure. “Would you like some Tabasco?”
“You put hot sauce on your fruit?”
“Try it sometime.” Smiling, I give the two dishes a stir and take a bite of her signature baby food. “Delicious!”
She makes a dismissive noise, lifting her wine glass for another sip. “You people and your hot sauce.”
“Tabasco is from Louisiana. Avery Island, to be exact.” If the Lord is testing me, I intend to pass the test. “Mr. McIlhenny, the Scots-Irishman who invented Tabasco sauce also brought the nutria rat to the United States. They escaped in the 1930s during a hurricane, and now you can find them as far away as Oregon.”
“I’d rather not discuss rats during dinner, if you don’t mind.” She takes a bite of her bland signature dish.
