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Chapter Five
Daphne
Ican’t stop worrying about Emerson.
Eva’s conversation with Leo results in her telling me that he’ll think about it.
The next day, a new phone appears on my bed. It’s shiny and clean, still in the package. My old one is probably in some police station somewhere. It was at Emerson’s house. Too bad for them. There’s no evidence of anything on that phone except that I’m a Morelli and I asked him to come get me.
After I set it up, I’m not sure what to do.
I put in my siblings’ numbers.
I didn’t memorize Emerson’s. He probably switched phones, anyway. I can’t text him.
Instead, I call Robert at Motif, prepared for him to freak out when I tell him what happened. “Robert. It’s me. I’m so sorry I didn’t call in.”
“Hey, Daphne.” He sounds glad to hear from me, but not surprised. “How are you doing?”
I pace back and forth through my guest room. “Good. I’m home. Not—not at the apartment. I just wanted to let you know that I’m working on figuring out my new schedule, but—”
“Your brother called about that.” He pauses. “I’ve got things handled here. Whatever time you need, you take it, okay? There’s no rush.”
A bang echoes in the background. “What was that?”
“I’ll be right with you,” Robert says. “Listen. It’s busy here. Too busy to be safe. If something happens, I can’t—” Voices rise. Is someone fighting at Motif? There are rarely enough people in there to have a full conversation, much less fight. “When things settle down, come in and we can talk. I’ll put up some of your pieces, but I don’t think you should be—no pictures,” he says. “You’re trespassing. I have to go, Daphne. I’m thrilled to hear from you, but I have to go.”
“Wait. Robert, I just need to know if—”
“Hey,” he snaps. “Don’t touch the art. Back up. Back up.”
The call disconnects.
I toss the phone down and wander up to the studio.
My headache is relentless, but so is the worry.
I get as far as the easel before I give up and go back downstairs.
Where is he?
Leo looks for me when he gets home from work that day and the next. It’s the first thing he does after he sees Haley. Wherever I am in the house, he finds me.
“Did you paint today?” he asks in a forced-casual voice.
No.
I don’t paint. I don’t sketch. I don’t walk out of the front doors and keep walking until I find Emerson.
More supplies appear in the studio above my guest room. Stacks of them. I think Leo’s having Mrs. Page bring them when I’m walking in the courtyard or listlessly going through the bookshelves in the den. But I catch him going upstairs with his arms full of paints. Two new sketchbooks. A case of pencils.
“Maybe a different sharpener,” he says to himself as he goes, and the undisguised worry in his voice would break my heart if it wasn’t underwater.
Where is he?
It’s too long for Emerson to be away from home. Does that mean he’s there or is it worse?
I go up to the studio every morning to see if I want to paint. I do. I can’t. My head hurts. I’m standing there with the phone in my hand, looking out at the snow-covered grounds and Leo’s forest, when it occurs to me that there’s no reason to wait.
