Death Mask

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT The Painted Man

Two days later, they shared a last breakfast together, eggs over easy and waffles with blueberry preserves. Sissy’s bag was already packed and waiting in the hall.

Victoria said, “I’m going to send you an e-mail every single-bingle day, Grandma.”

Sissy smiled. “I shall look forward to it. Don’t forget to send me some pictures of your play.”

Molly handed Sissy a small blue velvet bag. “Souvenir,” she said.

Sissy opened the drawstring and looked inside. It was Van Gogh’s ring.

“Make sure that you never give it to an artist,” said Molly.

Trevor came in from the backyard, and saw it. “Maybe you should melt it down. We don’t want the same thing to happen to anybody else.”

“No. ” said Sissy. “Wherever it originally came from, whatever its power is, I don’t think it’s mine to destroy it, do you?”

“I don’t know. The next person it brings to life could be a whole lot worse than Red Mask.”

“Well, that’s fate for you. If there’s one thing the DeVane cards have always shown me, it’s that everybody’s life is made up of choices and accidents. Good choices and bad choices, nasty accidents and happy accidents. This ring brought Red Mask to life, but it also allowed me to see Frank again.”

She stood up and took her coffee cup to the window. Out in the yard, Mr. Boots and Deputy were playing together, chasing cicadas. Deputy was still limping a little, but otherwise he looked fit.

“By the way,” said Molly. “Freddie Bellman called me this morning. I asked him about Jane Becker. whether he was going to arrest her for killing George Woods.”

“And?”

“He said that whatever Jane might have admitted to, he’s forgotten it. So, officially, the CPD is still looking for a man who answers the description of Red Mask.”

Molly put her arm around Sissy, and the two of them stood looking out of the window — at the sun shining through the vine trellis and the Shasta daisies nodding in the breeze.

“How about planting some roses?” said Sissy.

“Roses? I don’t think so. But — look — I have something for you. Another souvenir.”

She went through to her studio and came back with a sheet of cartridge paper. She turned it over, and it was a watercolor painting of Frank standing on the seashore at Hyannis.

“I didn’t wear my necklace while I was painting it, so don’t worry.”

“It’s wonderful,” said Sissy. She held it up to the light and admired it. It was so well painted that she could almost imagine Frank talking to her.

“You want a quick smoke before we leave?” asked Trevor.

Sissy shook her head. “No, thanks. Your father wouldn’t approve.” And then, much more quietly, “Would you, my darling?”