Page 25 of One Last Secret

“It’s where Elias killed himself.”

“Hold on. Elias killed himself in Victor’s cove?”

“He did. And both Elias and Celeste have referred to people vanishing. When Victor went missing, she wailed that he’d gone to the vanishing point.”

“I assume the police searched the cove.”

“They did, but I don’t know if the cove itself is what’s important. I think that vanishing is the word they use when someone disappears from their life, and I suspect it specifically refers to something tragic or traumatic.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Mary,” he says patiently, “but that’s not really a connection.”

“Not yet. You’re going to find out if it is. And if it’s not, then yes, it’s just a lead to Annie.”

“I assume you want me to prioritize finding Victor if I have to choose.”

I pause, but only briefly. “Yes. Finding him is more important.”

“Right. I’ll keep working. In the meantime…”

“I know, I know. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Good girl.”

He hangs up, and I take a deep breath and release it in a heavy sigh. The play is in motion now. I can only hope—

“Get out!”

Celeste’s voice awakens some primal protective instinct in me. I am inside the house and rushing toward the stairs before I register my movement.

"Get the hell out of here, you fucking whore!"

I sprint downstairs and arrive to see Evelyn holding Celeste back. Celeste is purple with rage, kicking and snarling at Lisa Reinhardt, who stands in the foyer, shellshocked.

“Getout of my house! I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you, bitch!”

Evelyn picks Celeste up off of the floor and carries her away. I rush to Lisa and grasp her arm firmly. “Let’s go outside.”

“I just wanted to—”

“Outside.”

I lead her outside. In the house, I can still hear Celeste screaming. I keep my hand on Lisa’s arm until we’re a good twenty yards away from the door. Then I release her and say, “I’m sorry about that.” I’m not really sure if I am, but there’s no gain from impoliteness right now.

“Yeah,” Lisa says, reaching into her purse. “It’s all right.”

She withdraws a cigarette and lights it. Her hands shake badly, and it takes several tries, but finally, she takes a grateful puff. She offers me one, and I shake my head. When she replaces the pack into her purse, she says, “So she blames me. Guess I’m not surprised.”

“Why does she hate you so much?” I ask.

Lisa scoffs. “Who the hell knows? I’ve worked with artist types for thirty years, and I still don’t know how the hell their minds work.” She catches herself and offers a half-hearted, “Sorry. I’m just a little shaken up.”

“I don’t blame you.” I hesitate before probing, but if I am to find gold, I must be willing to dig. “However, I find it hard to believe that there’s no reason for her behavior.”

Lisa scoffs again. “She thinks I’m the reason for her father’s stress.”

“Are you?”

She sighs heavily. “I don’t see it that way, but I don’t know. Maybe he does. Look, I’m a dealer. I have to sell stuff. Victor’s an artist. Things like food and shelter are inconveniences, not necessities. He doesn’t like when I tell him that such and such won’t work if he wants his art to sell. It’s not about money, right? It’s about beauty and art and legacy and all that other crap.”

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