Page 50 of Bewicched

Pushing my curls out of my face, I said, “And I slept through that?”

“You did. You were out.” He grabbed my gloved hand and pulled me up. “Come on, sleepyhead. You have a visitor.”

I checked the time on my phone. “Eight hours? I napped for eight hours?”

“It probably stops being a nap at that point, but you did. Quite soundly. I checked on you a couple of times to make sure you were still breathing. One thing, though. You might want to brush your teeth before you talk to her.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth, mortified. When he started laughing, I elbowed him in the stomach, a move I knew he barely felt. I, on the other hand now had a sore elbow. I ran to the half bath I had in the corner by the kitchen. Face red, I brushed my teeth and tongue.

Emerging a few minutes later, I found Detective Hernández in the studio, standing in front of the same painting that had caught Declan’s interest. Her dark curly hair was tightly pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck and she was wearing what was apparently a uniform for her: black trousers, a white button-down shirt, and today a slightly rumpled brown herringbone jacket.

“Hey, I was planning to call you today.”

Hernández tore her focus away from the painting. “Why’s that?

“Vision. He’s going to take another one, or maybe already did. A little girl.”

The detective pulled out her notebook and started scribbling. “Did you get any names?”

“No. No one spoke. Her house has a backyard that turns into woods as well. She was little, younger than Christopher. She was coloring on the back porch. Heard something, I think. She’d been concentrating on the coloring book and then looked over her shoulder into the woods. Whatever she saw there delighted her. She stood, left the coloring behind, and walked toward the woods, joy and wonder written all over her.”

I waited for Hernández to finish writing. “She may have had a mother or some adult woman looking out the window and waving at whoever was drawing the girl away from safety and deeper into the forest.”

“May have? You didn’t see her?”

I shook my head. “It’s like noticing something in your peripheral vision. I had an impression of her. My focus was on the little girl because it felt like she was being lured by Christopher’s killer.” Also, I never saw the woman. Gran and Mom did. I didn’t want to get into a shared vision explanation, so this was the simplest story.

“No names, huh? Okay, what did the little girl look like?”

“Latina, I think. She was dressed in a pretty, soft yellow dress, with white tights and white patent leather shoes. She has long, dark hair pulled back into two high braided ponytails.” I motioned to my head where they were on the little girl. “Big brown eyes, long eyelashes. She was a doll. Just a perfect, adorable little girl. The kind that makes your heart hurt.”

“Any distinguishing marks that could help us identify her?” The detective waited, pen poised.

I closed my eyes and recalled the vision, trying to find anything I might have missed. I was shaking my head when I remembered. “She had a dimple—just one— in her left cheek. And a thin gold bangle bracelet on her right wrist.”

“Did it look like it was made for a child or was the bracelet large on her?”

“Oh. Was she playing dress-up or was it her own jewelry? Let me think…it was hers. She was so tiny, a woman’s bracelet would slide right over her hand.”

“Good. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “That was all I saw. If it’s already happened, see if I can visit the porch or her bedroom. Maybe I can get something there that’ll help us identify him.”

“I’ll check and let you know.” She put her notebook away and turned her attention back to the painting beside her. “There’s something about this one.” she said.

“Do you want to buy it?” I went to the kitchen to brew tea.

“God, no,” she blurted. “Sorry,” she quickly corrected herself. “I just mean it’s sinister. I had a nightmare about it.”

I turned at that. “You dreamt about my painting?”

She nodded, glancing at it warily. “I couldn’t breathe. I was trying to break the surface but I couldn’t get there. I woke up gasping for air.”

Hmm, either Detective Hernández had some psychic blood in her family tree, or I’d inadvertently created a curse with the painting. As Declan hadn’t woken up gasping for breath, I was hoping for door number one. Until I could be sure though, the painting was going into a cabinet.

I picked up the easel and turned it around. “There. All gone. So what’s up?” I went back to the kitchen for the tea tray and then set it on the table in front of the couch.

“Tea?” When she nodded, I poured her a cup and then filled my own.

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