Page 81 of Isabella and the Slipper

“You’re lying to me. You’ve been seeing your sister’s boyfriend.” Elenore glared daggers at her. “I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all she could think of to say. It came out a whisper.

Elenore turned around and pointed to her paintings. “Where’s the tree branch painting?”

Isabella stared at her, confused. “What?” How did she even know about that one? Elenore was never in her room, and she hadn’t shown it to her.

Elenore spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “The tree branch painting. Where is it?”

Oh, this wasn’t good.

“I sold it,” she confessed, not sure what else to do.

Elenore’s hand came out fast, and she grabbed Isabella’s hair. “You sold it? To whom?”

Pain flashed through her scalp as Elenore yanked on her hair. Isabella fell to her knees. “Mr.Kato.”

“What did he pay you for it?”

She forced the words out. “A thousand dollars.”

“You stupid girl!” Elenore let go of her hair, and Isabella crumpled to the carpet. “How could you be so senseless?” Elenore went to the wall where her paintings were stacked. “You just threw away a million dollars.”

What was she talking about? Isabella cowered away from Elenore, unsure what else was coming. She didn’t bother to respond to her crazy-lady talk.

Elenore snorted. “You thought you could go around me? Start selling your paintings on your own? You wretched ingrate. You have no idea what you’re worth, do you?” Elenore seized her arm and yanked her to a standing position. “I can’t have you running off with Delilah’s boyfriend. And I can’t have you going off to college. I was going to wait, but now seems like the perfect opportunity to help Delilah—and myself.”

Elenore jerked her out into the hallway and then opened the door to the attic. She pulled Isabella up the carpeted stairs. Isabella gasped. Carpet? When did Elenore do that? She opened a second door at the top of the stairs. That was new, too.

Pain flashed through her arm as Elenore shoved her into the room, the ceiling slanted with the high pitch of the roof. One single bulb cast stark shadows around the small space. A second room had been added. It had a toilet and sink. The window had been drywalled over. Her easel sat near the wall, along with her paints and a few empty canvases spread out on the floor. A blanket lay in the corner of the otherwise-empty room. Isabella gasped.

“What did you do up here? Where are my father’s paintings?”

“You really are daft, aren’t you?” Elenore let go of Isabella’s arm. “You thought I would take millions of dollars in paintings and put them in the attic?” She laughed, a cackling sound. “That wouldn’t be smart, would it?”

Pain wormed its way into her fear and panic. They were gone? She’d never see her father’s paintings again. The one of her mother...

“You sold them?”

“Yes. And you’re so simple, you didn’t figure out I was selling yours, too. You paint just like him, you know. It was easy to forge his signature. Your poppy painting brought in a million and a half dollars.”

Isabella stared at her, stunned. She’d been selling her paintings as her father’s?

Elenore backed toward the door. “And you sold your branches for a measlythousand,” she scoffed. “Foolish waste.”

Isabella’s legs grew wobbly and her fingers trembled. “What are you doing?”

Elenore stopped. “I’m going to lock you in here. And you will paint for me. I will sell your paintings as your father’s personal collection. No one has seen them, you see. You will keep his legacy going.”

“You can’t keep me locked in here,” Isabella said, her voice not sounding at all authoritative, as she’d hoped.

“Why not?”

Isabella’s mind raced. “I have school.”

“Not if you have run away from home.”

A cold feeling settled in her stomach. “What?”

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