Page 31 of 3rd Tango

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Marie placed the painting somewhere in the middle so I pick a random canvas in that general location.

Nope.

Next one.

Lighthouse.

Not it.

Next.

Rock formation.

Dammit. Did she move it? Or worse, sell it?

Just as I start to believe this is a wasted exercise that’ll surely land us in orange jumpsuits…there it is.

Yes!

My mind explodes. I need my phone. Back pocket. I reach for it and with my free hand jab a finger at the painting. Charlie grips the edge, starts to slide it out and bumps the one next to it. A thud no louder than a pebble hitting grass sounds, but in the quiet of the garage it might as well be a bomb going off.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

I snap three photos of the front, wait for Charlie to whip it around and...thank you,thank you…there’s a name on the wooden frame.

Evelyn.

Something tickles my mind, but I’m too excited. Too strung out to focus on any one thing. I’ll think about it later.

I quickly check the pictures, zooming in to make sure they’re clear, then bob my head. Using great care this time, Charlie returns the painting to its spot and jerks her head toward the door.

Where our mother is standing.

13

Charlie

Meg sucks in a startled breath and I whip my head around. Standing in the doorway, hands on hips, is the last person I’d hoped to see tonight—outside of Gayle or Marie.

Moonlight creates a backdrop behind her, the beam of my flashlight skimming over her face. “Did you find it?” Mom asks in a stage whisper.

Meg’s gasp made my stomach drop and my pulse skyrocket. Now, I take a slow, quiet breath to regain my composure. This is not the place to have a conversation, and, as I motion her outside, I grab my phone and text Matt.

You’re fired.

I’ve already started toward the door, but Mom is blocking it. “Well, did you?”

I move into her personal space, glaring as I lean in close to her ear. “We need to leave now,” I whisper.

My phone vibrates silently in my hand. Matt. His text is slightly panicky.

What??? Why?

Mom’s not moving and Meg is on my heels. I grip our mother by the arm and gently steer her out the door.

Before we get two steps, I hear voices. Someone’s feet hit the floor as if they’re getting out of bed.

Shit. By the heavy footsteps, I’m sure it’s Gayle.

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