The Black Painting. Neil Olson
and for whom she harbored a lingering affection. She had suppressed how deeply she was looking forward to seeing him, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Waldron said, closing the notepad and beginning to stand. “Your cousin said it was too soon.”
“Is this normal?” Teresa asked tightly. Humiliated by his sympathy.
He slumped back into the chair.
“Your shock? It’s absolutely normal, most people never have to—”
“I mean you being here,” she corrected. “He obviously had a heart attack or a stroke or something. Why would they send a detective? Is it because he’s rich or, or what?”
He nodded several times.
“His prominence has something to do with it,” Waldron conceded. “That’s off the record, please. Also, there’s the matter of the housekeeper.”
“Ilsa.” She had forgotten all about the woman.
“Yes, um, Ilsa Graff. I understand that she lives in the house. For the last—” he consulted his notes “—thirty years or so?”
“I guess that’s right,” Teresa said.
“Do you have any idea where she is?”
“No, none. She was supposed to meet me at the train. Or I think she was. I don’t remember anymore what we agreed.”
“But you didn’t see her at the station?” he prompted.
“No,” Teresa replied, clutching the water glass nervously. Why was she nervous? “So I started walking. And I got about half a mile before Audrey pulled up.”
“There was no understanding between you two beforehand? She simply appeared?”
“There’s only one road,” Teresa said, annoyance creeping into her tone. “Whether you walk or drive.”
“Nothing implied,” Waldron said, holding up a forbearing palm. “These are routine questions. I hope you understand.”
“I don’t, to tell you the truth.” The headache was pulsing behind her eyes again. “You think Ilsa did something to my grandfather?”
He puffed up his cheeks and exhaled.
“I think her not being here when you two were expected is odd. But I have no theories at this time, and every expectation that it’ll turn out as you say. Older man, weak heart. We just have to be as thorough as possible.”
“All right.”
“So you were walking to the house when your cousin drove up?”
“Excuse me?”
“Ms. Morse said you were standing off to the side of the road. She couldn’t say with certainty which direction you had been going before she came around the turn. I just want to confirm you were coming from the station.”
As opposed to where? Teresa’s hands were shaking, and there was a buzzing in her ears. She could not tell whether she was stunned or furious or both.
“Is this about my father?” she blurted.
He sat back and gazed at her curiously.
“I don’t know. Is there some reason it should be?”
Idiot, Teresa scolded herself. That’s exactly what he wanted you to say. This is not a friendly talk, it’s a grilling. He thinks you did something.
“I already said that I was coming from the station,” she replied slowly.
“Apologies, my notes are a little messy. You mentioned your father.”
“I don’t think I have anything more to say to you, Mr. Waldron.”
“If we could cover one or two other points,” he said patiently, “then we’re done.”
“Get out.”
Teresa had not seen Audrey enter the room. She was standing very close to the detective, a murderous look in her eyes. Waldron stood and nodded politely at her, as if she had not spoken.
“Get out,” Audrey said again, louder.
“Your cousin and I were discussing the—”
“I heard what you were discussing. I told you to leave her alone.”
“I believe,” Waldron answered, “that Miss Marías is best equipped to make that decision herself.”
“Then you obviously know nothing about trauma,” Audrey said. “So listen to me. Our uncle, who will be here any minute, is a big-time attorney. And I will sue you personally and your entire podunk department for harassment, coercion, mental cruelty and anything else I can think of, if you do not get out of this house right now.”
The detective shook his head like a man wronged, but not overly concerned about it. He tucked the notebook into the pocket of his baggy trousers and shuffled out of the room. Audrey followed him closely, a barely restrained violence in her posture. Waldron did not seem to notice.
“I’m sorry again for your loss,” he said by the front door. “And I apologize for causing any distress during this difficult time.”
“Save it for the judge,” Audrey growled.
“It’s all right,” said Teresa, coming to her senses. They were both overreacting badly; the man was only doing his job.
“There’s no tape on that door,” Waldron mentioned, speaking of the study. “But please do keep it closed and locked. I’ll be in touch if there’s any need to follow up. Oh, and please let me know right away if you see or hear from Ms. Graff.”
“We’ll do that,” Teresa said, a moment before Audrey slammed the door. And they were alone. Audrey turned to her with such vehemence that Teresa stepped back. She could feel her cousin wanting to lash out, and Teresa was now the only available target. Yet the angry eyes seemed blind to her presence.
“You okay?” Teresa asked.
“He was trying to twist my words.”
“I don’t know what—”
“He was trying to make it sound like I thought you were coming from the house. I never said that. I never implied it.”
“Of course not,” said Teresa. Was that what upset her so much? Or was it shock finally kicking in? That seemed more likely. Teresa looked steadily into those blue eyes until the other woman met her gaze. A phrase popped into her head. “Mental cruelty?”
Her cousin blinked rapidly. Then giggled, and just like that the old Audrey was back.
“Okay, maybe I had a divorce proceedings flashback.”
“It sounded good,” Teresa said, relieved. “I think you scared him.”
“Nah, only embarrassed him a little. I’ve yelled at cops before. They don’t listen to most of what you say.”
“Maybe just as well. But it’s weird, right? Him coming here?”
“Not really,” Audrey replied, wandering into the sitting room and throwing herself down on the blue settee. “Ouch, how did you sleep on this?”
“I didn’t.”
“Are you all right now? You scared the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be taking medication?”
“I do,” Teresa lied. In fact, she did, but not lately. “It doesn’t always work. So why do you think he was here?” she persisted.
“Ilsa’s disappearing act, for one thing. And, you know. The history.”
Her father’s face