Duma Key

"Pam? It's Wireman. Is Tom Riley...?" He listened, nodding. His voice was very calm, very soothing. It was a voice I'd heard him use with Elizabeth. "All right... yes... yes, Edgar's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine down here. Sorry about Mr. Riley, of course. Only you need to do something for us, and it's extremely important. I'm going to put you on speaker." He pushed a button I hadn't even noticed before. "Are you still there?"

"Yes..." Her voice was tinny but clear. And she was getting herself under control.

"How many of Edgar's family and friends bought pictures?"

She considered. "Nobody in the family bought any of the actual paintings, I'm sure of that."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I think they were sort of hoping - or maybe expecting's the word - that in time... on the right birthday, or maybe at Christmas..."

"I understand. So they didn't get anything."

"I didn't say that. Melinda's boyfriend also bought one of the sketches. What's this about? What's wrong with the pictures? "

Ric. My heart jumped. "Pam, this is Edgar. Did Melinda and Ric take the sketch with them?"

"With all those airplanes, including transatlantic? He asked that it be framed and shipped. I don't think she knows. It was of flowers done in colored pencils."

"So that one's still at the Scoto."

"Yes."

"And you're sure nobody else in the family bought paintings."

She took maybe ten seconds to consider. It was agony. At last she said, "No. I'm positive." You better be, Panda, I thought. "But Angel and Helen Slobotnik bought one. Mailbox with Flowers, I believe it's called."

I knew the one she was talking about. It was actually titled Mailbox with Oxeyes. And I thought that one was harmless, I thought that one was probably all mine, but still...

"They didn't take it, did they?"

"No, because they were going to Orlando first, fly home from there. They also asked that it be framed and shipped." No questions now, only answers. She sounded younger - like the Pam I had married, the one who'd kept my books back in those pre-Tom days. "Your surgeon - can't remember his name-"

"Todd Jamieson." I said it automatically. If I'd paused to think, I wouldn't have been able to remember.

"Yes, him. He also bought a painting, and arranged for shipment. He wanted one of those spooky Girl and Ship ones, but they were spoken for. He settled for a conch-shell floating on the water."

Which could be trouble. All the surreal ones could be trouble.

"Bozie bought two of the sketches, and Kamen bought one. Kathi Green wanted one, but said she couldn't afford it." A pause. "I thought her husband was sort of a dork."

I would have given her one if she'd asked, I thought.

Wireman spoke up again. "Listen to me now, Pam. You've got work to do."

"All right." A little fog still in her voice, but mostly sharp. Mostly right there.

"You need to call Bozeman and Kamen. Do it right away."

"Okay."

"Tell them to burn those sketches."

A slight pause, then: "Burn the sketches, okay, got it."

"As soon as we're off the phone," I put in.

A touch of annoyance: "I said I got that, Eddie."

"Tell them I'll reimburse them their purchase price times two, or give them different sketches, whichever they want, but that those sketches aren't safe. They are not safe. Have you got that?"

"Yep, I'll do it right now." And she finally asked a question. The question. "Eddie, did that Hello picture kill Tom?"

"Yes. I need a callback."

I gave her the phone number. Pam sounded like she was crying again, but still repeated it back perfectly.

"Pam, thank you," Wireman said.

"Yeah," Jack added. "Thanks, Mrs. Freemantle."

I thought she'd ask who that was, but she didn't. "Edgar, do you promise the girls will be okay?"

"If they didn't take any of my pictures with them, they'll be fine."

"Yes," she said. "Your goddamned pictures. I'll call back."

And she was gone, without a goodbye.

"Better?" Wireman asked when I hung up.

"I don't know," I said. "I hope to God it is." I pressed the heel of my hand first against my left eye, then against my right. "But it doesn't feel better. It doesn't feel fixed."

xiii

We were quiet for a minute. Then Wireman asked, "Was Elizabeth falling out of that pony-trap really an accident? What's your best guess?"

I tried to clear my mind. This stuff was important, too.

"My best guess is that it was. When she woke up, she suffered from amnesia, aphasia, and God knows what else as a result of brain injuries that were beyond diagnosis in 1925. Painting was more than her therapy; she was a genuine prodigy, and she was her own first great artwork. The housekeeper - Nan Melda - was also amazed. There was that story in the paper, and presumably everyone who read it was amazed over breakfast... but you know how people are-"

"What amazes you at breakfast is forgotten by lunch," Wireman said.

"Jesus," Jack said, "if I'm as cynical as you two when I get old, I think I'll turn in my badge."

"That's Jesus- Krispies to you, son," Wireman said, and actually laughed. It was a stunned sound, but there. And that was good.