on the painting of Ivy. He hesitated, then turned to ask Jade if she was still sure she wanted to sell it, only to see that she was seating a new customer. Shrugging off the thought, he picked up the painting and hung it on the empty hook.
It was tradition for Paul and Shelly Hudson to visit San Francisco during the month of May. Not only was it the city where they had met over twenty-seven years earlier, but it was the place where they’d gotten married. Renewing their emotional ties here every year was part of what had kept their marriage so strong. It had also kept the ties of old friendship alive. Tomorrow they would return to their home in St. Louis, but today had been dedicated to visiting old haunts and old friends, which was why Shelly and her friend, Deb Carson, found themselves in the midst of a street fair, while Paul and Deb’s husband, Frank, were doing a little deep-sea fishing. Only weeks earlier, Deb had taken up photography as a hobby, and today she was snapping pictures left and right. They’d been at the fair for at least a couple of hours when suddenly she paused, letting her camera dangle from the cord around her neck as she pointed toward a nearby table.
“Oh, look at that darling little lighthouse!” Deb said, pointing to a booth with an array of hand-carved objects. She picked it up, eyeing the price and grimacing as she quickly replaced it on the table. “Good grief! One hundred and twenty dollars! It’s not that darling.”
Shelly laughed and nodded in agreement. As she turned away from the table, she looked up. Seconds later, the smile died on her lips.
“Sweet mother of God.”
Deb stared at her friend. Shelly was pale and shaking. She slipped her arm around Shelly’s waist and pulled her close.
“Dear…what’s wrong? Are you ill?”
Shelly shook her head, then pointed to a nearby artist’s booth.
“The woman in that painting! I know her…. At least, I did…once.”
“Really? How exciting! How did you know her?”
“She was married to Paul’s best friend, Sam.”
Deb frowned. “Was? What happened to her?”
“She disappeared one night twenty years ago, taking their four-year-old daughter with her.”
Deb’s frown deepened. “How sad.”
Sad wasn’t the word for what had happened to Sam Cochrane’s life. The loss of his wife and daughter had almost destroyed him. As far as Shelly knew, this was the first clue as to where Margaret had gone. She twisted out of Deb’s grasp.
“I’ve got to talk to the artist,” she said, and hurried toward the tall, dark-haired man manning the booth. “Sir. Sir! Excuse me. How much is this painting?”
Raphael turned around. When he saw which canvas the woman was pointing at, his heart dropped. It was the painting of Ivy.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“The woman in the painting…I know her. At least, I used to. Do you know where she is?”
Raphael stifled a sense of panic. In all their years on the run, they’d never seen even one of the People of Joy. He didn’t remember this woman, but twelve years was a long time. People changed. She could have been with the People. She was definitely the right age. Before he could speak, he sensed Jade’s presence, then felt her hand on his back before she stepped out from behind him.
“You’re interested in buying it?” Jade asked.
It hadn’t occurred to Shelly before, but now it seemed vital that she take back proof of what she’d seen. She didn’t know what Sam would do with it, but she knew he would want it.
“Yes…yes, I am,” Shelly said, then saw the man frown before he slid his arm around the woman’s shoulder. “Did you paint it?” Shelly asked.
Jade nodded.
“The woman in the painting—”
“You mean Ivy? She’s dead. Been dead for years.”
Shelly’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh. Oh, no.” Then she reached toward the painting, gently touching the smooth, un-lined face of the pretty blonde leaning against a trellis of ivy. “I knew her
It was tradition for Paul and Shelly Hudson to visit San Francisco during the month of May. Not only was it the city where they had met over twenty-seven years earlier, but it was the place where they’d gotten married. Renewing their emotional ties here every year was part of what had kept their marriage so strong. It had also kept the ties of old friendship alive. Tomorrow they would return to their home in St. Louis, but today had been dedicated to visiting old haunts and old friends, which was why Shelly and her friend, Deb Carson, found themselves in the midst of a street fair, while Paul and Deb’s husband, Frank, were doing a little deep-sea fishing. Only weeks earlier, Deb had taken up photography as a hobby, and today she was snapping pictures left and right. They’d been at the fair for at least a couple of hours when suddenly she paused, letting her camera dangle from the cord around her neck as she pointed toward a nearby table.
“Oh, look at that darling little lighthouse!” Deb said, pointing to a booth with an array of hand-carved objects. She picked it up, eyeing the price and grimacing as she quickly replaced it on the table. “Good grief! One hundred and twenty dollars! It’s not that darling.”
Shelly laughed and nodded in agreement. As she turned away from the table, she looked up. Seconds later, the smile died on her lips.
“Sweet mother of God.”
Deb stared at her friend. Shelly was pale and shaking. She slipped her arm around Shelly’s waist and pulled her close.
“Dear…what’s wrong? Are you ill?”
Shelly shook her head, then pointed to a nearby artist’s booth.
“The woman in that painting! I know her…. At least, I did…once.”
“Really? How exciting! How did you know her?”
“She was married to Paul’s best friend, Sam.”
Deb frowned. “Was? What happened to her?”
“She disappeared one night twenty years ago, taking their four-year-old daughter with her.”
Deb’s frown deepened. “How sad.”
Sad wasn’t the word for what had happened to Sam Cochrane’s life. The loss of his wife and daughter had almost destroyed him. As far as Shelly knew, this was the first clue as to where Margaret had gone. She twisted out of Deb’s grasp.
“I’ve got to talk to the artist,” she said, and hurried toward the tall, dark-haired man manning the booth. “Sir. Sir! Excuse me. How much is this painting?”
Raphael turned around. When he saw which canvas the woman was pointing at, his heart dropped. It was the painting of Ivy.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“The woman in the painting…I know her. At least, I used to. Do you know where she is?”
Raphael stifled a sense of panic. In all their years on the run, they’d never seen even one of the People of Joy. He didn’t remember this woman, but twelve years was a long time. People changed. She could have been with the People. She was definitely the right age. Before he could speak, he sensed Jade’s presence, then felt her hand on his back before she stepped out from behind him.
“You’re interested in buying it?” Jade asked.
It hadn’t occurred to Shelly before, but now it seemed vital that she take back proof of what she’d seen. She didn’t know what Sam would do with it, but she knew he would want it.
“Yes…yes, I am,” Shelly said, then saw the man frown before he slid his arm around the woman’s shoulder. “Did you paint it?” Shelly asked.
Jade nodded.
“The woman in the painting—”
“You mean Ivy? She’s dead. Been dead for years.”
Shelly’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh. Oh, no.” Then she reached toward the painting, gently touching the smooth, un-lined face of the pretty blonde leaning against a trellis of ivy. “I knew her
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