The Portrait of Doreene Gray (29 page)

“Eh, once she poops on the carpet a few times, they'll start taking her outside,” Michael said.

“Or they'll put her outside and forget her,” Suki said.

“I'm sure she'll be fine,” Angus said. “Dogs are pretty resourceful.”

Suki glared at him. “We're talking about an animal that weighs four pounds and has legs the size of twigs. If she has resources, I don't know where she's keeping them.”

“I'll talk to Kroger as well,” Angus said firmly. “If he doesn't help, we'll register a complaint with the local animal-protection service.”

Suki unlocked the minivan's doors with the remote and stowed her photography equipment.

On the other side, Michael swung his bag onto the far seat before getting in. “So what do we do now? I'm talking about us, not the dog.”

Angus took the front passenger seat. “We'll drive to the airport early tomorrow and put ourselves on the standby list.”

Michael fastened his seat belt. “You don't want to try to fly out this evening?”

Angus shook his head. “We'll find a motel around here and drive to Seattle early tomorrow morning. That'll give us one more evening to scout around Port Townsend. I'd like to go back to Fort Worden. That was a wonderful, atmospheric place. Maybe it'll clear the bad taste out of our mouths.”

Suki opened the driver's side door and got in. “Where to?”

“Start driving toward Fort Worden,” Angus said. “We'll see what motels we pass along the way.” He looked out the window. “I know this story has had its ups and downs, but it's going to put
Tripping
on the map, you'll see. We'll be credited in every book about paranormal activity from here on out.”

“You don't think Kroger will find the painting?” Michael asked.

Angus made a scoffing noise. “You can't find what doesn't exist anymore.”

*   *   *

They didn't see any motels on the way to Fort Worden, nor did they find any beyond it. Suki drove for ten minutes more, keeping to the main road, before pulling into the lot of a gardening supply store. “This isn't working. Let's see what we can find online.”

They took out their phones and alternately searched the Internet and made calls.

Michael put his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone. “I've got one in Port Townsend proper if we don't mind sharing a room. It has two beds and a couch that folds out.”

Angus looked at Suki.

“Fine with me,” she said, starting the car. “Let's just book something so we can eat.”

Angus dug out his wallet and handed Michael a credit card while Suki turned the car back toward Port Townsend.

*   *   *

The staff of
Tripping
sat in a vinyl-upholstered booth and discussed the painting's disappearance over dinner. Outside the restaurant's windows, a light rain speckled the gray waters of the Sound.

Michael squirted catsup onto his plate. “Angus, do you honestly believe the painting has vanished into thin air?”

Angus swallowed a bite of his fish po' boy. “Let's look at the evidence, shall we?” He counted points on his fingers. “Doreene feels pain when the painting is struck. Cryptic paper strips are found in the soup. There's a plague of slugs, and mysterious lights in the woods. Doreene dies in a locked room. With her death, the painting reverts to its youthful state. When the painting is removed from the house, it vanishes completely.” He waggled his seven upraised fingers. “What part of
supernatural goings-on
do you not understand?”

“All of it.” Michael picked up his pint glass of beer and took a swig. “The pain could have been a coincidence, or she might have faked it. The paper, slugs, lights—all of that could have been done by a person.”

“And the painting's rejuvenation?” Angus asked. “You don't really believe someone could remove all those glued bits without leaving marks, do you?”

“I think that's more likely than that the portrait is actually magic,” Michael said, “but it occurs to me that we're overlooking an important fact. Who painted the portrait?”

Angus gave him a suspicious look. “Maureene.”

“That's right.” Michael picked up a fry and pointed it at Angus. “And if she painted it once, why couldn't she paint it again?”

Suki turned from where she was staring out the window. “You think Maureene replaced the aged portrait with a new one?”

“Oh, please,” Angus said. “No one knocks out an oil painting in one night. Even if Maureene could do such a thing, it wouldn't be dry. I think someone would have noticed that.”

“First of all, we don't know the portrait they found in that closet
is
an oil painting,” Michael said. “Now that it's gone, we may never know. Even if it was done in oil, Maureene might have painted it ages ago. Maybe she started out with two portraits, for some reason.”

Angus frowned and put down his sandwich. “Then where is the first portrait?”

“I don't know.”

“And why would Maureene take it?”

“To sell it? I don't know.”

“Assuming Maureene did swap one painting for another, is she also responsible for Doreene's death?”

Michael held up both hands. “I don't know that, either.”

Angus gave him a grumpy look. “I like my explanation better.”

“I'm sure you do, but that doesn't make it true.”

“Well, it's the only truth we have,” Angus said, “because we're leaving tomorrow morning.”

After they finished eating, they went to the restaurant's door and looked out through the glass. The rain had strengthened enough to bounce off the pavement.

Angus buttoned his coat. “Anyone got an umbrella?”

“I left mine in the car.” Michael looked at Suki.

“Me, too,” she said.

Angus opened the door, letting in a gust of cold, damp air. “At least it isn't far.”

They ran to the car, Michael holding a hand above his glasses to shield them from the rain.

Once inside, Suki turned on the engine and let the defroster blow. “Are we still going to walk around Fort Worden?”

They stared out the windows at the dripping landscape.

“I think we have enough material without it,” Angus said.

Michael nodded. “We're going to have trouble fitting everything in, really.” He pulled the edge of his shirt from beneath his coat and used it to dry his glasses.

Suki checked her side mirror and pulled onto the street. “The motel it is, then.”

*   *   *

The motel they had found dated to Port Townsend's Victorian heyday.

In their shared room, Michael pulled an upholstered armchair away from the wall and looked behind it. “There are no more outlets. I know these historic places are full of atmosphere, but they're not suited to three people all working on computers.”

“Try the bathroom,” Angus suggested.

“I'm not going to sit on the toilet to work. My butt would fall asleep.” Michael turned and surveyed the wall against which Suki had stacked all her photo equipment. “Suki, isn't there anything you can unplug?”

Suki got up and checked her cell phone, which sat on one of the old-fashioned windowsills. “This is charged.” She pulled the charger from the outlet, then looked outside, using one hand to shade the windowpane from the interior light. “Hey, it's stopped raining.”

Angus looked at his watch and raised his eyebrows. “Would you believe, it's past midnight!”

Suki turned from the window. “Anyone want to go to Fort Worden? I had a couple of ideas for night shots of the battery.”

“Now?” Michael asked. “Aren't we supposed to get up early tomorrow to go to the airport?”

“That's what coffee is for,” Suki said. “Come on, it'll be fun.”

Michael looked at Angus. “Won't the park be closed?”

“Officially, I suppose it is, but it's not as though they have a gate.” Angus closed the lid of his laptop and stood. “Suki, can you do what you want in under an hour?”

Suki was already rummaging through her gear. “Forty minutes, tops.”

*   *   *

They passed no one on the road that led to Fort Worden. Their headlights slid over rain-washed parked cars and wet leaves.

Michael tilted his head so he could look at the sky through his side window. “It's awfully dark, with all this cloud cover. What kind of shots are you hoping to get?”

“I want to see if the LEDs on our phones are bright enough to use as spotlights on the front of the battery. With the aperture opened up and a long exposure, we might get some cool effects.”

“The phones will move if we just hold them,” Michael said. “Don't we need to mount them on something to keep the front of the building from looking all smudgy?”

“I'm hoping for a certain amount of smudgy.” As she turned into the entrance of the park, their headlights swept across the rhododendron garden, adding brief color to the darkness.

They passed the parade ground and made a right, driving past the Artillery Museum and park office, toward the beach and Admiralty Inlet.

“There are a few lights on inside Alexander's Castle,” Michael observed.

“I wouldn't mind a night photo of that,” Angus said.

Suki slowed the car to a crawl and looked up the hill toward the castle. “Maybe this road goes there.” She turned left and drove slowly up a side street. The castle loomed ahead and to the right. A few lights burned inside, their glow barely revealing the brick crenellations that gave the building its name.

Suki pulled over to the side of the road and parked behind a few other cars, a good hundred feet back from the building. “Close enough. It could be park personnel in there, and I don't want to get kicked out.”

“Good point. Try not to slam the car doors,” Angus said as they unbuckled their seat belts.

“Michael,” Suki said. “Pass me the tripod and the black bag with the blue zipper pull, will you?” She attached her camera to the tripod and they got out of the van.

As they walked up the road toward the building, Michael pointed at the castle. “Someone just crossed in front of a window in that upstairs room,” he whispered.

“What were they wearing?” Angus whispered back.

Michael raised his brows. “Feeling voyeuristic?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Suki said, setting up her tripod.

Angus shook his head. “If the person you saw wore old-fashioned clothing, it might be a ghost.”

“I don't think so,” Michael said. “I'm pretty sure it was just a regular guy.”

They all froze at the sound of a harsh scream, cut short.

“What the hell was that?” Michael whispered.

Angus was already loping toward the castle. He looked back and waved an arm for them to follow. Michael put his hand in his coat pocket and felt for his cell phone as he followed. Suki picked up her tripod and trotted after them.

The castle was essentially a three-story square tower, with windows on the first and second floors and small, one-story wings on either side. By the plainness of the exterior on this side, it appeared they were at the back of the building.

Suki and Michael joined Angus as he crouched at the corner of the structure, out of sight of the windows.

“Do you think we should call nine-one-one?” Michael whispered.

“Maybe,” Suki murmured, “although it could be anything. I once heard someone scream like that when he passed a kidney stone.”

“Let's see what the situation is first,” Angus said. Crouching, he moved to one of two doors and quickly put his head up enough to see through the corner of the window. “Nothing.” Still crouching, he walked to the second door and did the same thing. “Nothing here, either.” At the sound of footsteps descending the inside stairs, he drew back, whispering, “Someone's coming!”

They hustled around the corner of the building, then peered around the edge.

The door opened. A man backed through it, holding another man under the arms and dragging him through. About five feet from the back of the building, the limp man suddenly pulled away, half-falling in his attempt to escape. The first man released him and grabbed at something tucked in the waistband of his pants. They heard a clicking noise, and the second man fell to the ground and screamed, the sound obviously muffled by something shoved in his mouth.

When the man on the ground had fallen silent, the first man spoke. “One battery can do that fifty times, and I have a spare in my pocket.” The voice was Hank's. “Now get up.”

The man on the ground groaned faintly and bent one knee in an attempt to rise.

Hank grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet before letting go and stepping back a pace. “I can do this all night, or you can cooperate. I swear, I won't do anything to you afterward.”

The other man, swaying, seemed to laugh through his gag.

“Don't be stupid. You'll keep quiet because if you go to the police, they'll know you stole it.” Hank shoved the man toward the street and a dark car. “Now show me.”

Angus and the others flattened themselves against the building as Hank made the other man get in the passenger's side of the car and crawl over to the driver's side. Then Hank got in the passenger's side and they left, the prisoner driving.

The glow of Michael's phone illuminated his hand. “I'm calling nine-one-one.”

“Do it from the car,” Suki said. “I'm going to follow them. The cops can't help if we don't know where they went.”

“We don't need to follow,” Michael panted as they ran to the minivan. “He's headed farther into the park. We can just park at the entrance to make sure they don't go anywhere.”

“There are three entrances,” Angus said, jerking open the van door and scrambling inside.

Suki didn't bother to put her tripod and camera in the back, but shoved the whole thing toward Michael, who wrestled the equipment into the space behind him.