Portrait of Death_Unforgotten by Isabel Wroth

Author:Isabel Wroth [Wroth, Isabel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-18T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Jo?”

“No more coffee,” I absently answered while on my knees on the stool at my drawing table.

I'd woken up again, certain I'd had another dream about Mia, but this time she was dancing in a field of flowers with a daisy chain on her head.

I couldn't remember whether or not we'd had a conversation, but in the dream, she'd made a muscle with her arm, and I was convinced she was telling me to flex my curse muscle.

Which was why I was staring at the sketches in the morning sunlight, hoping something would come to me.

Only the storm must have returned and was making the light frustratingly shadow over the pictures.

Callum had made me breakfast this morning, and after I'd helped him wash the dishes to put away, I'd been drawn to the pile of paper and film.

“Josephine.”

“I'm fine, Cal. Have a good day at work.”

“Well, guess you didn't miss me at all. She didn't even realize I was gone?”

Callum's disgruntled question made me lift my head. I winced, because my neck was so damn stiff, and found Nigel smirking at me from the kitchen where he was helping Marcy chop up vegetables for dinner.

John had a stack of folders next to him on my dining room table, wearing the sexiest pair of glasses.

If that’s what Callum was destined to look like in thirty years, and if hypothetically, we were still together by that time, I’d be all over him like white on rice.

John grunted and slurped from the mug of coffee in his hand, staring at me over the top of his glasses while I blinked and tried to reconcile the fact that I'd lost twelve hours without realizing it and without having a manic painting episode.

I mean, there was detritus all around me in the form of sketches and photos but no pencil or charcoal stubs.

There were a few crumbs and a water ring from a glass or something, but I'd apparently pushed all the photos aside save for what looked like a pair of duplicates.

That shadow blocking my light was in fact a scowling detective who had his hip against the edge of my drawing table, his arms crossed over his chest.

“She was like that when we got here at noon, son. Your mother suggested we not disturb her in case she was 'in her state' again.

“The phone rang about five times, and she never even looked up. Just been sittin’ there for hours, staring at her pictures, stirrin’ them around.”

Callum grunted, still staring at me, but not speaking to me.

“She eat anything?”

I rolled my eyes and carefully got off my stool, nearly collapsing when the blood rushed back to my legs and the pins and needles started in.

“I'm not deaf, you know.”

Callum stepped in and scooped me up like I was a baby, carrying me over and planting my butt on the kitchen counter, his thunderous expression now belonged solely to me.

“Josephine, you feel like explaining to me why you've been hunched over your desk all day?”

My eyebrows rose slowly, and I squirmed under his gaze.

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