Rekulak, Jason - Hidden Pictures by Rekulak Jason

Author:Rekulak, Jason [Rekulak, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

17

When I return to my cottage, there’s a two-word text on my phone from Adrian: good news. I call him back and he answers on the first ring.

“The library found something.”

“Something like a photo of Annie Barrett?”

“Better. A book of her paintings.” I can hear other voices in the background, men and women laughing, like I’ve reached Adrian in a bar.

“Do you want to meet up?”

“Yes, but I need you to come here. My parents’ house. They’re hosting a dinner and I promised to eat with their friends. But if you come over, I’ll be off the hook.”

I’m still in my running clothes, I haven’t done any of my stretches, and after 8.78 miles I am insanely thirsty and hungry—but I say I’ll be there in thirty minutes. One day without stretching won’t kill me.

I chug another glass of water, fix a quick sandwich, and hop in the shower. Three minutes later, I’m stepping into one of Caroline’s prettiest outfits—a mint-green minidress with a white baby’s breath floral print. Then I hurry over to the Flower Castle.

Adrian answers the door instead of his parents, and I’m relieved. His clothes are country club casual—a pink polo shirt tucked into belted khaki pants.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “We just put out dessert.” Then he leans closer and whispers: “By the way, my parents want to know why we’re so interested in Annie Barrett. So I said you found some sketches in your cottage, hidden under the floorboards. I said you’re trying to figure out if Annie drew them. A little white lie seemed easier than telling the truth.”

“I understand,” I tell him, and I really do, more than he knows.

The Flower Castle is much bigger than the Maxwells’ house but inside it feels smaller and warmer and more intimate. All the rooms are decorated with mission-style furniture; the walls are adorned with family portraits and maps of Central and South America, and it feels like his family has lived here for years. We pass an upright piano and a curio cabinet full of pottery, and there are leafy green houseplants growing in every window. I want to stop and linger over everything but Adrian marches into a noisy dining room with a dozen middle-aged people. They’re gathered around a table that’s covered in wineglasses and dessert plates. There are five different conversations happening at once, and no one notices that we’ve arrived until Adrian waves his hands and calls for their attention.

“Everybody, this is Mallory,” he says. “She’s working as a nanny this summer, for a family on Edgewood Street.”

At the head of the table, Ignacio raises his glass in a toast, sloshing red wine on his hand and wrist. “And she’s a Big Ten athlete! She’s a distance runner for Penn State!”

These people react like I’m Serena Williams fresh off my latest victory at Wimbledon. Adrian’s mother, Sofia, is circling the table with a bottle of Malbec, topping off glasses, and she rests a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Pardon my husband,” she says.

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