More space spilled through a wide arch, where the piano stood and where Brad had spent countless tedious hours practicing.

There, propped against the hearth of a second fireplace, was the painting.

The muscles in Flynn’s belly went loose. “Jesus. Oh, Jesus.”

“It’s called After the Spell. I got it at an auction about three years ago. Do you remember I mentioned I’d bought a painting because one of the figures in it looked like Dana?”

“I didn’t pay any attention. You were always razzing me about Dana.” He crouched down now, stared hard at the painting. He didn’t know art, but even with his limited eye, he’d have bet the farm that the same hand had painted this that had created the painting at Warrior’s Peak.

There was no joy or innocence here, however. The tone was dark, a kind of grieving, with the only light, pale, pale light, glowing from the three glass coffins where three women seemed to sleep.

His sister’s face, and Malory’s, and Zoe’s.

“I have to make a phone call.” Flynn straightened and dug out his cell phone. “There’s someone who has to see this right away.”

Chapter Nine

SHE didn’t like to be told to hurry, especially when she wasn’t given a good reason why. So, on principle, Malory took her time driving to the Vane house.

She had a lot on her mind, and a little drive in the country was just the ticket, she decided, to line those thoughts up in some organized fashion.

And she liked tooling along in her little car over the windy road that followed the river, and the way the sun sprinkled through the leaves overhead to splatter patterns of light on the roadbed.

If she could paint, she would do a study of that—just the way light and shadow played on something as simple and ordinary as a country road. If she could paint, she thought again—which she couldn’t, despite all the desire, all the study, all the years of trying.

But someone sure as hell could.

She should’ve tried to track down Dana and Zoe before driving out here. Really, she was supposed to be working with them, not with Flynn. He was . . . like an accessory, she told herself. A really attractive, sexy, interesting accessory.

Boy, she loved accessories.

Not a productive train of thought.

She switched the car radio off, steeped herself in silence. What she needed to do was find Dana and Zoe, tell them what she’d discovered. Maybe if she said it all out loud she, or they, could decipher what it meant.

Because at the moment she didn’t have a clue.

All she knew, in her gut, was that it was important. Even vital. If not the answer, it was one of the bread crumbs that would lead to the answer.

She turned off the road and onto the private lane. No gates here. No circling walls. The Vanes were certainly wealthy enough to rate them. She wondered why they hadn’t chosen to buy Warrior’s Peak instead of building by the river, closer to town.