THE BOARDINGHOUSE, Sea Breezes, appeared ready to collapse in on itself. All the porch spindles were broken, and sections of lattice looked like they had been kicked in. I knocked on the door and an old woman answered, her hair a nest of brown-and-gray frizz.

“Is Luis Silver here?”

“Haven’t seen him today. You one of those ladies from the state?”

“From the state?”

“One of those social workers. Don’t know why you bother. His grandmother raised the boy right. Never had any trouble with him at all.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s right. It’s just a routine visit.” I felt nervous about lying to her, sneaking around on Luis. But I was worried about what he would do without his job at the spa, and he deserved so much better than this. I hoped she didn’t notice the way I stammered, the way I flushed, or, God forbid, ask for a business card. “Can I see his room, please?”

“Up there, second door on your right.” She moved aside to give me access to a dark, narrow staircase. I wanted to turn around and drive away, but I felt the tingle of possibility, even as the smell of cat urine stung my eyes.

I knocked once, twice. No answer. I tried the knob and the door was unlocked. I counted to three, then stepped inside, my eyes shut tight like a kid making a wish. Would he be angry at me for showing up like this? What if he wanted to keep the paintings a secret? It would be an unforgivable intrusion, inserting myself into his home, his work, if he didn’t want me there.

I kept my eyes closed at first, but I could smell the paint. The mellow scent of linseed oil and the chemical tang of turpentine.

When I opened my eyes I had the same stunned feeling I always got before an anxiety attack. But instead of the tightening of my chest, the breathlessness, the clammy skin, I was dumbstruck, then filled with a warm joy.

There were canvases everywhere. They leaned against the wall, three deep. One was new, set up on an easel: the women, five of them in a single line. I knew their names now. Amanda, Grace, Julie, Victoria, Georgia. Emily had still been alive by the time Luis found Clara, when she came to see me at the spa. Another thing he’d been so desperate to show people, so relatively powerless to make them see.