“Of course, Claudia. Take your time, I can manage.”

“Thank you. I’ll only be a moment if you need something.” Claudia walked through an open door into an adjoining bedroom.

Val’s gaze traveled to some framed pictures of children that sat on a shelf next to Bridget’s table, and Val picked one up.

“That’s William and Iris, my twins. They were named after James’ grandfather and my grandmother, both on our father’s side.” Mrs. Morgan pointed to another photo. “And that’s Gabi with Bridget. Gabi was about ten in the picture. These are Bridget’s favorites. There are a few more on her bedside table but she likes these with her. They’ll be transferred to the bedside table tonight when she goes to sleep.” Mrs. Morgan smiled. “She talks to them every now and then.”

“What does she say?” Val asked.

“I’m not sure, gibberish really. Bridget hasn’t spoken much since the twins died. She was very close with them. She was close with Gabi too, back then anyway.”

Val put the picture back down and then watched this young woman dip the brush in her paints, making her creation, life as she knew it coming from her hands. Life told in pictures and Bridget’s were of flowers. Maybe in a mad, ugly world, beauty is what Bridget sees. Watching Bridget was all Val needed, hell, it was all she was going to get. Val knew talking to her would be out of the question. There was one more thing Val wanted to see in this house before she left and hoped Mrs. Morgan would allow it. She wanted to get a peek at everything she could so her hidden camera would record as much as possible. “Would it be possible to take a look in Gabrielle’s old room?”

“If you’d like to, of course.” Mrs. Morgan walked to the doorway of the adjoining room. “Claudia, we’re leaving now.”

Val moved closer, too: she also wanted to get a look inside Claudia’s room. Most of the décor was yellow and white, the furniture a dark mahogany. Yellow flowers in a purple vase sitting on the bedside table caught her eye. It was at that moment Val realized the flowers in the vase were the same type of flowers Bridget had painted on her canvas. “Those flowers are lovely. I have no idea what they are,” she said to Mrs. Morgan.

“I think they’re some type of lily.”

“Looks like they need water, they’re drooping.” The buds were hanging down.

“I think they’re beyond watering. They might need to be thrown out.” Mrs. Morgan laughed and walked away. “Come on now. Gabrielle’s bedroom is down the hall.”