Death Mask

photographs on the wall beside the fridge.

“Is this —?” he asked, pointing at a picture of Trevor.

Sissy nodded. “That’s right. Looks so much like you, don’t you think?”

“And this is his wife? And his daughter?”

“Molly and Victoria. Molly’s an artist. Well — you can see by all of these flower paintings. They’re all hers. This landscape, too. Do you recognize it? New Milford Green. She painted it when she and Trevor came to visit last fall.”

Frank pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m finding this real hard to take in, Sissy. The way you look, everything. You’re still just as pretty as you ever were. But I’ve missed out on so many years, haven’t I? How could that happen?”

Sissy sat down opposite him and took hold of his hands. “It’s so wonderful to have you back. You don’t have any idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“Is Trevor here? Aren’t you going to tell him I’m back?”

“Of course I am. But there’s something you need to know. It’s going to be very difficult for you to understand, and if it makes you angry with me, then I won’t be at all surprised.”

“You’ve found somebody else. Is that it? After twenty-four years, darling, I can’t say that I blame you.”

Sissy said, “I have had plenty of men friends, yes. Good ones, some of them. But nobody serious. And nobody who could ever replace you.”

“So why am I going to be angry?”

Sissy stood up again and went over to the sink. She took down a small mirror with a frame made of ceramic daisies. She handed it to Frank and said, “Take a look at yourself, Frank. Tell me what you see.”

Frank frowned into the mirror. Then he touched his forehead and prodded his cheeks. “I don’t look old, do I?” he said. “I mean, I don’t look as old as you do. How come?”

“The last twenty-four years, Frank — well, let’s put it this way, they just passed you by.”

“They passed me by? How in God’s name did that happen?”

“Do you remember a kid named Laurence Stepney?”

“Sure I do. A real tearaway, that boy, but if I can straighten him out, I reckon that he could go far. Heck — listen to me. If twenty-four years have gone by, then Laurence Stepney must be nearly forty by now.”

“Do you remember him trying to steal a car from the Big Bear Supermarket?”

Frank thought for a while. Then he slowly nodded. “Kind of. Him and some other kid named Thomas Cusack.”

“You tried to stop him, Frank. Can you remember that?”

Frank’s eyes, which always looked as if he were long-sighted, seemed to focus even further away, into the past. He reached out his hand as if he were trying to take hold of somebody’s shoulder.

“Yes — yes, I do remember. I said, ‘You’re not letting me down, Laurence. Only yourself, and your parents.’ ”

“Then what happened?”

Frank lowered his hand and looked up at Sissy in bewilderment. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. What did happen?”

“Laurence Stepney shot you, Frank. He shot you without any warning at point-blank range.”

Frank looked down at his chest, almost as if he expected to see his shirt soaked in blood. “Is that what put me into a coma?”

“No, Frank.” Sissy had to stop for a moment, because she was so choked up. “That’s what killed you.”

Frank sat in complete silence while Sissy explained about the roses, and the ring, and Red Mask, and what the DeVane cards had predicted.

“That’s why we called you back, Frank. It’s the only way I could think of to save scores more people from being murdered. But Trevor and I agreed that if you didn’t want to help us, if you wanted to rest in peace, then we’d honor your wishes and let you go back to sleep.”

Frank lifted his left hand and stared at it. “So what you’re telling me is that I’m dead, and this is a dead man’s hand?”

“The Frank Sawyer I was married to, the actual Frank Sawyer, he’s dead, yes, and his remains are lying in the Morningside Cemetery in New Milford. But you are Frank Sawyer’s likeness. You have Frank Sawyer’s memories, and Frank Sawyer’s character, and hopefully you have Frank Sawyer’s talent for hunting down criminals.”

“I’m a painting?”

“You were recreated as a painting, yes. We don’t know for sure how it happens, but we think that the ring on Molly’s necklace has the power to bring her paintings to life.”

Frank stood up. He touched Sissy’s hair and wound one of her silver curls around his finger. “Wild as ever,” he told her. “Never known a woman whose hair was always so flyaway.”

“I loved you, Frank. I loved you so much. When you were killed, it was like I was killed, too.”

“How can I be a painting?” Frank asked her. He traced her eyebrow with his fingertip, and touched her cheek, and then her lips. “How can a painting walk, and talk, and wind your hair around his finger?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. But there are so many stories about paintings and drawings that come to life.”

“Crazy,” said Frank, and shook his head. “I always said you were crazy, didn’t I? That’s why I love you so much.”

Sissy said, “Do you think you want to stay and help us, my darling? Or do you want to go back?”

“I was dead. Now I’m alive again. Maybe I’m only a painting, but I still feel like me. So what do you think?”

“Let me wake up Trevor and Molly.”

She turned toward the corridor that led to their bedroom, but she didn’t have to go to rouse them. Trevor and Molly were standing in the doorway, staring at Frank as if they were two children who had surprised Santa putting out their presents.

“Dad,” said Trevor, with a catch in his throat. “Dad, I don’t believe it!”

He came forward. The two of them looked at each other for a moment, long-lost father and grown-up son. Then they embraced each other tightly, as if they never wanted to let go, ever again.

“It is a miracle,” said Trevor. “It really works. It is a miracle.”

Sissy turned to Molly and smiled. Molly was wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her stripy nightshirt. “You did wonderful work tonight, Molly. He’s just like the Frank that I remember.”

Molly was holding her necklace in her hand, and she held it up. “Look,” she said. “I could see it glowing on my dressing table, and I knew that something must be happening.”

The stone in Van Gogh’s ring was shining so brightly that it looked as if it had a red light in it.

Molly said, “It must be like your ring, Sissy — except that your ring goes dark to show that people are telling lies.”

“Yes,” said Sissy. She took the necklace and held it up in front of Frank’s face, so that the ring was reflected in his eyes, like twin red sparks. “It can sense that you’re alive,” she told him. “And — look — the closer it gets to you, the brighter it shines.”

“How about a drink to celebrate?” Trevor suggested.

“Trevor, it’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“So what? I have a bottle of Cuvee Napa in the fridge if anybody fancies some. This is something that’s really worth celebrating, don’t you think?” He hesitated, and then he said, “Dad? You do drink, don’t you? What I mean is, you can drink?”

Frank shrugged. “So far as I know. I feel real enough, don’t I? I expect I can eat, too. You still make that corned-beef hash, Sissy?”

They sat in the living room talking until it began to grow light outside. Even though Sissy knew that “Frank” wasn’t the real Frank whom she had buried, the experience of seeing him again and sitting next to him again made her feel so young and happy that she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.