“You never existed! When Molly asked me who had stabbed me, I described this statue! It’s a wooden statue, in Iowa!”
Red Mask stared at her over his shoulder. She held the postcard at arm’s length, so that he could see it more clearly.
“You were never a man, ever. You never lived. You were only made out of wood.”
Red Mask said nothing. But right in front of their eyes, he began to fade. First of all, Sissy could see the elevator cable right through his hands, as his flesh became transparent. Then his scarlet face began to turn pale pink, as pale as paint water.
Frank looked up at her, still clinging to the last shadowy vestiges of Red Mask’s coat. Only a painting like Frank could have clung on so long. He had no more substance, in reality, than Red Mask.
“Sissy!” he called.
Sissy said, “Frank! We’ll bring you back! I promise you, Frank! We’ll bring you back tonight!”
But it was then that Red Mask vanished altogether, and Frank fell. He disappeared down the darkened elevator shaft without a sound.
Sissy waited, and listened, but she didn’t hear him hit the basement. It was just as though
Molly came up and put her arm around Sissy’s shoulders, and hugged her. “Oh, Sissy.”
Sissy smeared the tears from her eyes with her fingertips. “I told him we’d bring him back again. I told him we’d bring him back tonight.”
“We could, Sissy. We could. Do you want me to?”
Sissy turned away from the elevator shaft. Trevor was holding Victoria tight. Detective Bellman was hunkered down next to Deputy, dabbing at his wounds with his handkerchief. Jane Becker was stroking Deputy’s head.
Sissy said, “No. He looked at me, Frank, just before he fell, and he shook his head.”
“You’re sure?”
Sissy nodded. “It’s time for me to go home, I think. I can lay some flowers on his grave.”
“Momma?” said Trevor.
“I’m all right,” said Sissy. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? I could really use a cigarette.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Painted Man
Two days later, they shared a last breakfast together, eggs over easy and waffles with blueberry preserves. Sissy’s bag was already packed and waiting in the hall.
Victoria said, “I’m going to send you an e-mail every single-bingle day, Grandma.”
Sissy smiled. “I shall look forward to it. Don’t forget to send me some pictures of your play.”
Molly handed Sissy a small blue velvet bag. “Souvenir,” she said.
Sissy opened the drawstring and looked inside. It was Van Gogh’s ring.
“Make sure that you never give it to an artist,” said Molly.
Trevor came in from the backyard, and saw it. “Maybe you should melt it down. We don’t want the same thing to happen to anybody else.”
“No. ” said Sissy. “Wherever it originally came from, whatever its power is, I don’t think it’s mine to destroy it, do you?”
“I don’t know. The next person it brings to life could be a whole lot worse than Red Mask.”
“Well, that’s fate for you. If there’s one thing the DeVane cards have always shown me, it’s that everybody’s life is made up of choices and accidents. Good choices and bad choices, nasty accidents and happy accidents. This ring brought Red Mask to life, but it also allowed me to see Frank again.”
She stood up and took her coffee cup to the window. Out in the yard, Mr. Boots and Deputy were playing together, chasing cicadas. Deputy was still limping a little, but otherwise he looked fit.
“By the way,” said Molly. “Freddie Bellman called me this morning. I asked him about Jane Becker. whether he was going to arrest her for killing George Woods.”
“And?”
“He said that whatever Jane might have admitted to, he’s forgotten it. So, officially, the CPD is still looking for a man who answers the description of Red Mask.”
Molly put her arm around Sissy, and the two of them stood looking out of the window — at the sun shining through the vine trellis and the Shasta daisies nodding in the breeze.
“How about planting some roses?” said Sissy.
“Roses? I don’t think so. But — look — I have something for you. Another souvenir.”
She went through to her studio and came back with a sheet of cartridge paper. She turned it over, and it was a watercolor painting of Frank standing on the seashore at Hyannis.
“I didn’t wear my necklace while I was painting it, so don’t worry.”
“It’s wonderful,” said Sissy. She held it up to the light and admired it. It was so well painted that she could almost imagine Frank talking to her.
“You want a quick smoke before we leave?” asked Trevor.
Sissy shook her head. “No, thanks. Your father wouldn’t approve.” And then, much more quietly, “Would you, my darling?”
