Chapter 46 Rosie – Day 11
‘What . . . the . . . hell?’ Fenna gasps.
Rosie blinks at the cache of artwork before them. There must be an oil painting for every year Danielle has disappeared. In some of them, she has aged – an artist’s impression of what the young schoolgirl might look like now. In others, she is a smiling fifteen-year-old in front of the lake.
Fenna swings her torchlight across the canvases, it picks up the brush strokes, the way the light falls on the water and the green parakeets that watch over her.
Rosie’s skin prickles.
It is the creepiest thing she has ever seen.
Fenna points at a white squiggle on the bottom right-hand corner of each piece of art.
Marianne’s distinctive signature.
‘Marianne painted these?’ Fenna says slowly. ‘But Marianne stopped painting.’
‘Clearly not . . .’ Rosie breathes.
A bolt of energy passes through her. She carefully pries apart each painting, counting. The sound echoes.
Fenna opens her mouth to say something when there is a bang from above their heads. ‘Come on, we need to go.’
They lock up the creepy, art-filled cupboard and scan the torchlight over the silent basement once more. Why has Marianne painted fifteen portraits of the missing schoolgirl? Is she an innocent muse or is there more here?
‘What’s that?’ Fenna hisses.
Rosie’s gaze follows where she’s looking. A small, white, rectangular box has been wedged under the gap at the bottom of the door.
She steps forward and tugs it from its space.
‘It’s heart medication,’ Fenna reads. ‘It’s . . . Carla’s,’ she whispers.
Rosie gasps. ‘What? Are you sure?’
Fenna passes the misshaped box to Rosie. The label is written in Italian, but she can work out that it’s medication prescribed for Carla Conti.
‘They could have fallen out of her bag,’ Fenna sounds calm, but her wide eyes give away how she really feels.
Rosie shivers. ‘No. Someone hid them on purpose.’
‘We need to go to the police.’
‘No. I . . . The police?’ Rosie shakes her head. ‘The Italian police ruined my family. No way. I . . . I can’t trust them.’ She thrusts an arm against the cold brick wall to support herself.
Fenna lowers her voice. ‘You can trust Giovanni, he’s a good guy.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know, ok? He’s dedicated to this case. Everyone else has given up on Danielle. He will help, I know it.’
Rosie looks up from the crumpled box of Carla’s medication and swallows. What choice does she have?