“I don’t know but I’ll find out. I’ll—”
“McBride!” Brad shouted into the phone. “Ask Eden about the riddle. The one carved inside the door.”
“He wants to know—”
“I can hear him,” she said, sitting up straighter. “The door is in the attic, and yes, I copied it exactly as it is. He hasn’t solved the riddle, has he?”
“She wants to know if you’ve solved the riddle, and I want to know what riddle.”
“It’s a mystery,” Eden said, leaning back against the pillows. “No one knows who wrote it or what it means. None of the Farringtons were very interested in it.”
“What do you know, Granville?” Jared asked into the phone.
“It’s a hunch, that’s all. I think Tyrrell Farrington wrote it, and I think it tells something about his dreadful paintings.”
“Not dreadful,” Eden said, her head lolling to one side.
“What do you think this riddle is about?” Jared asked. “Does it have anything to do with the kidnapping?”
“Kidnapping?!” Brad shouted. “What kidnapping? Who’s been kidnapped?”
“I can’t talk about that over the phone. Where are you?”
“On the way back to Arundel. Is Eden all right?” Brad’s voice lowered. “Is it Melissa who’s been kidnapped?”
“Yeah,” Jared said succinctly. “What is it that you know?”
“If it’s what I think it is, I may know why Melissa was taken. I’m not sure, but there may be millions involved. McBride, I want you to take one of Tyrrell Farrington’s paintings off the wall, take it into the bathroom, and run water over it.”
“Something’s under his painting?”
“Maybe. I think it’s a strong possibility. Just do it, then let me know, will you? I should be there in about two hours. And, McBride, take care of Eden, will you? You don’t have kids, so you don’t know what it means—”
Jared closed the phone before Brad could finish his sentence, and he was in the hall in two steps. Seconds later, he returned with one of Tyrrell’s paintings.
“I want to see what you’re going to do,” Eden said, trying to get out of bed. Jared put an arm under hers and held the painting in the other. In her bathroom he sat her on the closed toilet and put the painting in the tub, then turned on the shower.
In silence, Eden and Jared watched as the water hit the old painting. At first nothing happened, but then Tyrrell’s painting of the fields around Farrington Manor began to run. Underneath were oil colors of another painting.
Jared turned off the shower water, picked up the painting, and used a towel to wipe off what was left of Tyrrell Farrington’s watercolors around the edges, then he handed it to Eden. “Recognize the signature?” he asked quietly.
The pills inside Eden were still making her dizzy and drowsy, but she thought she could have been dead and still recognized the signature at the corner. “Van Gogh,” she whispered, looking up at Jared in disbelief.
“Yeah, ol’ One Ear himself.”
It was a picture of blue cornflowers in a field, the light swirling around the flowers. Beautiful and as bright and vibrant as the day it had been painted.
Putting his arm around Eden, he helped her back to bed. She fell back onto the pillows and closed her eyes. “Tyrrell was in Paris at the time of the Impressionists. Their paintings were so unusual that they couldn’t sell them. But then, most of them just wanted to paint and didn’t care if they sold.”
“Didn’t you say that Tyrrell’s family cut off his money?”
“Yes.” She opened her eyes. “They cut down his allowance to try to force him to return home. Maybe all he could afford was used canvases.”
“Used by the other painters? The Impressionists?” Jared shook his head in awe as he looked at the picture in his hands. “You think more of these pictures have other paintings under them?”
“I don’t know,” Eden said, “but I do know that not one of them is worth my daughter’s life. How do I trade them for her?”
“And for the man she met at the airport,” he said, his jaw clenched.