When artist, Nicole Jeffords, learns that a reputable psychic who often works with the police has had a vision that the remains of a fifty-year-old male may be buried under an artist's studio in Austin, she becomes convinced that the studio in quest...
My friend request to Darla Nolan was ignored. What a shock. I was actually more than a little angered and hurt. I'd lent Darla (when she was Helen) a coat that I'd never gotten back. She was the one who'd told me about Hillary Clinton flying in to consult Victor, the one who'd whispered in my ear the reason for the visit (lack of libido) and shown me before and after pictures of the then senator.
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Perhaps this Darla just had a close resemblance to Helen and they weren't the same person. But I looked closely. Unless Helen had a twin, it was the identical face. I meditated on this as I worked in my studio. I had finally begun the painting of Mme X and was in a hurry to get it as far along as possible because we were now nearly at the end of July, and my husband and I were planning a trip to Romania in the third week of August. I was looking forward to that. A Secret Grave was gathering attention, but I was nervous about all the warnings and hate mail, and it was time to chill out, forget about mystery, car chases, murder, and take a break in a totally new environment.
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Early drawing of Mme X
But my time wasn't my own and things never happen as planned. By a twist of fate, I ran into Helen Sprouse, who was now Darla Nolan, at a political fundraiser given at the house of an acquaintance in Windsor Heights in North Austin. I'd never been to this house before and was blown away because the back garden overlooked a lake (actually it was a quarry) that was so peaceful and unexpected it brought a mist of tears to my eyes. The landscape felt different, ferny and green instead of the arid summer brown I was used to. I was contemplating the view when I heard Helen's voice squawk behind me.
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The view from the backyard
I turned and yes, there she was, Helen, only with purple hair and big red framed glasses. I called her name: "Helen!" No response. Then I tried her new name: "Darla, hey, over here!" Still no response. She was with a bunch of people and I left my spot overlooking the quarry and walked up to her. "Helen," I said when I was close. "It's me, Nicole." I gently took her arm to make sure I had her attention. "Remember, from Victor's?"
"I don't know you," she said, "and I don't know any Victor."
"You changed your name to Darla. I sent you a friend request."
She shook off my hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "You must have the wrong person."
I wanted to persist, but she turned abruptly and went back into the house. I gave her a moment and followed, pushing through a large throng of people. When I got inside, she'd disappeared. No one seemed to know who she was. She'd come with a group of friends, and no one really knew who they were either. Bummer. I hadn't made a mistake, I was sure of it. I'd find out where she was in good time. It was only a matter of asking around.
