The Cinderella Deal - Jennifer Crusie [47]
“I know the story.” Linc’s resolve broke. “Whatever possessed you to paint it?”
“Probably my father and stepmother,” Daisy said grimly.
Linc changed the subject. “Why is she looking so calm?”
“Well, nobody knows for sure if she did it. So she’s either standing there innocently while someone evil frames her for the crime, or she’s planning her defense. You choose.”
They stood together and looked at the painting for a while, and Linc realized that even though he was still thrown, he liked the painting. There was something about it that was so Daisy, bright and colorful and passionate with strange things hidden inside. Amazing. “Does every one of your paintings have a story?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” Daisy said blithely. “The one in the dining room is based on the legend of Etain.”
“What happened to Etain?” he asked, knowing it was going to be horrible.
“A jealous witch turned her into a butterfly, and she got blown into a wineglass and a beautiful queen drank her.”
Linc nodded, trying to be supportive. “Drank her.”
“Yes. And then nine months later the queen gave birth to a baby girl, and Etain’s lover waited for her to grow up again so he could marry her. Then they lived happily ever after. Something horrible happened to the witch, but I can’t remember what. Her name was Fuamach; you’d think that would be enough of a punishment.”
“Are all your paintings about horrible things?”
Daisy pulled away, surprised. “These aren’t horrible. These have happy endings. Lizzie was never convicted, and Etain lived happily ever after forever with Mider. I can’t do the really unhappy ones. I tried to paint Deirdre once, but I ended up burning the canvas.”
The memory of it clouded her face, and Linc found himself wanting to know all about her paintings because it was telling him so much about her. “What happened to Deirdre?”
“A man she didn’t like forced her to marry him, and she killed herself.”
Linc looked down at her, startled, but she was gazing serenely at Lizzie, apparently without ulterior motive. “The peach dress is nice, isn’t it? It looks like Victorian passion.”
He looked back at the painting. “Was Lizzie passionate?”
“You’d have to be pretty passionate to hack up your father and stepmother, wouldn’t you?”
“I thought she wasn’t convicted.”
“She wasn’t, but I still think she did it.” Daisy gave her alter ego one last look and then turned to survey the living room. “I covered up the holes and the cracks in the furniture. You really can’t tell, can you?”
“It looks great,” he said sincerely, and then shot one last nervous glance over his shoulder at Lizzie.
Daisy was moving on, like a blur of brightness through the pastel room. “I’m buying flowers this afternoon. And I’m making stew in case anyone wants to eat when they get here.”
Linc tensed. Stew. That was bad; these people didn’t eat stew, they ate coq au vin. “They won’t want to eat. Forget the stew and we’ll just have drinks.”
Daisy looked apologetic, and he kicked himself for being so blatant, but all she said was “We’d better set up a bar on the buffet, then.”
“Make a note to pick up liquor,” he told her, and went into the dining room to see how much space there was on the buffet. Over it was a primitive still life of a table covered with blue and white checks. The table held a vase of flowers, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of pink wine. He leaned closer. There was definitely a butterfly in the wine.
He sighed, and then he started to laugh. Lizzie Borden in the living room and a drowned butterfly in the dining room. The place looked like Better Homes & Gardens, but it was really Charles Addams. He looked over at the flower garlands that graced the hall, wondering what details they hid. “This is really great,” he told her when she’d followed him. He patted her shoulder. “Cute. You did a good job. Uh, did you hide anything in the flowers and stuff on the walls?”
“No.” Daisy stopped, clearly intrigued. “That’s a good idea. This place is too boring. I could …”
“No, no.” Linc waved his hand at her. “It’s great