The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [43]
“Yes,” Helena agreed, looking amused. “She is, isn’t she? Gregory just loves her little prints.”
Alice narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything, Flora came breezing out. “All done!” she declared. Helena’s features rearranged themselves into pleasant enthusiasm.
“Fab!” she cooed, kissing Flora again. “I can’t wait.”
“Me either,” Flora agreed happily. “Looking back at some of those old paintings, I can’t believe how far I’ve come.”
Alice, who had seen everything from Flora’s earliest watercolor smudges on, had to agree. Her work may not be as provocative or challenging as Helena desired, but it had a certain quintessential charm—if you enjoyed Meditations on a Wheelbarrow, that is.
***
After a lunch of Iberian charcuterie and artisan breads (since it was apparently impossible to find a plain ham sandwich within a mile-wide radius of Westbourne Grove), Alice and Flora strolled back to the car. The day was finally warming, with hints of sun glinting between the wash of gray clouds; Alice shrugged off her cardigan and rolled up the sleeves of her printed silk blouse, enjoying the brief flashes of warmth on her face.
“Do you mind if we take a detour?” she finally suggested, as Flora searched her handbag for the keys. “I need to drop by…” Alice consulted the printed address. “Westbourne Gardens.”
“Sure,” Flora agreed. “Just as soon as I find…Aha!” She triumphantly held the pink-beaded keychain aloft. “What’s there?”
“I don’t know yet.” Alice climbed in. “I’m trying to track down some of these payments.”
“From Ella?” Flora paused. “I thought Stefan’s people were handling all that.”
“They are,” Alice agreed quickly, should Flora think she was ungrateful. “And they’ve been great. Thank you, again.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Flora insisted.
“It isn’t,” Alice corrected, thinking of the hours of work—and wages—the solicitor and Stefan were contributing to her care. “But I appreciate it all.”
“So, this place?” Flora prompted, pulling away from the curb. Alice wondered whether that had been a crunch of metal she heard as they drove off.
“What? Oh, right. I’m trying to piece together Ella’s movements, from all her fraud,” she explained. “There was a payment to a business with this address, so—”
“So you’re going to investigate?” Flora’s eyes widened. “Like Nancy Drew!”
Alice laughed. “If Nancy Drew had a debit card and online banking.”
“Cool.” Flora grinned, obviously thinking of haunted mansions and mysterious jade shipments, but when they parked outside the address, they found only an innocuous stucco-fronted house. “Do we go in?” Flora peered up at it.
“Why not?”
Despite her determination to fill in all the missing blanks in her purple leather calendar, Alice wavered for a moment as they stood on the doorstep, wondering what kind of nefarious business the bright exterior could conceal. She was assuming that Ella hadn’t been mixed up in anything terrible—more terrible than fraud, theft, and deception, of course—but that was only based on the persona she thought she’d known. Who knew what underground crime she was a part of? Gangs, or drugs, or…
Flora reached out and rang the buzzer. “What?” she protested, noting Alice’s expression. “I thought you wanted to know.”
The door clicked.
Inside, the hallway was cool and airy, with pale cream walls and a bleached wooden floor. Framed photos of Italian villas and market scenes were arranged in clusters on the wall, and a side table was elegantly set with fresh-cut lilies. Alice let out a small breath of relief. Drug dealers probably didn’t go for fresh-cut lilies.
“Hello?” Flora went ahead, farther down the hallway. “Is anyone here?”
Alice hurried after her, coming to a stop by the calm gray kitchen. Set across the whole back of the house, it put even Flora’s to shame, with three different stoves and pale granite work counters stretching far down the room.
“Can I help you?” A woman emerged from the pantry, dishcloth in hands. Middle-aged, with cropped brown hair and a warm, makeup free face, she looked at them