Page 83 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Holy hell,’ whispers Colby, putting a hand to her chest as she looks. ‘This is powerful shit. Yes. Yes, this is that moment. It has to be.’

I swipe forward. ‘There’s another one called Skin. Is that one about you too, do you think?’

Colby sighs. ‘Oh my God, I remember that one. Not from sight, she was actually being super private about this series. But she did mention to me it was about BDSM – the spikes coming out were supposed to be like a halo of pain. Striking, right? Damn, my girl was talented.’

Crystal, my mind supplies even as I murmur my assent. Could this be a portrait of Crystal? Someone in the Reddit thread was asking if the women had ever met. At the time, I couldn’t figure out a connection. But if one of the paintings is depicting Crystal, that changes things.

‘Where’s the original, by the way?’ says Colby. ‘I thought all her art was stolen.’

‘The second painting is at a gallery. The one about you was bought by …’ I swallow. ‘This guy I met.’

‘Lucky him.’

‘Yeah,’ I murmur. ‘Lucky him.’

*

At one thirty, only Zoe’s parents are left. We pack the memorabilia back into boxes together, but I stop when I pick up a small photo flip book with a hand-painted title ‘MY LIFE.’ This was obviously Zoe’s. I thumb it open. The first pictures move quickly through Zoe’s childhood. A baby with a bow in her hair. A toddler in a smocked dress and a big white straw hat, holding an Easter basket full of candy and grinning toothily. A gangly preteen posing for a family picture at Disney World. This doesn’t look like the miserable childhood she always described – though I get that pictures don’t reflect the truth of a life.

‘You can keep that,’ says Tim suddenly. ‘If you want.’

‘Oh … really?’

‘You cared for my daughter, I can tell.’ He offers me a wan smile. ‘Take it.’

‘Thanks.’

I help Tim carry the boxes back to their car, and then we return inside.

‘I really thought you were a pastor,’ I say.

‘Is that what my daughter told you?’

‘Yes,’ I say, feeling a little bit like a traitor. ‘I don’t understand why she’d say that.’

‘You met her senior year, didn’t you?’

I nod.

‘Did she tell you why she ran away the year before?’

My heart is pounding. ‘Just that she was miserable.’

Tim’s face is sad, but in a patient way, like he’s used to bearing this weight. ‘She told one of the teachers that her mother and I were locking her in the basement and leaving her without food for days at a time.’

‘What?’

‘Yes.’ He nods slowly, as if working the memory up from the depths. ‘I wonder if she was trying to get a pity grade bump, since she was failing that class. But of course the teacher reported it, and Child Protective Services came to investigate. Zoe should have thought twice about her story, though. Our basement is the entertainment room – you know, big TV, pool table. And there’s no door at the top of the stairs. So the case was thrown out. We told her she had to start therapy. That’s when she stole the car and ran away with her friend Deedee.’

I’m literally speechless.

Tim smiles, but it’s not a happy smile. ‘When you have a child, you never imagine things will turn out this way. She was so little when we brought her home from the hospital, so perfect. We’d been trying to have a child for years. We were overjoyed. And now—’ He inhales sharply, then purses his lips. ‘All that’s left is ashes.’ Tears gleam in his eyes. ‘I wish I could make sense of it.’

My heart lurches against my ribs. I want this man to be lying. But everything about him screams honesty.

Tim searches my face. ‘Was she happy, here in Chicago?’

Of course I want to tell him yes. Give him some kind of peace. But the words bunch in my throat.