Page 59 of The Keeper and I

“Big bookworm, is he?” he replied.

“You can imagine movies and telly don’t have much appeal for a deaf kid. Books were his favorite.”

“Makes sense.” He stopped in between two shelves and stared down the row at the painting on the wall. “What’s that one?”

One thing that held Jordan’s attention throughout the estate was the artwork. He knew way more than he let on in her bedroom. At every piece, he rattled off the title, artist, and the year it was painted if he knew it. If he wasn’t sure about a detail, he whipped out his phone to look it up. As a result, they’d spent a majority of the afternoon in the gallery. The painting in the library was one Laci liked except for its one flaw. She followed Jordan over to it.

“It’s a family portrait of the Colfields,” she answered. “From the Regency era, I think, based on the clothes, but we don’t have an exact year.” She pointed to the subjects in order. “That’s the earl, Lord Colfield, his wife, the countess, and their three sons.” She stopped at the part that always made her sad, the spot where part of the canvas had been burned, removing the final subject’s face. “They had a daughter too. We don’t know what she did to deserve that.”

“Must’ve been bad,” Jordan said thoughtfully. “Who’s the artist?”

“No idea. We’ve never been able to find a record of it.”

“And it’s the original?”

“Seems to be. According to the experts Mum and Dad had look at it, anyway.”

He reached toward the girl’s missing face, but Laci slapped his hand away before it made contact.

“Oi, the artwork isn’t meant to be touched.”

He shot her a wolfish grin. “Best I stand back from you then.”

Her face burned only a moment before she stood on her toes to get within inches of his face and gave him the sultriest look she could muster. “It is, however, meant to be nailed against the wall.”

His mouth turned down, but his eyes went wide. “You are really having a go at this.”

“You said to try all I like.”

“I clearly didn’t have a fucking clue what I was in for.”

She opened her mouth to respond but didn’t get the words out before his phone chimed from inside his pocket. He fished it out and gazed at the screen. Laci glimpsed the name Nina. Jordan didn’t answer. He hit the lock button and slid the phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

“Who’s Nina?” Laci asked, trying not to jump to conclusions.

“My mother,” he said gruffly, then turned back to the painting.

“You have your mother in your phone under her first name?”

“What else would I use?”

“I dunno, maybe something more affectionate.”

He grimaced. “We’re not that sort of family.”

“Even so, if you want to take the call, you can. Don’t ignore her on my account.”

He shook his head. “I don’t speak to my mother. She calls every year around Christmas. I guess she’s hoping we’re in the fucking holiday spirit or whatever.”

“You don’t speak to your mother?” Laci questioned.

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“Not a word.”

“How can that be?”