“I wonder what happened.” Izzy shudders as she sorts through items of my clothing and throws them onto the bed. Seems like Izzy’s styling service has commenced.
“I guess that’s where I start my research.” I shrug. I don’t mention the serial killer angle because Izzy is practically allergic to true crime, but it’s very much where my mind has settled. Surely if I can uncover a link between these paintings and some unsolved murders, I’ll have a head start on most other people applying for a journalism degree. “Oh, and get this, Dad said it’s supposedlycursed,” I scoff, but Izzy pales.
“It is?” She looks warily at the door. “And it was here last night?”
“Don’t worry, Kim fumigated it with a sage stick.” Izzy’s shoulders relax. I forget how superstitious she is sometimes.
“Good.” She smiles, throwing me a pair of high-waisted jeans and a black cropped T-shirt. “Now get showered and put these on so we can get a move on.”
I emerge from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, scrubbed and dressed. I pad barefoot to my bedroom, where Izzy is scrolling on her phone, and sit at the dressing table. I pull my brown curly hair into two loose braids because it’s still damp and start my well-practiced makeup routine, dabbing on a base, blusher, highlighter and lip gloss in less than five minutes. I finish with a swipe of mascara because my lashes areactuallysee-through and turn to Izzy.
“Ready.”
“Gorgeous.” She points at a cream belt with a large tortoiseshell buckle lying on the bed. “Put that on too.”
I listen, because when it comes to clothes, Izzy knows what looks good and I do not. I look in the mirror and see she’s right, as usual. I slip on a battered pair of Converse that are mostly hidden by the baggy jeans and smile.
“Thank god you’re here.” I pause as I hear the wheels of a heavy suitcase trundle down the hallway. “What time is it? They must be about to leave.”
“Fliss? Izzy? Come here for a second,” Dad shouts.
“Time for the Big Talk,” I whisper.
We follow Dad’s voice to the kitchen, where he’s standing with Kim, who is wearing the largest straw hat I’ve ever seen.
“Kim, this is Izzy,” I say, trying to hide a grin, but I’ve already seen Izzy’s eyes widen at the Hat.
We both keep straight faces as Dad talks us through the rules of the house, and I nod along even though I’ve already heard them at least five times.
“You remember how to turn on the heating?”
“Dad, it’s the middle of August.”
“Do you remember or not?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you have our itinerary with all the emergency phone numbers on it? The hotel, Alessandra, et cetera?”
“Yep.”
“And you’ll ring them if you can’t get through to me or Kim?” He looks at us both. “You too, Izzy. If anything happens…”
“Nothing will happen, Dad,” I promise him. “Go. Have a good honeymoon.”
“Okay, kiddo.” He gives me a quick squeeze and turns to Kim. “You have the passports?”
Kim rolls her eyes at me, and I smile. She’s not so bad. “Yes. Come on, the girls will be fine.” A car horn blares outside, and Kim lets out a little squeal. “That’s the taxi! Let’s go, Mr.Keller.”
Dad starts to wheel the cases outside and we follow them to the threshold, where Kim stands awkwardly for a second before I realize she’s debating whether she should hug me or not. I take a hasty step back. I’m not quite ready for that.
“Erm, have fun, buy me something nice!” I say, my voice alittle high pitched. Kim looks disappointed but lifts her carry-on bag onto her shoulder.
“Be safe,” she warns, “but have fun. Fliss, I left you a tarot card and a crystal in the living room.” She heads out to join my dad before turning back to us. “Oh, and condoms are in my top drawer, if you need them. Bye!” She trills.
I watch her open-mouthed as she climbs into the taxi and return Dad’s wave as Izzy shakes with laughter beside me. They drive away and I close the door in silence.
“Did she just—?”