In the morning, Spencer woke to find his girlfriend gone. The house was silent and still; there were no signs of her having slept here last night. He sat up in bed with a sigh that made him feel like an old man. He didn't know what time it was but knew she'd be back soon enough. She always did come home before dark on Sundays. But for now, he had some thinking to do.
He pulled out his cell phone and called her. No answer. He tried again. Still nothing. Then he went into the kitchen and checked the clock: 8:30 AM. There was only one possibility left. It wasn't good news.
She'd taken off without telling him where she was going or when she would be back. That meant she hadn't told anyone either. Her friends? Probably not. They wouldn't have believed her anyway. And even if they had, why would they help her? If they loved her as much as he thought they did, then surely they would want to stop her from doing something stupid.
The only person who might have helped her—the only one he could think of—was the woman at the museum. He couldn't believe that Jenny was so desperate that she would risk everything by running away to see her. Yet if she cared about the paintings, which she claimed she did, then maybe this was just another sign of how crazy she was becoming. Maybe it was time for him to start locking doors behind her and taking her guns away.
Source
Then he remembered that he'd seen Jenny leave the museum yesterday evening after dropping off her friend's children. So perhaps she was already gone when he saw her. In any case, he had no idea where she might be right now. Nor did he know what he should do next. He felt paralyzed with indecision.
After a while, he stood in front of the window, looking down at the street below. A car drove slowly past, headed downtown. On impulse, he picked up his binoculars and focused on the driver's face. Could that possibly be Jenny? Was she coming home?
It took him a few seconds to realize that the driver was staring straight at him. He lowered the glasses quickly and stepped back from the window. What are you doing out there? Do you have eyes everywhere? Or am I just being paranoid? His mind raced as he considered all the possibilities. Had she somehow found out about his crime? Were those men following her?
His heart pounding, he hurried to the door and locked himself inside. After pulling the curtains shut, he sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
Ten minutes later, he heard the distant rumble of thunder. Rain began to fall outside, pattering softly on the roof. He jumped up and rushed to the window, peering out into the gray-green gloom. Through the rain, he could barely make out the outline of a figure standing on the sidewalk across the street. For a moment, he wondered if it was Jenny. But then the shape moved slightly, and he realized it wasn't.
What is she doing out there? Did she get caught? Is she panicking somewhere?
As the storm intensified, he watched the form move closer. The rain fell harder, making it difficult to see clearly. Suddenly, he recognized the hunched shoulders and short hair. Why would Jenny be wearing a hoodie? She hated getting wet. And yet she seemed oblivious to the weather, walking steadily toward the museum.
He grabbed his coat and shoes and ran downstairs. Outside, the wind whipped around him as he sprinted across the lawn. The rain lashed his cheeks as he crossed the street and followed her. As he approached the museum, he saw her step inside the building. Moments later, she emerged carrying a canvas. He stopped dead in his tracks.
That's my family's painting! Spencer said.
He started running again. This time, he managed to catch up with her before she reached the elevator.
"Jenny!" he shouted, grabbing her arm. She turned around, startled.
"Oh God," she said, seeing his expression.
I can't let her take it. Not today. I have to stop her.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Back to the apartment."
No. You don't understand. Come with me. We're leaving. Now.
But Jenny shook her head. "Not until we finish what we came here for."
Suddenly, he knew exactly what she was talking about. His mouth dropped open. How could she have known?
Jenny held up the painting. "See? My great-grandfather painted it. That means it belongs to us."
"We don't have any proof that—"
She shoved the canvas into his hands. "Here. Take it. See if anyone will buy it from you." Then she spun around and disappeared into the elevator.
His heart burned with anger as he thought of how Jenny was trying to jeopardize his family's reputation by stealing the painting. He glanced at the painting, trying to judge its worth. If he could sell it for $10 million, would that help restore his name? Would they be able to pay off the mortgage and the credit cards and still live like kings for the rest of their lives?
Spencer had spent most of the day trying to find Jenny. First, he'd called the airline. No luck. He tried her cell phone. Still no answer. Her car was nowhere to be seen. Where is she?
Finally, he gave up. Maybe she couldn't get away. Or maybe she wanted to stay. Whatever the reason, she hadn't returned to the apartment because Spencer couldn't find her there when he got home.
The key knob turned and the door slid open. Jenny stepped in. Without saying a word, she walked rapidly down the room.
Without thinking, he followed her until they got to his sitting room
"You look terrible," Jenny said.
Spencer shrugged, wincing as he rubbed his throbbing temples. They sat down in the living room and turned on the TV while waiting for the pizza delivery guy whom Jenny called on their way home.
"Did you go to the police?" Jenny asked.
He shook his head. "They wouldn't listen. I'm not sure they even believe me."
" That reminds me, how did you know where to find me?"
"I didn't. At first, I thought you might be at your office. But then I remembered that you always leave early." He paused. "Then I saw a figure that looked like you, I followed down to the museum. I saw you trying to make away with the painting"
"Why were you paranoid about finding me?"
"To tell you that we have to leave this city right now. Before it's too late."
Her eyes narrowed. "Too late for what?"
"For everything." He pulled the painting out of his pocket and handed it to her. "This is the only copy. You have to return it so we could leave the city and start afresh."
Jenny studied the painting for several seconds. "It looks authentic."
"Of course it does. It's my great-grandfather's."
"So why don't you want it back?" "It will cost a fortune. We will be able to live our lives free from worries"
"Like hell, we will." She took the painting and stared at it. "If you really loved your great-grandfather, you would give it up without hesitation."
"But I love him. This is why I don't want to ruin our family's name as a result of greed. You have to understand me, Jenny".
"I do." She rolled her eyes. "You think I'm crazy because I stole an old painting. Well, you're wrong."
"Please. Think about what you've done. What you're doing."
"I am. And I will keep on stealing paintings. Because there are millions more just like it. I'll steal them all and bring them home."
"Home?" Spencer repeated. "Where is that?"
She smiled. "Your apartment. Where else?"
Suddenly, he realized what she meant. She wasn't talking about taking the paintings to New York City. She was talking about moving in with him. As husband and wife.
He swallowed hard. Why was he having these thoughts? Was she really serious about marrying him? Did she really mean it?
Yes. Absolutely. Completely. His head whispered.
"You know I'm not going to marry you," he said.
"That's okay."
"And you know that I'm not going to let you take those paintings."
"I won't need your permission."
"You're insane!" He jumped up from the couch. "You don't know anything about me or my family. You don't know who I am."
She gazed at him steadily. "You're a thief. A con man. An expert liar."
"Those are things you can't prove." He said
"Prove? Prove that you lied when you told your father you were innocent.
That you weren't guilty of murder.
Do you expect me to believe that?"
"No. But I can prove that you killed David Emerson. I can prove it."
"Oh, please! You don't know what you're talking about."
"I can prove it."
"How?"
"By finding evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"Of your guilt."
"What kind of evidence?"
"Bloodstains. Hair samples.
Something."
"In the hotel room?"
"Maybe. Or maybe in the basement of the museum. Or maybe—"
"Or maybe nothing." She laughed.
"You still don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"There's no way you can prove that I killed David Emerson.
"You don't know that."
"Don't I?"
"All right. Let's say I can prove that you murdered David Emerson."...
"Then if you proved that I was guilty, you would be free to marry me. He cut her short
" Let's not deviate," She said. "I'll keep stealing the painting, and stacking them in your apartment until you tell the truth and face judgment," she thought to herself.
" if it's not marriage then what do you want from me" He screamed while startling her out of her thoughts.
"Nothing. I just wanted to see how far you'd go on with your guilts and lies before backing down." She smiled.
"Looks like you've gone quite a ways."
"Well, I'm not going any further. I want to be free from all of this.
"Return the painting and I promise you, I'll confess to the police and set things right," Spencer said with remorse.
Jenny lighted up with a fiery smile and agreed to the deal.
Spencer drove Jenny to her house where she retrieved her car. They rode together to the museum and returned the painting. Then they went straight to the nearest police station and made a formal statement.
After the interview, Spencer and Jenny sat in a coffee shop near the station. The place had become empty except for a few people huddled over laptops and drinking coffee.
They ordered two cups of black tea.
"You did well today," Jenny said.
"We got everything settled."
"Yeah."
"Now what?"
"I don't know. I guess you will have to serve terms for a few years since you came out on your own to confess. Once you are out, I promise to come to fetch you." Jenny said
" What about my family"? Spencer asked amidst tears.
"Don't worry about them. They already knew. They asked me to use the painting and get the truth out of your lips. Believe me, they are proud of you. And they will be waiting for you when you return."
Jenny finished with a smile.
"I hope so." Spencer wiped his eyes.
"It seems like I always screw things up."
"You didn't screw anything up. It's not your fault that you inherited the talent of lying from your father."
They burst out in laughter, while the constable walks in, handcuffs Spencer, and leads him to prison.
Jenny stood up and waved at him with delight.
As he left, Spencer felt a pang of guilt. He promised himself that he would never lie again.
But as the door closed behind him, he wondered if Jenny or his family would ever forgive him.