Art Attack by Isobel Duncan

I didn’t want to come here. I’ve hated art galleries ever since my mother dragged me to see the Mona Lisa at The Louvre.  But, I didn’t want to disappoint my Patricia.

I’d been wandering through the gallery for a while, when I came across a portrait of a bride. She was looking over her bare shoulder with an affectionate smile on her face. The sign beside the portrait said: Adam Evans, A Bride in her Wedding Gown.  I was about to ask Patricia if she knew of him but when I turned my head I saw the person next to me was not my wife.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” The man beside me gazed longingly. His accent sounded either Dutch or Belgian.

“I guess so, do you know who the model was?”

He turned to me. “Eva, she’s his wife.”

“Very kind of him to pay tribute to her. And the artist? Who is he?”

“It says just there. Didn’t you read it?” The man pointed at the citation.

“Oh yes, I saw his name. But I mean what’s his story, his background? Sorry. My wife knows more about art than I do. I’d ask her but I don’t know where she’s gone.”

 

His expression hardened making my blood run cold. He looked ready to break me in half. He turned back to the portrait and calmed down a little. “I see. The citation though isn’t very informative. Would you like to know a little more about him?”

I shrugged. I’ve never really been interested in art but something about this man–the way he looked at the portrait of Eva was so…so…strange. They were looking directly at each other as if they were communicating telepathically.

“They met in Amsterdam. Eva was a student at the Dutch National Ballet. After a few years of courtship Eva was finally accepted into the company and to celebrate, he proposed.”

“So what happened?”

“About a week or two after their honeymoon people started getting murdered. One night Eva discovered blood in Adam’s paint palette.”

My stomach flipped. I felt bile slowly rising up into my throat. “You mean…he?”

“He did it? Yes.” He looked over his shoulder and then turned back to me. “Excuse me.”

I was left alone. I didn’t know what to think. If he really were a murderer why would his artworks be on display? I shook my head, doubting the story but disconcerted.

“Honey! There you are! Where were you?” Patricia walked over to me then looked at the portrait of Eva. “Honey?”

“Hmmm? Oh, sorry, Trish. I was just talking to someone.”

“Who?”

“No one, just a nutcase. Come on let’s go.”

 

Later on, in the gallery café, Adam watched the pair intently.

Eva spun around and went pale. “Adam, no! Leave them.”