The Blackhope Enigma by Teresa Flavin Read Free Book Online

are the paintings any good?
    “At least they’re not forgeries this time,” quipped Bellini.
    “Angus is an undisputed talent,” said Madame St. Pierre, “and having a colorful past has not hurt him one bit. In fact, it has made people want his paintings even more.”
    Fuming, Lorimer Bell studied the picture of his cousin, Angus, grinning cheekily at the camera as he aimed his paintbrush toward a canvas. Lorimer deleted the message in one swift move.
    The doorbell buzzed insistently, and Lorimer squinted at his alarm clock: five in the morning. He stumbled downstairs to the front door. Through its glass pane, he could just make out a dark figure outlined by the streetlight. The bell buzzed again, and Lorimer jumped. He flicked on the outside light to reveal the smirking face of Angus Bellini.
    “Stop gaping and let me in, Lor,” ordered his cousin. Lorimer hesitated and then unlocked the door. Angus barged through, bringing a blast of icy air and French aftershave with him. He looked his cousin up and down.
    “No hair left, I see. Due to the stress of your teaching career, by any chance?” Angus pulled off his dark fedora and triumphantly shook loose his own jaw-length hair. Then he crushed Lorimer in a bear hug.
    “What are you doing here?” Lorimer asked stiffly, pulling away.
    “Thanks, I’d love a cup of coffee. A couple of eggs on toast would be grand, too.” He shrugged off his black overcoat and handed it to Lorimer. “I traveled all night to see you, Lor.”
    The art teacher snorted. “You’re not here to see me, Angus. You’re here because of the painting.”
    “Grumpy in the morning, aren’t you? Of course I’m here to see you,” said Angus.
    “You’ve been out of the slammer for over six months and you haven’t bothered till now. Not that I wanted to hear from you.”
    “I was busy making paintings for my comeback exhibition. You know what it’s like. Art takes up all your time.” Angus stroked his chin and said, “Actually, no, you don’t know what that’s like anymore, do you? You had your chance to be an artist, and you chose to babysit teenage brats instead.”
    “At least what I do is legal!”
    “Oh, yes, you’re the good one.” Angus sat down at the kitchen table. “Coffee, Lor. Come on, then — we’ve a lot to discuss. Haven’t you been reading the papers?”
    While Lorimer grimly boiled water for coffee and cracked eggs into a frying pan, Angus said, “Those missing kids have done what we spent ages trying to do. They’ve found a way into
The Mariner’s Return to Arcadia
.”
    “And they may never get out! Two of the three are my students, Angus, and they have left frantic families behind. They also happen to be the most promising students I’ve taught in years.”
    “Very touching,” said Angus, filling a cup with black coffee and settling back into his chair. “But it was the youngest and apparently least artistic of them who went into the painting first. So, how did he work it out?”
    “I have no idea,” muttered Lorimer, shoveling eggs and toast onto a plate and throwing it down in front of Angus. “But you have to stay out of this. Go back to Paris and live the good life that art forgers seem to have these days.” He waved his hand dismissively at his cousin. “When you and I tried to get into the painting, we were only kids ourselves. It was a stupid idea, anyway. I’ve left all that in the past.”
    “Hmm.” Angus munched his breakfast, ignoring Lorimer. “From what the police are saying, the kids all walked the labyrinth before they disappeared, muttering some sort of password. Something must have inspired them — something in that room. And we know that no one is allowed to change anything in the Mariner’s Chamber. It’s stayed exactly the same since 1582. Right, Lor?”
    Lorimer said nothing.
    “Actually, that’s not strictly true, is it?” Angus continued as he wiped egg yolk from his plate with a piece of toast. “They added an