Emile stared at the painting of the lady on the wall. It looked just like her. That woman at the ice cream parlor.

“I will have to do research on you and every other model I decide to paint,” he said, addressing the painting.

He then picked up his phone and dialed Sheila’s number.

“At least, her mother knows this lady,” Emile said. “This could bring solutions and I can have some peace.”

“Hi, Emile, nice to hear from you,” Sheila said when she ...