Missing Rose (9781101603864) Read Online Free PDF Page A

don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t want to know, either.”
    At that moment, quick as a wink, the beggar tipped something resembling ashes into the glass of water in front of him and began to peer at it intently as the water turned a grayish color. Then, “Oh, my!” he said. “What do I see, what do I see? She’s looking like you. Just like you!”
    Diana froze where she stood.
    â€œWho looks like me?” she asked, swallowing hard.
    â€œThat’s better, little lady, come sit now.”
    Diana did as she was told.
    The beggar swirled the water with his forefinger before brushing the tip of it on Diana’s face. Without waiting for her reaction, he said, “Whether you are searching for her or not, she’s looking like you. Just like you! Same age, same height, same eyebrows, same eyes . . .”
    Diana felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She hardly knew what to do or what to say. But there had to be an explanation. There was no such thing as fortune-telling, no such thing as mind reading. There was no chance that this man could be talking about Mary!
    To prove he was just a charlatan, she asked, “So, where is she?”
    â€œNot far away.”
    â€œWhere exactly?” she asked, raising her voice.
    The beggar took her hand and poured a little of the dirty water into her palm. After examining it attentively for a minute, he said, “She comes from far away to near. Soon she goes far away, but she comes back again.”
    Then, he lifted his head and fixed his gaze on something at the other side of the pathway. Diana turned to see what he was looking at.
    About twenty yards ahead, a street artist was watching them. When the artist realized they were looking at him, he quickly turned back to his easel. Diana gestured questioningly at the beggar.
    â€œThat girl who’s just like you,” the beggar said, “she’ll meet that artist someday.”
    Diana sprang to her feet. It had been a mistake to sit down there in the first place. It was obvious he was just having a joke at her expense. She should have realized it long ago; there had been a sly expression of amusement on his wrinkled face from the very beginning.
    As Diana hurried away, the beggar called after her, “Read. Open what’s written and read.”
    Open and read!
The words sped like a treacherous arrow into Diana’s retreating back.
    Was this also a coincidence? Could these words be related to Mary’s letters, which she’d never opened, let alone read? Her head was in a whirl, but this time she went on without a backward glance.
    Even though she wanted to get home quickly and leave all this behind her, her steps involuntarily slowed as she passed the young street artist. As he stood facing his painting, she took a quick look at this unkempt youth, to see if she could make any sense of what the beggar had said.
    Probably a few years older than her, the artist was tall, well built, with tanned skin and untidy brown hair. He was wearing an old maroon T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, worn into holes at the knees. His sandals were too dusty to guess their color.
    Propped against the iron railing that surrounded a nearby palm tree stood his paintings for sale. They were all much the same in theme—sky, sea and a seagull in each. Each one had a price tag of $150 hanging on it. Although the quality of paint looked poor, the paintings themselves were appealing.
    The artist became aware of Diana’s gaze as her eyes wandered from himself to his paintings and back again. He turned his big hazel eyes on her. “Can I help you?”
    â€œOh, just looking.”
    â€œBut can you see?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œWell, do you like the paintings?”
    â€œI like your choice of colors.”
    The artist remained silent.
    Diana, who’d expected at least a “thank you” for her compliment, said, “So . . .