Free The Shadow of Venus by Judith Van Gieson Page A

maybe she wished she’d been raised here. I couldn’t say.”
    â€œIf she was raised in New Mexico, a mother or someone here should be looking for her. According to the APD no one has filed a missing-person’s report.”
    â€œPeople from a happy home don’t run away and live on the street,” Lisa said. She had a youthful style, but her work had given her a wise and mature outlook. “Most of them want nothing to do with the people they left behind. Often they are afraid they will be pursued. It’s unusual for them to choose an image of themselves as younger or as part of a family. They prefer to be painted as part of the circus, or alone, or with animals. I don’t know if these girls were Maia’s real sisters or friends or just people she imagined.”
    â€œWas Maia her real name?” Claire asked.
    â€œI doubt it. Most of the people I meet don’t use their real names.”
    Claire stared at the seven girls dancing on the screen. There was a shadow in the corner cast by a tree outside the frame of the painting that seemed to be reaching towards the girls. “In Greek mythology Maia is one of the seven daughters of Atlas and Pleione,” Claire said. “They were playing in the woods when Orion, the hunter, saw them and became infatuated. He pursued the girls but Zeus saw the sisters were in danger and he turned them into doves who flew away into the sky. They became the constellation Pleiades.”
    â€œI didn’t know that,” Lisa said, “but it wouldn’t surprise me if Maia identified with that story. What homeless person wouldn’t rather be a star in the sky?”
    â€œDo you know if she had an interest in astronomy?”
    â€œShe never talked about it to me. Maia was very intelligent, but shy. She didn’t like to talk about herself. Mostly we talked about Chris, the other people at the shelter, how she spent her days studying in libraries around town, visiting museums, attending public lectures and readings. I was glad I was able to paint her dancing and happy as she might have been. Did you know her well?”
    â€œNot really. I talked to her twice, but I wouldn’t say I knew her. I got involved because the police found an illustration stolen from the library in the storage room with Maia’s body. It was Spiral Rocks, an ancient site in southern Colorado. Did she ever say anything about Spiral Rocks to you?”
    Lisa shook her head. “No. Chris said she died from a heroin overdose. She seemed straight when I saw her, but it doesn’t surprise me that she would get on drugs. Many people at Hope Central get there because they abused drugs. Some of them even ask me to paint them the way they feel when they are high. Look at this.” Lisa’s long nails clicked a few keys and another image filled the screen. “This woman was a friend of Maia’s. It’s a tough painting that has been hard to sell.”
    A woman with hair streaked the color of cherry Jell-O floated above a river. She had a stoned expression with a smile full of holes. Her body stretched out like smoke as it followed the curves of the river.
    â€œThat looks like Ansia,” Claire said.
    â€œYou know her?”
    â€œZimmerman Library is a mecca for the homeless,” Claire said. “Sometimes Ansia hangs out there. She and Maia were friends?”
    â€œYes. They looked out for each other. Would you like me to print out a copy of Maia’s image for you?”
    â€œPlease. Could I have Ansia’s, too?”
    â€œNo problem.”
    When the images were printed Lisa apologized for the poor quality, but Claire got what she wanted—a face recognizable as an alive and vibrant Maia. “Did you paint her in this room?” she asked.
    â€œYes. I do all my portraits of the homeless here. It’s convenient for me and for them.”
    â€œDid Maia seem claustrophobic to you?”
    â€œShe might have