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Authors: Margaret Millmore
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of surprised at the modesty of his only daughter. It was clear that she was well off, but no one would know by Justine's home and her lifestyle that she was
that
wealthy.
I scanned the page for any mention of other relatives and located what I was looking for toward the bottom. William Wilkinson, Justin's only brother, was listed as one of the company's officers. He had been brought in as a manager and as the company grew, he grew with it. He took a position in the hierarchy in the 1940's and stayed there until his death in 1959. It went on to say he was survived by his only child, a daughter named Wilhelmina. The fact that both men had named their only daughters after themselves wasn't lost on me.
Since Wilhelmina was the only relative listed aside from Justine's father and uncle, I typed in her name, using Wilkinson as the last name and adding San Francisco to the search in the hopes that her activities were local. The combination produced manageable results, so I began to scan them, hoping something would jump out at me. On page two I found a link titled
The Haunted City
. A Wilhelmina Wilkinson was listed with it, so I clicked that. It turned out to be an old article from a periodical that was circulated in the 1970's by a paranormal research group that focused on haunted places in San Francisco.
This particular article was focused on haunted people, particularly the socialite niece of shipping mogul Justin Wilkinson of San Francisco. According to the article, Billy, as they affectionately called her, was able to see ghosts. In the interview, she described these ghosts as cruel apparitions that would appear when someone was ill. She went on to say that she began to kill them by— you guessed it… poking them. The writer described Billy as an artist, whose paintings were displayed at the Motique Art Gallery on Haight Street. The article didn't say much more, so I looked up the gallery. It was still around.
Motique was founded in 1975 by a group of painters and sculptors that had been unable to get their work into more reputable (and profitable) galleries. Today it still displayed and sold the work of the unknowns, some of which had gone on to be famous. The left side of the main webpage had several options to find out more, one of which read “Past Artists.” That sounded promising so I clicked it, and halfway down the page I found her, Wilhelmina Wilkinson. It listed her vital statistics, the fact that she'd left a sizable sum to the gallery upon her death, and that she was one of their original artists. It also listed the titles of several of her paintings, the most famous one called “What Haunts Me,” which I recognized immediately. The painting was sold shortly after she died to an anonymous collector and hadn't been seen since. I wondered if I should tell them where it was. There were other paintings as well and I clicked each one to get a better look. All of Wilhelmina's work was similar; dark and haunting. The last painting I viewed was a landscape and looked familiar. I realized why later that evening.
Chapter 14
At six-thirty I showered and dressed in khakis, a button down collar shirt, and a pair of polished, lace-up black leather shoes. Justine wasn't formal, but she abhorred sloppy apparel, which made me think of Billy and her disheveled road-weary appearance. Taking the two bottles of wine, I left my apartment and walked the twenty feet to Justine's front door. After a quick jab at the doorbell, I was greeted by Anne, Justine's “companion” for lack of a better word. Anne maintained the household, occasionally drove Justine here and there, and was an amazing cook. Although most of the building occupants were well off, Justine was the only one I knew of that had live-in help. Anne was a little intimidating if you didn't know her; she was about 5' 7” and sturdy, with broad shoulders and a stand-offish demeanor. That's not to say she was rude, she just wasn't the friendliest person if she didn't
that
wealthy.
I scanned the page for any mention of other relatives and located what I was looking for toward the bottom. William Wilkinson, Justin's only brother, was listed as one of the company's officers. He had been brought in as a manager and as the company grew, he grew with it. He took a position in the hierarchy in the 1940's and stayed there until his death in 1959. It went on to say he was survived by his only child, a daughter named Wilhelmina. The fact that both men had named their only daughters after themselves wasn't lost on me.
Since Wilhelmina was the only relative listed aside from Justine's father and uncle, I typed in her name, using Wilkinson as the last name and adding San Francisco to the search in the hopes that her activities were local. The combination produced manageable results, so I began to scan them, hoping something would jump out at me. On page two I found a link titled
The Haunted City
. A Wilhelmina Wilkinson was listed with it, so I clicked that. It turned out to be an old article from a periodical that was circulated in the 1970's by a paranormal research group that focused on haunted places in San Francisco.
This particular article was focused on haunted people, particularly the socialite niece of shipping mogul Justin Wilkinson of San Francisco. According to the article, Billy, as they affectionately called her, was able to see ghosts. In the interview, she described these ghosts as cruel apparitions that would appear when someone was ill. She went on to say that she began to kill them by— you guessed it… poking them. The writer described Billy as an artist, whose paintings were displayed at the Motique Art Gallery on Haight Street. The article didn't say much more, so I looked up the gallery. It was still around.
Motique was founded in 1975 by a group of painters and sculptors that had been unable to get their work into more reputable (and profitable) galleries. Today it still displayed and sold the work of the unknowns, some of which had gone on to be famous. The left side of the main webpage had several options to find out more, one of which read “Past Artists.” That sounded promising so I clicked it, and halfway down the page I found her, Wilhelmina Wilkinson. It listed her vital statistics, the fact that she'd left a sizable sum to the gallery upon her death, and that she was one of their original artists. It also listed the titles of several of her paintings, the most famous one called “What Haunts Me,” which I recognized immediately. The painting was sold shortly after she died to an anonymous collector and hadn't been seen since. I wondered if I should tell them where it was. There were other paintings as well and I clicked each one to get a better look. All of Wilhelmina's work was similar; dark and haunting. The last painting I viewed was a landscape and looked familiar. I realized why later that evening.
Chapter 14
At six-thirty I showered and dressed in khakis, a button down collar shirt, and a pair of polished, lace-up black leather shoes. Justine wasn't formal, but she abhorred sloppy apparel, which made me think of Billy and her disheveled road-weary appearance. Taking the two bottles of wine, I left my apartment and walked the twenty feet to Justine's front door. After a quick jab at the doorbell, I was greeted by Anne, Justine's “companion” for lack of a better word. Anne maintained the household, occasionally drove Justine here and there, and was an amazing cook. Although most of the building occupants were well off, Justine was the only one I knew of that had live-in help. Anne was a little intimidating if you didn't know her; she was about 5' 7” and sturdy, with broad shoulders and a stand-offish demeanor. That's not to say she was rude, she just wasn't the friendliest person if she didn't
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