Chapter 4

The moon had shifted and it was almost too dark to see anything other than the vague outline of the trees at the edge of the lawn. Once again he thought he saw something move, this time along the outer boundary of the yard, before disappearing into the forest a few seconds later. He shook his head, letting the curtain drop back into place, telling himself, “It was only my mind playing tricks on meNothing more.”

He got into bed, leaning against the backboard so he could drink his tea and read. About halfway through one of the short stories, he realized something that he should have figured out much earlier. It could be this book that’s setting me off. It was one that he’d found on the bookshelves in the living room—an old anthology of short fantasy tales. Not his usual type of reading, but the cover had caught his fancy. With that thought, he closed the book, finished the last of his tea, and turned off the light. Curling up under the covers, he reminded himself to check out what other books were in his grandfather’s library and pick something less likely to stimulate his imagination—like a good mystery or some hard sci-fi, both of which were much more to his liking anyway. 2

The contractor’s men completed the job the next day, as promised—with much less noise once the two remaining studs were removed. Daniel was thankful for that, as the weather had turned chilly enough that he wasn’t ready to take another walk around his property to do more sketching. Instead, he settled down on the sofa with his laptop and checked in with the two galleries that presently handled his paintings. They were both in Cleveland so it occurred to him that it might be a smart idea to find a local one as well. Or to replace them, if possible. No sense in spending a fortune shipping canvases back east if I can just take them to a gallery in Denver.

Thus, for most of the morning, he spent his time researching galleries and sending out inquires to the ones that interested him. While he wasn’t famous, he was fairly well known and so it didn’t surprise him when two places responded almost immediately, evincing interest in handling his new paintings.

“Now I just have to get my butt in gear and do a few more. The three I brought with me when I moved out here will not be enough for a show. Unfortunately.”

Afternoon came, and being at loose ends, he did what he should have when he first moved into the house. He rearranged the furniture more to his liking, taking some pieces, and a great deal of bric-a-brac, down to the basement for storage—with the exception of a pair of chairs and an end table that went up to the room that would serve as his office on the second floor. When he finished, he had four rooms on the ground floor he could actually walk through without worrying about stubbing his toe on something, or knocking over a figurine or knickknack and breaking it. He figured, after thinking about it, that most of the small stuff had been accumulated slowly over the years by his grandmother and great grandmother. As a result, neither she nor his grandfather had been aware of the clutter. And when she died, he probably didn’t have the heart to get rid of any of it, as it reminded him of their life together.

He was contemplating what to make for supper when the construction crew trooped down the back stairs. The foreman asked Daniel to look at his new studio, so he accompanied the man upstairs.

“This is just as I envisioned it,” Daniel told him. The room was large, bright, and airy, with late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the two wide windows. Above him, although not turned on at the moment, were three ceiling fixtures that the foreman told him already had the CFL bulbs Daniel had asked for.

“Do you need help moving things in here?” the foreman asked.

“Thanks, but no. Everything is stashed in a room down the hall that’s going to be my office.”

“Then, if you’re satisfied with this, we’ll take off.”

“I definitely am. If you’ll give me the bill now, I’ll pay you before you go.” The foreman did, Daniel wrote out a check, and twenty minutes later he had the house to himself again. After a hurried meal, he returned to the second floor to move crates and boxes from the office to the studio and begin unpacking them. With that done, he set up the two easels, then put together the eight drawer organizer and rolled it between the easels. The slant-top drawing table went along one wall and the canvas rack in the corner beside it. Next he unwrapped the three finished paintings and several blank canvases, storing them on the rack. Finally, he put his paints, brushes, and other tools into the organizer.