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Abigail spent most of the day with Frank. He didn’t work on his novel. She didn’t work on her paintings. They got up early, had breakfast on the rear porch together to enjoy the morning...and they talked about everything, including the past. She asked again to hear how Frank had tracked down Joel’s murderer. How it had ended up the way it had, with Avery Cartwright burning up and expiring in his wrecked truck. The night before, somehow, everything he’d told her hadn’t sunk in. The first thing that crossed her mind when she woke up the next morning had been: Joel hadn’t died by accident. He’d been murdered. Then: Joel’s killer had been found. Joel’s killer was dead. Good riddance.
She felt a peace of mind she hadn’t experienced since Joel’s body had been discovered all those years ago. Reminiscing about Joel, for the first time, she could treasure the good memories and not wonder how and why he’d died. She had the answers now.
“You know,” she brought the subject up, “I’ve been at the Theiss house painting the last couple of days.”
“No joke. I recall us discussing it once or twice.” Frank was cradling his cup of coffee in his hands. Looking out over the yard, he watched the dogs frolic. He swung his head around to face her. “I’ve seen the paintings. You were right. I have to admit they’re the best things you’ve ever done, Abby. They’re amazing. Truly haunting. Especially when you know four people died there; and another one has been imprisoned forty years for the crime. A crime, by the way, I’ve been told Lucas Theiss, from his prison cell, still denies committing vehemently to this day. Everyone thinks the house is cursed. A sad house. A haunted house. I can see that in your work.
“Especially that one painting that looks as if it’s a house of lost spirits. All shadowy and dark. It’s as if someone or something is framed in the upper bedroom window. There’s a shadow shape there. So faint it’s hard to see. But I see it. Did you mean to put it there on purpose?”
“What shadow in the window?”
He cocked his head at her, met her eyes. The sun was behind him creating a halo. “There is a shadow figure in an upper window. You didn’t put it there?”
Abigail didn’t know what to say. She wanted to tell him about the real shadow she had seen in the window, but she couldn’t risk it. To mention the shadow was to give Frank just another reason for her to not go back to the house. So she’d fib. “If there’s a bizarre shadow figure in the window then it’s something the paint brush accidently formed. Maybe the paint ran or puddled. It happens sometimes. It can create some interesting images.”
“Well, take a gander at the twilight painting you did and look hard at the upper windows. You’ll see it.”
“I’ll do that.”
“So, Abby, exactly how many more times are you planning to go out to that place?”
“I think I can wrap up the series,” she admitted, “in another visit or two. I’ve decided to go out there today in the late afternoon. The faded light will be perfect. It’ll give me the ambience I need.”
“Can’t you do the last paintings from the photographs you already have? I mean, you have a stack of photos from all angles. I saw them on the table.”
“I could, yes. But I need to see, paint, the real thing in the beginning. You know that.”
“Abby,” Frank’s eyes were pleading in the shaded sunlight under the porch, “Glinda telephoned me this morning when I first got up, while you were taking your shower, and repeated she has a real bad feeling about that house. That, instead of getting better, her fears have gotten worse. So if I ask you not to go back, would you? For me? Just finish your paintings here using those photographs.”
When Frank, or anyone, told her what to do she hated it and he knew that. It made her more determined than ever to do what she wanted to do. “We’ve had this conversation too many times already, Frank. Can we just drop it? Nothing is going to happen to me there. It’s just an empty house, for Pete’s sake.”
“Well, at least, could you have someone go with you today? Glinda or Myrtle?”
“Sure, I’ll think about it.” Her smirk hid the fact she wasn’t really going to think about it at all. She knew what she was going to do. Finish her paintings. Frank was being silly. “You worry too much, husband. Even if there were ghosts there...I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” she intoned in a sing song voice.
Frank fell silent.
Snowball jumped up on the porch and Abigail scooped her into her arms. She came to her feet. “I’m taking Snowball in now to give her something to eat.”
Frank trailed her inside. Leaning against the sink, he watched her feed the cat. “Since you’re not going to the house until late afternoon how about we both take the day itself off, have some fun, and go for a ride on the Gold Wing? Our favorite route out in the country?” He drew her into his arms.
She didn’t have to think about it. “Now that sounds like fun and I could use some fun. We both could.”
Within a half hour, they were on the motorcycle riding out in the warm sunshine, the trees towering around them and the breeze whizzing past. It wasn’t so hot with the wind streaming along their bodies.
Abigail tried to clear her mind of everything worrisome, simply enjoy nature and the time with Frank. Being relieved that Frank had had such a close call the day before but was all right; relieved that Ryan and his buddies were okay and coming home, too. A long yearned for wedding coming. It was easy to enjoy the ride. Wrapping her arms tighter around him, she let the soft movement of the motorcycle lull her into a good mood, and let her mind empty of all the conflicting emotions she’d been feeling since Frank had come clean about Avery Cartwright. That was easier to do than she would have thought. Chapter closed. Now on to the new one.
They rode the country roads for a while and stopped at a quaint little diner for a late lunch. They didn’t speak about Cartwright or the Theiss house. Instead, over lunch of cheeseburgers and fries they talked about Ryan and his friends being safe, Glinda and Kyle’s upcoming wedding and the Summer Festival.
“We have some good times ahead,” Frank said. “The rest of the summer is going to be great. When is Laura coming home for her break?”
“I think a day or two before the wedding. Glinda has requested a simple one, nothing fancy or too expensive. A short mass at St. Paul’s at one o’clock and then the reception afterwards at her and Myrtle’s house. Now, the reception, though, is shaping up to be anything but small and simple.” She laughed. “Myrtle’s inviting half the town. If the weather is nice enough, Glinda wants the reception in their backyard. The old lady is already planning how she’s going to decorate the house and grounds. Lots of ribbon and balloons, I think.”
“Oh, Myrtle will be in seventh heaven.” Frank popped another French fry into his mouth.
“She already is. She’s planning the menu for the reception, too. Got to have lots of shrimp and finger foods. She’s calling Kate at the Delicious Circle today and ordering the appetizers and the wedding cake. Five tiers, I hear. I can imagine what that wedding cake is going to look like with Myrtle ordering it. Doubtless it’ll be half icing with her sweet tooth. And Myrtle, as you know, is insisting on paying for everything.”
“That woman. Such an odd bird, yet she can be generous, can’t she?”
“She can.”
“We’ve got some good friends here in Spookie, don’t we? We have built a good life.” Frank reached out and took her hand. Kissed it. The man could be so romantic when he wanted to be. In his own way, he was trying to ask for her forgiveness for what he’d done in secret the days before. “I’m content with it.”
“So am I,” she replied. She refused to dwell on Avery Cartwright and what had happened. She knew, as Frank did, that the situation wasn’t over by a long shot. There would be further repercussions to what Frank had done yesterday and Frank, she could tell, was still upset over the death and uneasy about what form those repercussions might take. She didn’t want to think about that, either. So, as the two of them ate their meal, smiled perfunctorily, and made plans as if nothing had changed when it had, her thoughts lingered on the house at 707 Suncrest and how she was going to stage her painting later in the day. It was easier to think of that than Avery’s guilt and death.
When they arrived home, Frank brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchen. As he waited for it to finish he remarked, “I think, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go upstairs to my study and work on my book.” Frank often wrote on his work in progress when reality got too tense for him. It was his therapy.
“I don’t mind, honey. I’m going to gather my art stuff together and drive over to the Theiss house to continue my painting of it. It’s about the right time to capture the soft light I’m looking for.”
She caught Frank’s disapproving glance and hastily tagged on, “I won’t go inside. I won’t roam around the property. I’ll just sit in front on my chair with my easel and paint it from the sidewalk. I promise.”
Frank started to say something, then stopped, his hand gesture one of capitulation. “All right. But if you need anything, call me. Keep your phone in your pocket. If anything weird happens or if you are uneasy about anything, call me. I mean it. I have to know you’ll be safe.”
She felt like a child and her pride bristled a little at his words, but she promised. “And I won’t be gone past dark. I’ll be home no later than seven. Just a few hours. That’s when night comes.”
Frank accepted that, gave her a last kiss, grabbed his cup, and went up to his study.
Abigail loaded up her art supplies in the car and headed to Suncrest. She couldn’t wait to start the next painting. She couldn’t wait to get back to the house.