A Twist of Oleander by Raven McKray

Author:Raven McKray [McKray, Raven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781988856124
Publisher: Brownridge Publishing
Published: 2019-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

Ochre and crimson chiseled on masses of blue,

Claw your way across the canvas, Autumn Tree!

From the wind and the brush, you won’t escape,

Vagrant leaves smear color,

In an artist’s game of Chance.

“Bravo!” said Alex clapping, his eyes shining. I felt my face grow hot.

“Excellent, my dear!” said Tuppence smiling bright.

“Thank you, now let me disappear under your bear-skin rug,” I said, grinning. Tuppence laughed. “I know how you feel. I used to be that way with my first paintings. But believe me, it gets easier. It’s never easy to open up a piece of your soul for others to see. But yours is a wonderful gift to give.”

“Thanks,” I said, with sudden shyness. I appreciated any encouragement from the talented Tuppence Millard.

Just then, we heard a crashing sound from outside.

“What was that?” I asked in a panic. Alex looked worried too. Tuppence shook her head smiling.

“It’s the wind, my angels. You must excuse me a moment. It keeps knocking over our sign about the Christmas party.”

“You’re having a Christmas party?” I asked.

“The whole town is. At the town hall and playhouse. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Now I’ll just get that sign up and be back in a jiffy.” Tuppence put on tall leather boots and grabbed an umbrella and the beautiful poncho I had seen before. Then she disappeared outside into the rain and wind.

I looked at Alex and grinned. “Time to explore,” I said with glee. I liked nothing better than to look at beautiful things, and this gallery was full of them.

“Me, too.” Alex jumped up to join me. “Look at that one over there, the waterfall in the dark forest. Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” I peered at it up close, drinking it in. Then I moved around the room to an open doorway.

“Is this her studio back here?” I wondered aloud. I walked in and encountered a room full of easels and half-finished paintings. I wandered over to the closest easel and saw something unexpected. My heart sped up.

“Alex, come here! Who do you think this is?”

“John,” he finished, nodding. “An excellent likeness, too. Unusual for Tuppence: It’s rare she does portraits.” What was most disturbing of all was there was a slash across the canvas, possibly made by a knife? Alex and I looked at each other, perplexed. Then I noticed there was a photo lying against the easel. I picked it up and could see three young people smiling. One of them was John, years ago. One of them was Tuppence. I didn’t know the other young man with them. Tuppence was looking at John and had her arm around him.

“She must have known John when she was young.”

“Very well, too, by the looks of it,” said Alex, looking at me with his brows raised.

“Who is the other young man?” Alex peered at the photo. “I’m not sure ... he looks familiar, but I don’t know why.” He shook his head returning the photo to the easel. And not a moment too soon. Tuppence burst into the room looking upset.

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