The Fabled Earth by Kimberly Brock

Author:Kimberly Brock [Brock, Kimberly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harper Muse
Published: 2024-10-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Cleo

It’d been almost a week since the painting had been commissioned and Cleo still glared at the blank paper, beginning to believe she just didn’t have it in her. In the night, she’d even entertained the fancy of collecting a little glory to see if sipping on a bit of Dooley’s tea might change things. But by dawn, she’d come to her senses. Maybe that was the point of this damn request from the grave, that Joanna would have the last laugh. An artist was not some little god. The Lord made this whole world in seven days. What had she ever made?

When Cleo heard the sound of a tail thumping on the front stoop, she groaned. She knew that old black dog was out there, happy to see someone approach. Cleo opened her door, half afraid it would be Frances again, then wanting to throw herself at that stubborn mule, Tate Walker, for coming back after the way they’d left things on such a sour note.

“Seems like you’ve made you a friend,” Tate said, nodding at the animal, who looked all too content.

“I imagine my whole house will be full of fleas.”

Tate only laughed. “Can’t blame me if you attract the riffraff.”

Cleo tried not to show she was glad to see the dog or the man, even though they both looked at her about the same way with their big brown eyes. She reminded herself that it wouldn’t do her any good to go counting on either one. Both had reputations for getting gone for long stretches, with no signs they’d come back.

“I thought you might be going out to make your rounds and maybe I’d hitch a ride, walk near about you for a while,” he said. “Got me a metal detector on loan, see if I can do a little digging around and find that old watch.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you’ll be wasting your time. What did you want a broke watch back for anyway?”

“Just miss the weight of it in my pocket, I guess.” He shrugged. “Figure my grandson might like to have it. I’ve met a young man that knows about clocks. Might be he could do some repairs.”

“Suit yourself.” It seemed to Cleo that Tate had things on his mind this morning, things he wasn’t saying, but she did not pry.

She knew good and well that the search for the watch was only an excuse, but she didn’t run him off. If this was how they were going to make peace, so be it. She got her things together, and they left the dog lolling on the stoop and set out for the morning in her johnboat, heading down to Dungeness. While she filled her basket, he was patient and interested, waiting until they took the truck and made a stop at Plum Orchard at low tide when the estuary had emptied out and he could roam all over the creek bed with his detector on his fool’s errand. Cleo figured he knew that watch was never going to turn up.

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