An Exhibit of Madness by Kerry J Charles

Author:Kerry J Charles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wealth, theft, new england, romance crime, maine fiction, art heist, coastal maine, portland maine, sleuth mystery, winslow homer
Publisher: Kerry J Charles

If you could say it in words

there would be no reason to paint.

― Edward Hopper

CHAPTER 8

Dulcie tried to go to bed, but she lay awake for several hours, partly because she had slept all afternoon, but also because she was trying to remember everything about the room where she had last seen Mr. Harriman. She attempted to keep the image of him lying on the floor out of her thoughts as much as possible, but was not successful. Detective Black had said that Harriman had been killed by a blow to the head with a blunt object. “Sounds like a really bad detective story,” she murmured. A blunt object. Were there any blunt objects in the room? Did she notice anything missing? She had been in that room many times before, and now she imagined herself walking through it again. Nothing was clear.

She sighed, exasperated, and threw off the covers. Her glowing green alarm clock read 3:04 AM. “OK, I guess I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight,” she said to no one. Sliding on her slippers and robe, she went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. On her way, she grabbed a sketchpad and pencil from her briefcase.

As the water was heating, she slowly began to draw the study at Mr. Harriman’s mansion. She drew the walls first, then the paintings on them, which she remembered best. Then she added the furniture. As the pencil moved across the page, details came to her rapidly, and she scribbled them down furiously. Her concentration was so intense that the shrill sound of the teakettle whistle made her gasp before she realized what it was. She stopped and made her tea with a liberal dose of milk in it to settle her nerves.

Dulcie looked carefully at her drawing. Did she remember everything? Probably not. She went into the living room and sat on the couch, curling her legs under her, not taking her eyes off the sketch pad. She sipped her tea slowly. Her eyes blurred and lost focus as she thought about the scene from only the day before. “It was horrible,” she whispered. It had been so still and quiet. Not like when you walk into an empty room, but even more quiet. Wouldn’t Mr. Harriman have turned his radio on? She knew that he liked to listen to classical music while he worked. Perhaps he had needed to concentrate on something. Perhaps it was too early. Perhaps he had just entered the room.

Fatigue began to sink through her mind. Her head nodded forward, and she snapped it up with a jerk, spilling her tea. ‘I can probably get to sleep now,’ she thought wryly and went back to bed.

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