The Shadow Artist by Grayson James

Author:Grayson, James [Grayson, James]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Alistern Press
Published: 2015-06-20T16:00:00+00:00

As Alex had imagined, the cottage was furnished with Old World items and classic European pieces, like the French pine table and black cast iron stove. A stone fireplace dominated the living area, with a pair of club chairs sharing a view of the snowy stream. She imagined her father sitting fireside, reading Dickens or Tolstoy, and drinking a few fingers of Scotch, neat. In her image he was lonely, regretful.

Alex and Jack split up to look around, and a few minutes later he called from the kitchen, “It’s quite evident that he lives alone.”

“Agreed.” Among the paintings, there was not a single personal photograph, framed or otherwise, anywhere in the house. She wandered into the kitchen.

“He’s not exactly a gourmet.” He leaned back from the cabinets.

Inside sat two boxes of the same type of Dorset muesli, two boxes of Carr’s whole wheat crackers, and two jars of Nutella. Nothing else. It made her sad for the man.

“Or a connoisseur.” He opened the refrigerator. Two bottles of the same no-name Bordeaux were tucked into the bottom shelf. No perishable items, either, only ketchup, mustard, and some jellies. He nodded to the counter, where, sitting on a towel next to the sink, were a single fork, knife, dinner plate, and wine glass. The glass was spotted. Hand-washed and air dried, Alex thought.

“Maybe he’s on a starvation diet,” Alex said.

She opened a drawer. Empty. Then another. Silverware and napkins. Working her way through the kitchen and into the living area, she scoured for a clue, any verification that Edgar was the one who lived there.

Jack searched the rest of the kitchen as Alex made her way around the house and upstairs. A long bed sat undisturbed, along with a thick quilt and one large pillow propped to the wrought iron headboard. Returning from the bedroom, she stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back. The room overlooked the front of the house, but seemed too small to be the only room upstairs. So what about the space looking out to the stream? She returned to the bedroom and looked for doors to an attic or eaves, but there was nothing.

Alex descended the stairs and glanced at Jack as he flipped through every page of every book on the shelves at the back of the kitchen. A fine job of turning the place over. Interesting that he had that skill, too. She filed the information away for later. Behind him, a sliver of a doorway opened to a mudroom, where a set of waders hung in the corner, a fishing rod propped against them.

“Strange,” she said.

“You’re just now having that thought?” He was leafing through a thick cookbook. As he held it up, Alex noticed the binding hadn’t been creased.

She looked to the ceiling. “I think there’s a hidden room up there, but I can’t figure out how to get to it.”

He smiled for a second, glancing at Alex as he set the book down. “Ahh.”

“What?”

“It seems the art of intelligence runs in the family.

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