The Artist's Inheritance

Chapter Two (part two)

For weeks on end, there wasn't an evening that passed when Caitlin had him all to herself before he fell exhausted into their bed and ignored any attempt she made to gain his interest. He was always too weary now. He talked constantly about his latest piece and planned similar pieces in various sizes. As he planned, he worked.

She hoped he'd make the decision to sell all his pieces. She grew tired of looking at the large, elaborate chair, tired of avoiding her own attic. The right interest should convince him to sell.

She hoped it came soon.

She stood back, studying the pieces, trying to see the charm that so overwhelmed Trevor. "Damned if I see it."

He'd done fine work, but a shudder crawled up her spine when she looked at the pieces. They were all of them creepy. As if touched by some curse.

She wondered if he could donate them to the wax museum in Panama City.

Caitlin awoke one morning to find Trevor on the front porch, working on two more sculpted chairs in the crisp morning air. "Don't you have enough?" she asked, taking up the cup of coffee he'd set on the porch railing. Cold. He'd been working for a while.

"These extras won't hurt the collection." He stepped back to survey his work, took the mug out of her hand and sipped, saying nothing about the temperature of the drink. "Besides, once the others sell I'll need more."

She knelt down to study his latest work. He'd carved this with a twisting apple tree motif. The little orbs seemed to glisten. She could almost see an evil queen plucking one down and dunking it in poison. The thought made her shudder. "Not to put a damper on anything, but what happens if they don't sell?"

"They'll sell. Marvin's sure they will. We just need to find the right buyer."

Marvin Hofter seemed to be doing nothing in that direction, however. She left the obvious fact unspoken. "If they don't, where are you storing them? Is the store big enough?"

He looked over at her. "I can keep them here."

Like hell you can. "You might think about renting a storage facility."

He poked at his latest figurine, smoothing the clay in the opposite direction. "We'll figure it out."

"If you say so." She took the mug from him and crossed into the kitchen, setting the mug in the microwave.

When she returned, his hands and mind were still deep in his work. She reminded him he would be late for work, and took the advice herself.

She spent the day scurrying around Kameko's print shop, trying to avoid her boss' sneering looks. She delivered a print job to a Jacksonville art gallery and the drive gave Caitlin ample opportunity to think about Trevor's problem. What's wrong with him? He was wearing himself out and she worried about him. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, and if she didn't find him scribbling notes or working on his computer, he was upstairs carving away at his chair. She tried to support him, tried to encourage him—after all, the work kept him from brooding over his brother's recent demise. She'd never had a twin, but from everything she'd seen and read they were closer than close. He should be taking Gordon's death harder. As far as she could tell, he coped rather well. A meltdown wasn't inevitable, was it?

Maybe opening the antique shop wasn't such a bad idea, but she was afraid he might collapse, if he wasn't careful. And then what? She'd caught him staring at Gordon's work shed once or twice, and she worried what he might be thinking of his brother.

She had to do something to make him slow down. Everything didn't have to happen all at once, did it?

When she returned home that night, she was determined to sit Trevor down, and talk some sense into him. She hoped she would do more than talk herself hoarse.

She found him comparing two of his best suits.

"What are you doing?"

"We've got a party to go to," he insisted.

Caitlin blinked. "Whose party?"

"Didn't I tell you?" He smacked a hand against his forehead. "I'm such an idiot! Abby's set up a meeting, of sorts, with several investors."

Things slipped his mind more often lately, it was true, but this was an incredibly strange thing for him to overlook. "Investors for what?"

"For me, of course." He pointed to the ceiling. "We're hoping to gain some investors to pay for the shop I want to open."

She wasn't sure what to think of this lapse in memory. "When tonight?"

"At seven."

She glanced to the clock on the bedside table to see it was now five-thirty. "Seven?" Nine she could've handled, but seven? "What did you expect me to do? Go in my jeans? That'll make a great impression! I swear, I'm going to—"

He took her hand and tugged her to the closet. "Please don't make me go alone."

"I should." She crossed her arms. "I should make you sleep in the dog house."

Trevor laughed. "We don't have a dog." He kissed her gently and despite her growing anger, warmth spread to her toes. "You're beautiful whatever you do with yourself."

She grunted annoyance. Beautiful my foot! She knew she at least needed a haircut if nothing else—and a manicure. Her nails still held blue ink stains from work.

"Please," he begged. "I can't do this without my best girl."

"Okay." She poked him in the chest. "Next time, give me some warning!"

She wished he'd given her some hint this time. "And wear the black one."

She didn't like these lapses of his at all, but she turned to her closet, and chose her favorite slinky black dress.

****

Alas, friends, this book is only available on Kindle Unlimited, so I can't share anymore with you here (blame Amazon). If you'd like to read more, you'll find The Artist's Inheritance now at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008XL82IU