“I killed Vincent.”
A cruel smile broke across his lips. “Ah, my baby girl has finally grown up.” His tone was so sweet, undoubtedly laced with poison. “So now you want him gone? Just like that? Your old man fixes all your issues?”
I stared at the floor, waiting for the inevitable drop.
“Is that what you want, child?” He approached me slowly like a snake carefully moving through the tallgrass.
“Yes.”
“You know”—he stopped in front of me—“I’ve paid a lot of money for Vincent’s position, almost as much as I’ve paid for the commissioner’s. I was quite attached to him. Good for business.”
I glared up at him, but it only made his smile grow.
“Let us do some mathematics, it should be simple for you to understand,” he began, holding me at arm’s length by my shoulders. “If Vincent is good for business, and Petronille kills him, what does that make Petronille?”
Tears were gathering in my vision. I knew where this was going.
He tapped my nose playfully. “That’s right! That means Petronille isbadfor business.”
I swallowed hard, my body aching from holding myself stiffly.
“You don’t seem to have a lot of conviction. I’ve helped your sisters because they do what needs to be done.” He sighed. “Now it is time to solve your own problems, instead of being a problem to be solved for once.”
The heat was only getting worse, a feverish anger that I hoped one day would be great enough to hurt him. But not today, not yesterday, not any of the times he had brought me to shame and anger.
Not yet, but I promised myself, one day, maybe I would.
I glanced at my sisters; they stood with averted gazes.Cowards.
My father looked down at me as if I were still an adolescent. It further solidified my choice to leave, to refuse to take part in this family any longer, to wean myself from their influence. They made me small, and I couldn’t afford to be small when my rage was only growing by the day and would inevitably consume everything if not smothered. All they ever did wasfeedit.
I knocked my shoulder against his as I left. Behind me, I could hear him laugh and mumble something snide. It all blended together as I slammed the door, the noises dampened by the sound of rain.
The sensation of the filthy rain was cool, ice over cast iron, cleansing. I could swear I would steam.
Someday, I would be outside this home, and there would be no more snide remarks left.
Not today, not tomorrow either, butsomeday.
Chapter Thirteen
The Artisan
The docks were as somber as a drunk at dawn. The water sloshed against the ship hulls, just as muggy in color as the ashen sky. The air was the same as it always was but with a more electric edge, like static in a cloud of dust.
I wouldn’t call myself a bashful man, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my wife’s last visit. The way her skin glistened under the glow of the kiln, how her body felt pressed against mine, the amusement of her attempt toknowme. Perhaps next time I could show her how to carve wood or chisel stone. The only thing she would be genuinely good at would be serving as a model, a muse. It could very well be possible that I enjoyed her company, momentarily.
The looming dread nearly dried up before I noticed my studio door was unlocked, ajar.
“I told you I would bring the check to your office,” I called into the studio before I pulled open the massive warehouse door.
There, sitting on my stool in front of my unfinished sculpture of a man, was a crooked thing I hoped I’d never see again.
“Commissioner Hunt, to what do I owe the displeasure?”
He was uninterested, cleaning out his pipe with one of my rags. “I would ask you the same, but this time I come of my own accord.”
“Then speak plainly, we are far from strangers, after all.” I moved slowly, as if not to disturb a skittish predator. I set my satchel down in front of a statue of a couple embracing, a good distance from the official in my presence.
