CHAPTER 7
Paint blobbed on the paper in front of me. I cursed and blotted at it, trying to stop it from running into the part that I’d already completed and ruining all my hard work.
My attempts were only partially successful. The first wash hadn’t been completely dry and so it had sucked pigment from the fly’s body into the head, turning the carefully rendered eyes into muddy pools.
I flung the damp blotter away and rubbed my face. It was one of those mornings when nothing seemed to be going right. I could not settle at anything and my thoughts ran in all directions, like a flock of pigeons scattered by a dog.
There was no mystery as to why, of course. I could not stop thinking about Halder’s trip to the woods last night. I had never seen the man leave his room before, let alone go tromping through the woods. And what was that building he had visited? And why?
Curiosity had not so much seized me as engulfed me utterly, like a Venus flytrap closing on a small winged morsel.Enough. Halder will get his painting a day late. I’m taking a walk.
I snatched up a sketchbook and a pencil so that I could at least pretend to be working and stalked out of the room.
My spirits lifted once I was in the woods. I named each tree to myself as I passed it—Quercus alba, Fagus grandifolia, Cercis canadensis, Pinus taeda—and felt as if I were walking among friends. Sun turned their leaves to hot green stained glass. The early morning had been cool and humid and theafternoon looked to be warm and humid, to the surprise of no one.
I told myself that I was going to the stream to sketch. That I happened to be following the same route that Halder had taken last night was purely coincidental. It was on the way to the stream, that was all.
It was certainly even more of a coincidence when I saw the outline of a small building in front of me. “Goodness,” I said aloud, as if I were in a play and an audience might be watching me. “What have we here?”
It was rather odder in daylight than it had been at night. I had thought that it was the size of a well house, but when I circled around it, I saw that it was longer than I had thought. The roof sloped sharply downward in back, giving the whole building the aspect of a triangle, like a slice of cake laid on its side.
The walls had been tightly caulked and there were no windows, but the strangest thing was definitely the door. It was made of metal and I could not see any hinges. In fact, when I approached, I realized that it had been framed with metal as well, even the bottom, which extended a good six inches up from the ground, like the door of a ship.
I walked around it twice, baffled. It reminded me of a bank vault, except that it was secured with a large steel padlock. If Halder was keeping pornographic etchings in it, he was taking no chances with thieves.It can’t be a still, there’s no chimney. And if it’s a garden shed, it’s awfully far from a garden.
I was just about to make a third circuit around the building when a man’s voice barked, “Get back from there!”
I let out a yelp and spun around, my heart pounding.
Asa Phelps stalked out of the woods toward me and I exhaled with a whoosh. “Good heavens, Mr. Phelps, you scared the life from me.” I put a hand to my chest.
His brow was furrowed and he scowled fiercely at me. “You shouldn’t be here,” he informed me.
“I’mnothere,” I said, nonsensically. “I mean, obviously I’mhere, but I didn’t come here deliberately. I was going to the stream and I saw this odd little… shed. Building.”
Phelps’s scowl lessened slightly. “The stream?”
“Yes?” I held up my sketchbook. “I was going there to draw. I thought there might be some interesting insects.”
His face cleared. “Ah. Insects. Yes.”
“I promise I’ll be back well before dark,” I added. “I remember what you said.”And thought it was a load of nonsense, but never mind that.
Phelps nodded sharply. “Good.”
“But whatisthis building?” I asked. “It’s so oddly constructed.”
The scowl did not quite return, but I could definitely feel it lurking. He looked reluctant to answer at all, looking from me to the shed and back again. Finally he muttered, “It’s for gunpowder.”
“Gunpowder?”
“And blasting supplies. Can’t store it up by the house.”
“Ohhhh…” I slapped my forehead. “Of course. And you wouldn’t want it to get wet… yes, of course.” I gave him my best smile. “I would never have thought of that.”
He folded his arms and stared at the ground. “You should stay clear of it,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
“No, of course not, Mr. Phelps. I shall keep that in mind in the future.”
