Page 61 of Insidious Threats
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The Light on the River artist colony was, for lack of a better word, a compound. The lanterns hanging from the entrance gate revealed a large stone farmhouse with candles glowing in the windows, a warm light illuminating a wide, graceful wraparound porch, and a curl of smoke rising from the chimney. Eight to ten small stone cabins fronted by rustic wood porches were situated in an arc around the main house. An old-growth orchard towered behind the structures, the trees’ bare branches outstretched and reaching skyward like elegant ballet dancers raising their arms.
The scene was picturesque and welcoming—or should have been. But as Sasha and Ellie sat in the car waiting for the clock on the dashboard to tick over to nine o’clock and the start of Pete’s shift, a deep, bone-chilling dread gripped Sasha. She shivered despite the hot air blasting from the car’s vents. The setting reminded her of another compound and a harrowing run-in with a Doomsday prepper cult on a similarly dark and starless winter night years ago.
“Are you okay? I can turn the heat up.”
She shook her head. “I’m not cold. Just a bad memory.”
“Someone walked over your grave.”
“Pardon?”
Ellie made a face. “Sorry. It’s a superstition. Grandmother Anderson used to say it.”
Sasha glanced at the clock. “It’s nine-oh-three. Are you ready?”
Ellie nodded.
They exited the car, then ran across the gravel lot and up the stairs to the porch. Sasha tried the door. Locked. She rang the bell. A moment later, they were buzzed inside. They approached a gleaming mahogany reception desk lit by flickering wall sconces. As she reached the desk, Sasha pasted a broad smile on her face for Pete.
Unfortunately, instead of the friendly night manager she’d been promised, a sour-faced woman with her hair scraped back into a tight ponytail and deep bags under her eyes stood behind the desk. Sasha glanced at the name badge pinned to her wrinkled white blouse: Poppy.
“Can I help you?” Poppy’s voice held neither warmth nor any hint that she wanted to help them in the least bit.
Change of plans.
Sasha smoothed the smile into a serious, expectant expression. “I was told to speak to Pete when we arrived.”
“Well, Pete’s not here.”
Sasha waited.
After a heavy pause, Poppy explained, “He called off with the flu. Did you reserve a cabin?”
“No, no. We have a delivery for one of your artists. A Charles Prescott.”
She felt Ellie’s eyes on her and willed the younger woman to play along.
“I’ll take it for him.”
“I’m sorry, our instructions were very clear. We need to hand it directly to Mr. Prescott. Right, Ellie?” She glanced over her shoulder.
“Um, right.”
“Well, then you’re out of luck because Mr. Prescott isn’t here right now.” Poppy crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared hard at Sasha.
“Thatisa problem,” Sasha agreed. “Our employer is going to be most unhappy to hear that we weren’t able to give the artist the contract for a showing at our gallery. And, of course, Mr. Prescott will be upset to miss out on this opportunity.”
Sasha hoped her bluff made sense. Her knowledge about the art world was limited and mostly gained from watching heist films. She gave Ellie a meaningful look.
Ellie jumped in smoothly. “Mr. Prescott’s been offered a career-making one-man showing atFaux-Semblant.It’s incredible for an artist at his stage in his career, to be honest. And, what a coup for Light on the River that the work that brought him to the gallery’s attention is one he created while in residency here. Truly amazing. I’m sure you’ll see quite an uptick in applications after the show opens.”
Poppy’s tired eyes widened. Sasha could almost see the tourist dollars dancing in her mind’s eye.
“Unless, of course, Jonathan becomes impatient and invites that woman who does those paintings with her ferret’s tail as a brush. Jonathan can be capricious,” Sasha explained to Poppy.
“I’m sure Mr. Prescott would want you to leave the contract with me. I promise to get it to him as soon as I see him.”
