A Little Learning Read Online Free PDF Page B

conditioner?”
    “She called and said she needed a part. She’ll be by tomorrow.”
    Nell Brenner’s our resident handywoman. She said she’d always wanted to get her hands on the Eberlin house. I think she got more than she bargained for. She certainly has her hands full with all the repairs the old house needs. When Jerry and I first saw the house, Jerry was delighted by its spooky appearance, but I was appalled by its rundown condition. We soon realized most of the scabbiness was on the outside. Jerry’s Uncle Val hadn’t felt the need to mow or paint, but he lived very simply. We didn’t find clutter or piles of clothes and food wrappers. Inside, the rooms had been bare and dusty with Victorian style furniture. Now the hardwood floors were shiny and the high ceilings free of cobwebs. The kitchen needed just a little updating. We kept the sturdy white wood cabinets and wooden table and chairs. Most of the upstairs bedrooms just needed a paint job, and with Jerry’s unwanted assistance, Nell transformed the living room into a calm blue room with a white sofa and crystal lamps. Jerry hung the rescued “Blue Moon Garden” over the mantel.
    I needed two more pictures to go with “Blue Moon Garden” to the Weyland Gallery. I checked by my parlor studio. Tacked to my easel was Austin’s latest offering, a pencil drawing of an impossibly big wheeled car with a forest of huge tailpipes jutting out behind and a grill like a shark’s grin. Denisha hadn’t shown an interest in art, but Austin had notebooks filled with detailed sketches of fantasy cars, motorcycles, dinosaurs, and spaceships. I decided I wouldn’t mind showing kids how to draw. I’d helped Austin with perspective and shading. I could start with some simple shapes and explain the same concepts to Rachel Sigmon’s class.
    I sat down for a moment in one of Uncle Val’s beautiful old Victorian chairs. I had coveted this room from the beginning. The size and shape, the light, everything was perfect for a studio. I had all my art supplies neatly arranged and lately, I’d had plenty of time to paint. Now that I’d confronted the critic who made my first and only exhibit a nightmare, I felt much more confident in my work, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for another show. And what could I possibly use for the New Artists Show?
    Propped along the walls of the parlor were my on-going projects: a landscape of the fields and trees in front of the house, some small drawings of wildflowers, a couple of abstracts, Austin and Denisha holding Austin’s boxer puppy, and Jerry’s portrait, which was only a rough pencil sketch. Still, I’d manage to capture the sparkle in his gray eyes and a hint of his smile. I’d drawn him leaning over the front porch railing, his head turned toward me, his impish expression suggesting I’d just caught him planning some grand scheme. Okay, so it wouldn’t take a lot of work to finish that, and maybe I could use the landscape, if I added more light and color. Of course, there was another painting I’d started of the fields in front of the house that would be a perfect complement to “Blue Moon Garden” if I could get it ready in time.
    I looked around the parlor, imaging all the paintings framed and hanging on the walls of an art gallery or museum. I needed to prove to myself that I was a legitimate artist. But the cost of framing, hiring a hall, publicity—I’d have to solve several cases for some very wealthy people before an exhibit was possible, but this Weyland Gallery show was a huge first step toward making this dream a reality.
    And you have a case, I told myself. If you help Nathan Fenton get his fortune, who knows? He might be willing to sponsor you. At least he paid his fee. At least you don’t have to hold fake séances like your husband. Of course, if I had my way about it, this would be the last fake séance he would hold.
    By the time Flossie Mae Snyder and her niece, Sylvie, arrived promptly at nine, I’d