“Oh, yes. Just tired, I suspect.”

The response came from the man, touching off my suspicions of a Svengali-like command over my cousin.

“Have you been working on new art, Vera?” I put a heavy emphasis on her name to indicate that I wanted her reply.

“Endlessly,” she said. Her voice sounded as I’d feared it might.

“Is that your studio beyond the door there?”

She looked at the man in the sleepwear.

“I should very much like to see it if I may,” I added, rising. I moved swiftly so as to carve the bearded man off before he could stop me. Vera did not even attempt to.

NEITHERNOR was not a studio, nor even a room, but rather a closet.

Shallow, lightless, and fragrant with old wood, the recess contained a stout metal stool and, upon the dust-studded floorboards, a spool of gleaming copper wire. Shelves lined either side of the closet and each was stacked with pastry boxes of thin white cardstock, all lidded and bound like caskets awaiting interment. A hatch door was set into the centre of the back wall. It was secured with a latch and padlock, both of which had also been slathered in the same eggshell primer.

A hand reached in front of me and pressed the door shut.

“Neither a studio nor a closet,” I said with deliberate impertinence to the bearded man. He stood regarding me with a diamond-hard gaze. His face began to redden and twist. I’ve no shame in admitting my fear. You too would have been afraid.

“I would like to call on you again, Vera,” I called as I reached for my coat. “I am still interested in one of your pieces.”

She sat on the sofa like one adrift in dementia. Her mouth moved but I did not hear what she’d uttered.

“We’ll have something for you,” the man said. I closed the apartment door and took the stairs at a hare’s pace. Outside I clung to the street door with one hand while collecting the narrowest wooden slat I could find from amidst the alley’s debris. This I used to keep the door from clicking snug into its frame.

4.

I wrestled with whether or not to remain in the little village. My concern for Vera ran deep, regardless of how estranged we were. Sometimes women just need rescuing.

Having nothing in way of a plan, I stopped into a tavern to phone Cara and say that I was chasing a story lead and would not be home until the following day. Her suspicion was palpable.