111 West End

Chapter Six: The Artist

After a quick online search, Georgie found five antique dealers in town, but only one opened on a Wednesday. According to Google Maps, Harker & Sons Antiques and Collectables were on the corner between Market Place and Main Street.

It took Georgie three laps of Main Street to locate the shop and a further ten minutes of circling to find a parking space.

The brass bell above the door jingled as she stepped into the shop. Behind the counter, a stocky man with a long beard peered over the top of his glasses.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Erm..." The cluttered shop was full of dark wood furniture, glass lamps, and willow-patterned china. "I've recently moved into a much larger house, and the walls are so bare. Do you have any paintings?"

The man took off his glasses and hooked them into his shirt pocket. "Landscape, portrait, or horse?"

"Pardon?" Georgie was distracted by a brass coal scuttle and a pair of well-used bellows, confirming her fears that this would be a wasted trip.

"Landscape. Portrait. Or horse?" he repeated slowly.

"I'm not sure."

The man stepped out from behind the counter. "Most folks round here want horses." He glanced back at her. "But then, you're not from here."

She was sure he meant that as a criticism. "What gave me away?"

He chuckled.

"I think portrait or landscape."

"You may be in luck." He pointed to five paintings leaning against the back wall. He picked one and held it at arm's length. "I acquired these fourteen years ago in a house clearance. They've been collecting dust ever since."

Georgie stepped closer.

"Do you know who the artist is?"

"Let me see." He put on his glasses and blew the dust from the corner. "Natalie Wilson, I believe that says."

"Is she a local artist?"

"Wouldn't know." He shrugged.

"How much for the lot?"

"£500."

Georgie shook her head. "That's more than I planned to spend."

"£450, then."

"No, but thank you for your help." Georgie turned to leave.

"Wait! £350 if you'll take them today. I need the space." He waited as she considered his offer.

"Mr Harker, you have a deal."

He grinned at her. "Are you sure you're not from around here?"

"Quite sure."

*

Georgie parked on the pavement outside her house so she wouldn't have far to carry the paintings. With the door keys in her hand, she opened the wrought-iron gate and walked up the narrow path. She paused.

Georgie was sure she'd locked the door when she left. But now it was open.

She pushed the door wider and stepped inside.

Lingering on the threshold, she called, "Hello." The house was silent.

In one hand, Georgie clutched her keys so she could use the blade of the key as a weapon. Should she need to? In her other hand, she held her phone. Ready to dial.

The door to the lounge was ajar. She crept closer, holding her breath. Thankfully, the room was empty. To her left, the kitchen-diner door was closed. She slowly opened the door. The room was warm and cosy and exactly how she left it. Feeling satisfied that the house was empty, and as no one had broken in, Georgie could bring in her paintings.

It was then she noticed the large puddle by the cellar door. Puzzled, she crouched to inspect it. Could the roof be leaking?

   She squinted at the glass panels above her. She couldn't see any drips, and besides, it hadn't rained. Georgie dipped her finger into the puddle and rubbed the liquid between her fingers. There was no smell. It wasn't sticky; it was water.

She'd call Mr Goldman later that afternoon to arrange an appointment.

111 West End was a strange house. This house was its own entity.

After drying the floor, Georgie descended into the musty cellar to find a bag of picture hooks and a hammer.

And with a flutter of excitement, she inspected her new artwork.