A Crossworder's Gift by Nero Blanc Read Free Book Online

of experimentation—”
    â€œBut it’s cold,” Belle murmured.
    Pamela looked at her quizzically.
    â€œWe’ve been discussing the ‘winter in Canada’ weather phenomenon,” Rosco chortled.
    â€œâ€˜Phenomenon’?” was Pamela’s perplexed response.
    â€œThe fact that it’s colder up here than down near Boston, or Newcastle, which is where we live.”
    Pamela stared at Rosco and then at Belle. A frown of confusion crossed her brow; and Rosco realized how similar these two women were in their complete concentration on a single topic. “Unusual atmospheric conditions would be balmy breezes coming off the Saint Lawrence … but then the ice-skaters down at the pavilion, the Pavillon , would sink.”
    Belle shivered; Pamela Gravers laughed, then reached for another chocolate-chunk cookie. “If you’re worried about being chilly, you won’t be. There are bonfires to stand near, food stalls either within tents or under the stars, en plein air , as they say … and jugglers, mimes, stilt walkers … marshmallows to roast—”
    â€œMarshmallows?” Belle said, perking up.
    â€œYou think summer picnics in the States can lay exclusive claim to marshmallows? Anyway, I’d really like you to see my installation … As a person whose career involves letters—”
    â€œYou haven’t created a crossword puzzle in the snow, have you?” Belle asked.
    Pamela’s expression was difficult to interpret. For a moment, it seemed as though she were trying to invent a lie in response to Belle’s innocent query. Then the worried behavior vanished, and her hands began moving the air as though recreating her artwork in space. “I’ve buried battery-powered theatre-type lamps in the snow … well, not completely buried, but enough so that only the round lamp face shows. And they’re designed to burn cool, or else the snow would melt too quickly … Anyway, each face reveals the mark of a letter: a black ‘A’ formed by the white light around it, and so forth … With the help of my wizard techno-advisor and aide, Jean-Claude, I’m able to change letters continually, so my ‘message,’ if you will, is constantly being altered and amended—”
    â€œIlluminated words,” Belle interjected as Helene marched with customary alacrity into the room.
    â€œWhat are you three talking about?” Her brow was creased in a peculiarly cross and anxious line.
    â€œMy installation piece. That’s the only thing we were discussing.” In a defensive gesture, Pamela Gravers slumped slightly in her chair.
    â€œAh, I see … I thought … Never mind.”
    A silence ensued. Belle could sense tension between the cousins. It was broken—or rather, avoided—when Pamela gulped an apologetic:
    â€œI’m afraid I dropped some cookie crumbs … If you’ve got a whisk broom—”
    â€œWhat are a few crumbs here and there?” Helene’s tone was harsh. In an atypical gesture, the hostess of Wordsworth House sighed while her shoulders sagged. “Let the mice eat them.”
    â€œHelene! You’d have a fit if a mouse even ventured inside this establishment.”
    Helene shrugged. “N’import.”
    â€œI’ll clean up—”
    â€œIt’s not important, I tell you!”
    The phone rang at that moment, interrupting the awkward exchange. As their hostess hurried away, Belle and Rosco glanced at each other while Pamela stared glumly at the floor. “It’s not easy, this hotelier business,” she said. “As financially risky as being an artist. Maybe more so. At least, I don’t have the kind of mortgage Helene has—or her overhead.”
    â€œBut if this was your grandfather’s home, didn’t Helene inherit it?” Belle began.
    â€œIs that what she told you?” Pamela’s wary frown now