Death of an Artist by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online

gossip, nothing else. He had quickly become used to Dave’s tuneless hum, white noise, and again and again Tony had been so concentrated on the work itself that conversation would have been a nuisance, no matter how little real attention it demanded.
    Now and then he strolled through town after he closed up the shop, and people nodded, and gradually the nods had been accompanied by a word or two. Several times he had gone down to the Sand Dollar Inn for a beer and chatted with the bartender Bill, meaningless chatter that people did with a bartender. And once Chief Will Comley had come in and sat next to him at the bar. In the next hour Tony had listened to nonstop talk and had come away knowing a brief history of the town and many of its residents. He had learned that Bill was married to Molly Barnett, who worked for Marnie in the gift shop, that Molly’s sister had five daughters who helped out there from time to time. Beverly the librarian played piano at a nonsectarian church in Newport and read a book a day, or so she claimed. Will talked about coast storms and landslides, the city council that didn’t do squat, how Silver Bay was safe from clear-cutting up the mountain because all that property up on the ridge past Marnie’s house was a retreat for Catholic priests. They never appeared in town, but now and then a dark minibus went to Portland, likely to take someone to the airport or bring a new priest to the retreat. They went to Newport for supplies, and only one of them ever talked. A vow of silence or something, Will had said with a shake of his head. But they kept that land safe from the loggers and landslides up there. “God’s ways,” he said, “are mysterious.”
    Will looked like a cherub, Tony thought, with round, smooth cheeks, double chins, even dimpled fingers, but Tony suspected Chief Will was shrewder than he appeared. He looked over strangers who entered the restaurant or bar almost exactly the same way Tony did. He assumed that Will had looked into Tony’s past, his record, had called his captain to check out this particular stranger who had come to be hired by his friend Dave.
    Will had suggested that much during that one-hour course in history and biography. “Must seem awfully tame around here after working so long in New York,” he had said, nursing a stein of beer.
    â€œRelaxing,” Tony had said.
    â€œI guess you need some relaxing, what you’ve been through and all.”
    Tony laughed and did not respond.
    Will got around to mentioning Stef. “She’s a wild one. Her hair color changes the way some people change their shirts. Red, blue, green…” He shook his head. “How a good woman like Marnie ended up with such a daughter is one of those mysteries, I guess. Marnie’s a fine woman, and Ed was a good man, dead twenty-five years now. We all thought Marnie would find another husband. She was a real good-looking woman, still is, but I guess trying to keep the lid on Stef was enough of a job for her, that and running the shop. Then it looked like Stef’s daughter would be like her mother. Vanessa, but she goes by Van. Van and Stef, what kind of names are they for women? She came back with a little baby and no man, but she straightened herself out and is fixing to be a doctor. Stef’s never without a man, if you know what I mean. One at a time, you’ve got to give her that much, but she doesn’t stay alone very long. Soon as she boots out that Portland dude, probably she’ll come after you. New man, unattached, right age. You’ll see. Folks say she’s a real good artist. Me, I don’t know about art, so I couldn’t say one way or other.”
    The monologue would have continued into the second hour, Tony suspected, if he hadn’t said he had to be going. He left Will talking to the bartender, who was paying little or no attention. On the way to his apartment Tony regretted that he had