Color Me Dead

We pulled into the driveway of a home nestled into the banks of Lake Henry. The overhanging roof, a dark silver color, provided ample shade on the front porch. As if guarding the home against the outside world, stone pillars stood on either side of the door. I parked my car on the circular drive that made its way through the deep, green lawn. Clarence Bradford’s home was well-kept, and the square corners and functional design reflected a sense of order. The light played between the two pillars, creating stripes on the slats of the porch. Built up on the mountainside, the house almost looked like a natural part of the landscape.
Standing on the porch was a man I recognized from his book covers: Clarence Bradford. He was still quite handsome for his age, and his outfit—a forest-green button-down shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots—told me every day was casual Friday. His silvery hair augmented his healthy tan.
“You made it.” He took in my cotton flowered tunic, my favorite pair of jeans, and the high tops I was wearing and said, “You are young.”
Maybe the high tops were a little much, but they were my favorite shoes. Even in my late twenties, I still hadn’t shed this style of footwear left over from my teens. Maybe it was the artist in me not conforming to uncomfortable heels that made my knees wobble. Clarence stood next to a tray set with a pitcher of tea and glasses. “You made good time. I was just on a break and decided you might be near and need some iced tea.”
Luigi leaped out of the car first and ran like a maniac around the yard.
“Will he run off?” I asked.
Mitch scowled. “I told you. Luigi is the product of discipline and training. He’ll let off a little steam and then be back to his guard-dog status.” From the wild look in Luigi’s eyes as he tried to bounce off a pine tree, I doubted his strict training included that.
Trying to put Luigi out of my thoughts, I gave an awkward little wave to my new employer. “Hi. I’m Gabby and this is my brother, Mitch.”
My brother walked over and plopped into a chair, grabbed an icy glass, and kicked off his flip-flops. “Excellent, Mr. Bradford.”
“Please, call me Clarence.”
“Clarence then,” he said, downing the tea in almost one gulp. Nothing like a hangover to make you thirsty.
I took a seat in the third chair. The smell of pine trees was so intense around me that it gave me the giddy feeling of Christmas. “You have a beautiful home, Clarence.”
“Yes, it’s where I get all of my inspiration. But, of course, growing up around here you already knew how beautiful it was. If I had to write the Adventure Kid books in the city, I don’t think they’d be any good. Can’t exactly have my little adventurers taking the subway to get to their next escapade.” He refilled Mitch’s glass.
“Working here,” I paused to look around at the towering trees and listen to the birdsong emanating from them, “sounds like paradise. I work in coffee shops a lot myself.”
“Ugh, what a terrible thing. I don’t know how people concentrate in those places,” he said in disgust.
“Earbuds,” I answered.
“Excuse me?” Obviously, Clarence Bradford had no need to block out sound and pump in music.
I pulled my earbuds out of my pocket. “These things.”
“Oh, yes. I see young people wearing them all the time. It’s like they have to have an extension cord wherever they go. Seems kind of ridiculous-looking to me.”
“You’re so right, Clarence,” Mitch said. “What I hate is hearing people’s phone conversations in the store. Do they even know how stupid they look having a heart-to-heart in the middle of the hemorrhoid creams?”
Clarence’s laugh boomed from his chest as he slapped his knee. “I can see you’re going to make this summer interesting, Mitch.”
“Mitch makes every summer interesting,” I added. “We’re renting a house on the other side of the lake, so it will be easy for me to come to work over here.”
“That’s good. Would you like to see where we’ll be working?”
I followed Clarence Bradford to what I thought would be a book-lined study, complete with the smell of cherry tobacco and a roaring fire. Instead, he took me to a room at the back of the house almost entirely encased in windows. There were blinds built into the double panes of glass. Clarence Bradford’s study wasn’t an office at all. It was an air-conditioned room on the lake.
“This is beautiful,” I said, spinning around. “I don’t know how you get any work done here.”
“Oh, but that’s the secret to writing outdoor adventure books for kids. I write them practically outdoors, with the modern conveniences of air conditioning and Internet. It’s my oasis.”
“What a fantastic idea.” The wall facing the windows was lined floor to ceiling with books. As an artist, I appreciated just how much there was to see from Clarence Bradford’s view of Lake Henry.
“Do the people going by in their boats watch you? I mean, do you feel like you don’t have any privacy here?”
“Tinted windows. I can see them, but they can’t see me. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The view was stunning, and I also made a mental note that whenever I needed a cigarette, I shouldn’t smoke it within view of this office if I wanted to keep it a secret. As I looked across the lake, the wavy line of the shore caught my eye. It looked like something I had seen before. I stepped closer to the glass.
“Are you a bird-watcher?” Clarence asked.
“Uh, no. I just thought I saw something familiar.”
“Is your house visible from here?”
“No. We’re too far away, and our house is on the other side of the road.”
I glanced back at the shoreline. My shoulders began to feel cold, and I held onto my arms. The vision was trying to come in again. I must be close to whatever it was that was causing the woman with the cold hand to invade my senses.
“I must have the air conditioning up too high in here. You’re shivering,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.
“No, I’m fine. Really.”
“Of course …” he said but then asked once more, “You’re sure you’re alright, now.”
“Yes.” I turned my back to the window. “This is my first children’s book, so I’m sure I have a lot to learn,” I confessed, changing the subject.