“I was just on my way over. I’ve already talked to his doctor, though. Still no change.”
“Well, uh…I think you should, uh…” He clears his throat. “There’s somethin’ I want you to take a look at. Come on out to Seaside today.”
I’m combing my hair, still wet from my shower, but fall still when I hear the strange note in Coop’s voice. “What is it?”
Coop draws a breath. “It’s not somethin’ I could explain. You need to see this, Megan. I wouldn’t make you leave him if it wasn’t really important.”
“Is it the Buttercup? Is everything okay?”
“It’s not the Buttercup. We’re makin’ good progress on the house. This is…a lot more important.”
“Coop,” I say flatly. “I hate mysteries. And my nerves can’t take any more drama. What the fuck is so important that I have to come back to Seaside to see?”
Coop says quietly, “What I found in Theo’s barn.”
Goose bumps erupt all over my body. I think of that big, shiny chain threaded through the door handles of the ramshackle barn, and shiver.
“Theo uses his house as Hillrise’s headquarters—it’s like a showroom up there, just a beautiful example of his work—and I had to get some paperwork from the office for a client. Copy of an old invoice for their taxes. Anyway, I couldn’t find it in the computer, so I thought maybe we’d have it in storage in the barn.”
“And?” I prompt impatiently when he stops talking.
His answer is so soft, I have to strain to hear it. “And now I guess I know why Theo never let me go out there.”
“Coop,” I shout, “give me a slight fucking break, would you? What’s in the goddamn barn?”
He says simply, “You.”
His voice is so strange, it’s starting to scare me. “I don’t understand.”
“Me neither. I’ll meet you there at noon. I’ll text you the address.”
He hangs up before I can say I already have it.
* * *
I make the ninety-minute drive to Seaside in an hour and ten. When I tear into the driveway at Theo’s house, Coop is already there. He leans against his truck with his arms folded over his chest, gazing down at his boots. When he looks up and our eyes meet through the windshield, my heart stops.
Because my big, burly, confident Coop looks scared as shit.
I shut off the car and get out, the keys shaking in my hands. He speaks as soon as I’m within earshot.
“Did you ever meet Theo before you moved here?”
Suddenly, I’m breathless. My heart starts to hammer. “Why do you ask?”
He works his jaw, looking off into the distance for a moment. Then he pushes away from the car and pulls a set of keys from his pocket. “Let’s go in.”
I follow in rising panic as Coop ambles toward the barn, gravel crunching under his boots. It’s a bright, beautiful day, the air clear and cold. Coop unlocks the shiny padlock on the chain around the barn doors and drags the unwieldy wooden doors apart. They groan on rusty hinges, cantankerous as old men. With a jerk of his chin indicating I should follow, he disappears inside.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Hazy rays of light filter through cracks in the wood roof, lending the interior an otherworldly air.
Empty horse stalls line one side of the long room. On the other side, a tall, rickety wooden ladder leads up to a loft. Discarded pieces of lumber litter the dirt floor, and several of the wide beams supporting the roof show signs of water damage. A whisper of animal musk—dried dung from long-dead horses—hangs in the air.
So does the sharper, newer tang of oil paint and acetone, scents I’d recognize blindfolded.
“Doesn’t seem like a good place to store documents,” I tell Coop, trying to keep my voice steady though my pulse is racing and I’m starting to sweat.
“Guess Theo moved ’em out when he took up his secret hobby.”
He’s standing next to the ladder, looking at me with that odd, unnerved expression. I don’t bother asking which hobby he’s referring to, because I already know.
I look up at the loft, then back at Coop. He says quietly, “I hope you don’t spook real easy, ’cause this near scared the livin’ daylights outta me.”
He starts to climb.
I watch until he reaches the top and steps off the ladder, then I follow. When I get to the top, Coop grasps my hand to help me off, then steps back without a word, watching me closely to see my reaction.
But he’s already disappeared. I’m alone, all alone in what can only be described as a shrine.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of oil paintings in different sizes are stacked upright, leaning against the barn walls. More crowd every inch of the walls, hung haphazardly from nails. More are scattered carelessly on long rustic wood tables and all over the floor, piles and piles of them, an unending sea of canvas.