Chapter Four
The windows in the porch room stood open; the breeze flooding the room, billowing curtains and sending pieces of Penelope’s manuscript flying.
“Dammit!” she hustled after her pages, while trying to hang on to the cigarette between her lips. Crawling the floor was not exactly her normal mode, but no one bothered to help her retrieve the strewn pages so she had to do it herself. Once she had everything back in hand, she stood up, took a drag off the cigarette—its ash falling to the floor—and then parked it back between her lips while she sorted the pages.
Emerson moved into the room from the darker rooms behind the porch and looked out of the large window that faced the lake. The house sat inside a grove of trees, mostly maples and overlooked a deep blue lake, which was outl
