Hush

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Dana stepped from her Honda on to the sidewalk in front of the unassuming city house. Except for the wrought iron fence just off the sidewalk, a sure sign that visitors were not encouraged, it was a rather unremarkable place for Ariel Broussard to call home. And yet she had for nearly twenty years until her death. The dark brick facade looked too dark, and a little forbidding; the smoky blue shutters hardly made it more approachable. The door was black with a heavy brass knocker.

Dana took her first pictures from outside the fence. There was already something about this project that was grabbing her imagination. Ariel Broussard was an art world mystery she couldn't wait to unravel. And yet as much as she was attracted to her imaginings, she was a little fearful the way she shivered viewing the plain brick house. The shiver was only made worse seeing that someone was at the front window peeking out at her. It was a woman's face, a blonde she thought, but she couldn't tell for certain as quickly as it came and went. Shaking off the odd sensation, Dana picked up her camera bag and opened the latch to the iron gate. Swinging the heavy thing aside, she took the short flight of stairs and rapped on the door, the brass knocker falling heavily against the metal plate, announcing her arrival.

When the front door opened, Dana was initially taken aback by the man that greeted her. His imposing form loomed over her five feet, four inches, so she felt much smaller than she was accustomed to.

"Dana Padget?" the man inquired in a soft voice.

"Yes." She reached out to shake his hand, and he held it firmly as he drew her into the house.

"Lucien Broussard," he introduced himself with a welcoming smile. A man of about forty, with a dash of gray in his brown hair, he had thoughtful blue eyes, a sharp nose and just a half smile. Though his size was imposing, he was clearly gentle. He was the kind of man that could blend into the walls, perhaps a bit timid, and yet still exude a quiet s****l energy, that at this moment with Dana, was wrapping its way around her like vapors of smoke.

Lucien Broussard looked at her, glancing from head to toe, taking in every bit of her small frame, her short brown hair that brushed her jawline, and was just a little messy on top, having just pulled her camera off from over her head. The slightly harried look on her face was a little sexy.

Staring at him Dana c****d her head, which could have been considered flirtatious by someone that didn't know her. She appeared plain on first glance, but there'd always been a beauty that rose above those plain features. Her gray-blue eyes were sometimes deep and at other times flat and empty. Looking at Lucien Broussard now, they were simply inquisitive.

For herself, Dana was delighted to find an unassuming man, gentle enough to calm her trepidation.

"Mr. Broussard, it's a delight to meet you. I've been quite excited about this project since we first talked."

"Yes. I'm excited too," he replied. "To put Ariel's work into some kind of appropriate retrospective has been long overdue." Beginning to move out of the entry, Lucien showed her into the parlor. "And Miss Padget, please call me Lucien."

She smiled. "If you'll call me Dana. I'm actually Mrs. Padget at least for the next few weeks, though I'd like to forget that fact."

"You're divorcing your husband?"

"Yes," she said quietly. Dana sighed, wishing that she hadn't even mentioned her personal problem. The man was already taking it upon himself to feel sorry for her, and that's the last thing she wanted.

"Mr. Broussard, Lucien," she corrected herself. "I consider this project to be a first rate opportunity for me, one that will help me distance myself from the other things going on in my life. I'm certainly not going to mourn an empty marriage."

Lucien nodded, and gave her another half-smile.

"Then let's get on with the book, shall we?"

Odd, for the first time since Dana could remember, she was feeling a slight s****l rush in the presence of a man. And from such an unexpected source, she was a little in awe. Perhaps it was a natural feeling she should have all the time in the company of men, but she rarely gave herself the opportunity to feel such things since she was rarely in the company of a man other than her husband. There'd been no s****l rush between her and Nick for some time.

"I suppose you'll want to see the gallery first?" he suggested.

"I think I'd rather talk first. Get to know you and how you viewed your wife."

There was a quick spark in his eyes at the mention of Ariel. "Perhaps that is wise," he said. "You understand, she will always be close to my heart. In this place," he stared around at the dour gray papered walls, and the thick navy blue curtains and the massive well-oiled furniture, "she lives here even now, even though she's been gone so many years." He was in awe of his own pronouncement.

"I can imagine that," she replied, "certainly the kind of woman she was, she made an imprint on everything she touched, and this being her house — I suppose it's not changed much since she died?"

"No," he replied. "I find her presence comforting."

He was a man who exuded such ties to the past, from the formal way he dressed, to his old-fashioned polite manner, to the way he obviously revered his dead wife. He had always been considered a bit of an oddity marrying a woman twice his age when he was just a twenty year old art student. However they were reported to have had a very affectionate relationship until her death some ten years later.

"Are you an artist too?" Dana asked.

"You guessed as much?" he said. "How intuitive."

"It was just a guess," she said, pleased with herself.

"Although, I plan to put my own work aside to work with you. I suppose I need to traipse through all those paintings one more time; and to have someone to do that with -- well, it will be welcome."

"Then there's a lot of her work to review?"

"Several rooms and an attic full. And some is not in very good condition. I was hoping you'd help me sort out the best pieces to include in the book."

"I'd be happy to help. I have had extensive gallery experience before I began this kind of photography. I can't think of anything I'd rather do than take a first peek at tomorrow's art world sensation. This book, and the showing are going to be the most important revelation in the next year."

"I was hoping for that, and for your enthusiasm," he said.

A soft glow seemed to appear on his face as if there might be a candle shining down on it in the shadowy room, though there was none. The half-smile, a winsome one, suggested that he adored her, if that was possible to do in such a short time together. For Dana it only augmented her earlier sensual jolt of arousal. Certainly this was the last man she expected to arouse her when so few ever did.

"I'm afraid it might be a time consuming occupation for you if you plan to go through all of Ariel's work."

"I don't think I would do the book justice if I didn't."

He smiled again, looking on Dana as if she solved some tricky problem for him, that he'd been brooding over for some time. The smiled quickly faded however.

"I must warn you though. Sometimes there are some strange things in this house."

"Oh?"

"Some would say it's haunted. Though if that's true, it's a very pleasant haunting."

"Haunted?" Dana was suspicious, as rational as she was, though if there was a place that could be haunted, it would be this house. The chill that had raced up her spine when she first looked at the place was there again. She shivered this time so that it showed.

"I've scared you, haven't I?"

"Actually, I think I'll welcome such an interesting assignment," she said.

"Of course there are the circumstances of Ariel's death that trouble some people."

"I've heard rumors, but nothing concrete," Dana said.

"It was murder, pure and simple. Pushed down the stairs."

"Oh!" The shock registered on her face.

"But, if this could sound positive at all. It was quite the way she would have wanted it."

"How do you mean?"

"She was made for murder, the way she lived, her life, her paintings. But we can talk of that more later."

The confession stunned her, not sure what it meant and why Lucien was leaving her with just an obscure thought. "Surely, you don't think that Ariel walks through this house a disconnected soul?" Dana asked, her comment almost whimsical the way she said it as she tried to lightened the darkness that seemed to creep up on her expectantly.

"No, not at all. She's not disconnected from the house, quite the contrary." He looked at her puzzled face. "I'm sure you'll understand when you've spent more time here."

For the first time since her arrival Dana felt ill at ease. Lucien Broussard's demeanor had changed ever so slightly at the discussion of his wife's death, and yet it had been a subject he'd raised himself.

"Well, perhaps you'd like more information on her painting history, since that is the subject of the book," he jumped in, his dour expression changing to one light-filled, his eyes almost twinkling at the deliberate change in the conversation.

"By all means," Dana replied. As curious as she was about the "circumstances of Ariel's death" she found herself anxious to move on to other things.

"My wife was quite the painter when I met her. I was quite young and Ariel was already in her late thirties. The age difference didn't seem to matter however, as we connected so well on so many levels. I must warn you, some of her paintings, particularly the ones that I'll unveil for you are rather erotically provocative."

"Much of her work that I've seen has an erotic quality," Dana said, remembering the paintings she'd been reviewing in the last few days.

"Oh, you have no idea. What has been sold and what hangs for public display are quite tame compared with much of her later work. I'm sure some people will have difficulty with its content."

"And do you?" Dana asked. Again the man's expression was odd, a little strained, but whimsical as well.

He smiled broadly, "Oh heavens no," he said. "My wife's work inspired much in me."

"Inspired your own art?" Dana asked.

He chuckled.

"I'm afraid not." He almost looked embarrassed. "She often used me as her model, and our sessions could be quite stimulating."

The little shudder that traversed Dana's body was definitely s****l and unexpected. The softness of Lucien's manner had a distinctly s****l appeal.

"I see. So, you're telling me that Ariel's paintings changed in subject matter after her marriage to you?"

He looked at her thoughtfully, the reply to her question obviously not an easy one. "I wouldn't call it a change. But I imagine our marriage did point her in a particular direction that she might not have gone otherwise."

"A s****l direction?"

"My wife, Ms. Padget, Dana, was a passionate woman, though her passions were sometimes difficult for her to express. I would say that our marriage opened her up to many things that she'd denied herself. Your being too young to know the local smut on the subject, I should confess that I was considered quite the cad in her life. At the time, she was married to Arthur Tipton?"

"Of course," Dana said, the Tipton name appeared on buildings, streets and libraries all over town."

"My affair with her was scandalous at best, a tragedy, even disaster at worst. It was an embarrassment to the Tipton family, a disgrace to their rigid old world thinking. But for Ariel, it was liberation. It liberated her artwork to an astounding degree. It's only now that she's been gone ten years, and the heat of the scandal has died away that I think the world is ready to see what was really in her heart."