Chapter Three
I once knew this guy who saved for two years to buy some painting. I would drop in to see him and find him just staring at it like it was some babe or something, for hours. Sometimes he would sort of stroke the frame. I could never understand why it was so important to own some piece of art. It’s like picking flowers and taking them into the house. Aren’t they just as pretty in the garden?
So I knew that spooky look, and I saw it on Dr. Cornell’s face when Heather brought me to her on Friday night.
The house was a big old Victorian thing that looked like a wedding cake. Heather told me that it had been in Dr. Cornell’s family forever at least. The gates were iron, and we had to talk into an intercom before they would open for us. The driveway was like a private road t
