Page 34 of In Her Fears
“Eric Edwards, the owner?”Jake asked.
“That’s right.”Jay gestured around the space.“He curates most of what you see out here.We represent about twenty local artists, plus a few from farther afield who capture the Ozark aesthetic.”
Jenna nodded, filing away the information.“Mind if we browse a bit?”
“Be my guest.”Jay retreated behind a sleek desk positioned near the back of the gallery, watching them with barely concealed suspicion.
Jenna and Jake moved through the space slowly, examining each painting with careful attention.Most were exactly what one would expect in a small-town gallery—scenic vistas, rustic barns, autumn foliage captured in rich oils.A few more experimental pieces broke the pattern—abstract compositions suggesting rather than depicting the natural world, mixed media collages incorporating found objects from the forests and rivers of the region.
Nothing connected to murder.Nothing evocative of the eerie stillness of Alexis hanging from the rafters or Martin Holbrook staked to a tree.Nothing that sparked recognition from Jenna’s dream.
As they completed their circuit of the main gallery space, Jake leaned close to her ear.“Nothing here,” he murmured.“We should go get that coffee now.”
Jenna shook her head stubbornly.Her intuition had led her here for a reason, and she wasn’t ready to abandon it yet.She approached the desk where Jay sat scrolling through his phone.He looked up as she neared, arching one pierced eyebrow in question.
“Do you have more artwork that isn’t currently being displayed?”she asked.
Jay's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of something—wariness?Concern?—crossing his features before he controlled it."We always have pieces in storage.Some are waiting to be hung, others that have been rotated out of the current exhibition.Why?"
Jenna felt Jake’s presence behind her, solid and reassuring.“I’d like to see them,” she said.
“Any particular reason?”Jay challenged, setting his phone down.“We don’t usually give tours of the storage room.”
“Official business,” Jake said, his tone making it clear this wasn’t a request.
Jay stared at them for a long moment, then sighed dramatically.“Fine.Follow me.”
He led them through a door marked "Staff Only" at the rear of the gallery.The back room was a stark contrast to the carefully curated front space—fluorescent lighting replaced the soft spotlights, and concrete floors replaced polished hardwood.Metal shelving units lined the walls, filled with framed artworks stored vertically like books on a shelf.Several larger canvases leaned against the far wall, protected by sheets of brown paper.
“Here’s where the magic happens,” Jay said with a hint of sarcasm.“Or rather, where the magic waits to happen.Enjoy your...investigation, or whatever this is.”He moved to leave, but Jake positioned himself subtly in the doorway.
“We’d appreciate if you’d stay,” Jake said mildly.“In case we have questions.”
Jay rolled his eyes but leaned against a nearby table, arms crossed over his chest.“Whatever.”
Jenna approached the nearest shelving unit, carefully sliding out framed paintings one by one.Most continued the themes from the main gallery—landscapes, still lifes, and portraits of local characters.Nothing that triggered any recognition or unease.She moved methodically from shelf to shelf.
Had she been wrong?Was the gallery a dead end, her intuition muddled by exhaustion and stress?
“What about those?”she asked, gesturing toward the larger canvases against the far wall.
Jay pushed himself away from the table with obvious reluctance.“Those are from a private collection.Not for sale, not for display.”Something in his tone caught Jenna’s attention—a subtle shift that suggested discomfort.
“I’d still like to see them,” she insisted.
With visible reluctance, Jay moved to the stack of canvases.“These are...different from what we typically show,” he said, hesitating before pulling away the protective paper.“The artist is talented but, well, let’s just say his subject matter isn’t exactly what tourists want hanging in their vacation homes.”
He revealed the first canvas, and Jenna felt her breath catch.The painting depicted a woman sprawled across a forest floor, her throat cut, eyes staring sightlessly at a full moon that dominated the night sky above.The technical skill was undeniable—the light of the moon cast realistic shadows across the woman’s pale face, the blood glistened wetly against her skin.But the subject matter was unmistakably morbid, unsettlingly realistic in its depiction of violent death.
“Who painted this?”Jenna asked, her voice carefully controlled.
Jay shrugged.“Artist goes by E.H.He’s...not exactly a people person.Eric handles him directly.”
“E.H.,” Jake repeated, thinking of a local recluse he’d heard about.“Elias Harrow?”
A flash of annoyance crossed Jay’s face at the name.“Yeah.Thinks he’s God’s gift to the art world.I don’t know why Eric keeps taking in his paintings.We always wind up keeping them right here, out of sight.We never display them to the public—for obvious reasons.”
Jenna gestured toward the remaining covered canvases.“Are these all his work?”
