Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ten days after Oriana’s chance discovery of Larry Calvin Johannes, Oriana and Reese boarded a plane from Boston to Denver, where they planned to pick up a rental car and drive to Nederland.
According to Kendra, Larry was floored to learn that his paintings had been rediscovered.
He’d assumed that his “moment of fame” was over.
Oriana hadn’t had much of a chance to go over everything else that Kendra had sent about Larry.
She assumed that once she drove to Nederland, met him in person, and saw the other paintings that he surely had hidden away up in the mountains, she’d learn as she went.
The fact that Reese was along on this adventure with her thrilled her to no end.
For decades, they’d been separately churning away at their private careers.
They agreed they’d taken the separate-but-together thing too far.
Up in the air, Oriana studied the clouds over the countryside and speculated about Larry’s life till now. “A loner in the mountains.” She shook her head. “I’m sure he’s spent years behind his easel, watching the seasons change out his window, waiting for nothing.”
Reese stroked her thigh and smiled. He had a Diet Coke on the little airline table, plus a package of salty snacks. “You’re going to show Larry the world,” he said.
When the flight landed in Denver, they got out, grabbed their suitcases at baggage claim, and whisked off in their rental four-wheel-drive Ford within the hour.
As October neared, the leaves on the trees edged toward red, orange, and yellow, and the mountains stood out sharply and clearly against the bright blue sky.
Reese confessed he was tired and took a short nap on the way to Nederland, promising her that he’d perk up by the time she was ready to meet Larry.
Reese fell asleep right away, leaving Oriana to sit in silence, gripping the steering wheel hard and glancing over at Reese.
He looked paler and thinner than he had just a week ago, didn’t he?
His cheeks were sunken in. Or was it just the light, playing out across his face?
She made a mental note to make sure he ate all his dinner, plus some of hers, tonight.
The hotel in Nederland was not as luxurious as the one back in Manhattan, but it was built more like a log cabin, with little hot tubs tucked inside each outdoor balcony.
As Reese continued to rest in the hotel bed, Oriana sat in the hot bubbles and gazed across the mountains, marveling at how enormous they were.
She wondered if Larry had grown up here, or if his soul had drawn him here so that he could paint such sensational scenes.
She had so many questions for him. She hoped she wouldn’t forget one.
Larry expected them at his place by three thirty.
His cabin was tucked into the woods and up a steep driveway.
Reese missed it twice during their quest to find it.
When they finally parked, an old yet very tall man stood in the entry to the garage with his hand raised.
Oriana popped out of the passenger side, grinning.
Larry looked every bit like the “hidden genius” she’d hoped he was.
He’d been handsome with intelligent eyes that spoke of hundreds of thousands of hours of thinking alone.
“Larry Calvin Johannes,” she said as she approached, reaching for his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Larry’s voice was gravelly but friendly. “Can’t believe you came all the way from the East Coast.”
“Your painting spoke to me,” Oriana said. “It took my breath away when I first saw it.”
Larry sniffed and slid his hand through his hair. “You know, I painted that thing so long ago and sold it immediately after that. I haven’t seen it in years. I wonder how it made its way out east?”
“The art circuits are strange like that,” Oriana said. “Things end up in the wildest places. I have a ton of stories just like yours.”
Larry’s cheek twitched, as though he didn’t like the idea of his story being anything like other people’s stories.
Oriana fixed it immediately. “But I’ve never seen a painting like yours,” she declared.
“Tell me you have more like it? I have numerous interested buyers, and I can’t very well give them all the one painting I have of yours. ”
Larry grinned, looking bashful. “Come on in,” he said, beckoning for Reese and Oriana to follow him. “I have some sweets and coffee for you. After that, we can talk about my paintings.”
Larry served them a banana cake with a decadent caramel frosting that made Oriana’s head spin. Reese, exhausted and clearly starving, ate two slices and thanked Larry, smiling.
“Do you do hard labor for work?” Larry asked Reese, frowning.
“I make apps,” Reese said.
“What’s an app?” Larry asked, narrowing his eyes.
Reese waved his hand and said it wasn’t anything important. “Oriana hates talking about technology,” he said.
“So do I,” Larry said, lacing his fingers together. “I’m at home out here in the mountains. No television. Just a radio, a phone, and my paints.”
Oriana felt more alert than ever. Was it possible that he’d been out here for decades, painting and painting and painting? “I want to see them,” she breathed, ready to abandon the rest of her cake. This was the next era of her career that they were talking about.
Larry led Reese and Oriana down a long hallway to a windowless room, which he kept dry and clean. Stacked against the wall were what looked to be twenty or thirty paintings, most of them unframed. Oriana could hardly believe it. It was a treasure trove.
“They’re delicate,” Larry explained. “It’s why I don’t let any light fall on them.”
“How old are they?” Oriana asked.
Larry rubbed the back of his head. “A few years, I guess. I’ve been working on and off since the seventies. The one you have back in Manhattan was painted in maybe seventy-three? Seventy-two?” He squinted at Oriana.
“It was dated seventy-two,” Oriana said, smiling. “Good memory.”
“As I said, I haven’t seen it in decades,” he said.
Together, Oriana and Reese studied the twenty-six paintings that Larry had worked on and then hidden away through the years.
Just as she’d suspected, they were sensational: emotional and hard-edged and often terrifying, involving a person on the brink of nature.
The characters included in the paintings seemed entirely real, which left Oriana to speculate that they were people Larry had once known, people who’d come in and out of his life. Finally, she asked him about it.
“They were certainly in Nederland at one time. I haven’t been anywhere else in decades, after all,” he explained.
“Maybe some of the people featured in the paintings are still here. I don’t know.
I keep to myself these days. But I used to go for long hikes.
I used to see them, my neighbors, the people who came up to Nederland so they could get away from the rest of the world.
People like me, but so different from me. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
Oriana could have thrown her arms around him. He was the perfect discovery: shy and charming and introspective and alive.
“I’m going to have a journalist friend come by tomorrow,” she said as she and Reese prepared to leave for the afternoon. “We’re going to get your face in every newspaper and ramp up your story. Are you okay with that?”
Larry blushed, then laughed at his own blushing. “I suppose I’m ready for it. Heck, I’ve had enough years alone. And I could do with the money.”
“It’s going to be buckets of money, Larry,” Oriana assured. “Oh, I’ve just remembered something else I wanted to ask you. Something important. Are you working on anything right now?”
Larry’s smile fell slightly. “Not at the moment, no.”
“You should get started right away,” Oriana said.
“Most of the paintings we saw today look like they’re on the older side, which is great.
Honestly, it’s fantastic. But I’d love to see how you’d engage with the modern-day world around you.
I’d love to see what a fresh Larry Calvin Johannes painting looks like.
Can you do that for me?” Oriana knew better than to let her clients rest on their laurels.
She would eventually need more from him, especially if they spent the time building his brand.
This was her professionalism. This was her way of moving through the art world.
“I’d love that,” Larry said. “I’ll get back to the easel and see what I come up with.”
“Buckle up, Larry,” she said as she closed the door. “Take care!”
That night, Reese and Oriana had a celebratory dinner at a popular Nederland restaurant called Orion.
They ordered steaks and potatoes. When Reese ordered a glass of wine, Oriana pushed him to order a beer instead, hoping that beer and potatoes and steak would help put meat on his bones.
Already, he was looking more exhausted than ever, and his cheekbones were protruding from his face.
“I told you,” he said when she pestered him about it, “I’m getting old. I feel old! You’ve got wonderful genes. Just look at your father. But me, I’m not the same as you.”
Oriana swatted him. “We’re not old. We’re in our prime.” But as she said it, she heard fear at the edge of her voice.
As Reese sawed at his steak, he asked her, “What did you think of Larry?” He was trying to change the subject, and Oriana decided to let him.
“He’s a picture-perfect mountain man, isn’t he?” Oriana grinned. “What did you think?”
“It must drive him crazy to be up in the mountains all by himself?” Reese asked. “I mean, it’s a surprise that he never married or something. He was obviously handsome.”
“Maybe he was married at one time,” Oriana said with a shrug. “We don’t know much about him.”
A few minutes later, Clara, the server, came by to check on them. “How are you guys doing over here?” She refilled their waters and smiled. Oriana guessed that she was from Nederland, that she’d never made up her mind to go anywhere else. And why should she? It was gorgeous up here.
Oriana and Reese said they were good, and Clara asked them what had brought them to Nederland. “It’s not always a typical tourist destination,” she said. “Not everyone has heard about it.”
“We’re here to visit Larry Calvin Johannes.” Oriana was pleased as punch to announce his name like that. She wanted the gossip channels about his fortune to flow.
Clara flinched with surprise. “Did he finally get arrested?”
Oriana’s smile fell. Reese gaped at the young server.
“I beg your pardon?” Oriana asked when she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Clara set down the water jug and wrung her hands. “I’m sorry for saying that,” she said. “People talk around here. It’s a small town. That’s all.”
“But what did you mean?” Oriana asked. She was suddenly petrified that she’d put all her money on a sick race horse, or a sinister one, one apt to buck its rider at the turn.
Clara bent her head low to whisper to them.
“It’s just what people say. But it happened before I was born.
His wife went missing a long time ago. People say, you know, that he did something to her.
But I’ve seen him around town a few times.
I don’t necessarily think he killed anyone. He’s so old now, anyway.”
Suddenly, Clara was called back to the kitchen, leaving Oriana and Reese in a moment of shocked silence. Oriana slid her fork through her potato and blinked at her husband.
“What do you think of that?” she asked.
Reese shook his head. “I think he was married before, after all!”
A shiver went down Oriana’s spine. She was no longer hungry. When Reese scraped his dinner clean, she shoved her plate over to him, urging him to eat. But Reese wanted to go back to the hotel and rest. He was exhausted again.
Back at the hotel, Reese fell asleep almost immediately, and left Oriana lost in thought.
It was only eight thirty at night, but that meant it was ten thirty on the East Coast. She couldn’t remember whether her journalist friend Isabella was already in Colorado for the interview or coming in tomorrow. She texted her, regardless.
ORIANA: Have you heard this rumor about our new friend Larry Calvin Johannes “murdering” or “making his wife disappear”?
ISABELLA: I’m in Nederland already and just heard about it this afternoon. Seems cagey. I’ll dig into it and see what I find.
Oriana texted Isabella a thank you, her heart pounding.
When she couldn’t sleep, she went out onto the balcony, turned on the hot tub, and gazed at the starry sky over the mountain range.
She felt far away from everything, from modern civilization as she knew it.
She wondered if that was part of the reason Larry had come up here.
He could paint whatever he wanted, get rid of a wife he hated, and live out the rest of his life without questions.
Well, Oriana had questions. She was sure the rest of the world would soon, too.