A WHISPER OF ETERNIT

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people were found dead last week, with no apparent cause of death except they'd all lost a lot of blood. There were no signs of violence, and no signs of a struggle. The police are stumped. One of the reporters said it sounded like some kind of vampire killing."Bryan frowned at her. "Tracy? Hey, Trace, are you okay? You look as pale as a ghost."

"I'm fine. I… it's just hard to believe something like that could happen here." Even as she said the words, she thought it was surprising that there hadn't been more murders in the village, considering that the place was crawling with vampires. She recalled Dominic telling her that vampires didn't hunt where they lived. Obviously, he had been wrong about that.

"Can you come down to the beach later?"Bryan asked. "I've missed you." "I'll try."

"Great." Leaning forward, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "See ya later."

She watched him walk away, thinking how refreshing it was to be in his company. He was so open, so honest. There was nothing dark and mysterious aboutBryan .

With a sigh, she slid behind the wheel and drove home.

The mailman had come in her absence. After putting the groceries away, she sat down at her desk to read the mail and pay her bills.

The first letter was from Mr. Petersen, who repeated that he was immensely pleased with her work and enclosed a nice check as a down payment for the remaining seascapes. He also mentioned that he would like her to do a portrait of him and his children as a Christmas gift for his wife and that he would send her a photograph to work from, if that was feasible. If not, he would arrange a date and time to be at her studio with his children.

Tracysmiled as she picked up the phone to call Mr. Petersen. This was exactly the kind of break she needed. Mrs. Petersen was a wealthy woman, influential in her community. If she were pleased with the portrait of her family, she would no doubt tell all her friends. You couldn't beat word-of-mouth advertising!

Later, after the bills were paid,Tracy went upstairs to her studio. The seascape she had started inMaine had been set up near the window.

She painted for over an hour. Lost in the act of creation, she forgot everything else but the feel of the brush in her hand as she added shading and depth to the canvas. She loved the smell of the paint, the sense of fulfillment and satisfaction that engulfed her as she transferred the image in her mind to the canvas.

Stepping back, she regarded her work through a critical eye, and then nodded. One sent. One more finished.Only another ten to go.

After cleaning her brushes, she prepared a new canvas and then, on the spur of the moment, decided to take a break.

Going downstairs, she grabbed an apple from the fridge and went down to the beach.