Both were poisonous, vile.
She put down the magnifying glass. She could do nothing about Honell,
but at least she could deal with the spider. She snatched two Kleenex
from a box atop her supply cabinet, and in one swift movement she swept
up the spinner and its web, crushing both.
She threw the wad of tissues in the waste can.
Though she usually captured a spider when possible and kindly returned
it to the outdoors, she had no compunction about the way she had dealt
with this one. Indeed, if Honell had been present at that moment, when
his hateful attack was still so fresh in her mind, she might have been
tempted to deal with him in some manner as quick and violent as the
treatment she had accorded the spider.
She returned to her stool, regarded the unfinished canvas, and was
suddenly certain what refinements it required. She opened tubes of
paint and set out her brushes. That wasn’t the first time she had been
motivated by an unjust blow or a puerile insult, and she wondered how
many artists of all kinds had produced their best work with the
determination to rub it in the faces of the naysayers who had tried to
undercut or belittle them.
When Lindsey had been at work on the painting for ten or fifteen
minutes, she was stricken by an unsettling thought which brought her
back to the worries that had preoccupied her before the arrival of the
mail and Arts American. Honell and the spider were not the only
creatures who had invaded her home uninvited. The unknown killer in
sunglasses also had invaded it, in a way, by feedback through the
mysterious link between him and Hatch. And what if he was as aware of
Hatch as Hatch was of him? He might find a way to track Hatch down and
invade their home for real, with the intention of doing far more harm
than either the spider or Honell could ever accomplish.
5
Irreviously, Hatch had visited Jonas Nyebern in his office at Orange
County General, but that Tuesday his appointment was at the medical
building off Jamboree Road, where the physician operated his private
practice.
The waiting room was remarkable, not for its short-nap gray carpet and
standard-issue furniture, but for the artwork on its walls. Hatch was
surprised and imp by a collection of high-quality antique oil paintings
portraying religious scenes of a Catholic nature: the passion of St.
Jude, the Crucifixion, the Holy Mother, the Anmmciation, the
Resurrection, and much more.
The most curious thing was not that the collection was worth
considerable money. After all, Nyebern was an extremely successful
cardiovascular surgeon who came from a family of more than average
resources. But it was odd that a member of the medical profession,
which had taken an increasingly agnostic public posture throughout the
last few decades, should choose religious art of any kind for his office
walls, let alone such obvious denominational art that might offend
non-Catholics or nonbelievers.
When the nurse escorted Hatch out of the waiting room, he discovered the
collection continued along the hallways serving the entire suite.
He found it peculiar to see a fine oil of Jesus agony in Geane hung to
the left of a stainless-steel and white-enamel scale, and beside a chart
listing ideal weight according to height, age, and sex.
After weighing in and having his blood pressure and pulse taken, he
waited for Nyebern in a small private room, sitting on the end of an
examination table that was covered by a continuous roll of sanitary
paper.
On one wall hung an eye chart and an exquisite depiction of the
Ascension in which the artist’s skill with light was so great that the
scene became three-dimensional and the figures therein seemed almost
alive.
Nyebern kept him waiting only a minute or two, and entered with a broad
smile. As they shook hands, the physician said, “I won’t draw out the
suspense, Hatch. The tests all came in negative. You’ve got a clean
bill of health.”
Those words were not as welcome as they ought to have been. Hatch had
been hoping for some finding that would point the way to an