by Linda Mooney
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Red Rose Publishing
www.redrosepublishing.com
Copyright ©2009 by Linda Mooney
First published in 2009-02-12, 2009
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Author Bio
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Castle's Keep
By
Linda Mooney
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Castle's Keep by Linda Mooney
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Copyright© 2007 Linda Mooney
ISBN: 978-1-60435-293-1
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Castle's Keep
By
Linda Mooney
Chapter One
The reprint cost $2800, which was way too expensive for her budget. But there was no way Johana could tear herself away from the exquisite detail of the picture. It was as though someone had taken a good look inside her head and then turned her dreams into reality.
As far back as she could remember, Johana loved castles, especially fairy tale castles. Tales of witches and wizards, fairies and unicorns, and dragons with their fiery breaths challenging knights of old had filled her dreams since she was four years old. She had grown up reading Tolkien, Baum, and Anderson. She even owned a collection of several first editions of The Twelve Dancing Princesses, Sleeping Beauty, and Beauty and the Beast, and that didn't even include what was contained in her digital video library.
For the umpteenth time her eyes traveled down to the signature scribbled in ink. It wasn't as much a signature as it was a wide scrawl—W W C. Then just below it in neat pencil, 50/200, meaning it was the 50th print of a limited print run of 200 copies. Furthermore, the little brass plate beside it told her all she needed to know:
CASTLE'S KEEP by Warren William Castle
A soft groan came from Johana's chest. The picture was incredible. Although not intense, it gripped her emotionally nonetheless. For someone like her who loved to dream of dwelling in such a mystical place, the painting gave her a sense of longing to become a part of its landscape that it literally hurt to turn her back on it and walk away.
Once she arrived back at her tiny office she immediately did an internet search on the painting's name and creator.
Castle's Keep, by Warren William Castle, twenty-first century painter. Reprinted in a limited edition run of two hundred. Original undetermined, although estimated to be oils. Subject: fantasy. Multi-towered castle sitting on edge of lake, surrounded by forest and background of mountains in the distance. Primarily grays and greens, with stark white accents on off-centered focus.
The description was bland and did nothing to convey the mesmerizing elements she had discovered in the reprint. The reprint, she kept reminding herself. If the reprint could drag her heart into its vision, imagine what the original could do!
Quickly, she reversed her search and hunted for a biography of the artist.
Warren William Castle (1984-)
Residence: South Suddey, VT
Known work(s): Castle's Keep (oils on canvas)
Biography: Father Brenden Warren Castle, dec., part owner of Kohn & Castle Minerals, who made his fortune in copper mining. Mother Anita Crystal Emmerts Castle, dec., Prof. of Fine Arts at the University of Bellaire in Vermont. Siblings, none.
"Well, hell,” Johana muttered to herself. The biography didn't give her any more information than the slender brochure from the gallery contained.
Leaning back in her chair, she paused to recall the glowing, almost realistic details of the reprint. Whoever had done the reproduction work had done an outstanding job. The color palette was almost ethereal in its replication. But the nagging questions she'd had since the beginning were still with her. How big was the original, and why was it no one knew what its medium was? That “oils on canvas” remark was a cop-out, used by most sources as a close guesstimate whenever the actual medium was undetermined.
Furthermore, why weren't there any other works out by this man, this Warren William Castle? Sure, a true artist may have just one known superb piece of art to make his name, but there had to be a room filled with unreleased originals—unfinished attempts, completed but unworthy canvases and rough sketches.
Did Castle prefer landscapes over models? Did he draw his inspirations from real life episodes or his imagination?
Apparently, from what little she'd read, Castle's mother had given him his impetus to create. If that was the case, and since Castle only had the one picture to credit to his name, then what did the man do for a living?
A phone call.
Smiling, Johana searched the internet for the South Suddey telephone directory, then called the county tax office.
"Meeshoo County Tax Office. How can I help you?"
"Yes, hello! My name is Johana Reese. I'm with Bingalow and Murphy Publications. We handle mostly non-fiction work like art books and museums. I'm trying to find information about Warren William Castle, and I understand he lives in South Suddey. Is that correct?"
"Oh, yes! That's right. Mr. Castle lives sixteen miles from here, just off state road 63."
"That's wonderful! Could you tell me where I might find Mr. Castle during the day? I'm wanting to interview him for an article."
The woman's tone dropped considerably. “Miss Reese, I'm sorry. How much of Mr. Castle's life are you aware of?"
Johana gave an embarrassed laugh. “Very little, I'm afraid. Why? What do I need to know?"
"He doesn't give interviews. Not since the accident."
Accident? Immediately Johana's ears perked up. An accident could explain why the man had just the one painting. A promising future cut short by tragedy. Oh, yes, that would play very well with the readers.
"Thank you for that information. I didn't know there had been an accident. What can you tell m
e about it?” Propping the receiver against her shoulder, Johana quickly began taking notes on her laptop.
"It happened three years ago. It was a skiing accident, actually,” the woman on the other end of the line explained. “One of those freakish things. He hit a tree and broke his neck. It's a miracle he survived, but the poor man's been a quadriplegic ever since then. There's a health care nurse who takes care of him around the clock now."
Johana paused, stunned by the news. “Oh, I'm so sorry!"
"That's okay,” the woman assured her. “It's not common knowledge, although most of us in town know about it. Were you wanting to talk to him about his painting?"
"Y-yes, I was."
"That castle one, right? Isn't it one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen?"
Experience had taught Johana to take whatever information she could glean from any source available. Making a mental note to herself that this was coming to her second-hand, she pushed on. “Have you seen the original? Do you know where it's located?"
"It has to be at the Castle estate,” the woman commented. “When his father died a few years ago, Bill inherited a goodly amount of money, from what I've heard. Now, mind you, I don't have all the facts. But I know he wanted to become an artist until the accident cut that dream short. So he had his law firm find someone out of New York to do the reprints."
"Well, if he won't interview in person, maybe I can talk to him by phone, then? Is there a number where I can reach Mr. Castle?” Johana inquired, busily typing.
"Oh, sorry. It's unlisted, and I'm not at liberty to give it out,” the woman apologized. “Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, thank you. You've been a great help.” Thanking the woman again, she hung up and sat back to stare at the meager information she'd typed up. Little though it was, it was more than what she'd started with, and that helped. Printing out a copy, and also armed with the brochure, Johana went in search of the senior editor.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
He was on the phone when she walked into his office. Gesturing for her to sit down, he finished his conversation before turning to her. “What do you have? How'd the gallery opening go?"
"Good. Very good,” she smiled. “In fact, I think I might get another story out of it."
"Oh?"
"Ever heard of Warren William Castle?"
Milo Holden shook his head. “Nope. Sorry. What's he done?"
She handed over her sheet of notes and the brochure from the gallery. “From what I can gather he's only done one notable piece called Castle's Keep. It's over at the Munroe, which is how I came across it. Actually, it's a reprint. The original must be in Castle's private collection."
She watched as the editor perused the tiny thumbnail in the brochure. “Twenty-eight hundred for a reprint of a single piece by a relatively unknown and unproven artist? The guy must be pretty high on himself."
"The piece is exquisite,” Johana assured him. “You know that, or the Munroe wouldn't be showing it, much less a reprint. That tiny shot doesn't do it justice."
"That good, huh?” he glanced up at her.
Johana nodded. “And then some."
He made another sweep of her notes. “A quadriplegic? Is that going to be your hook?"
"It might,” she admitted. “Only problem is, he doesn't do interviews, and his phone number is unlisted."
"Then go out and do a face-to-face,” Holden suggested. “Butter the man up. Obviously he still has pride in his work or else he wouldn't be charging limousine prices."
"Milo!” She faced him wide-eyed. Already a flush of heat was rising into her face. She saw her editor glance down at her arm, then dismiss it.
"Shit, Johana. Stop and think about it. The man might relent and let you interview him once he's met you. You're a sharp, intuitive woman."
"And I have a bum arm!” she snapped in anger. “You ass! You think Castle will lower his guard to me because he'll see me as a fellow sufferer? Well, screw you, then!"
She jumped to her feet and began walking out when the man's authoritative voice boomed out, “I'm sorry, Johana! Now get your butt back in here!"
Pausing with her good hand on the door handle, she turned to look at him. “I don't go out on interviews, and you damn well know that!"
Nodding, Holden said, “Yes, I do. All right, I'll be very honest with you, too. I've heard of this guy in passing. I know a lot of people who've tried to reach him without any luck. The man's a hard case. I've been told he's more reclusive than Howard Hughes ever was. What's more, the few people who've had to mess with him tell me the man's like a nest of wet hornets."
"How so?"
"He's a walking keg of gunpowder with a short fuse. Always angry. Mad at the whole damn world as if it's responsible for what happened to him."
Johana made an unladylike sound. “It was an accident, from what I heard."
"Yeah, and it cut short what could have been a stupendous career,” Holden pointed out, tossing the sheet of paper and brochure back at her. “Go try to get the interview, Johana. I have a feeling he'll relent to pressure if you make him."
"And you're so damned sure because...?” she snapped back.
"Because you're the same way,” her editor growled. “You two could be peas in a pod."
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The Burlington airport was a pleasant surprise when Johana disembarked from the puddle jumper she'd taken from La Guardia. Since she hadn't checked any luggage, she was able to head straight from the concourse to the car rental agencies.
"Yes, ma'am, can I help you?” one fresh-faced young agent smiled.
"I need a car for a week, preferably mid-sized if you have one. And driving directions to South Suddey.” Less than twenty minutes later Johana was on the road heading south on 22A toward the tiny town which sat along the edge of Lake Champlain, population just over three hundred people.
There was a small Best Western right off the highway just outside of South Suddey where she spent the night. Early the next morning Johana drove into the town proper and parked on the square, across from a little eatery called Schomer's Café.
The place smelled of frying bacon and fresh coffee, both aromas that she loved. Taking a booth, she waited until the teenage girl had taken her order before asking, “Can you tell me how to get to the Castle estate?"
"Just a minute,” the girl said after a moment's hesitancy. Shortly thereafter, an older woman Johana had seen by the cash register approached her.
"Were you wanting directions to Bill Castle's place?"
Handing the woman her card, Johana waited for her to read it. “I came to see if I could get an interview with the man about his painting."
The older woman smirked. “Well, good luck, Miss Reese. Bill pretty much keeps to himself nowadays. I know for a fact the man hasn't left his home since the accident."
Johana nodded. She'd expected as much. “I understand he has twenty-four hour nursing care."
"And a full-time housekeeper and secretary.” The woman eyed her, which made Johana acutely aware of her left arm and hand. Although she was wearing a long-sleeved sweater and glove, she couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling crawling over her. “What makes you think you can get Mr. Castle to talk to you?” the diner owner asked. Her voice was curious but cautious. A townie being protective of one of their own. Johana could understand her concern.
"For one thing, I believe he would appreciate the fact that his painting is still bringing enjoyment to a lot of people, me included. For another, if he didn't want his work to be noticed and appreciated, he wouldn't have had two hundred limited edition prints made and distributed to galleries. A few minutes and a few questions, and I can guarantee him the sale of whatever reprints are still available, and maybe some nice profits from future auctions.” Taking a sip of hot coffee, she cleared her throat to add, “Just allow me the chance. If he sends me away, at least I know I tried."
&
nbsp; The woman nodded and walked away, and Johana saw no more of her until she was finished and took her check to the register. After paying, she walked back to her table to leave a tip to find the teenage waitress waiting for her.
"Here's a map with directions. If they ask you how you found your way, tell them Martha sent you.” She held out a folded piece of paper. Johana thanked her as she accepted it, but didn't look at the hand-drawn map until she got back to her rental car. To her surprise, she discovered she was less than five minutes away.
Taking the main highway another quarter of a mile, Johana turned onto a single paved road and followed it as it disappeared up the side of a mountain and into the surrounding forest.
The moment she was swallowed up by a strand of birch, the road widened to a circular driveway in front of an impressive mansion of limestone and granite. Twin mahogany and polished brass doors were set inside a small stone arched entryway which allowed people to pull up underneath during bad weather and exit their cars without getting wet. Johana parked there and went over to the outer doors, knocking on one using one of the big brass rings. It wasn't long before a middle-aged woman casually dressed in slacks and a pullover sweater answered.
"Yes?"
Johana handed her a business card and launched into her spiel as the woman glanced at it. “My name is Johana Reese. I represent Bingalow and Murphy Publications. We handle mostly non-fiction work like art books and museums. Would Mr. Castle be available to talk about his work?"
"Where did you get this address?” the woman asked. Her tone of voice clenched Johana's belief that the woman was more than just a paid employee. She was a fiercely protective one as well.
"Martha gave it to me."
The woman continued to stare at her with fathomless dark eyes. Finally she nodded and held the door open for her.
Johana had suspected the mansion was bigger than what she had originally conceived. With the towering trees hiding a lot of the exterior, the outer walls, windows, and roof, the estate couldn't be more secluded or camouflaged. As she stepped into the foyer and viewed the opulent vaulted ceiling with its brass and crystal chandelier, she realized there was a lot more story here than what she had anticipated.