Free Boomerang by Sydney J. Bounds Page A

and shadow, the pink-washed walls and royal blue window frames were as pleasing to the eye as the actual cottages.
    She stood to one side, silent, watching the Australian’s sun-browned face as he stopped work to listen to his tutor’s comments.
    “You know, Jim, you’re almost too good. It’s slick. This kind of treatment comes too easily to you.”
    Fletcher laughed. “Guess I’ve got a commercial outlook. I like to sell my stuff—have to pay my way while I’m travelling.”
    “But you’ve got talent—the possibility of making really good paintings in later years. This way, hacking out routine saleable work, you risk spoiling your chances. Get yourself a technical problem to solve, something you haven’t tried before, something that extends you. As I said earlier, try a different medium. Experiment....”
    “Yeah, why not? You know best, Keith.”
    They left Fletcher whistling cheerfully, and moved on. Miss Eaton thought: a confident man. Over-confident, if anything
    Parry waved a hand towards the Harbour Inn. “That’s where the Kellers are staying. Do you want a word with Hilda?”
    “I’ll see her later. It’s too nice a day to spend inside. I think I’m going to enjoy this visit—I’ve not had much to do with artists before.”
    Parry made a face. “Artists. They aren’t so different.”
    “I believe you knew the Kellers before they came here.”
    “Oh yes, they move around from course to course, a week here, two weeks there. She’s got money and believes Wilfred is a genius. She’d do anything to protect him.”
    “Even murder?”
    Parry didn’t reply immediately. After a pause, he said, “I didn’t ought to answer that, did I?”
    “But you will. Rember, the police suspect everyone until they make an arrest. That includes you, and Val and her husband. And me.”
    “You?” Parry seemed amazed. “But you weren’t here.”
    “Val asked me to get rid of Bullard for her. You can bet Reid is checking me just as thoroughly as anyone else.”
    “I suppose so, if you put it like that. Well, yes, if Wilfred was threatened, I think Hilda would kill to protect him. Isn’t that what wild animals do? Mother bear with her cub?”
    “An interesting comment,” Miss Eaton said as they walked around the harbour.
    “There’s Wilfred—”
    Keller was further along the quay, standing at an easel and laying in a pastel painting on toned paper. He appeared completely absorbed in what he was doing and his sketch of the customs house looked accurate to Miss Eaton.
    He heard them moving over the cobblestones and paused to light a cigarette.
    “Keith, I wondered when you’d be around. I think I’ve got something this morning I can work up later.”
    Parry compared the sketch with the view.
    “Well drawn, as usual. But I think you could emphasize the lights and darks a bit more—the tone values are rather close. It’s flat at the moment. Greater contrast would help to got more life into it.”
    “I don’t want it to look melodramatic,” Keller protested.
    “There’s no reason it should providing you don’t overdo it. A bit more contrast between the shadows on the building and sunlight on the cliffs behind. You’re trying to be too subtle—try cutting out some of the middle greys. I suggest working with a more restricted range of pastels.”
    “Well, perhaps. I’ll think about it.”
    As they walked through the afternoon heat, Miss Eaton wondered why Wilfred Keller bothered to join a painting course if he was reluctant to accept help. She tried to him as a cub of Mother bear...and wondered if, on some other course, he had met George Bullard.
    Parry was smiling. “Wilfred believes he’s better than he really is—and his wife encourages him. He’s competent, no more. And I doubt if he ever will be.”
    Sammy Jacobi sat on the harbour wall, a box of oil paints in his lap and a small canvas fitted into the lid of the box. He looked down into the harbour at a fishing boat with the name