Viridian Tears by Rachel Green

accept a kiss, holding her paint-smeared hands well away from his suit. “How was your day?”
    “Fine, fine. Nothing too taxing. I got lumbered with the pro bono work this afternoon, of course. I was hoping to get off early. I’ve booked next Tuesday off. I thought we could go out for the day.”
    “Tuesday?” Eden frowned. “I’ll have to check the calendar but I can’t remember anything urgent. Emily’s pretty competent, anyway. She can manage.” She remembered the couple from this morning. “Most things, anyway.”
    “Good. It’s a date.” David grinned like a schoolboy on a promise. “Would you like to go to the theatre? I’ll see what’s on in Salisbury.”
    “There’s a John Updike on at the Bristol Playhouse. I had a brochure somewhere.”
    “Splendid. I’ll see what I can do.” David stepped further into the studio. “How was your day?”
    “Pretty busy, actually. You haven’t got any pull with the police, have you?”
    “A bit, why? You’re not in trouble or anything?”
    “No. Not exactly, anyway. Someone stole the backhoe last night. The police have found it but they won’t release it until they’ve checked it for evidence. They wouldn’t tell me when I can have it returned.”
    David was silent for a minute, shaking his head and open-mouthed. “The backhoe?” Drops of spittle flew from his lips. “How can anyone steal a backhoe? It must weigh a ton.”
    “They must have hotwired it and driven it out.”
    “But…” He shook his head again. “We were in all night. Why didn’t we hear them?”
    “I think I did, actually. I woke up about two thinking I heard a noise.”
    “And then went back to sleep instead of waking me?”
    “You were snoring.” Eden shrugged. “I thought it was you.”
    “I’ll see what I can do to expedite its return.” He sighed heavily. “You know they’ll charge us for every day it’s in their yard? It’s in their interest to make the release slow.”
    “If anyone can get it back you can.” Eden turned back to her canvas. “There’s something else you can help me with, actually. This painting doesn’t look right.” Eden stepped forward and indicate the top-right quarter. “It looks distorted here, as if her left shoulder has dislocated.”
    David frowned. “I think I see what you mean. It’s difficult to be sure. Your paintings are so far removed from their subjects it’s difficult to remember they’re figurative.”
    “This bit.” She pointed more precisely, her fingers an inch away from the wet paint. “It’s been driving me crazy for the last hour and a half.”
    “That long?” David grinned. “I don’t know what to suggest. Could you go back to your source material? Perhaps she really has got a dislocated shoulder.”
    “It’s possible.” Eden crossed the attic room to gaze out of the window onto the cemetery below. “Would you mind? I won’t be long and I’ll make dinner afterward.”
    “No. Go play with your specimens. Art before arteries.” He grinned. “How about if I make dinner?”
    “You?” Eden raised an eyebrow. “You know no-one will deliver here, don’t you? They always think we’re hoaxers when we ask them to deliver food to the cemetery.”
    “I shall cook personally.” David stoked his expansive stomach. “How do you think I got this size without learning to appreciate fine food?”
    Eden grinned. “Subsidized meals?”
    “I can go off people, you know.” He made shooing motions. “Go and play Burke and Hare and I’ll have something hot for you when you get back.”
    “Promises, promises.” Eden wiped the paint off her hands and took off her painting jacket. “I’ll be half an hour. There are vegetables in the fridge and meat in the freezer.”
    “Super.” David followed her down the attic stairs. “The freezer in the kitchen, I hope. Not the one in the mortuary.”
    “No. That one’s only for zombie guests.” She grinned as she put on her warm coat and picked up her