Captain Wully twirled his mustache, which curled luxuriantly at either end and was of an improbable shade Jerry classified as Hunter's Pink. So was his beard. "What did you say her name was?"
"Heather Higgins."
"You sighed the second time you said it, too. I just wanted to be sure."
Jerry crossed to the unfinished canvas. "Hair like sunshine on slightly oxidized copper. Eyes blue like the sea where it meets the horizon on a summer day."
"Gertrude!" yelled Captain Wully.
From the turbulence of the air current which marked Gertrude's passing, Jerry decided the invisible cat had been in a hurry.
"And who are you, and what are you doing here?" Captain Wully yelled at a second slipstream.
Distinctly audible was a high pitched caterwauling. In addition, there was a sound that made Jerry's curly hair crawl—the baying of a wolf?
"I better look into this," Captain Wully muttered and dashed outside. As he reached the doorway, his figure melted into transparency, then into air.
Jerry loaded the crated paintings into his car and took them to the express office. They wouldn't sell—they never did. But he couldn't afford to pass up the chance that they might.