Eric smiled at me and led the way upstairs. As we walked up the darkened staircase, I glanced over the railing and saw a small light in the café. Russell Crowe’s café. Was he working late?
Schultz wanted to show me something in the art gallery, so he flipped on a light switch when we reached the top of the stairs. As he unlocked the door, several small beams of light suddenly zeroed in on a few paintings. Where were the guards?
Movement, sound… Something.
Eric glanced at me as I reached into my purse – no mace. Damn it. I’d have to rely on that self-defense class I took with Cindy. Jeez, that’s another whole story…
“…Want to call the police?” he whispered.
“Might be a good idea,” I whispered back.
He got out his cell phone as I peered around a corner. There, in the middle of the exhibition, right below the immense Van Gogh painting was a body slumped over. We heard footsteps running down the staircase, so we flew back to see what we could see.
Backs of dark clothing hurrying away and out the door was all we saw.
Nothing recognizable, no one identifiable...
“Laurel and Hardy?” I suggested.
“…Could be. Who else has a key?”
“Lots of people, Eric. Security for this exhibit is crappy. Let’s go see what we’ve got.”
Now I’ve seen dead people before. That blackmail case with the mayor’s office didn’t end nicely and I’d had to identify someone in the morgue. It’s not fun. This time wasn’t either. We looked the man over with the small amount of light afforded us, until I remembered the app on my smart phone. More light from my phone app didn’t help much either. The body was of a male, in his forties or early fifties, bald, dark clothing – no one either of us knew, although he seemed familiar. Blood dripped down his head and streaked his body.
I called the cops. Glancing at Eric, his face was white and his breathing was shaky.
“First dead body?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “…Don’t see much of this in the academic world.”
“… Know him?”
He shook his head and turned away. I thought he might throw up.
* * *
When the police arrived, everyone else arrived – Warren Sandstrom, without Cindy I noticed, Sue O’Dell and Russell Crowe. Crowe? What was he doing here? The security guards apparently had the night off, incredible as that was to believe. Millions of dollars of art and the guys take a night off? It was suspicious to the cops too, so we all trooped down to the local police station together.
Eric and I gave our depositions and told them every tiny detail we knew. I even brought up the possibility of a motive for the murder – that the Van Gogh painting he was killed in front of could be a forgery. The cops weren’t too interested in my cock-eyed theories, one of them said, and we were released when we’d finished. It finally hit me that the dead man could be Randy Crowe… I’d found an article with his picture while doing a little research into the Crowe brothers. So what was Russell Crowe’s missing ex-con brother doing at the art museum? Why did he end up dead? I assumed his brother identified him to the cops.
I noticed the security guards being released at the same time. Apparently, they’d been called in as well. I guess they had good reasons for not being on duty tonight. One of them glanced over at us, so I got a real good look at him. Of course, he also got a good look at me.
I told Eric that I’d had enough excitement for one evening and he took me home. Sandstrom had brought Cindy home before going over to the art museum, so we stayed up and talked for a while about her date with Warren and my adventures with Eric. Sitting on the couch with Baskerville on my lap, having a warm glass of milk, I finally came down off the adrenaline high I was on. Cindy’s idea about the milk…
She glanced at my illustrious finger. “Only you would slam a finger in a car door, go to a hospital and later find a dead guy… All on the same date.”
“Well, Eric said I wasn’t dull.”
“Got that right.”
I hugged Baskerville who gave me a doggy smile. “…Bobby was a little better.”
“Did you see him?”
I shook my head. “It was after visitors’ hours. Eric had a funny reaction when I told him about Bobby.”
“What’d he do?”
“…Strange expression on his face, like he’d experienced something painful, or took a bite of a lemon.”
“…Well, he is a professor. Your life as puzzle-solver extraordinaire is probably as far away from his life as you can get.”
“…Maybe.” I gave Baskerville to her and got up to get more milk. “…So…the hot date with Sandstrom. Where’d you go?”
She smoothed her hair back and settled in. Probably to tell me he whisked her off to Paris in his private jet for a romantic dinner by the Eiffel Tower. She’s in a jet and I’m at the hospital. Sounds about right…
“We went to the Steakhouse at the Atlantic Hotel.”
“Nice.”
“Yes, very and expensive. All during dinner, we talked about him mostly and his jet-set life when suddenly the chauffeur came up to whisper in his ear.”
I peeked around the refrigerator. “Why?”
“My question exactly. Warren excused himself and was gone for ten minutes or so. Long time – I was beginning to think he’d abandoned me when he came back.”
Returning to the couch, I sipped my new glass of milk. “…Where’d he go?”
“He wouldn’t say, but I noticed a track ticket in his hand before he stuck it in his suit pocket.”
“How’d he look when he returned?”
“…Not happy.”
“Hmm… Lost a bundle on a horse?”
“Or something. I didn’t catch any amount but I know it was a horseracing ticket. There’s the sports book downstairs from the restaurant where he can bet.”
I thought about that for a few minutes, drank down the rest of my milk and leaned back on the couch. Tapping a finger on my chin, I looked over at her.
“Let me shoot this by you.”
“…Got a theory?”
“Probably half-baked, but here goes… Sandstrom has been losing big at various gambling enterprises – horses, sports, whatever. He needs to cover his losses so his family won’t notice, so he sells the original paintings and puts forgeries in their places.”
Cindy scrunched her nose. “… But why bother to keep showing the paintings? If there’s a forgery or two, wouldn’t it get noticed if they’re on exhibition?”
“Possibly, but not likely. Most of us art-goers aren’t experts. A really good forgery can sometimes pass by the experts.”
“Why was Eric suspicious of the Van Gogh?”
“He said he saw something on the canvas in a different light than he’d seen before and it triggered the thought.”
“But then all his slides went missing, so he couldn’t prove anything.”
“Exactly… or until he can get further proof.”
“So he’s stuck in neutral and so is Sue…”
“…Which gives Sandstrom the time he needs to get the heck out of Dodge and the paintings back into a vault somewhere.”
“No one would be the wiser.” She looked hard at me. “Is that really what you believe?”
I glanced at her stern face and shrugged. “…I’d like to, but it’s too neat… too tidy. It’s too easy to be suspicious of him.”
“Someone else is calling the shots?”
“…Maybe… If the painting or paintings are indeed forgeries, I wouldn’t even know who to call to take a look. After all, we have Dr. Schultz, our resident expert, and even he’s not sure.”
“Too many unknowns here.”
I yawned and stretched. “It’s late, Cindy. Let’s tuck it in for the night.”
Glancing at the kitchen clock, I could see that it was late… eleven. All of a sudden, I straightened and my eyes popped wide open. I’d thought of something.
“What?” Cindy looked at me with concern.
“Remember the curious incident of the dog in the night?” I asked her innocently.
She smiled. “…The dog did nothing in the night.”
“And that, dear Watson, is the curious incident.”
I stood up and headed for the hall closet.
“What the hell are you doing, Lucy?”
I got out her coat and handed it to her. “The game’s still afoot.”
“… Where are we going, Holmes?” she asked warily, putting on her coat. She watched as I shrugged into my cape coat and cap.
“Back to the art museum, of course.”
I opened the door with Cindy’s mouth hanging open, gaping at me.
“…Coming, Watson?”
* * *
CHAPTER 18
Sue had given me a key to the museum, but this time we were going in the back way, from the alley. I was a bit nervous, what with the yellow police tape hanging on the front door and it was black, black, black out here. With no light on at Maggie’s house, I used my smart phone to shine some light on the keyhole. Otherwise, we might have been trying to open the danged door all night. But I wasn’t too successful, so Cindy finally took the wretched key away from me to try her hand at opening the door.
I looked around at the quiet, dark neighborhood. I’d lived in this city many years but seeing it at night was much different than during the day. What I was missing was the traffic and the noises people make just going about their daily business – laughter, chatter. My business seemed to be hanging around scary places at night. Hmm... Maybe I should rethink my priorities.
Before I could get myself too worked up over my career choices, Cindy had punched in the security code, opened the door and gently pushed it open. I was fortunate to have a brave Dr. Watson… I was sometimes a pretty timid Sherlock Holmes.
We crept in through the hallway leading to some offices. It was dark and Cindy held onto my coat to know where I was. The light from my phone wasn’t much, but I didn’t dare use any more light. We came to a back staircase that I didn’t know was there. The second we found it, footsteps and hushed voices were heard coming down the stairs. I pushed Cindy into a darkened hallway away from the back door and hoped like hell we couldn’t be seen. I swirled my black cape coat around me with Cindy curled up behind. It must have been the cloak of invisibility as well. The voices came down the stairs, a little too noisily, and went out the back, without discovering us. I whispered to Cindy to try to find out who the people were as I sneaked quietly up the stairs.
The paintings were hung on walls and on low panels. On my stomach, I was able to slink along the floor to where I could hide behind a panel and still see the bulk of the exhibition. Someone had turned on a small tract light that lit up a Cezanne still life. While I was complimenting myself for remembering which artist it was, my eyes fell to the floor by the low panel. Another painting, another priceless painting, was on the floor leaning against the wall. Just leaning there… Like it had decided to take a rest from hanging on the wall and decided to rest on the floor instead.
My mouth had just closed from having dropped wide open, when two dark figures came back up the stairs. I kept my swirled coat around me and stayed prone on the floor across the room. It was definitely Laurel and Hardy, the two ridiculous security guards. How could I tell? I could smell the pastrami sandwich one guy was eating from across the blooming room. Good thing Baskerville wasn’t here – He’d have flung himself over there to grab the pastrami from the man’s hands.
I had the data to make another brick.
All of a sudden, the men froze. The one without the sandwich had picked up the priceless painting leaning against the wall and he just quit moving. They both were poised, standing, listening… I hadn’t made a sound, so it wasn’t me they were wondering about. It had to be Cindy downstairs. Maybe she figured she’d create a diversion to help me escape.
But I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to wring these idiots’ necks and find out what the hell was going on. It seemed reasonably obvious that the original paintings were being replaced by forgeries. But by whom? And why?
In the dim, Laurel and Hardy looked at one another. One held up a hand and then pointed a finger down. Their idiotic pantomime probably meant they were going downstairs to investigate. When they sneaked down the stairs, Cindy sent me a text that she was outside, waiting around the corner of the building for me. I sent her a text to come back in when the security guards left.
She joined me about ten minutes later. I felt rather than saw movement creeping across the floor towards me.
“Psst… Cindy?”
“Yeah. Where the hell are you?”
“Over here.” I shined my cell phone in her direction.
She crept over and joined me sitting on the floor by the low panel amidst all the incredible paintings.
“The guys have gone?”
“… They put a painting in a crate and took off in a small truck. I actually got a picture.”
“You’re worth your weight in dog biscuits, Cindy.”
“Thank you. Now tell me,” she poked me in the arm. “What are we still doing here?”
“Checking out the curious incident of the dog in the night.”
I rose and started walking to the back offices.
“Cut the Sherlock dialogue and tell me what you’re talking about.”
I looked back at her. “Eric… He’s the dog in the night that didn’t bark. And why not? He either knew what was going on, knew the culprits or is involved.”
“You don’t think he’s an innocent bystander here?”
“…He’s just too close to the action not to know more than he says.”
By this time, we’d reached his corner office in the back. Of course, the door was locked. I was feeling pretty pissed about now that Eric could be so charming and even helpful when I was wounded, and then possibly be one of the guilty party here in this scheme.
“Have you got that key?”
“Surely it won’t open this door too,” Cindy whispered doubtfully.
“…I’m going to try… And don’t call me Shirley.” I smirked just as her eyes rolled back in their sockets.
“I can’t believe you used that old…”
“Shh…” I told her. “We’re breaking and entering here.”
The key actually unlocked his door too. Shock of all shocks…
We cautiously opened his squeaky door and took a brave step in when suddenly – his overhead light came on and there stood Dr. Schultz two feet away from me! His arms were folded across his chest, a frown sat on his face and a toe tapped on the floor.
I’d stopped so abruptly that Cindy plowed right into me. We tipped dangerously forward and fell together in a heap right on top of Eric!
“Lucy! What the hell are you doing?” Breathed the angry professor under me. “And get off! Your arm’s cutting into my windpipe…”
Cindy got up first and I struggled to get off him. He accidentally swiped my big, bandaged finger and the pain hit me hard.
“Damn it, Eric! Don’t do that!”
“You’re the one who shouldn’t even be here…”
I got back on my feet. “Well… tell that to Sue O’Dell. She knew I’d be sneaking around.” Then I glared at him. “And don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on here! You have to… You’ve been sitting on top of this museum all this time. I bet you have video too, don’t you?”
His face changed from anger to chagrin pretty quickly. Obviously, he had something.
“What?”
Eric sat down hard on his desk chair and grabbed a tissue from a box on his desk. Wiping his sweaty face, he tossed the tissue somewhere in the vicinity of the wastebasket on the floor. He took his sweet time looking back at me.
“Yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“I’ve been watching these guys for a few days now. I put in a video camera
in a corner and have them placing paintings on the floor for a while…then picking the art up and leaving with it.”
“Who have you got?”
“… Besides you creeping around like a cat burglar?”
I glared at him. “Yeah…”
“I’ve got legs and feet, but no faces.”
“No breadcrumbs? Literally?”
“I know it’s the two security guards, Lucy. Who else could it be?”
“Let’s see the footage.”
He shyly got out a small video camera, attached it to a projector and shined the images against a wall.
We watched incredulously as two pairs of feet shuffled from one wall to another. Sometimes the feet stopped and sometimes they kept walking. The shoes were just old brown work boots -- nothing eye-catching until…the feet started heading back the way they’d come in.
“Pause the video, Eric,” I demanded. I walked up close to the wall, looking hard. “What’s that?”
Cindy came up and squinted with me. “Looks like a brand name…Justin?”
“Okay. We’ve got a brand name for the boots.”
“Great. Now we have to check everyone’s shoes who walks in here?”
“Yes, starting with the security guards.”
“How do you propose to do that, Lucy?” asked Eric as he shook his head.
“… Not sure yet, but I’ll think of something.”
* * *
CHAPTER 19
I was preoccupied all the next day at work. I was tired and fidgety, finding it hard to concentrate on the job at hand. I just had a nagging feeling that the resolution to this puzzle was in my very backyard. Now why would I get a weird feeling like that?
Shoes were on my mind and it seemed like every other man coming into the theater to see a movie that day was wearing a pair of some kind of work boots. Deck shoes or loafers sure would be easier to identify. I was looking down so much that I forgot to look up and walked right into Marvin.
“Oh! Marvin!” I gasped. “Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”
“You look kind of spaced out today, Lucy. What’s up?”
“…Nothing much,” I said glancing at his shoes.
He followed my gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“I didn’t know you wore boots, Marvin.”
He shrugged. “They’re comfortable and keep my feet warm. My two most important criteria in shoes. What did you want me to do next?”