Sherlock and Me (The Case of the Starry Night)

  Kevin was interviewing a new employee. We were down one since Bobby landed in the hospital. Because we were short-handed, I lucked out and didn’t have to help with the interviewing. Blech… I’d rather break rocks in the noonday sun.

  Another one of Kevin’s recent hires, Pete with the magenta Mohawk, was collecting tickets. Where does he find these guys? Pete was actually scaring moviegoers by occasionally whipping out his comb and fluffing up that hairdo! Marvin was pulling his usual disappearing act, but I caught glimpses of him by the bathroom and heading into theaters. He was invisible, but around.

  And so was I. It seemed like I was everywhere at once. We had changed the slate of movies, which always brought in a big crowd the first day. I had several small fires to extinguish and had to help with concessions and projectors a few times too. Busy day.

  At lunch, I’d called someone I knew at a security business about the break-in. After arranging for them to do a security sweep of our apartment, I’d dashed home an hour later to let them in. The sweep was clean, so after my shift I called Mrs. Murphy that we’d be going back home tonight and so would Baskerville. I could hear the relief in her voice.

  After that, I drove over to the hospital. Buying some flowers in the gift shop, I traveled up the elevator to Bobby’s floor and met that guy… That friend of Bobby’s who told me he was in the hospital. What’s his name? Josh… He was just leaving.

  “Hi…Josh, right?”

  A small smile. “Yeah, that’s me. You’re that co-worker of Bobby’s.”

  “Lucy.” I extended a hand that he shook.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Any change in the patient today?”

  “…Not much. He was awake for a while, but some nurse just gave him another pain shot. He’s probably out now.”

  “Has he said anything to you?”

  “No. Every time I’m here, he’s pretty out of it.”

  “…Could I ask you a question, Josh?”

  “…Sure.”

  “I noticed some paint on your face when we first met. Are you an artist?”

  “Yeah. Bobby and I share supplies sometimes when we’re low on cash.”

  “Have you gone to the art museum to see the new exhibit?”

  “Nah… Impressionists aren’t my thing. My stuff’s abstract.”

  “…Do you know if Bobby’s been there yet?”

  Josh thought about that for a minute. “Isn’t that where they found him? In the alley behind the museum?”

  I nodded and stayed quiet.

  “I think maybe he’d gone that day. He said something about it… You know, wanting to see that great Van Gogh. Bobby’s really into swirling all the colors around on his palette like the Impressionists did. And the whirling wind of that painting is just…”

  “Okay. I got it. Thanks, Josh.”

  He smiled and I passed him by. Walking down the hallway to Bobby’s room, I felt something shift. I was going to have to put on my Sherlock cape and get my feet wet. Okay, maybe a mixed metaphor there, but I knew I’d have to go back to the museum tonight. It was literally time for a little cloak and dagger…

  Standing in the quiet of Bobby’s room, it seemed too peaceful. Bobby was a happy guy, but I didn’t feel too happy looking around that room full of antiseptics, bandages and beeping machines. A nurse came in to check his vital signs. She smiled slightly.

  “How is he?”

  “Better. It’s just been a few days.”

  “Does he sleep a lot?”

  “Yes. His doctor feels that some of the internal injuries will heal better if he sleeps a good amount of time. He’s been on sleeping medication.”

  Internal injuries. Wow… I felt that in the gut as though I had an internal injury as well.

  “Thanks.”

  I turned around and went home. No, Bobby wasn’t talking yet, so I couldn’t find out what he was doing in that alley… But he was getting better. It was obviously going to take some time. Time was something I didn’t have much of because the exhibition would be leaving in a week. I was going to have to make something happen… How could I do that?

  We were thrilled to be back home tonight. I’d been reheating one of Mrs. Murphy’s lasagnas when I heard Cindy come in the door.

  “Hey all! Now where’s that hound we call Baskerville?”

  I laughed to see him tear off down the hallway, miniature bark at high volume and little legs moving as quickly as possible. She caught him and lifted him high in the air. His doggy tongue worked overtime trying to lick her face. Oh, it’s the little things in life you cherish…

  Eric Schultz called while we were watching another Holmes mystery. It was the Musgrave Ritual and Brunton, the butler, had just coerced poor Rachel, the Welsh maid, to help him solve the family puzzle. She really wanted to help him with something else…

  “Hello?”

  “Lucy? Eric Schultz.”

  “Hi.”

  “Lucy, I was wondering if I could impose upon you.”

  Hmm… “That all depends on the imposition, Eric.”

  “Could you come down to the office tonight at the museum? I’d like to talk to you about something. Sue mentioned you were doing a little work for her and I…”

  “Sure. What time?”

  “Would ten o’clock be too late?”

  “Ten? I guess not, but why then?”

  “I want to talk away from nosy ears and prying eyes. About a serious matter…”

  “Okay. Will you let me in when I get there?”

  “Yes, I’ll come downstairs and meet you at the front door.”

  “See you then.”

  “Thanks.”

  * * *

  At first, Cindy told me I was nuts to be heading back to the art museum in the dead of night. But then she smiled when I swirled on my Sherlock coat and tugged the black and white cap on my head.

  “Really? This is a Sherlock moment, is it?”

  “Yep. Don’t wait up.”

  It seemed like every time I walked up to the front door of the museum, my stomach would either sink or lurch. I parked my car in a side parking space and made sure it was locked this time. Walking quickly, I could hear the eerie echoes my shoes made connecting with the cement sidewalk. The kneeling man by the door seemed to be standing at attention. That’s when I realized it was a real man and not the statue made of stones and wire. I froze…

  There were only a few fragments of light finding their way to the building, so my vision was handicapped. But then he moved… No way was this an inanimate object. His eyes blinked open and he saw me too! Adrenaline began coursing through my body and I felt stronger than usual. I could take him! I’d had that self-defense class last year and still practiced those moves -- occasionally.

  Unless he had a gun. Then I’d be sunk… It would be hard to fight off a knife too, but there was no way I was going down without a fight…

  The longer I stood there, the longer the man looked slightly familiar. Where had I seen that face before? His features were becoming more distinct and I couldn’t imagine what he wanted. He made no move toward me and I still stood in my frozen position ten feet away from the door. He appeared to be as nervous as I was.

  Suddenly, a light came on from inside the museum. I saw Dr. Schultz walking toward the door to open it for me.

  I looked at the man. He glanced at the lighted area, bent down and ran fast the other way. He zipped around the corner of the museum before I could yell Stop!

  Schultz opened the front door to watch me run around the corner of the building. I looked in every direction and saw nothing. A few porch lights lit up surrounding homes, but no running man. The dark covered the area like a blanket. I walked back to Eric who stood there with his eyes like saucers.

  “What the heck was that all about?”

  “…Just thought I saw something.”

  “Well, get in here. This place is creepy enough inside at night – I don’t want to have to think about it bei
ng as creepy outside.”

  I walked through the door Eric held for me and he motioned me up the stairs to his office.

  “Really? How is it creepy in here?”

  He shrugged. “…Noises…Not sure what exactly, but I often work late and I just lock myself in. Makes me feel better.”

  He glanced at me and blushed. “Probably doesn’t make me sound like a real brave guy though.”

  I had to laugh. “…Stick with me, kid. I’ll protect you.”

  “I bet you could.”

  Then we were in his office. The museum had given him a small, corner office that seemed to fit him to a T. The tiny space was crammed with books on art history from every country and in a few languages. His messy desk spilled over to an even messier worktable piled high with papers and photo slides. A few well-placed lamps sprung up in the oddest places and threw strange shadows across the floor.

  “You could use more light in here, doc,” I cracked.

  “Maybe so,” he chuckled.

  I picked up one of the art books. “What languages do you speak?”

  “Hopefully, English… French and Italian.”

  “Impressive.”

  “…Saves money on translators. They cost a small fortune.”

  Taking off my coat and cap, I hung them on a wall peg and moved some papers and books off a chair by the desk. I sat down and looked up at my host.

  “What’s up, Eric? You didn’t just invite me down here to tell me you spoke French and Italian.”

  “Indeed I didn’t.” He sat in the desk chair and swiveled it to look at me. “I haven’t been in this position before.”

  “What position is that?”

  “I don’t know what to do.” Eric leveled his attractive blue eyes at me and I straightened in my chair.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  “…About what?”

  “About the uneasy feelings I have with this exhibition.”

  “…Uneasy feelings…”

  “Yes, but let me start at the beginning.”

  “A good place.”

  “…Well,” he looked down and smoothed a wrinkle out of his pants. “It’s been a…strange experience so far.”

  “How so?” Boy, was I going to have to drag every word out of this guy?

  “Warren Sandstrom really wanted me for this exhibition, even though I’m not the world’s greatest living expert on Vincent Van Gogh, the centerpiece artist.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Well, thanks. My field of expertise includes the Impressionist painters, but Van Gogh is really considered post-Impressionist.”

  “Okay…”

  “So you’re wondering about Sandstrom’s motives.”

  “In a word, yes.” This was interesting, but hardly worth swirling on my coat and hat.

  “…What else?”

  “Someone took some of the slides I use for my presentations.”

  “Now that’s newsworthy. Which ones?”

  “It’s mainly the slides of the painting Starry Night.”

  “Can you think of any reason why someone would take them?”

  “No.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “But I know the security guards aren’t worth anything.”

  “How do you know that?” Sue O’Dell had made the same sort of comment.

  “I came out of my office a few times to see one of them eating a sandwich, sitting on the gallery floor.”

  I shook my head, trying to make sense of that information.

  “…Huh…”

  “Exactly. And we had that robbery.”

  “What robbery?”

  “…It wasn’t very big, but you must remember it. The umbrella… The Van Gogh umbrella that you brought back to Sue. How did it wind up at your movie theater?”

  “The question of the day…”

  “Well, it just has me concerned. Sandstrom is supposed to be providing fabulous security for the exhibition and he hires Laurel and Hardy. They’re sloppily dressed, laugh and eat food on duty. Hardly impressive…”

  “… Let me flip this. You suspect Sandstrom of hiring security staff for possibly another reason?”

  “Yes. When my slides went missing, I talked to Sue who agrees with me.”

  “Agrees about what?”

  “I think the Van Gogh painting may be a forgery.”

  I blinked rapidly a few times as I tried to catch my breath. Now this was worth getting on my coat and cap.

  “And you think Sandstrom is behind this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you just go to the cops?”

  Eric moved uneasily in his chair. “He’d just lawyer up and we’d never find out for sure.”

  “If it’s a forgery or not?”

  “Yes. All the paintings would disappear into someone’s vault, just to resurface in a few years when the furor had quieted.”

  “… Why me? Why’d Sue bring in me?”

  “You’re local and unobtrusive. Sandstrom would never expect that you were snooping around, getting information.”

  “He’d never suspect me.”

  “No and that would buy us time to find out.”

  “Why do you think it’s a forgery? Looks pretty good to me.”

  “I think it’s probably a fabulous forgery -- They exist. From the painting itself, it’s hard to tell, but there are other ways. The back for instance.”

  “The back of the painting?”

  “Sure. Old frames are sometimes cut down and placed on fake paintings to enhance their original period looks. Sometimes nails have been pulled from the frames and replaced.”

  “Wow…”

  “There’s the new stretcher bars on old canvases. Restorers may replace a bar but so might a forger. And then paper may be glued on the back. That could hide manipulations of the painting.”

  “Why don’t you just look at the back?”

  His laugh was dark. “…Sandstrom won’t let me. His security staff is the only one allowed to touch the paintings and to move them.”

  “…Huh… Even though you’re the resident expert.”

  “Even though…”

  I sat back in the chair, rubbing my hands together, processing the information. My neck was tingling again, but I wasn’t too sure why this time.

  Eric seemed sincere and trusted me. He seemed like a good guy and so I was going to take him at his word, for now. Warren Sandstrom seemed to deserve a second look. Maybe Cindy could help with that…

  “I need to do a few things, Eric. I suggest we meet again tomorrow.”

  He was already nodding. “How about dinner?”

  “Okay. Sounds good.”

  “Give me your address and I’ll pick you up – about six?”

  I rose from my chair. He retrieved my coat and helped me into it. Handed me the cap…

  “Nice clothes,” he smiled showing a whole lot of attractive teeth. “Anyone we know?”

  I put on my cap, tilted it at a rakish angle. Buttoning up the coat, I had to laugh. “It’s a long story…”

  “Maybe you can tell it to me tomorrow over dinner.”

  “Sure, but hopefully I’ll have other things more interesting to discuss by then.”

  He walked me downstairs and out to my car. There was no sighting of the man I’d seen earlier, so we said goodnight and I drove home.

  He and Sue were pointing the evil finger right at Warren Sandstrom III. Why? Why would Sandstrom do something like this? Did he need the money? Time to put Cindy to work. She’s the one with the hot date…

  * * *

  Actually, the next night, we both had hot dates. Cindy was going out with Mr. Sir, while I got Leonardo.

  Sigh… What should I wear? I couldn’t seem to do anything with my hair. Man! Is that me? I sound like such a girl.

  My dad was breathing down my neck again to sign up for classes and quit fooling around. He’d spoken to Maggie and knew I was up to something. I called Maggie to ask
her if she would please keep our conversation to herself. I wanted to continue flying under the radar.

  While we were dressing, I filled Cindy in on what had happened at the art museum the night before. The running man, Eric’s missing slides and his suspicions about Sandstrom… Even as I spoke, a nagging thought or two were creeping around my brain, saying it was all too tidy… too neat. It was too easy – Look out when your own brain tells you something’s too easy.

  Cindy agreed and promised she’d be cautious. She’d note every detail. She’s good at details and has always made a good Dr. Watson. I’ve always been able to bounce ideas off her and listen as she processes… and gives it all back to me. Don’t think she’s writing them down in a journal or blog though.

  Huh. Will have to check that out.

  Finally, we were both dolled up and ready to go. We glanced at our reflections in the hallway mirror.

  “Jeez, Cindy,” I whined. “Why do you always look so much better than me when we get dressed up?”

  Her eyes rolled up. “…Lucy, you don’t care about makeup. A little eyeliner and blush would bring out your eyes. You have nice eyes.” She turned and put her hands on her hips. “…And how many times how I told you this?”

  “Okay… a few,” I mumbled. “But look at your clothes! They fit so much better than mine do. My dress looks like it’s draped on a hanger.”

  This time she sighed. “…You could have worn that blue dress I suggested. It clings to your curves and makes you look sexier.”

  Hmm… Wasn’t sure I wanted to look sexy. Cindy looked at my face and laughed.

  “No, you don’t. That’s true,” she said.

  “How in the hell do you know what I’m thinking?” I was enraged that she could crawl up in my mind like that.

  “How many years have we been friends?”

  She flipped her pretty blonde hair at me, shrugged and walked to the closet for a jacket. I tried to do the same – I flipped my pretty auburn hair at the idiot in the mirror, raised one shoulder and gave the idiot a sultry, pouty look with pursed lips.

  From the hallway, Cindy laughed good and loud. She even woke up Baskerville. “…Not bad… Madonna? Jennifer Lopez? Betty Boop? Who else does pouty really well?”

  “Me…” I breathed in my lowest, sexiest voice.

  “Watch it. You’ll be doing Joan Crawford next… Scary time.”