Sherlock and Me (The Case of the Starry Night)

  Warren picked her up in a limousine. Jeez, Louise… Could he be any more ostentatious? But then again, how do I know how rich people act? Never been one.

  He came up to the door looking like a million bucks in that snazzy suit and silver hair. The suit was a deep blue pinstripe that he wore with a pale pink shirt, dark gray tie and shoes of some kind of strange leather. Crocodile? Buffalo?

  His eyes all but bugged out when Cindy walked up with her gorgeous, clingy wrap-around bright red dress. She’s all about making a statement and that statement had Warren’s tongue hanging out.

  As Sandstrom helped her into her coat, Cindy winked at me and I weakly smiled. I wondered if Eric would be picking me up in a limousine. Somehow I doubted it…

  I watched them leave from the front window. As soon as the sleek black limo had slithered away from the curb, a tiny, yellow smart car pulled up, screeched to a halt and took its place. Good grief… from the sublime to the ridiculous, but I had to admit… more my style.

  I got my Sherlock coat from the closet and walked over to open the door. When I did, in walked Leonardo… Wow! Jeans, dark brown leather jacket, scruffy facial hair but where was the cigarette? This guy sure had the bad boy look down pat.

  “Are you sure you’re a professor?” I handed him my coat.

  “Yeah, why?” His eyes crinkled, puzzled. Another cute look.

  “…You just don’t look much like Joe Warner, my erstwhile advisor.”

  “How does Joe look?”

  “…Bow tie, patches on his baggy tweed jacket. Beard…”

  Eric blew out a small laugh like a gust of air. “…Nice. I can go back and change, if you’d like.”

  “No,” I hurriedly added. “…Too much trouble.” I turned around for him to help me into the coat.

  “You look nice too, Lucy. Date much?”

  I looked at him sharply over my shoulder. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but no… Why do you ask?”

  He lifted the hair off the back of my dress as he helped me into the coat.

  “You’ve still got a price tag on your dress. I assume this is the first time you’ve worn it.”

  “Nice deduction, detective.”

  He smiled a very pretty smile. “…Just call me Bogie.”

  Eric pulled off the price tag, handed it to me and helped me into my coat, fluffing my hair outside the collar. His smile lit up the hallway… even Baskerville looked on intently.

  I really was beginning to like this guy. I sure hope I wasn’t going to have to testify against him in court or drag his sorry ass down to a police station for questioning. That might hurt our budding relationship.

  Walking to his car, he chatted brightly about the restaurant where he’d made reservations and didn’t seem upset like he had last night. Eric obviously wore a few hats and tonight’s was the hat of the attentive date. I had a million questions to ask him and they buzzed around my face like a pack of bees. Something got in my eyesight, that’s for sure, because when he closed my car door, thinking I was peacefully seated like a sane person would be, I raised my hand and he caught my finger in the car door!

  * * *

  CHAPTER 16

  “Yow!” I screamed and he automatically opened the door.

  “Jesus, Lucy! Are you all right?”

  “No,” I wailed as my finger began to throb and ache. “It hurts like hell!”

  “What the devil was your finger doing there?” he asked wide-eyed.

  “…Bees,” I puffed. “…Pain…lots of pain.”

  I got out of the car and Eric tried to look at my finger. I pulled it away, hid it behind me and crouched, like a cornered animal.

  “…Let me see it…”

  “Why? Are you a medical doctor too?”

  “No,” he laughed, “…but I’ve done this a time or two myself. Let me see.”

  I hesitantly showed him my hurt digit and he nodded.

  “Let’s go to the hospital. Blood’s going to start collecting at the base of the nail and it’s going to hurt like crazy from the pressure. A doctor can drill a little hole and release that pressure. You’ll stay sane that way.”

  I got back into the car and made sure all my appendages were close to me when he closed the door this time. When he got in on the driver’s side, I balefully shook my head.

  “Did you say bees?” he asked incredulously.

  I thought it wiser to ignore the question.

  “I’m all dressed up and we’re going to a hospital.”

  “…Yeah,” he laughed. “Some Saturday night date you are…”

  I almost noticed when his Leonardo blue eyes twinkled at me. Almost…

  At the hospital, even though my hurt finger pounded like a drum at me, my thoughts went a few floors above, where Bobby lay. Maybe I could visit him if my finger didn’t need to be reattached. Damn… it hurt.

  It was a good hour before a doctor could see me, so Eric tried to keep me entertained. He told me weird stories about professors at his university. Never thought the Ivory Tower bunch could be that interesting.

  He was probably wondering how he could sneak away and have a decent dinner with someone not obviously nuts, but he stayed with me. I gave him plenty of opportunities to sneak away or just to walk away, but he refused. I had to give him points for being gallant… or at least tenacious. Professors from Wisconsin apparently were made of stern stuff.

  The attending physician in the ER cocked his head at me when I gave him my lame reason for slamming my finger in the car door. I’m not too sure why it happened myself. I was busy ogling Eric, thinking of something or other, and all of a sudden, I’m in intense pain. The doc didn’t buy it either, although Eric smiled slightly. My wounded digit was telling me in vivid, colorful language that no guy was worth it. I had to agree.

  Afterwards, we wound up in the cafeteria of the hospital. Visiting hours were over for the day and I couldn’t get in to see Bobby. A nurse told me he was better but not out of the woods yet. Eric and I decided to have a bite to eat here, since the huge bandage on my finger probably would have looked slightly out of place at the chic Italian restaurant where he’d made reservations… Where he canceled reservations.

  I glanced around at the pale blue walls and crummy, fake plants decorating the lifeless room. Catching my sigh, Eric smiled.

  “…Not what you had in mind for tonight, Lucy?”

  “Ah… That would be yes. This is ridiculous. I’m surprised you’re not on the first bus back to Wisconsin.”

  “I’ll say one thing for you – you’re not dull.” He reached for the ketchup bottle for his hamburger.

  “And that, Dr. Schultz, is what I want all my dates to go home saying about me. By God! That Lucy’s not dull!”

  He laughed as he sprinkled a dab of ketchup on his fries too.

  “You know, I was really looking forward to being sophisticated and chic tonight, wearing one of my best dresses – new, as you know – and I was going to blow you away with my charm and elegance.”

  “You can still blow me away with your intuition and intelligence,” he grinned.

  “Not the same thing,” I mumbled.

  “I think you look very pretty tonight, don’t you?”

  “Apparently, according to my roommate, I need blush and eyeliner.”

  Eric put down his hamburger and tilted my chin up with his finger. He took a good look at me, while I squirmed under the scrutiny.

  “No blush or eyeliner needed…” He picked up his hamburger again and took a big bite. I couldn’t tell if he was being romantic or clinical.

  As he happily chewed, I was having trouble visualizing the police putting him in handcuffs. Maybe I didn’t want to see him as a villain in this drama and that was rose-coloring my filter. Hmm… maybe.

  With my good hand, I was able to lift a spoon to my mouth and got in a few sips of soup. Maybe I’d lose a few pounds on this new diet. The Finger-in-the-Car-Door Diet… I just might market it and ma
ke a fortune.

  I swallowed and tried again. “Eric, we need to talk.”

  “… Shoot…”

  “I did a lot of Internet research on Warren Sandstrom III and he’s incredibly wealthy. A major art buyer and seller… He’s from old, inherited money – a great grandfather who made a fortune in steel and railroads. The guy can buy an island in Hawaii. Why would you suspect him of forging this Van Gogh painting? What would be his motive?”

  “I’ve studied the guy for months, Lucy. I’ve been on the road with him, as the collection goes on tour, and something’s off.” Eric looked off into space. “…Maybe he needs the money and maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he gets his kicks from selling the originals under his family’s noses.”

  He looked back at me. “…Maybe he’s always been a rich kid and thinks he can get away with anything.”

  “…Even murder?” I asked looking him straight in the eye.

  “Murder?” Eric blinked, surprised.

  “…Accessory to manslaughter, at least.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A man across the alley from the art museum had a heart attack and died the night the exhibition arrived. I dug a bullet out of his wooden staircase railing a few days later.”

  “A bullet?” Eric visibly gulped.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “I can’t help but think that someone took a shot at him because they think he saw something at the museum. Something he wasn’t supposed to see…”

  “Like what?”

  “Those inept security guards loading a crate or two in a truck. Other people have seen them too. All the paintings had been readied for display in the gallery by then, so what were they loading in a truck?”

  Eric put down his hamburger and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “You think there’s more going on here than just with this one painting, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “…Not sure, but as yet I’m ruling nothing out. Everyone is a suspect and everything is suspicious.”

  “Sherlock Holmes?”

  “…Lucy James…”

  His slow smile was crooked. “Does that everyone include me, Lucy?”

  I shrugged. “…Everyone is a suspect until they’re not.”

  “Okay,” he said wearily. “…A least I know where I stand. What can I do to convince you I’m one of the good guys?”

  “Tell me all you know. Take it from the top and leave out nothing. I’m especially interested in anything you’ve heard or seen when you stay late at the museum.”

  “…All right,” he nodded. “…I can do that.”

  We spent the next hour eating hamburgers and soup with Eric alternately chewing and telling me his life story. How he got the job with the Sandstrom family, what he did for them as an art historian, and his years as curator and professor. I asked him the zillion questions that I had stored up and his answers seemed genuine, sincere. I tried not to doubt him until he came to his relationships with Sue O’Dell and Russell Crowe.

  “So, why did you confess your suspicions to Sue about the Van Gogh painting being a forgery?”

  “When you’re in the art world, you meet a lot of people… Many of them over and over again. Sue’s one of those people.”

  “She gets around?”

  “…In the art world, yes. I’ve met her a few times. Did you know that she worked for your former mayor before this job and for the governor’s office in Wisconsin before that? And always as a public relations liaison to the arts.”

  “No, I didn’t and suddenly she’s content to run a gift shop at a small art museum?”

  “Well… Reno’s art museum isn’t that small and it’s well respected. I think Sue took the museum job because she wanted to be on hand when the exhibit came here.”

  “She knew it was coming?”

  “She helped to bring it here. Sue’s on the museum board.”

  “Yeah, I knew that, but why bring it here?”

  “I think there’s something going on with Sandstrom.”

  “…Do you mean sexually?”

  “No, although I suspect there may have been at one time. He does quite well. I’ve never seen him twice with the same woman and his exploits are well-known.”

  Hmm… This wasn’t going down well --- Sandstrom was out with Cindy tonight. I thought about texting her, but then she’s wiser in the arts of love than I am. She’s probably figured Warren out already.

  I moved my bandaged finger to another position and a small wave of pain hit me.

  “You okay?”

  “I think the pain medication has worn off.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Let me get back to Sue. Why did you confide in her?”

  He refolded the napkin on his lap. “It was either Sue or the cops, and I have only suspicions, not confirmed evidence. I thought Sue, as a board member, should know.”

  “How did she act when you told her?”

  “…Surprised, but not really.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She acted surprised, but her expression wasn’t genuine. I think she already knew and didn’t want to let on.” He shrugged. “Anyway, she told me not to worry and she would handle it.”

  “Handle it how?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  So that made two people now who suspected Sandstrom of having a fake painting in the gallery and neither of them doing anything about it. Except for telling me… Why me?

  My neck began tingling again. As much as I wanted to like Schultz, this was beginning to feel like a set-up. If this was such a big deal, why involve little old me who didn’t even have so much as a PI license to shield her? My finger began to throb incessantly.

  And again I was feeling out of my depth. Cindy’s words came back to me. No, I didn’t want to work at the movie theater for another ten years, but neither did I want to do ten years for being an accessory to grand theft of a major work of art. Maybe Schultz was just using me. I decided to tread more carefully.

  I glanced at him. He had an open face or he was a good actor.

  “And Russell Crowe?”

  “…Crowe?”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I don’t. Just from seeing him at the museum and he’s on the board.”

  That neither answered my question nor sounded like the truth. I felt strongly that Eric had just lied about knowing Russell Crowe. I’d overheard him talking in the hallway to Crowe about someone. Why lie about it?

  “I have a question for you, Lucy.”

  “…Sure.”

  “Who’s the guy upstairs that you wanted to visit?”

  “Bobby Springer. He works with me at the movie theater.”

  “… Why’s he here?”

  “He was beaten up in the alley…” I watched his face carefully. “Behind the art museum a few days ago. One evening after viewing the Impressionist Exhibition.”

  Eric winced like I’d slapped him.

  “Good friend?”

  “Work colleague, but a good guy.”

  “Wonder what happened.”

  “… My question exactly and I plan to find out.”

  Eric smiled at me. “I think you’re going to be a great private detective, Lucy. You already are.”

  I smiled back. “Just need that license.”

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Let’s head back to my office. I have a few more things I want to show you about this collection of paintings.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER 17

  Taking Eric’s rented smart car to the art museum was almost claustrophobic for me now. I had this huge wad of gauze wrapped around my finger and we were too close together in the tiny car. I would have appreciated more space. The atmosphere was that of a little box with the air pumped out of it. I waved my padded digit in between us, like a room divider. Eric’s face had a curious expression and I’m not sure what he thought. That’s okay, because I’m not sure what I thought either.

  And coming back to the dreaded art museum was l
ike viewing the Bates Motel in ‘Psycho’. I almost expected that crazy actor with the knife to come swinging out of the bushes at us. The irregular shadows on the walls, the kneeling man of rock and wire by the door – Once a real man had been standing there. Trying to scare us? No, I don’t think so, but he accomplished that anyway. Two people had been hurt here and there were the mysterious paintings within.

  I swallowed hard at the sight of the dimly lit building with the enormous spidery sculpture in front and the running water. Lights were on over at Maggie’s house throwing the only real light on the outside of the building. No trucks, I noticed. The museum had been closed for hours so no one was around, except for the security guards. They were supposedly here somewhere.

  Walking in, I got a phone call that I let go to voicemail. It was Mrs. Murphy… probably telling me about another of Hamlet’s abdominal problems. I listened to a bit of it and I knew it could wait. While I was on the phone, I noticed another voicemail – from Joe Warner. What could he want? To inquire if I’d worn the hat he’d given me? Could be and I had, thank you, Mr. Warner. To ward against all bad things, I had swirled on my Sherlock coat and cap. I was prepared… or so I thought.

  If I’d wanted to analyze the scene, which I didn’t, it could have been scary.

  I was walking into a darkened building with a man I wasn’t too sure about. He could be a mad professor, for all I really knew, taking me to my doom. I clutched my coat around me and tried to remember if I packed the mace in my purse.

  Long shadows fell on the sidewalk below our feet with pinpricks of light from a few neighboring houses. The only consistent sound, besides the loud beating of my heart, was the water rushing through that creepy sculpture and down into the trough below to be recycled. It spurted out at the top, fell all around the tentacles reaching high into the air and was scooped up at the bottom. I watched it out of the corner of my eye, as Eric took out a key from his pocket and opened the front door of the museum. The entrance was all glass that shimmered, reflecting my changing mood. He held the door for me.

  It wasn’t too late to run, but if I did… I’d never find out what’s really going on here. This was merely another puzzle piece and I had to steel myself to accept that. Buck up, James. Control your fear…