Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (39 page)

Storm nodded.

I estimated Storm to be mid-thirties and six feet tall. He walked with a long, purposeful stride, and I hustled to keep up with his pace. He wore Ray Bans and slicked his dirty blond hair with gel. “I’ve been assigned the case of the stolen Clementine Hunter. I’m coordinating the investigation with the New Orleans office, and the IRS to inquire about the business dealings of Jack Ray. I need your word that you’ll use discretion regarding our conversations.”

I agreed.

“Tell me about the trip to New Orleans.”

“You need to be more specific in your questioning.”

He grinned. “How did you meet Jack Ray?”

“At Pat O’Brien’s. He and a girl I vacationed with, Bridget Bodsworth, were sitting together. He showed me how to eat crawfish, and paid the tab.”

“You like crawfish?” Storm asked.

“I thought I might, but I don’t.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure.”

“What else happened?”

“I got lost without money. I had Lucky Jack’s business card in my pocket and called him for a lift. He took me back to his gallery. Showed me two Clementine Hunter paintings. Wanted to know my opinion.”

“What was your opinion?”

“They were fakes.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No. He’s creepy. I told him he should get top dollar.”

Storm laughed and pulled out a small pad of paper. He started jotting down notes.

“Did you have a more personal relationship with Jacky Ray?”

“Please.”

“Did he make a pass at you?”

“Is that question pertinent to the case?”

Storm tilted his head and kept writing. “How did you know the paintings were fakes?”

“My dad owns a fine art restoration shop. He worked on the same painting for the New Orleans Museum of Art.” I paused and picked at a nail. “This is going to sound crazy but, I also saw that painting in a New Bern art gallery back in December. The New Orleans trip was sighting number three. That painting is reproducing.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded.

“Do you have anything else?”

“I memorized three-quarters of Lucky Jack’s Rolodex, and borrowed an invoice that links him to New Bern.”

Storm shook his head. “If he’d caught you.”

“I know. Bad thoughts train tracked through my mind when I did it, but the coincidence is far-fetched. Who’d believe me? I needed proof.”

“Where do you have the information?”

“In my dorm.”

“I need you to give them to me.”

Students began to surge the campus. “Um yeah,” I said, looking at the time. “It’s just that I’m supposed to meet someone.”

Walking me back toward the vending machine, Storm said, “I need to get back to the office. Can I stop by Grogan tonight and pick them up?”

“Sure.”

Storm slipped a business card in my hand, nodded his head, and turned left while I navigated through the swarm of bodies to the bench where Clay waited.

“Who was that?” Clay asked.

“An art history aid. He’s going to look over some papers of mine.”

BEFORE THE SUN DISAPPEARED BRIGHT RAYS ambushed our dorm room, and I twisted the blind cord closed. Katie Lee was on the phone with her mom. Macy plunked herself on my bed. She dug in a baggie of dried fruit and nuts and picked the almonds out. Having one day off for a three-day Easter weekend wasn’t enough of a break to buy a plane ticket to go home. Since the dorms stayed open both Macy and I planned to stick around until Katie Lee hung up the phone. “Would y’all like to spend Easter in The Bern?”

Macy accepted the invite. I hesitated. Dad had told me to stay away from The Bern, and I didn’t relish bumping into Nash or Billy Ray. Since Storm asked me to zip my lip about the investigation, I couldn’t tell Katie Lee the truth. Guilt prickled inside me, and I struggled to concoct a believable excuse. “Let me check with Dad.” 

They had spent eight months in tight quarters with me, and both knew I’d skirted around the permission umbrella for spring break. They also knew the last place I’d spend a holiday was in Canton, with Dad and his girlfriend Trudy. Macy cornered me and Katie Lee stood behind her. “Is there something going on that you haven’t told me?”

An FBI agent had been assigned the case. Knowing there was a case, trapped bubbles of nervous energy inside me. “Like I could hide anything from you two.”

Macy was onto to me, and if I hung around Grogan, I didn’t know if I could keep the secret. I grabbed my book satchel. “I need a book from the library. I’ll catch up around dinner.”

INSIDE THE LIBRARY BUILDING the cold recirculated air smelled bland, like wearing an all beige outfit. I veered beyond the double-doors that led to the checkout desk and followed an adjacent hallway into an adjoining room with cathedral ceilings. The college used the space to feature seasonal art exhibits. Dropping my satchel to the floor, I sat on a bench and stared at contemporary black and white etchings by an unknown artist. I didn’t want to lie to Katie Lee and Macy, but what choice did I have?

“Rachael O’Brien,” a sturdy woman in frameless glasses from behind me said.

“Professor Schleck.”

“Rachael, I’d like to introduce you to the newly appointed curator of our campus gallery. Liz Stein. Rachael O’Brien.”

Liz’s flour complexion had a splatter of freckles. Dressed in a solid yellow, tailored Jackie O dress, she shook my hand. “Have you heard? We received a federal grant to add a new building, and acquire art for the university’s permanent collection?”

“I hadn’t told the class,” my professor said. “Has the funding been secured?”

“I expect everything to be finalized after Easter,” Liz said.

“Who are you acquiring?” I asked.

“Tentatively I’m negotiating, a Vermeer, a Rockwell, a Saatchi and some local southern works including Clementine Hunter.”

I must have turned shades of sickly when I heard Clementine Hunter. Professor Schleck wore a look of concern. “Rachael, are you okay?”

“Um, yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Fine.”

“It’s going to be fabulous,” Liz said. “North Carolina College is going to build a new wing onto the existing library to house the pieces acquired with the grant. We’ll work with other museums to borrow collections and collaborate on exhibitions.”

“Did I hear you say you were purchasing a Clementine Hunter?”

“Two,” Liz said. “If I can secure them. I’m working through a dealer in New Orleans.”

Professor Schleck beamed. “Clementine Hunter is still alive. She turned one-hundred this year.”

Liz smoothed the creases in her dress. “Her great granddaughter is a student. It would be fabulous tribute—to have southern artists work permanently featured at our gallery.”

My little voice inside my gut spoke loudly.
Liz Stein was being swindled.
Lucky Jack was a busy man to be selling North Carolina College an original Billy Ray rip-off. If Liz acquired the painting from Lucky’s Art Consortium, someone would eventually discover that she had purchased fakes, and she could kiss her job and any thoughts of an art career goodbye. Someone needed to expose Jack and Billy Ray before they skipped town to sip Mai Tai’s on some beach, with their dirty-money safe in a Cayman bank account.

MEMORIZING FACTS AND INTREPRETING MEANING takes concentration. I’d spread my books and loose-leaf notes across a chunky library table. I aligned my pens, pencils and highlighters fattest to skinniest. My focus was zero. I needed to call Storm Cauldwell, but I’d left his business card in my desk. Mindlessly staring at books wasn’t exactly productive. I dumped everything back in my bag and left. Mr. FBI would shit when I told him about this coincidence. What were the chances of North Carolina College buying a legitimate Hunter? Slim to zil. Did Liz Stein find Lucky Jack or had he targeted college campuses? And how? Who was the middleman? Halfway across campus I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket and stopped to light it.

“Don’t you know those will kill you,” Storm said.

My hand flew to my chest. I looked over both my shoulders to see if anyone I knew was around. “Are you tailing me?”

“Stopped by to pick up the invoice and contacts. Your roommate said you were at the library.”

“Wait a minute, you talked to Katie Lee?”

“Nice girl. And a guy.”

“What guy?”

“Tall, dark hair. His name had to do with pottery.”

“Clay?”

“That’s it.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Not much. That I was looking for you.”

“Shit. Aren’t you supposed to be like undercover while you flush out criminals?”

Storm motioned a bench. Neither of us sat. He put a foot on it and leaned on his knee. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them anything. Said I had an extra curricular project you and I were working on.”

“You didn’t?”

“It’s no big deal. Your roommate said I could find you in the library.”

“What did Clay say?”

“Didn’t say anything. Excused himself.”

“Great. Now I have to go on damage control.”

“Settle down. I didn’t blow the cover.”

“Are you kidding?” I pointed at Storm’s left hand. “A guy, without a wedding ring asks about me?”

Storm smiled.

“Did you flash that dimple at Katie Lee? It isn’t going to help the lies I’ll have to tell. When I get back, you’ll be the talk of the seventh floor.”

“Something’s come up that I need to share.”

“Ditto.”

Storm motioned his hand. “Ladies first.”

I took a drag from my cigarette and nervously rubbed the talisman tucked in my pocket. “Get out your notepad. You’ll want to pen this one.”

Storm reached into the liner of his sport coat, and I noticed his shoulder harness and gun.”

“You carry a gun?”

“For work.”

“Yeah, but I figured you were a desk guy.”

“Occasionally they let me out.”

“You’re not going to believe this.”

“You’d be surprised what I’ll believe.”

“I just left the curator and my art history professor in the arts display room next to the library. North Carolina College has been awarded federal grant money to build a proper art gallery. Liz Stein is in charge of purchasing the collectables to fill it.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“She has some pieces picked out. A Vermeer, a Rockwell, a Saatchi.”

“Sounds expensive. That must be some grant.”

“And two Clementine Hunters from a dealer in New Orleans.”

Storm stared at me. “You’re not kidding?”

I shook my head.

“What’s your news?” I asked.

“You know the Clementine Hunter in the New Orleans Museum Of Art.”

“Which one?”

“
Baptism
.”

“The one my dad refurbished?”

“Not sure if the one in the museum is the one your dad refurbished.”

“What are you saying?”
That my dad had a hand in stealing the original?

“An agent from the New Orleans division met with the head of exhibits in the New Orleans Museum of Art. We’ve done some checking. Matched the photos from the insurance file to the painting on the wall. It’s been confirmed. The
Baptism
on the wall is a fake. The real
Baptism
has gone missing.” 

Storm stopped talking as some students moved past. I rubbed the pulsing throb in my temples. Once we were alone, I asked, “Does my dad know?”

“He’s cooperating. He’s been instructed to keep quiet while we investigate.”

“Why did you tell me?”

“Because you keep turning up Clementines.”

I stubbed out my cigarette. “Katie Lee has invited me to New Bern for Easter break.”

“No, absolutely not. It could be dangerous.”

“I need to clear Dad’s reputation. I’m going.”

NOTE TO SELF

Bumping into Billy Ray, Stewart Hayes, Bubba Jackson and Nash over Easter weekend--highly probable.

38

E
aster
E
ggs,
J
elly
B
eans
A
nd
T
he
B
ern

Katie
Lee’s promise of a funfilled weekend drifted in and out of my head. “Low to mid-seventies, and sunny is the forecast, y’all. We can take the motor boat out and do some skiing. If the wind picks up, there’s always the sunfish to sail.” Holding an overnight bag, Macy locked her door. She stood in the hallway and asked, “You’re comfortable leaving Clay for the weekend?”

“I guess,” I said.

“What’s happened?” Macy asked.

“I don’t know. I mean everything seemed fine. Now he’s suddenly super busy with work or classes. I think he’s avoiding me.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason,” Katie Lee said.

“Did you sleep with him?” Macy asked, “They always get weird once you’ve seen them naked.”

“If I’d slept with him, you’d know it. Is Bridget ready?”

“She’s not coming?” Katie Lee said. “She was up all night with the flu. Says she’s bummed, not goin’ to The Bern.”

The Bridget staying behind newsflash washed relief over me. I had an original masterpiece to flush out of the thicket, and I didn’t need the added worry of watching my back for an ambush. The real
Baptism
could be somewhere in The Bern, and if it was, I planned to find it and clear Dad’s name. I locked our door, and the three us walked down the deserted hallway.

Late in the afternoon, the parking lot seared heat like oil in a frying pan, and Katie Lee opened Big Blue’s doors to try and move stagnant heat out of the car. Not feeling talkative, I offered the front seat to Macy. That way, the two could plot our weekend while I devised my own plan. Katie Lee turned over Big Blue’s engine, cranked the air on full blast and pulled onto Campus Drive. She looked at Macy and asked, “Where did you find my sunglasses.”

“You’ve been fucking Hugh.”

A horn screamed, and a car swerved to miss Big Blue as Katie Lee plowed through a four way intersection.