NOT What I Was Expecting (16 page)

“He does,” she
confirmed.  “But there is no reception, or land line for that matter, where he
is staying.  He’ll be home tomorrow morning, and I can have him call you as
soon as he gets back.  This is all so disturbing.  Poor Barney was such a nice
man.  Would it help if I read you the letter Eliza sent concerning Barney and
the painting?”

I’d been about to
end the conversation so I could tell Luke what I’d found out, but that stopped
me.  “You still have the letter from Eliza?” I asked, trying to control my
excitement.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs.
Parker assured me.  “Joseph insisted we keep all correspondence from the family
in a lockbox in the attic.  I know exactly where it is, so it’s no trouble if
you would like to hear the letter in its entirety.  Shall I get it and call you
right back?”

“That would be
wonderful, Mrs. Parker.  If you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble for you to
get to the attic?”  I was instantly sorry I had added the last statement. 
Although I wanted to be considerate of this kind woman, we really needed all
the information we could get at this point.

I let out the
breath I’d been holding when she insisted, “No, no, dear.  Stairs are part of
my exercise routine which I’ve neglected for a few days, so it’s not a
problem.  What is your number?”

I gave her my cell
phone number, thanked her profusely, and disconnected.  After filling Luke in
on the conversation with Eliza’s sister-in-law, I watched over his shoulder as
he Googled
Marianne’s Garden
and we waited for the phone to
ring.  I didn’t have to wait long.

When I answered
the phone, I didn’t get the chance to say “hello,” because Cheryl Parker was
already screaming “It’s gone!  It’s gone!”

“The letter is
gone?” I asked trying to grasp what was going on.

“No,” she clarified,
“the lockbox is gone!  The whole box is missing!  Why would anyone take that? 
It contained nothing but letters from family.  I have to go, dear.  I have to
call the police and let them know we were mistaken when we said nothing was
taken when our house was broken into.”

“Mrs. Parker, I’m
so sorry it’s missing.  I know you need to call the police now, but would it be
alright if I call your husband tomorrow morning when he gets home?” I asked
quickly.

“Of course, that’ll
be fine, and I’ll talk to you later, Maggie.  Goodbye.”  With that she was gone
and dealing with her own problem.

I related the last
phone conversation to Luke.  We both sat there for a minute, bummed about the
missing letter concerning Barney’s involvement, and trying to figure out what
to do now. 

“Do you think we
can find out anything helpful by going to one of the art galleries around the
French Quarter?  I noticed we passed a couple of them when we were shopping,”
Luke proposed after thinking about it for a minute. 

“That’s a great
idea,” I agreed.  “Someone who’s studied art might have some information about
Marianne’s
Garden
or at least about Rupert Frost.  It’s worth a shot.”

By doing a little
research before heading out, we discovered four galleries within walking
distance.  With our list in hand, we left in pursuit of information.  The first
gallery we came to was closed, having gone out of business.  Not a great start,
but we pushed on.

The second place
on the list was just around the corner from the first stop.  It was a small
gallery, but I was encouraged when I saw the graduate-student-type guy sitting
behind a desk in the middle of the room.

When the grad
student came rushing toward us he reached me first, so I jumped right in. 
“Hello,” I said in my most ingratiating voice.  “I’m hoping you can help us.”

“Why, I’d be
delighted,” he assured me, and he did, in fact, look delighted.

“We’re looking for
some information,” I said as sweetly as I knew how.  The change that came over
the grad student following that statement would have been approximately the
same if I had reached out and slapped his face.

“Information?” he
repeated with a disgusted look on his face.  “We sell
art
, not
information.”

“Oh, this is about
art.  We’re trying to find out about a painting done by Rupert Frost,” I
clarified, hoping he’d be interested in talking about his alleged field of
expertise.

“Lady, we deal in
local artists exclusively.  Check the library.”  With that he turned and headed
back to his desk as if we had already left.

I turned to Luke
who’d been standing at my side watching the discussion but hadn’t made a
sound.  The smile on his face indicated he was struggling to hold in a laugh,
which was probably why he grabbed my arm and hustled me out the door.  As I
expected, once we were on the street, Luke started chuckling.

“I don’t see
what’s so funny.”  I was going for aggravated, but seeing Luke laugh made me
smile.  That kind of took the edge off any tone I was hoping to achieve.  “You
want to tell me what part of that exchange you enjoyed,” I demanded.

“You,” he stated
without hesitation.  “You’re kind of cute when you’re on a mission.”

Good save, I
decided.

He let go of the
arm he’d been holding to usher me out of the gallery.  “Let’s check out the
next one on the list.  I think it’s just a couple of blocks away,” Luke said
encouragingly.

As we walked, we
chatted about various shops and street performers we passed.  It would have
been a great day if we were just a couple of tourists enjoying the sights and
sounds of New Orleans.  Unfortunately, our search needed results if we were
going to make any progress in finding a murder suspect who didn’t happen to be
Luke.  No pressure.

When we reached
our destination, we entered the gallery to the sound of tinkle bells similar to
the ones on the Big & Blessed shop door.  A man who appeared to be in his
early sixties looked over from where he stood dusting some picture frames.

“Help you?” he
asked, a smile softening his tired face.

While I was trying
to decide how best to approach this one, Luke began, “I saw you have a Monet
print over there, so I’m hoping you deal in a variety of classic artists?”

“That’s right,”
the man replied, putting down his duster and shoving his hands into his pockets
as he approached us.

“We’re looking for
some information about a painting by Rupert Frost.  Are you familiar with his
work?” Luke asked expectantly.

“You could say
that,” the man responded with a slight smile and nod.  “What piece are you
lookin’ for?”

I was perfectly
content to just listen since Luke seemed to be meeting with some success.

“It’s called
Marianne’s
Garden
,” Luke explained while I held my breath and crossed my fingers.

“Sure,” the man
replied, “got it right over here.  Interesting history with this one,” he
hesitated before reaching the section he’d been heading for and turned toward
us.  “Are you looking for the story behind the painting or just the print?”

“We’d be
interested in the story, too, if you wouldn’t mind telling us everything you
know about it,” Luke nodded anxiously.

“Huh.  Most people
just want to take their print and go.  It’s nice to see a young couple
interested in the history that comes with it.”  He had reached the prints he wanted
and pulled out a copy of the painting we’d seen on the internet.  “Harrison
Richard’s my name.  Spelled like Richard, but pronounced Ree-shard,” he
explained as he pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to
Luke.

Mr. Richard sat
the framed print on the floor and propped it against the wall as he spoke. 
“This painting was done in 1892.  Rupert Frost was sweet on a beautiful young
widow named Marianne.  She had three children she was raising on her own, and
since she lived in a tiny apartment, she had no yard.  She told Frost of her
dream of having a yard for the children to play in and a garden for herself, so
he painted this picture of a beautiful garden for her.  They planned to be married,
but when Marianne’s two oldest children were killed in a fire at their
grandparent’s house, she cut off contact with everyone she knew including Frost
and moved to New York with her only surviving child.  Apparently, her
four-year-old had the flu and didn’t go to the grandparent’s house for the
weekend, so he was the only family she had left after that fire.  Marianne died
in 1925, and the painting was inherited by her son, Jeremiah Parker.  Now,
Jeremiah wasn’t willing to part with the painting, but he did provide the
original to be copied, and that was the first the art world heard of this long
lost piece.  Since Rupert Frost died as a young man at 31 years old, his
paintings were few in number but very popular.  Once this piece was authenticated
as one of his earlier works and combined with the story Jeremiah Parker was
sharing as it had been told to him by his mother,
Marianne’s Garden
was worth a lot of money.  As you can see, it’s a beautiful painting.”

Mr. Richard, who’d
been looking at Luke and I while telling the story, paused to stare at the
painting in question for a moment.  “Here’s where the story goes from
documented fact to legend.  In 1963, Jeremiah Parker died.  That’s easy enough
to verify.  However, Jeremiah had five children, three boys and two girls.  His
will indicates the painting was inherited by the oldest son, Joshua.  In 1969,
six years after inheriting the painting, Joshua was found shot to death in his
home.  There is some question at that point whether the painting went to his siblings
or to his children.  It was reported that the painting was sold by the family
about 3 months later, but it was never disclosed who bought it, and it has
never been displayed or even acknowledged as part of a collection publically.”

“That’s quite a story,”
I said softly, still processing all the information.  “Do you know that much
about every painting in here?”

Mr. Richard
chuckled slightly.  “It would make me look pretty impressive if I said yes. 
Truth is, I’m a bit of a history buff, so I research the paintings I’m
interested in knowing more about. 
Marianne’s Garden
has always
intrigued me, because it’s so beautiful and such a little known piece.  Would
you two like a print of this painting?  If you don’t like this frame, I can do
the matting and frame of your choice.”

“I think just the
print without any framing would work best for now,” Luke answered as he pulled
out his wallet.  “We’ll come back and have it framed and matted once things
calm down a little,” he said as he glanced at me and smiled.

CHAPTER 11

Once we paid for
and received the cylinder that contained the print of
Marianne’s Garden
,
we thanked Mr. Richard for his time as well as the information and waved
goodbye as we left.  When we were finally out on the street, I couldn’t contain
my excitement any longer.

“I don’t know
exactly what this means, but it must mean something, right?  The original of
this painting must be involved in Eliza and Barney’s deaths, since we know he
was taking care of it for her.  At least it’s the only thing we’ve come across
so far that has any kind of questionable background,” I concluded, not entirely
sure if that made any sense.

Apparently Luke
was following my line of thinking, since he responded, “By
questionable
do you mean ‘possibly illegal?’  That’s the direction I’m thinking this thing
might take by the sound of that family.  I guess it’s possible Eliza had stolen
property, but wouldn’t that make her want to hide the painting from the
authorities alone?  Who else would want it enough to steal it from someone who
stole it, if that is what Eliza did?”

Luke and I stopped
walking, looked at each other, and asked at the same time, “The people it was
stolen from?”

“Ah, great minds
detect alike, I see,” Luke suggested and then laughed.  “Or if we’re wrong, at
least we aren’t wrong alone.”

“I know, right? 
Don’t you hate it when you’re wrong and everyone else is right?  At least you
don’t have to worry about that with me around,” I joked.

“I do appreciate
that about you,” Luke pointed out.  “However, sometimes you’re right, because
when it happened that one time, I notated it in my journal.  See if you can make
that happen again.  I know the info we have is connected.  I just don’t see how
this brings us any closer to who might have killed Eliza and Barney.  Even if
it was the legal owner of the painting who killed them to get the painting
back, we have no idea who that might be.”

“Well,” I began
cautiously, “I don’t think we can make any real headway with the information
until we talk to Eliza’s brother tomorrow morning.  His wife said he knew more
about the painting’s story than she could remember, so let’s hope he can and
will fill in enough blanks to send us in the right direction.”

I could see the stress
lines on Luke’s forehead and decided he probably needed to get his mind off of
art theft and murder.  “Notated in your journal?” I inquired.

“Yeah, I don’t
really have a journal, but I do like giving you a hard time,” he said
honestly.  “If it bothers you that you weren’t actually captured in print in my
nonexistent journal, I promise you this.  If you are ever correct again, and it
gets back to me, I will notate it somewhere.  So you have that to look forward
to.”

“Be still my
heart,” I said totally void of expression.  “How will I sleep at night now? 
I’ll feel I have to stay up late thinking of some way that I can be right about
something – anything, just so I can have the claim to fame of being notated
somewhere by you.”

“Has anyone ever
told you that you can be a little difficult?” Luke asked, trying not to smile
but failing miserably.

“Yup,” I admitted
honestly.  “I’m really hungry.  Do you want to get something to eat?”

“Sure.  I was
thinking since we’re in the Quarter with all this great music, we could maybe
catch a band.  How about seafood, drinks, and jazz?”

“That sounds
great,” I agreed, looking around at the various restaurants, bars, and clubs
surrounding us.  “Which should we do first?”

“Being as
multi-talented as I am, I was thinking we could do all three at once, if we
walk this way,” Luke suggested pointing down the next block.

Sure enough, the
sign hanging over an open doorway read
Seafood - Drinks - Jazz
.  I
spewed out a laugh as I said, “Here I thought you came up with that great combo
on your own like some kind of genius, when actually you were just reading a
sign?”

“Oh, come on.  You
have to admit,” he replied smiling as though entirely pleased with himself.  “It
takes a certain gift to be surrounded by all this music, food, and drink, but
still zero in on the one spot that has it all.  Admit it.  You’re kind of
impressed, aren’t you?”

“Okay, you are way
cool, my hero, and a gifted genius.  Now really, some food and drink before I
faint would be nice,” I said as I headed for the
Seafood - Drinks - Jazz
doorway.

Luke chuckled as
he caught up with me, “I’m going to ignore that hint of sarcasm in your voice,
since we both know everything you said is true.”  I thought I was walking fast,
but his legs were longer than mine so keeping pace with him made me have to
trot.  As we walked through the doorway, the smell of cooking seafood made my
mouth water.

There were quite a
few tables throughout the middle of the place directly off the dance floor, but
only three booths along the side wall.  Two were occupied, so Luke steered me
toward the empty booth, ushered me into the side facing the stage, and slid in
next to me.  It was very cozy, but you couldn’t see the stage if you sat on the
other side of the booth.  A waitress came over carrying menus, introduced
herself as Hannah, smiled invitingly at Luke, ignored me, and said she would be
“back in a sec” to take his order.

“So, Maggie,” Luke
remarked, opening his menu and perusing the choices.  “What are you in the mood
for?”

Although there was
no innuendo in his question, my mind immediately hopped on that train to
Smutville, as I was once again picturing him naked. 
You have got to stop!
I practically shouted at myself silently inside my head.  Maybe a drink or two
would help me mellow out before that train actually reached Smutville?  Not
being an experienced or frequent drinker, I had no idea what would be a good
choice, and since I didn’t want to look like a bigger goober than I already had
to Luke, I came up with a brilliant idea.

“Why don’t you get
two of whatever you’re ordering?  Anything beverage wise sounds good, and I
can’t think of any seafood I don’t eat, so I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I
said, pleased that I sounded so easygoing.

Hannah returned at
that moment for our order, so he didn’t get the chance to comment on my
suggestion.

“Sure,” Luke
responded to her question as to whether he was ready to order.  “We’ll have two
Long Island Iced Teas and the crab fingers to start.”  Luke folded the menus
and handed them to her as he said, “And we know what we’re ordering for dinner,
so you can take these now.”  As Hannah drooled over him while she took the
menus back, Luke smiled at her and said, “Thanks.”

His arm that was
outstretched and now free of menus, he lifted over my head and rested along the
back of the booth behind my shoulders.  I wish I could tell you he was making a
move on me, but the logistical fact was that the alternative to putting his arm
behind me would have been putting his arm in my lap.  The lap move I would have
taken as making a play, but the behind the back thing, I regret to report was a
space saver.

No doubt Hannah
saw this move, since the smile slid from her face and she turned making a point
of tossing her long, curly hair as she headed for the bar.  Poor Hannah, so
pretty, but not mathematically gifted enough to geometrically calculate our
space problem.

Luke seemed
totally oblivious to Hannah’s disappointment as he watched the band set up on
the stage.  “You know, the band probably doesn’t start playing for a while,
since it’s kind of early.  I hope you don’t mind a little food and drink while
we wait for the music.”

I smiled back at
him and answered, “No, that’s fine.  I’m kind of glad to be off my feet and
relaxing.”  When Luke turned back to look at the setup happening on the stage,
I took the opportunity to glance at my watch.  Seven o’clock?  He called that
early for a band to start?  I know I have turned into sort of a maw-maw when it
comes to going to bed, but running the Big and Blessed shop was a lot of work. 
I had never really been a night owl even in college.  Now that I thought about
it, when CeCe and I came down to the French Quarter with Fry and his friends
the bands didn’t typically start until around 10:00 pm, at least in the club we
usually frequented.  A nice leisurely dinner with Luke sounded good, but I was
starting to get a little worried I would fall asleep.  I always considered myself
up late if I didn’t go to bed at 10:00 and stayed up to watch the news. 
Especially on a school night.

Oh no!  I
am
a maw-maw!  The only reason I don’t have on granny panties is because I had to
buy some down here and didn’t want Luke to see them in my laundry.  I just
needed to think of something to pep myself up.  I wasn’t kidding when I said I
was hungry, so maybe part of my fatigue problem was a nutritional deficiency. 
I probably just needed to eat something, and that should make me feel better,
right?  Of course it would.  I was feeling peppier already.

Since Luke was
totally engrossed in the band setting up, he didn’t seem to notice my silence
while I was talking myself out of missing any fun. 

“I can’t believe
these guys have an Invector 3000!” Luke exclaimed with awe in his voice.  “If
they’re any good, this is going to be some incredible sounding music, because
that is one awesome guitar!”

I tried to hide my
surprise as I turned to Luke and asked, “You know about guitars?  I didn’t
realize the Peace Corps left any time for musical hobbies?  They let you travel
around with an electric guitar and amp?”

Luke turned to me,
laughing, “It’s not prison, you know.  They let you do pretty much what you
want, but they do encourage traveling light.  I have an acoustic guitar, but
I’ve always wanted an electric one like that.  I’m not that good and could
never justify the expense.  Or afford it, for that matter, but that is one
sweet guitar.”

When Muscle Shirt
Guy started doing the sound check with the Invector 3000, I leaned over next to
Luke’s ear and yelled, “I know you want to go up there and have a closer look,
so I promise not to consider you rude if you go chat with Muscle Shirt Guy.”

He smiled, leaned down
so I could hear him over the amped strumming on stage, and yelled, “I would
argue with you, but I think honesty is far too rare in today’s society so I’m
going to practice a little right now.  That means I’m not going to insist I
don’t want to go up there when I actually do.  Be right back.”

I didn’t realize it
at the time that I sent him up there, but this gave me the opportunity to stare
at Luke while he was engrossed in a conversation with someone else.  Since that
was a rarity, I took full advantage and watched him as if he were doing
something fascinating, which to me he was as long as he was breathing.

Muscle Shirt Guy
seemed a little quiet when Luke first got there and started talking to him, but
after a minute the guitar dude was tossing his hair out of his eyes and
laughing along with Luke at whatever they were saying about the amp.  I hadn’t
really noticed before, because I’d been a little bummed that I kept making such
a fool of myself in front of him, but he really did seem to have a way of
making everyone around him feel relaxed and comfortable.

At that moment,
Hannah plopped my drink down in front of me, Luke’s down in front of his seat,
and the crab fingers in the middle of the table.  She turned and left without a
word while I was still stunned by her delivery.  I had been so interested in
watching Luke I hadn’t noticed her approach.

I knew the polite
thing would be to wait for Luke’s return before sampling the crab fingers, but
hunger won out over etiquette.  I grabbed one and took a big bite.  Yum, delicious
but kind of spicy.  No wait – now it was really hitting me – very spicy.  I
grabbed my drink and took a few big gulps.  Although the moisture helped
extinguish the fire in my mouth, the alcohol warmed my throat, esophagus, and
stomach as it went down.  Wow!  That drink has a little kick to it, but it sure
did taste good.

I was reflecting
on my good fortune that Luke was still up with the band and unable to see my
eyes watering after my first swallow.  I pretty much stick to wine when it
comes to drinking, which I’m thinking might have a slightly lower alcoholic
content than what I’d just ingested.  Although I’d heard of Long Island Iced
Tea, I had never actually had one.  Now that I was beginning to feel tingling
all through my body, I have to say I was fast becoming a fan.  I took another
drink, just to make sure the warming sensation wasn’t a fluke.  Nope, that is
definitely good stuff, but I might have been wrong about it having a higher alcoholic
content, because the mouthful I just swallowed went down much smoother than my
first impression.  Maybe it isn’t really stronger than wine.  As I sat my glass
back down Luke returned, so I slid to the inside part of the booth, and he slid
in next to me.

I gave him a big
smile and a “Hi!” a little louder and more enthusiastic than I intended.  Luke
smiled at me questioningly, until his eyes landed on my glass which was now
half empty.

He let out a
little laugh, looked into my eyes, and cautiously asked, “Do you drink these
often?  ‘Cause if you aren’t used to them, they can sneak up on you.”

I tried to chuckle
casually, but it came out as a snort followed by, “Oh, don’t worry about me.  I
wouldn’t say I drink them often, but from time to time I like to cut loose and
have a few.”  I was feeling so warm all over, the smile on my face must have
conveyed how completely relaxed I was feeling, because Luke relaxed at my
answer.

“Okay, if you’re
sure.  Go ahead and have some crab fingers, since you could probably use some
food with that drink.”

Again, I didn’t
want to come across as a wimp and announce they were a little spicier than I
liked.  So in my infinite wisdom I grabbed up one of the appetizers, took a
bite, and declared them delicious.