The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One (23 page)

Driving home, I wondered if I really was the
man Josephine believed me to be. Especially since I’d been
unwilling to admit up to now, even to myself, that my decision not
to get involved with Devi had been driven by cowardice.

Still, it was a relief I didn’t have to make
a decision about any of that until the suit was settled.

And that could take months.

Lillian

“I have the most delicious bit of gossip for you,” I told Myrtle
when I encountered her on the way in to lunch on Sunday. I pointed
to a table for two, and we walked over and took those seats.

She leaned toward me. “Is it about Eddie?”
Her tone was eager, and the question about Eddie threw me off for a
moment.

“Well, are you going to tell me your news or
not?” Myrtle said, jerking me abruptly back on course.

“It’s not about Eddie. It’s about Josephine.
But you mustn’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t,” Myrtle said, pinching her lips
together with her fingers.

“Good. Well, it seems that Josephine’s
investing career didn’t end when her husband took over her stocks.
She figured out a way to hide her activities after that, and she
did amazingly well. As a matter of fact, she used some of the money
she made investing to buy a painting. And now that painting, which
has been hanging right here in her Brookside living room, is worth
millions.”

I took great care in the way I said that
last bit. I wanted to give the impression the painting was still
there, while not exactly saying that it was.

Myrtle’s eyes had widened as I spoke, and
her hand came up to cover the
O
her mouth was forming.

“Mr. Souter was absolutely livid when he
discovered she hadn’t reported it,” I added.

“That is delicious. Who’s the painter?”

“Someone named Edward Hopper.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You’ve heard of Monet, though?”

“Water lilies, right?”

“Right. It seems that in art circles, this
Hopper’s as famous as Monet.”

“Hopper, you say.” She was obviously working
to commit the name to memory. “Have you seen the painting?”

“When Josephine and I were working on the
inspiration book. But I had no idea it was worth so much.”

“Do you think she’d let me see it?”

I shook my head, trying for a rueful
expression. “I think Josephine feels very protective of the
painting. And now that the word is out about it, well, you know she
doesn’t like visitors, even in the best of times.”

Myrtle’s lips pooched out briefly, but then
she looked around the room, obviously trying to pick who to tell
first.

I decided a small nudge might be in order
since she wasn’t going to spot Edna, who didn’t come to meals.

“Can you imagine how Edna’s going to take
the news?” I stopped and put a hand over my mouth. “Oh, but you
can’t tell her.”

“Of course not,” Myrtle said. “Mum’s the
word.”

Our lunch plates were delivered then and I
tucked into mine, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done.

Devi

I had barely gotten my coat off Monday morning when Candace came
sailing into my office. “You will not believe what happened
Saturday.”

It was the first time we’d spoken since that
unpleasant conversation about Eddie, but Candace, acting as if that
never happened, launched into a tale about Josephine’s son
discovering she had a painting worth millions that he’d then
reported to Mr. Souter.

“I had no idea who Edward Hopper was until I
looked him up. The last painting of his sold at auction went for
forty million. Can you imagine?”

I couldn’t very well say that I knew about
the painting. So I sat, letting my mouth hang open in apparent
astonishment as Candace went on and on about Josephine calling in
that policeman, Mac somebody, who showed up with a little boy and a
dog and told Josephine’s son and Calvin to leave Josephine
alone.

What I felt was left out of the action.

“Shouldn’t you keep this a secret?” I said
when Candace finally finished telling me everything. “I doubt it’s
safe to have too many people know about the painting.”

“You’re probably right about that. Right
now, Calvin and I are the only ones who know,” she said, apparently
forgetting she’d just told me. “He’s fit to be tied, as you might
imagine.”

“What is he going to do about it?”

“There’s not much he can do. But I doubt the
son is going to let this go.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Calvin said he’d come to tell his mother
all the money for her fees had run out, and she had to move back
home with him. When he discovered she was sitting on millions, he
was furious. He made Lucy call Calvin and insist he come in, and
Calvin wasn’t very happy about being disturbed on a weekend. I can
tell you that.”

It worried me that Josephine’s son and Mr.
Souter knew about the painting, but it was even more worrying that
Candace knew, because she obviously couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
And, clearly, the more she spread the word about the painting, the
less secure it—and Josephine—would be.

It was a big enough worry that it even took
my mind off my own troubles for a time.

~ ~ ~

As soon as I had a few minutes free, I went to visit Josephine. I
looked for the painting as I stepped into the apartment, but there
was no sign of it. Instead, the Demeri watercolor was hanging in
its place.

“Candace told me what happened,” I said.
“I’m so sorry. The Hopper? It’s safe, isn’t it?”

“Not to worry,” Josephine said. “Mac helped
me. He also had to help me evict my son and Mr. Souter. And yes, we
had quite an interesting time on Saturday.”

“Candace mentioned a Mac somebody was called
in. And that he brought his little boy and a dog with him?”

“Mac somebody, indeed. He was babysitting
for his neighbor’s little boy, so he brought him along. And the
dog, of course.”

“Oh?”

“You do know Mac isn’t married. And he isn’t
a father.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I asked him. Flat out. He’s divorced. I
also asked him why he let you think he was married.”

“Oh, Josephine, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“So? How did he explain it?” As long as
she’d asked, I might as well know the answer.

“I think that’s something you’re going to
have to ask him.”

“Why would I? All I am to him is a
. . . a citizen. He obviously wants nothing to do with
me.” And I needed to remember it was for the best not to have
anything to do with him.

“Devi, Devi.” Josephine shook her head.

“What?”

“Lill did a couples analysis for you and
Mac. You’re made for each other. At least, that’s how we used to
put it. Now I guess you’d say he was your soul mate. And you don’t
get many of those. I should know.”

“What do you mean, Lill did a couples
analysis? We aren’t a couple.”

“But you should be.”

“You’re saying I should be part of a couple
with a man who told me he was married in order to avoid a
relationship with me. Do you know how nutty that sounds?”

“Lill thinks Mac failed at love. That not
only does he not want to get hurt again, he’s afraid to hurt
someone who cares about him.”

“Bit egotistical of him, don’t you think?
Assuming I care about him?”

“Don’t you?”

I fumed for a moment. “Okay. Yes, I care
about him.”

Or it would be a very small step from where
I now stood to caring for him. But really, I knew so little about
him. It was more likely what I felt was just physical
attraction.

All right, yes, it feels like more than
that
.

But what did I know about him besides
superficial stuff? That he’s a graceful loser, at least at cards,
and that he’s kind to small children and dogs. And he isn’t afraid
to confront society at its worst. All admirable
characteristics.

And I do like the way he looks. And seeing
him makes me feel like dancing.

But admitting that made me distinctly
uneasy. After all, I’d once told another man I barely knew I would
marry him, although I did come to know William better before going
through with the ceremony. In particular, I’d learned that he was a
very, very sore loser.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the
memory of a man who had wanted to hold on too tight. But Mac, he
was pushing me away instead of holding me close. And it made me
. . . sad.

Still, it was for the best. Because if there
was ever going to be anything between Mac and me, I’d have to tell
him about Chicago. And he’s a cop, after all. He’d have no choice
but to turn me in. My only hope was that Abigail might be able to
find out my status without giving me away. I felt a quiver of hope,
followed quickly by panic.

Some questions are, after all, better left
unanswered.

Edna

When Myrtle told me Josephine had a painting worth millions of
dollars just hanging on her living room wall, I simply didn’t
believe it at first.

“That’s the reason she locks her door and
never invites anyone in.”

“How do you know she locks her door?” I
said.

Myrtle wiggled a bit, obviously
uncomfortable. Then she shrugged. “Because I checked. I thought if
her door was unlocked, well, that someone should be told.”

Myrtle is a grade-A snoop. No question about
it. Too bad she’s also honest.

“Who’s the painter?”

“Someone named Edward Hooper or maybe
Hocker. Something like that.”

I didn’t consider that very helpful. But
regardless of the painter’s name, if the painting was worth what
Myrtle said it was, well, it would cover all Amanda’s expenses from
freshman year through any graduate program she might choose. There
would even be enough to pay for me to stay at Brookside with no
worries about using up resources Amanda might need.

Best of all, it minimized my risk to a
single big score with no need for me to sell any of the other items
I’d removed from residents’ apartments. Items the police were now
on the lookout for.

“How did you find out about this?” I asked
Myrtle.

“Lillian told me. She’s even seen the
painting. She did ask me not to tell anyone, and I haven’t. But I
thought it was okay to tell you. After all, you used to be
Josephine’s friend.”

I was in a lather to get away from Myrtle
and do some thinking, but she kept on talking. It was quite
tedious. Myrtle is usually tedious, although she is one of the few
people who seeks out my company. I don’t understand it, but I’ve
always had difficulty making friends.

When I was finally able to get away from her
with the excuse it was time to take my medication and I’d forgotten
to bring it with me, I first went back to my apartment to think
about things, and then I went to the community room to use the
computer.

I’d learned some of the basics about how to
“surf the Internet,” as Amanda calls it, from the program Devi
arranged. That’s also how I found out what the stamp was worth.

This time, after a short perusal of the
screen options to jog my memory, I typed Edward Hooper, painter in
the Google search box. A message came up asking if I meant Edward
Hopper. I clicked Yes and that brought up information about Edward
Hopper, an early twentieth-century American painter.

He had to be the one. His paintings were
worth, I blinked in astonishment.
Oh, my.
The last one sold
for forty million.

When Myrtle said millions, I thought she
meant a couple of million. That would be nothing to sneeze at, of
course. But forty million? My goodness. This was going to take some
thought.

And one quick one was that Mr. Souter was
not going to want the responsibility for the painting. He’d no
doubt insist that Josephine move it someplace more secure. Perhaps
she already had, a possibility that made my stomach clench. But
Lill should know about that, and she’d talked, according to Myrtle,
as if the painting was still here.

I wondered how large it was, but I didn’t
know how to make the computer give me an answer to that question.
Besides, I didn’t know which painting Josephine had. But I did know
how to get to it. All I needed was a cooperative staff member with
access to a master keycard.

The obvious choice was Eddie. If he was
willing to steal small amounts, he could likely be convinced to go
for a much larger prize. The tricky part would be trying to find a
buyer for the painting.

My fingers itched to type in unscrupulous
art dealer to see what would come up, but it seemed to me that the
crime dramas always show the detectives looking at suspects’
computers and being able to see everything they’d ever looked at.
The thought unsettled me. Although this was a community computer, I
figured there might be ways of knowing who used it.

I couldn’t remember how to close the
program, or how to blank out my search, so I turned off the
computer, something we’re not supposed to do.

Then I sat thinking about it. How would an
ordinary person sell a stolen painting possibly worth forty million
dollars? After a minute or two, I had it. The perfect plan.

I went to the office to ask if anyone knew
where Eddie was.

“Haven’t seen him,” Candace said. “Perhaps
he’s left already.” She was putting on her coat, obviously planning
to do the same.

It was most unsatisfactory. I was pretty
sure he was the only one who could help me. And we needed to move
fast.

~ ~ ~

Eventually, after doing a full circle of Eddie’s haunts, I returned
to the office area and found him there, skulking in the manager’s
office. Whenever Mr. Souter is out, Eddie acts like the office
belongs to him.

He glanced up at me when I knocked on the
door frame, but after that quick glance, he looked back at his
phone. I took a seat in front of him and waited for him to put his
phone down and pay attention to me.