A Dubious Delivery (A Seagrove Cozy Mystery Book 9) (3 page)

“Why ‘Ugh’?” asked Sadie.

“Because this isn’t getting us anywhere,” Betty said. “None of it connects.”

“We knew it was dwarfed by the ugliest frame I’ve ever seen,” Sadie said.

“That doesn’t help either.” Betty took a paper towel and wiped off the board. “What’s important about that painting?”

“Other than the fact it was found in Sadie’s stuff? Nothing,” Lucy said.

Betty began doodling on the board. “So we’ve got this painting that’s entirely unremarkable other than the fact it appeared in Sadie’s crates. The painting itself has no importance?”

“I don’t think so,” Lucy said, and Sadie shook her head.

“I don’t know what its resale value is but based on the paintings at the co-op I’d say less than $100. It’s less than half the size of the paintings they were selling for $200-$250.”

“And for all we know,” Betty said, “they could have been in the store for months, and nobody’s bought them.”

“So there’s nothing remarkable about the painting,” Lucy said. “What does that tell us?”

Betty drew a house with a stick figure of an old man outside of it. “As far as I can tell? Nothing,” Betty said.

“An unremarkable painting with a hideous frame shows up unexpectedly. The old man who picks it up gets bashed on the head, and the painting goes missing. But why would anybody want an unremarkable painting so badly they’d injure an old man? He probably would’ve given it to him if the thief had asked.”

“Or maybe not,” Sadie said, “if it’s really a clue to where treasure is hidden. Although Professor Ives says that is highly unlikely.”

“Does Cyrus Dumville live by himself?” Lucy asked.

Betty lifted her shoulders and hands, palms up.

“I don’t know either,” Sadie said. “Maybe we should find out.”

“How do we do that?” Lucy asked.

“By visiting him,” Sadie said. “And if we don’t see anyone hanging out on the couch then we ask him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Betty said, “but I can’t go. We still have a ton of stuff that needs to be priced and labeled.”

“I’ll help with that,” Lucy said.

“Me too, and then we all can go together,” Sadie said.

Sadie carried the tea things up to her apartment above the store and left them in the sink. When she got back downstairs, Lucy and Betty were hard at work pricing and tagging. So Sadie took it upon herself to carry the items into the shop and shelve them. Normally this was one of her favorite things to do. She would relive the memories of the places where she’d found her treasures and give the new items the places of honor --those places most easily seen -- to her favorites. But today her mind was wrapped up in the conundrum of Mr. Dumville and his painting. So much so that she almost hid a beautiful Italian ceramic vase behind a stuffed monkey that she’d accidentally dislodged from the top shelf.

So it came as a relief when the phone rang, and she could put the monkey down on the sales counter for a few minutes. She’d been moving that monkey around the shop for two years now, and she couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to buy the mangy thing to begin with.

She dragged her cell phone from her back pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Zack, and her spirits lifted.

“Hello, husband-to-be,” she said, “what news do you have to tell me?”

“Not much. Old Man Dumville appears to be very confused about that painting. The longer I talked to him the less sure he became. I’m beginning to think that painting is a figment of his imagination.”

“Except Lucy, Betty and I saw it,” Sadie said. “It was at the shop yesterday morning. And I now know who painted it.”

“How’d you find out that?” Zack asked. “Not that I’m surprised, you always have had a way with getting to the bottom of things, but that’s a pretty good feat.”

“There are other paintings by him in the co-op gallery,” she said. “I quite like them.”

“So the question remains, ‘Why did Cy’s disappear?’ I’m sending Officer Wilson over there this afternoon to poke around,” Zack said.

“Actually, I’m thinking of going over to find out if he lives alone. Why not let me poke around?” she asked.

“Because you are not an officer of the law.” He was laughing at her.

“But hey, give it a try. If you come up with nothing I’ll send Wilson over later. Just don’t break the law while you are there.”

“I’m very law abiding, as you well know,” she said. “I’ll call you when I get back.”

“You’re not going by yourself, are you?” he asked. “You should at least take Mr. Bradshaw with you.”

“Lucy and Betty are coming, too,” she said.

“They are just as curious as I am about this. We want to know the story behind that painting. It’s too much of a puzzle to ignore.”

“Well, remember that it’s a puzzle that got Cyrus bashed on the back of his head and keep your eyes open. I’d hate it if the same happened to you.”

“I promise to do my best to avoid getting bashed on the back of the head. I also promise Mr. Bradshaw will bite anyone who tries. Is that good enough?” she asked.

She was smiling, bantering with Zack made her happy, especially when there was a mystery involved.

“You said you knew who painted the picture,” Zack said. “Who is it?”

“Roger Orwin,” Sadie said, picking up the mangy monkey and looking around the room. Not seeing a likely place for him, she set him back down on the sales counter.

“Do you know anyone who could use a stuffed monkey? I’ve got one I’d let go cheap.”

“We always can use toys down at the station,” he said. “Do you want me to pick it up next time I’m there?”

“Oh, no. He’s not that kind of stuffed. Taxidermied is what I should have said. This thing would terrorize the average child. It has its teeth bared in an awful grin and, on top of that, it looks like it had mange when it died.”

“Why in the world did you buy that?” Zack asked incredulously. “Sounds like it should go in the trash.”

“I can’t put what used to be a live animal in the trash,” Sadie said. “It would give me nightmares.”

“The one who should get nightmares is the person who stuffed it,” Zack said. “Can you give it a decent burial?”

“I don’t know. It seems too alive to be buried.” Sadie squinted at the monkey.

“And malevolent. Too bad the circus isn’t in town. It would be right at home in one of the games.”

She thought about it for a minute. “Well, not the games, it would scare away the players, but maybe in one of the sideshows.”

“Do you know where the circus went?” Zack asked. “I bet Betty’s boyfriend keeps in touch. He can tell you where to send it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sadie said.

She heard Betty and Lucy calling her name from the back room. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’m not keeping up with my part of the production line.”

“All right then,” he said. “But be careful, and don’t go snooping alone.”

“Yes, Chief,” she said, grinning inwardly. He pretended he didn’t like it when she called him that.

“Zack, Sadie. My name is Zack.”

“Yes, dear.” She hung up the phone and joined the other two in the back room.

“Sorry,” she said. “I got distracted. Anybody want a mangy monkey?”

“I told you not to buy that monkey,” Lucy said. “But would you listen to me? No, you would not.”

She took the monkey from Sadie and reached up to put it on a high shelf in the work room. “There, that’ll teach you not to listen to me.”

Mr. Bradshaw trotted into the room to see what the ruckus was and began barking at the monkey.

“I’d forgotten. This is why he was hidden on a high shelf in the shop. Mr. Bradshaw doesn’t like him.” Sadie bent down to pick up the agitated terrier, but he scooted under the table.

“I’ll fix this,” Betty said. She climbed on a chair, grabbed the monkey and put him in the big cupboard at the end of the room.

Mr. Bradshaw stopped barking and allowed himself to be caught.

“Come on,” Sadie said. “The rest of this stuff can wait. I want to show you the other paintings on the way to Cyrus’ place.”

“
H
ere’s
what I don’t understand,” Lucy said as they were standing in the co-op gallery looking at Roger Orwin’s paintings.

“If he paints here in town why did he have to ship a painting from Italy? Couldn’t he just have given Cyrus one of these paintings?”

“Cyrus’ painting supposedly has a clue to treasure,” Sadie said.

“If that’s true, then none of these would do. Unless they all have that information coded into them.” She frowned at the painting in front of her. If it had secrets, it wasn’t giving them up.

“But it’s unlikely any treasure is buried here, isn’t it?” Betty asked. “I think the whole thing is a hoax.”

“Could be,” Sadie said, “but why would anyone bash an old man over the head for a hoax? That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?”

“Maybe the basher didn’t know it was a hoax?” Lucy said. “Maybe they bought into the hoax and now busily are trying to figure out where the treasure is?”

“But if that were the case, wouldn’t we be seeing holes popping up in people’s yards as the basher tries different places?” Betty asked.

“There has to be some logic behind this somewhere,” Sadie said. “We just don’t know what it is. Personally, I think it has something to do with the ginormous frame around Cyrus’ painting.”

The shop attendant, who still had been on the phone when the women came in, apparently had ended his call. He drifted over to where the women were standing.

“Can I help?” he asked in a bored voice.

“Do you know this artist?” Sadie asked, gesturing to one of the Roger Orwin paintings.

“Roger, sure I know him.” Bored boy sounded surprised.

“I know all the artists. We all have studios in the building by the train tracks. You should know, Ms. Barnett, you helped get it funded.”

Sadie smiled in what she hoped was a Madonna-like manner. It didn’t pay to be too cocky.

“I do know,” she said.

Part of what had come with converting that building was that every artist in three counties knew who she was.

“Is Roger still around?” she asked.

“Oh, no. There was some scandal a while back, and he left pretty abruptly. One day he was there, painting, the next his studio was cleaned out. I never heard what happened.” He looked her directly in the face for the first time.

“Do you know?”

“Sorry,” Sadie said, shaking her head.

But she wasn’t really sorry, and she wouldn’t have told him even if she did know. She didn’t like the glint in his eye.

“But why are you still selling his paintings if he isn’t at the studio anymore?” Lucy asked. “Isn’t that part of the agreement, you can’t sell your work here unless you are active in your studio?”

“You’d have to ask the boss,” he said, looking bored again.

“I don’t know why these are still here.” His phone rang, and he wandered off to answer it.

“You have to be quick and to the point if you want to buy anything from that boy,” Betty said. “If his phone rings you’re out of luck.”

“Truth,” Lucy said.

Sadie went back to examining the paintings. She’d given up trying to work out if they held the clue to some buried treasure, but she was delighted by them and wanted to see if she could spot any more hidden purses or ice cream cones.

“This is better than one of those I Spy books,” she said.

“Look, there’s a dolphin in the waves I didn’t see before. Looks like it’s pushing a doll through the water with its nose.”

“Looks like a homunculus to me,” Lucy said. “Like it’s alive.”

“I think that’s Ken,” Betty said. “As in Barbie and.”

“I guess it could be,” Sadie said, “but I kind of like the idea of it being a homunculus.”

She only knew what a homunculus was from the story
Dragon Rider
, by Cornelia Funke, and wondered how the others knew.

“Okay, give,” Betty said, “what is a homunculus?”

“It’s like a Pinocchio,” Lucy said, “only it has been animated by a sorcerer instead of a wish. Didn’t Pinocchio’s maker wish he had a son? I never liked that story so I’m fuzzy on the details.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Betty said. “I get the idea.”

“I think a homunculus uses the life force of another living thing to animate itself,” Sadie said. “Like a flea or a spider.”

The shop door opened and a tall woman swept in. The shop assistant ended his call and put his phone away with amazing alacrity. Sadie surmised this was the co-op manager. She planned to wait until the woman had put her coat away and was settled in before she approached her, but the manager divested herself of her coat and bags and came directly over to them.

“I am Mary Marconi; can I help you?” she asked.

Sadie was impressed that she didn’t apologize for her shop assistant. The urge to put him down a notch must have been very strong. At least that’s what Sadie would be longing to do.

“I have a few questions about the artist who painted these,” Sadie said. “I actually do want to buy one, but I need to wait until I can show them to my fiancé. I don’t want to put something on the wall he hates.”

“Completely understandable,” Mary said. “What would you like to know?”

“We are curious,” Sadie said, wondering how much to tell this woman. As little as possible for the time being, she decided.

“If Roger Orwin doesn’t have a studio anymore why are you still selling his paintings? I thought artists had to be actively creating to sell here.”

She kept her voice light, she didn’t want this woman on the defensive, especially now that Lucy and Betty had moved to hear her answer.

“His studio fees are paid through the end of the year,” Mary said. “And we do have provisions for artists who want to travel. It’s perfectly within our by-laws.”

“Where do you send his checks?” Sadie asked, doubting the woman would tell her. She certainly would not divulge that kind of information.

“Direct deposit into his local bank account.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Anything else?”

“Can you put a hold on this painting for me?” Sadie walked over to one of Roger’s paintings she hadn’t examined yet.

“I thought this was your favorite,” Betty said, pointing to the one they had been examining.

“When I figured out they were hidden picture paintings I stayed away from the one that attracted me the most,” Sadie said. “I want to save some of the fun for Zack too.”

“Well, aren’t you tricky?” Lucy said. “Would’ve never guessed that one is your favorite. To guess on buying you one, I would have bought the wrong one.”

“I’m sneaky like that,” Sadie said.

“I’ll bring Zack by in the next day or two,” she said to Mary. “Is that soon enough?”

“Considering we haven’t sold one of his in at least two months, I think you’ll be fine,” Mary said.

She walked to the sales desk and made a note on a sheet, and then brought a little yellow sticker back and placed it on the wall label.

“There,” she said, “it’s all yours. Just please remember to let us know if you change your mind.”

“I will,” Sadie said.

“Come on ladies, we have work to do. Mr. Bradshaw, let’s go.”

And Mr. Bradshaw, who’d been curled up on the floor in a sunny spot, jumped up and headed for the door.

While on the sidewalk, she said, “Let’s go to the bank before we go to Cyrus’ house. I want to see if they will give me his address.”

“Surely not,” Lucy said. “That has to be against policy.”

“If anybody can talk them into it, it will be Sadie,” Betty said. “But I’m not putting money on it this time.”

“Only one way to find out,” Sadie said and pointed in the direction of town hall, which was just this side of the only bank in town.

“To the bank, to the bank, to the bank, bank, bank,” she sang.

On the way, Lucy and Betty ducked into a boutique, saying they would catch up with Sadie on her way back from the bank. Sadie left them to it, knowing they still would be there hours later if she didn’t come to collect them.

At the bank, one of the tellers gave Mr. Bradshaw a dirty look so Sadie picked him up and carried him to the information desk. Sadie had known the woman behind the desk, Sally Picket, her whole life. She was rather like Mrs. Claus, round, white-haired and twinkling. She had the reputation of giving out the best candy at Halloween, and tipping the carolers rather well at Christmas.

“What can I do for you, Sadie dear?” Sally asked.

“It’s a bit, uh, unusual, Sally,” Sadie said. “Roger Orwin has an account here. He’s been out of town for a while, and I wondered if you had an address for him.”

Sally opened a drawer and pulled out a dog biscuit for Mr. Bradshaw, and he curled up in Sadie’s lap to crunch it up. Sally tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard and knitted her eyebrows together.

“I cannot give you his address. However, it’s within my power to forward a note from you. Would that be helpful?”

“Perhaps,” Sadie said. “I’ll have to think about what I’m going to say. What do you do when you need to get hold of him?”

“He has a local contact, dear. A joint signature on the account, as it were,” Sally said.

“And are you allowed to tell me who that is?” Sadie asked.

“Unfortunately, no. In fact, it has to be a dire emergency before we are allowed to contact her, I mean that person.”

Sally did not look at all embarrassed about her slip of the tongue. In fact, she may even have winked at Sadie.

“You know,” Sally said, “it’s not unusual for clients who travel to put their significant others on their accounts. That way they always can access money if something comes up, like a home repair or being short on the rent. I suppose if you were going away for a while, you’d put Lucy, Betty or
Zack
on your account.” She emphasized the name Zack just slightly.

“Yes,” Sadie said, “if I were going away I would put
Zack
on my account so he could take care of things,” Sadie emphasized Zack just the way Sally had.

Sally nodded. “Well dear, if you decide you want to send Roger a note, just bring it to me and I will send it on.”

She stood up and scratched Mr. Bradshaw behind the ears. “Good boy,” she said.

Mr. Bradshaw licked her hand in thanks for the biscuit and jumped down from Sadie’s lap. Sadie thought it was probably safe to let him walk out of the bank, and he was a perfect gentleman, staying right by her side. She resisted the urge to turn around and stick her tongue out at the cashier who’d given them a dirty look. She really did not understand people who were anti-dog. Mr. Bradshaw was better behaved than most children she knew.

Sadie dropped back into the boutique where Lucy and Betty were still shopping, to let them know she was going to visit Zack for a few minutes. Betty was just coming out of the dressing room in the most bohemian looking caftan that Sadie ever had seen. Lucy was giggling hysterically, and when Sadie told them what she was doing, they happily waved her away.

Zack had his reading glasses perched on his nose and a file folder open on his desk when Sadie and Mr. Bradshaw walked in. He had the look of a man who was concentrating on a difficult algebra problem, and Sadie turned around and started to slip back out of his office.

“Sadie,” he said from behind her, “come back.”

“You looked so deep into that file that I didn’t think you’d noticed I was here,” Sadie said. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

“I need a break,” he said, slipping off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Have you made any progress on the case of the missing painting? Or, more correctly, the case of the assault on the person of Cyrus Dumville? Actually, I’ve never seen the painting.”

Sadie sat in one of the chairs across from Zack, and Mr. Bradshaw jumped into the other. “I can show you what it looks like,” she said.

“The co-op has a bunch more by the same artist, Roger Orwin. He’s no longer in town, but his studio rental is all paid up so they still are selling his work. I want you to come look at his work with me.”

“Why? Is there a clue as to who bashed Mr. Dumville?” Zack said, looking puzzled.

“No. Because I want to buy one, and I’m not going to do it if you don’t like his work. I don’t want to have something on the wall that you hate to look at,” Sadie said.

“If you like it, you should buy it,” he said. “If you like it, I can learn to live with it.”

“Would you at least Google him and take a look?” Sadie said.

“He does this hidden picture thing, where the longer you look at the painting, the more little details you see. I thought it would be fun for us to discover them together.”

Zack obediently clicked his mouse and typed on his keyboard. He chuckled.

“There’s a crab eating ice cream,” he said.

“That’s my kind of crab.” He clicked through a few more pages.

“Very cheerful,” he said. “I approve. And I’m even game for playing find the picture if its means spending time with you.”

He looked up and smiled wearily at Sadie. “Have you learned anything about Cyrus?” he asked.

“I sent Wilson over to look for evidence, but she didn’t find anything germane. Not that she did an exhaustive search of the premises, we are horribly slammed at the moment.”

Sadie thought it was too bad that Zack was shorthanded, especially because Sylvester, Betty’s boyfriend, would have loved to work in Seagrove. There was a hiring freeze until the town budget passed. The drawback to a small town, New England living; the yearly budget vote.

“I’ll let you know if I see anything I think should be investigated,” Sadie said. “Did they do photos and whatnot at the hospital?”

“Yes, we took evidence and pictures. And Wilson took pictures at his home – not that there was anything to see. So unless he fell and hit his head outside somewhere, someone cleaned the scene.”

“You think he fell?” she asked.

“If you hadn’t actually seen the missing painting, I would have put money on it,” Zack said. “His facts are very fuzzy.”

“Could that be because he was hit on the head?” Sadie asked.

“Maybe, but did he seem clear of his facts when he picked up the painting, or was he vague then, too?” Zack asked.

“I don’t know,” Sadie said. “I wasn’t paying that much attention. He seemed fuzzy, but then a lot of older people seem unsure of their facts. I don’t know what to think.”