A Little Learning Page 2

“I’ll get right on it.”

  After discussing my fee, Nathan Fenton wrote me a check, shook my hand, and left. Since this was Sunday, I didn’t expect either Misty May or Aaron Satterfield to be at work, so I left messages on their answering machines, asking them to call me. I read the poem again. Well, you have a case that doesn’t involve murder, I told myself. Solving cryptic riddles may not be your idea of fun, but you need the work. Besides, something like this will keep Jerry occupied for hours.

  Which reminded me.

  I called the book store and asked to speak to Jerry. He sounded extremely innocent.

  “Yes?”

  “There was a certain letter in the mail today from the Weyland Gallery.”

  “Was there?”

  “It seems I’m invited to enter three pieces in their New Artists Show.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “I’m wondering how I managed to enter a show without knowing about it.”

  “The world is full of unexplained phenomena.”

  “Jerry.”

  My tone of voice must have warned him not to go any further along the psychic highway. He began to laugh. “Congratulations!”

  “Jerry, how did you do it?”

  “I know people.”

  “In the art world?”

  “I asked Tucker, and he asked around and found out about the show. I took a picture of ‘Blue Moon Garden’ and sent it in. I forged your signature, by the way. Hope you don’t mind.”

  After my first and only art exhibit, which had been a disaster, I’d thrown away most of my work, but Jerry had rescued “Blue Moon Garden.” It was hanging in the living room at home. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Mac?” He sounded worried. “Are you still there? Look, if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. But they accepted you. That oughta count for something.”

  Actually, it counted for a great deal.

  “Don’t be angry,” he said. “I thought it might give you the push you need.”

  “I’m not angry.” I really wasn’t. I should be used to this kind of thing from him by now. “I didn’t realize how sneaky you were.”

  “Oh, I can be much sneakier. So you’ll do it?”

  “That’s three paintings I have to have done by Monday after next.”

  “Two. You can count ‘Blue Moon Garden.’”

  That made things a little easier. “Okay, two, but I have a case to consider, as well.” I checked my watch. “I’ve got to meet Shana. We’ll have a talk later. A long talk.”

  ***

  At noon, I met Shana at Deely’s Burger World, our local burger place. Shana Amry is better known as Shana Fairbourne, author of several steamy historical romance novels where words like “passion” and “desire” figure prominently. A tall graceful woman with red-gold hair and tiger-like yellow eyes, she could easily be the heroine of her novels.

  I sat down at Shana’s table. She introduced me to the woman sitting beside her. “Madeline, this is Rachel Sigmon. She teaches art at Celosia Elementary. Rachel, Madeline Maclin Fairweather. Madeline’s our resident Sherlock Holmes.”

  Rachel Sigmon was a small, slim woman with shoulder-length black hair and wide brown eyes. Her daisy earrings matched her sundress, and she was wearing an extra little cuff high on the edge of her right ear. This piece also had a daisy dangling from a tiny chain. “Hello, Madeline, nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I said. “I like your ear jewelry. Did you make it?”

  She touched the cuff. “You mean this? Yes, I did. I have this odd little notch in my ear, and this covers it nicely. I made the earrings, too.”

  “I’ve often told her she should start her own line,” Shana said.

  “Oh, but I’m not here to talk earrings,” Rachel Sigmon said. “Madeline, I saw the portrait you did for the theater lobby. Would you be willing to come show my classes some portrait techniques?”

  I turned to glare at Shana. She was pretending to examine her perfect fingernails. “I’m not a teacher.”

  “Oh, I’m not asking for a complete lesson plan. The kids would enjoy seeing a real artist at work.”

  I’m not a real artist, I started to say, and since Jerry wasn’t there to kick me under the table, I gave myself a mental kick. Yes, you are! You’ve got to start believing that. You’re going to be in a show!

  “You know,” Rachel said, “I’ve seen art change children’s lives. Sometimes art is the only thing in which some of them can excel. Maybe they can’t do math, or have poor reading skills, but they can draw. You’d be amazed how it builds their confidence.”

  And isn’t that what you need? I asked myself. A big shot of confidence?

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Great! How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Unless you’re busy with your cases?”

  Well, I certainly wasn’t busy with cases. I had one lone riddle to solve. Might as well jump right in. “Sure. Tomorrow’s fine.”

  “Great! Come around one o’clock. I’ll have all the materials for you. Just show the kids how you start with a sketch and then go from there.”

  “I think I can do that.”

  Rachel spent the rest of the lunch talking about her daughters, Bronwen and Magwen. Shana avoided making eye contact with me. I could tell she was having difficulty keeping her laughter inside. She knows I have a thing about little girls’ names. With so many lovely names to choose from, I am often astounded by the choices people make. Exhibit A: Darlan Kyle, who may or may not be female. Shana also knows how I feel about children. I’m pretty sure her young husband, Hayden, fulfills her need to have a child. And, as I’ve indicated, Jerry has more than his share of childlike tendencies.

  “So Bron has three dances in the recital, and Mag has two. They wanted to go to cheerleading camp, but I told them they had to choose. They couldn’t do cheerleading and dance. They’re both Girl Scouts, so we don’t have time for another activity. I was so pleased when they decided to continue their dance lessons. Of course, whatever Bron does, Mag wants to do, too.”

  Bron and Mag. Good grief.

  “Did I show you their latest pictures, Shana?”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile of pure innocence, “but I don’t believe Madeline has seen them.”

  I’ll get you for this, Shana Amry. I put on my most interested expression and made all the right comments about Rachel’s little girls, who sadly had not inherited their mother’s looks. In every photo, they looked round and glum, squinting in the sunlight, their expressions annoyed, as if they resented having their pictures taken.

  “What do you think about putting them in a Little Miss Pageant, Madeline? They’ve asked me about it. I think Bron would do well. She’s more outgoing. But Mag’s the better actress.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” I said.

  Rachel looked surprised. “Really? I thought you won several Little Miss titles.”

  “All my mother’s idea.”

  “Oh, you were pushed into it? See, I’m not like that, at all. The girls want to do it.”

  I’d heard that excuse a thousand times. “Wait until they’re teenagers. Then they’ll know what they’re getting into.”

  “What do you think, Shana?”

  “You might want to wait until the girls are older,” Shana said.

  Rachel Sigmon was one of those people who ask for your opinion but never really want it. “Oh, I think it’ll be fun. They love to dress up.”

  She chatted on about her daughters until she had to go pick Bronwen up at her dance lesson. As soon as she was gone, I leveled my darkest look at Shana. “You’ll pay for that.”

  She laughed. “Which part? Having to look at her pictures, listen to her gush, or talk to her class?”

  “All three, but the last one in particular. I thought she might have a case for me.”

  “You’re not hoping for another murder, are you?”

  “Of course not. I’m very good at
finding lost umbrellas, too.”

  Shana laughed again. A lost umbrella had made an effective weapon when a murderous woman had attacked me in the library. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to find something more lurid next time.”

  “How’s Hayden’s work coming along?”

  “He’s doing very well. He actually finished a poem yesterday, one very nice elegant, incomprehensible poem.”

  “And your latest?”

  “I’m up to page four hundred and thirty-four. And how’s Jerry? He looks like he’s having a good time at the store.”

  “Oh, he’s having a good time, all right. He’s entered me in an art show in Parkland.”

  “Really? Are you going to do it?”

  “I’ve got to find time to finish two paintings.”

  She smiled. “Are you a little annoyed with him?”

  “Just a little. Now that I’m over the shock, I have to agree I never would have entered on my own.”

  “So aside from Jerry’s schemes, how’s married life?”

  I had to admit it was great fun.

  “And the wedding? I hear you ran away to the beach.”

  “The Fairweather family has a beach house in Bermuda.”

  “How convenient.”

  “I enjoyed it much more this time. The last time I was there, I was recovering from my one and only art show.”

  “Oh, yes, the disaster.” She gave me a long considering look. “Then it’s time for another one, isn’t it? Another show, I mean, not another disaster. This show will be perfect. Any idea what’s holding you back?”

  “Well, I’d like to say I’m swamped with cases, but I just have one.”

  “Maybe Celosia is too small.”

  “I really don’t want to move back to Parkland. It’s too big.”

  “You might want to consider Rossboro, then.”

  Rossboro was home to Elijah’s lawyer, Misty May. I started to ask Shana about the town when Annie, one of the waitresses, stopped by to refill our tea glasses. “Anything else for you ladies?”

  “No, thanks,” we said.

  “I’m half way through Total Surrender, Shana,” she said. “It’s wonderful. I love the scene where Vixen tells Slate he’s not the only man for her. She’s just saying that, isn’t she? She doesn’t really mean it. He really is the only man for her.”

  “She’s going through a rough time,” Shana said. “You know how it is when you have to make a tough decision.”

  “I’ll say! We’re wanting to add another flavor of milkshake to the menu, and trying to figure out what kind is driving us all crazy. What do you think? Banana or blueberry?”

  “Oh, I vote for banana.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “That’s what I want. Nobody really likes blue drinks, you know.” She tore our bill off her pad and put it on the table. “Thanks, girls.”

  “Decisions, decisions,” I said. “Banana or blueberry? Slate or—who is it? Dirk?”

  “Yes. Dirk Steel.”

  “Dirk Steel.” I snickered, and Shana pretended to be offended.

  “It’s a difficult choice.”

  “Now what’s this about Rossboro? I just called a lawyer’s office there.”

  “It’s larger than Celosia, but not as large as Parkland. I’m not trying to get rid of you, you understand, but there might be more work for you. It’s only about forty minutes from here. We could take a little road trip.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  Shana set her elbows on the table, laced her fingers, and propped her chin on her hands. “So. What’s really holding you back from showing your work?”

  I sighed. “Fear, of course. Fear of failure. Fear of ridicule. The usual.”

  “But you faced Chance Baseford, the man who critiqued your first show. You said you felt good after that encounter.”

  “Oh, I did. But he’s not my worst critic. I am.”

  “Well, you’ll never know if you don’t give it another try.”

  “That’s true.” I was surprised by my growing feelings of excitement. The gallery had liked “Blue Moon Garden.” Why wouldn’t they like my other paintings? Paintings, however, I hadn’t done. Suppose they liked those, too? Suppose they said, let’s have an exhibit of your work. And those pieces sold, and I had more commissioned, and more shows, and I tuned back in time to hear Shana say, “So tell me more about the wedding. What did you wear? Did you get married on the beach?”

  “Yes. I had a very nice flowing flowery dress, and Jerry wore a white shirt and pants and, in honor of the solemn occasion, a white tie with golden flying fish on it. We left our shoes on the porch.”

  “Any guests?”

  “Jerry’s brothers, Des and Tucker, and Tucker’s new wife, Selene. My mother wasn’t very happy.”

  “She didn’t really expect to be invited, did she?”

  “Oh, I invited her, but she decided not to come. She was upset to learn that Jerry still doesn’t want any of the Fairweather money.”

  “Does Jerry need something more to do? Maybe working in the bookstore’s not enough of a challenge.”

  “He still holds séances.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Flossie Mae Snyder and Sylvie come faithfully every week to talk to their dead aunts.”

  “Well, if they’re silly enough to believe him.”

  “I thought once I solved the mystery of his parents’ deaths he’d stop the paranormal stuff.” For years Jerry felt responsible for the fire that killed his parents, but I’d pieced together the real story. “He and his older sister Harriet are on good terms now, and he’s even visited Tucker at the family home.”

  “He may need a little more time to adjust, that’s all. Which opera is he listening to these days?”

  Jerry liked opera, and his choice usually mirrored his mood. “The Tales of Hoffmann.”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “Oh, he’s dragged me to it many times. The opera’s an odd mix of three fantasy stories. One story’s about a mechanical doll, one’s about a woman who sings herself to death, and one story takes place in Venice, where Hoffmann’s soul is stolen by a beautiful courtesan. The character of Hoffmann was a restless man searching for the ideal woman, embodied by those three very different characters. He ends up drunk and alone.”

  Shana shook her head. “Okay, I have no idea what that could mean.”

  “Me, either,” I said.

  ***

  I couldn’t wait to have that long talk with my husband, so after leaving Shana, I stopped by Georgia’s Books. Jerry was helping Austin and Denisha sort through packs of Bufo cards. As usual, the kids were arguing about proper procedure.

  “You need to pick a pack from the bottom, Denisha. That’s where all the best cards come from.”

  “Austin Terrell, don’t you think I know that? Besides, if other kids have already been through the packs, the ones that used to be on the bottom are now on the top.”

  “How are we ever going to complete our set if you don’t hurry up?”

  They finally reached a settlement and dumped their change on the counter.

  “Do you have enough?” I asked.

  “Yes, thanks,” Austin answered.

  Denisha dug in the pocket of her shorts for another quarter. “I have more money right here. Go ahead, Austin.”

  Jerry handed him the cards. I don’t know who was more excited, the kids or Jerry as Austin tore off the green foil and quickly flipped through the cards. He held one up in triumph. “The Lily Pad!”

  Denisha grabbed his hand. “Let me see! It’s the white one! Now we’ve got all three.”

  I looked to Jerry for enlightenment. “The Lily Pads come in white, yellow, and pink,” he said. “Open another pack, Austin.”

  The other packs yielded the Horned Toad of Death, the Evil Frog Prince, and a pile of other lesser cards.

  “I’m getting a new shipment soon,” Jerry said. “We’ll try again.”

  After Austin
and Denisha left, I gave Jerry a look.

  “That’s very good,” he said. “I see you’ve perfected the Long Stare.”

  “You’re lucky I’ve had time to think about this.”

  “Then you know it’s a great idea.” Before I could answer, he said, “I know, I know, my methods were less than legal, but there was a deadline for the application, and I didn’t think I could talk you into it before that time was up. Now you can decide if you want to go through with it.”

  “If I can get two more paintings done by Monday.”

  “Of course you can. I’ve had a peek in your studio. There’s a picture of the house and one of the kids and even one of me that’s already a masterpiece.”

  I laughed and gave him a kiss. “I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Great! I knew you would. Did Shana have a case for you?”

  “She wanted me to meet her friend, Rachel Sigmon. Get this: her daughters are named Bronwen and Magwen.”

  He made a face. “That’s attractive. Our daughter will be named something much more pleasant, like Hortensia.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So her friends can call her Horry.”

  “A cute nickname is always a plus.”

  “Did Rachel want you to find something for her, aside from a new baby name book?”

  “She wants me to talk to her classes about art.”

  Jerry brightened. “That’s encouraging.”

  “What?”

  “That you now have a reputation as an artist as well as an ace detective.”

  “I suppose,” I said. “I’m a little nervous about talking to a group of fourth graders.”

  “They’ll love you. All the little girls will want to look like you, and all the little boys will be dazzled.”

  “You are the only boy I like to dazzle. When we get home tonight, there’s a riddle you can help me solve.”

  “Okay,” he said, “but I have a séance at nine.”

  The gleam in his eye made my heart sink. “Are you still leading Flossie Mae and her niece on about that watch?”

  He tried to look offended. “We’re very close to finding it.”

  “You are not. You’re making things up as you go along and you know it.”

  “But Flossie Mae and Sylvie are having such a good time.”

  Flossie Mae Snyder and her niece Sylvie had been coming to the house for weeks so Jerry could get in touch with Aunt Marge and Aunt Marie. In life, the two aunts had fought bitterly over a gold watch engraved with an “S.” In death, according to Jerry, Marge and Marie had reconciled and any day now would reveal the whereabouts of the watch. I had to admit that Flossie Mae and Sylvie thoroughly enjoy their trips to the Other World, but Jerry’s act was getting on my nerves.