A Little Learning Read online

  “How long are you going to keep this up?” Why did I ask this question? As long as Flossie Mae pays him, he’ll keep pretending to talk to Marge and Marie. “You’re going to have to disappoint them.”

  “Or Marge and Marie could come through with the watch.”

  He can say things like this with a totally straight face. I started to say things he didn’t want to hear when Fiona Kittering came into the store. Fiona’s a small dark-haired woman who works at Holiday Travel across the street from the bookstore. With her sharp little nose and determined manner, she reminds me of a rat terrier who’s out to convince the world she’s the biggest dog in the neighborhood.

  “Madeline, did Nathan Fenton come see you this morning?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Good. I told him to.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ve been going out for a couple of weeks now, and he mentioned this inheritance and how he needed some help with the riddle. I told him you were pretty good at solving mysteries.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Did he mention Chateau Marmot?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think he would. You need to go to Chateau Marmot.”

  “Isn’t a marmot something like a groundhog?” Jerry asked.

  I thought I knew all the landmarks around Celosia. “He mentioned a family home. Where’s this chateau? I’ve never heard of it.”

  Fiona pointed out the bookstore window to the left. “Down that way on Satterfield Drive. It’s not far from here. Nathan’s cousin Aaron used to live there, but he and Victoria are separated. She never speaks to anyone.”

  “Then what makes you think she’ll speak to me?”

  “Well, it’s a worth a try. You’re new in town, so you don’t have any preconceived notions about some of the older families.”

  “What can you tell me about the Fenton family?”

  She leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “Well, there were three Fentons. Elijah was the oldest, then Ellis, and then their sister, Eulalie. Ellis was Nathan’s father. Eulalie married Thomas Satterfield. They had a son named Aaron, who married Victoria Dewey—only she was known as Tori then.”

  “Nathan and Aaron are cousins.”

  “That’s right. I don’t know a whole lot about Tori, though. She and Aaron got married and moved into the chateau. He moved out, and I don’t think I’ve seen her since then.”

  “Nathan hasn’t been back to the family home?”

  “I honestly don’t know all the details. She refuses to talk to him, and she certainly wouldn’t talk to me. That’s why he hired you.”

  I wondered why Nathan hadn’t told me these important details about his family and the chateau. “Okay, what about the rest of the riddle? What’s this about a river and a sparrow?”

  “The only river around here is Parson’s Creek. As for the sparrow, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “I understand Uncle Elijah was fond of word games.”

  “He was an evil old coot. Ask anyone. Nathan says he was always rude to Tori. I guess he didn’t like the idea of his nephew Aaron marrying a Dewey. The Deweys weren’t on the same social level.”

  “But he left her the house and some money.”

  “Because he loved the chateau and knew she would stay there.”

  “And Aaron’s in Parkland.”

  “Oh, he left Celosia years ago. I don’t think he was very kind to Tori. She was probably glad to see him go. Aaron might be able to shed some light on this riddle. Then again, he might not want to help. He and Nathan are quite different.” She straightened from the counter and gave her clothes a brief tug to make sure everything was in line. “I tell you, Madeline, Nathan is a fine man. Good manners, educated, and this dream of his to open Camp Lakenwood for underprivileged kids—what a wonderful thing. That’s why it’s so important we find his fortune.”

  I noticed she said “we.” “Then I hope Mrs. Satterfield will agree to talk to me.”

  “I think she will. I understand you’re an artist, and Tori’s somewhat of an artist herself.”

  Jerry grinned at me. “Notice this is another connection to art.”

  “The chateau’s full of old pictures,” Fiona said. “One of them’s bound to be the portrait in the riddle.”

  Nathan hadn’t mentioned this, either.

  “Is this the riddle you wanted me to see?” Jerry asked.

  I took the paper out of my pocket. “There’s not a lot to it.”

  Jerry read the riddle and frowned. “It doesn’t make much sense.”

  “That’s why you need to go to the chateau,” Fiona said. “I’ll bet all the answers are in there.”

  “How do I get in touch with Mrs. Satterfield? Is Chateau Marmot listed in the phone book?”

  “1-800-Rodent,” Jerry said.

  “I have it with me,” Fiona said. She reached in her pocket and handed me a piece of paper. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And thank you for helping Nathan. He didn’t want to come to you. I think he’s embarrassed by the whole thing—oh, not that you’re a woman detective. Having Elijah Fenton for an uncle is embarrassment enough. He must have been a real butthead.”

  “I’m glad to be on the case,” I said. I was glad to be on any case.

  Fiona thanked me and left. Jerry took the riddle. “Leave this with me. I’ll see what I can figure out.”

  “I’m going to call Mrs. Satterfield,” I said.

  I went to the small room at the back of the store the employees used for a break room and took out my cell phone. I was expecting a harsh rebuff, but Victoria Satterfield had a light little feathery voice that trembled with excitement.

  “I would very much like to meet you, Ms. Maclin. Could you come tomorrow morning?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “It’s the large stone house on Satterfield Drive. Well, actually, it’s the only house on Satterfield Drive. Just ring the front doorbell.”

  “I’ll see you then.” That was puzzling, I thought. She sounded very pleasant. As I closed my phone, Georgia came in, her arms full of magazines.

  “Oh, hello, Madeline.” She plopped the magazines on the small table.

  “I just stepped back here to make a phone call,” I said.

  “Anytime, dear.” She took off her half glasses and let them dangle on their pearl chain. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

  Another case? I was pleased and appalled at the same time. When would I find time to paint? “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Well, it depends on how you look at it. Business is a little slow right now, and as much as I love having Jerry around, there’s just not enough for him to do. I’m going to have to cut back on his hours.”

  Uh-oh. “Business picks up around October, though, doesn’t it?”

  “Usually. How do you think he’ll feel about this?”

  I knew exactly how Jerry would feel. Free! Free, at last! “He’ll be okay.” Oh, my gosh, I’d have to find something for him to do.

  “I’m sure I’ll have more work for him during the holiday season, but I have to keep my other workers on the payroll. They’ve been with me for years.” She peered at me anxiously. “This isn’t going to be a financial burden on you, is it?”

  “No, we’ll manage,” I said. “I have a case right now.”

  “Good. I was worried. I wanted to sort of find out how things were before I told him.”

  “He’ll be fine, Georgia.”

  “I think I’ll go ahead and let him know today.”

  My mind whirled with this information as I walked back to the counter. Jerry was laughing and joking with two women who’d been in the community theater’s recent production of The Music Man.

  “Are you going to play for South Pacific next summer?” one asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s hard to plan that far in advance.”

  “Would you be interested in playing for our Chr
istmas cantata?” the other woman asked. “We’re desperate to find somebody. The music isn’t hard. I’ll bet you could sight read it.”

  “I’ve never played for a church program,” he said.

  “Oh, it’s easy. It’s basically lots of Christmas carols with a few extra tunes thrown in. Why don’t I bring a copy by and let you look at it? Then you can decide.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “This might work into a good job for you,” she said. “Do you play the organ, too?”

  “Never tried that.”

  “Think about it.”

  Jerry needed plenty to do, but I knew he didn’t want to be tied down every Sunday. He told the women he’d look over the cantata, but he couldn’t make any promises. After the women left, there were a few more customers, and then Georgia came up.

  “Jerry, dear, I hate to tell you this, but I’m going to have to cut back on your hours. You’re a very good worker, but business is slow, and the other employees have been with me for years. I’m just going to need you a few hours every day, if that’s all right.”

  I saw the gleam in Jerry’s eyes. “That’s fine with me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Georgia, there are all kinds of things I can do.”

  She looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll have a new schedule for you tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Jerry said. “See you tomorrow, then. Ready to go, Mac?”

  “All set.” I kept my smile in place for Georgia’s sake, but as we walked down the sidewalk to the car, I said, “I’m a little concerned about this.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find another job.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re going to enter the art show, aren’t you? We have a deal here.”

  “Yes, but what sort of job do you have in mind?”

  “Oh, something will come up.”

  “You’re not bored here, are you?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “We could always take a trip somewhere, do something a little more exciting.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can make my own excitement.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He grinned. “I seem to recall we made a bargain not long ago. I’ve kept my end of it. I am legally employed. You were supposed to continue your art work, right, Mrs. Fairweather?”

  “Yes, and the minute we get home, I’m going to see what can be done.” In fact, I’d been anxious to get to my studio. My fingers were practically itching to hold a brush or pencil. “I can’t neglect Nathan’s case, though.”

  “It’s not a very huge case, is it?”

  “Shana suggested I might find more work in another town.”

  “You want to move?”

  “No, just commute. Maybe to Rossboro. Know anything about it?”

  “Oh, Jeff and I did Rossboro.”

  “I’ll bet you did.”

  “The knife trick.”

  “You weren’t throwing knives at each other, were you?”

  “No, you set a knife point up and cover it with a paper cup. Then you turn away and have the mark—excuse me, the audience member—put three more paper cups on the table, and you slam your hand down on the ones without the knife. It’s very exciting.”

  “Ow. I’m glad I never saw you do that one.”

  “It’s very easy if you know the secret.”

  “How long were you in Rossboro before you were chased out?”

  “Long enough. It’s a nice town. Bigger than Celosia, but most towns are.”

  “I think I want to have a look.”

  “Okay.”

  I felt a little guilty. After all, I’d convinced Jerry to settle down, something I never thought he’d do. He liked the house. I liked the house. If I found work in Rossboro, or anywhere else, a long commute would quickly get old. Well, it was too soon to start worrying about this.

  “Do you remember if there were any museums or art galleries?”

  “A forger I knew worked in the museum.”

  I wasn’t going to ask.

  “When do you want to go scope it out?” Jerry asked.

  “Some time soon. Shana’s already suggested a road trip, but you can come, too.”

  “Ride with the most beautiful woman in town?” He paused just long enough. “And Shana? Great! I’m there.”

  “We might leave you home.”

  On the drive home, Jerry put in a CD. I recognized the “Barcarole” from The Tales of Hoffmann. It’s a slow, sensual duet that flows along like the gentle rocking of a gondola. I heard this tune a lot in college. Jerry liked to listen to it just before an important exam.

  He took the piece of paper out of his pocket. “I need inspiration for this riddle you gave me.”

  “Got it solved yet?”

  “I wonder what it means by a sparrow from ancient times.”

  “A really old bird?”

  “I looked up ‘sparrow,’ in the store, thinking it might have another meaning. Here’s what Mister Webster says, ‘Any of several small dull singing birds.’”

  “That’s harsh. Not only are they small, but they’re dull.”

  He turned the music down a little. “When are you going to Chateau Groundhog?”

  “I called and set up an appointment for tomorrow morning.”

  “So she’s really going to see you?”

  “I guess being an artist has its uses.”

  “You’re using the power, the power isn’t using you.”

  I leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Thank you.”

  He looked at the riddle again. “How much money will Fenton get if he solves this riddle?”

  “He didn’t say. But if he doesn’t solve the riddle, all the money goes to—and you’re going to love this—building bat houses.”

  He laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “Elijah and Val must have been pals.”

  “Sounds like they were drinking buddies.” Jerry folded the riddle back into his pocket. “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one with a screwy uncle.” He dug into his other pocket. “We got a new shipment of Bufo cards in today. I had to beat the crowds back with a stick. Want a sticker? I thought I’d decorate the kitchen.”

  “No, thanks. I have enough to do for tonight.”

  Besides reviewing my own paintings, I needed to work on some sort of presentation for Rachel’s class, so when we got home, I said, “I’m going to do some art stuff now, so don’t give me any more grief.” I was halfway up the stairs when I heard the steady hum of the fan. “Didn’t Nell fix the air conditioner?”

  “She called and said she needed a part. She’ll be by tomorrow.”

  Nell Brenner’s our resident handywoman. She said she’d always wanted to get her hands on the Eberlin house. I think she got more than she bargained for. She certainly has her hands full with all the repairs the old house needs. When Jerry and I first saw the house, Jerry was delighted by its spooky appearance, but I was appalled by its rundown condition. We soon realized most of the scabbiness was on the outside. Jerry’s Uncle Val hadn’t felt the need to mow or paint, but he lived very simply. We didn’t find clutter or piles of clothes and food wrappers. Inside, the rooms had been bare and dusty with Victorian style furniture. Now the hardwood floors were shiny and the high ceilings free of cobwebs. The kitchen needed just a little updating. We kept the sturdy white wood cabinets and wooden table and chairs. Most of the upstairs bedrooms just needed a paint job, and with Jerry’s unwanted assistance, Nell transformed the living room into a calm blue room with a white sofa and crystal lamps. Jerry hung the rescued “Blue Moon Garden” over the mantel.

  I needed two more pictures to go with “Blue Moon Garden” to the Weyland Gallery. I checked by my parlor studio. Tacked to my easel was Austin’s latest offering, a pencil drawing of an impossibly big wheeled car with a forest of huge tailpipes jutting out behind and a grill like a shark’s grin. Denisha hadn’t shown an interest in art, but Austin had noteb
ooks filled with detailed sketches of fantasy cars, motorcycles, dinosaurs, and spaceships. I decided I wouldn’t mind showing kids how to draw. I’d helped Austin with perspective and shading. I could start with some simple shapes and explain the same concepts to Rachel Sigmon’s class.

  I sat down for a moment in one of Uncle Val’s beautiful old Victorian chairs. I had coveted this room from the beginning. The size and shape, the light, everything was perfect for a studio. I had all my art supplies neatly arranged and lately, I’d had plenty of time to paint. Now that I’d confronted the critic who made my first and only exhibit a nightmare, I felt much more confident in my work, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for another show. And what could I possibly use for the New Artists Show?

  Propped along the walls of the parlor were my on-going projects: a landscape of the fields and trees in front of the house, some small drawings of wildflowers, a couple of abstracts, Austin and Denisha holding Austin’s boxer puppy, and Jerry’s portrait, which was only a rough pencil sketch. Still, I’d manage to capture the sparkle in his gray eyes and a hint of his smile. I’d drawn him leaning over the front porch railing, his head turned toward me, his impish expression suggesting I’d just caught him planning some grand scheme. Okay, so it wouldn’t take a lot of work to finish that, and maybe I could use the landscape, if I added more light and color. Of course, there was another painting I’d started of the fields in front of the house that would be a perfect complement to “Blue Moon Garden” if I could get it ready in time.

  I looked around the parlor, imaging all the paintings framed and hanging on the walls of an art gallery or museum. I needed to prove to myself that I was a legitimate artist. But the cost of framing, hiring a hall, publicity—I’d have to solve several cases for some very wealthy people before an exhibit was possible, but this Weyland Gallery show was a huge first step toward making this dream a reality.