A Game of Cones

by Abby Collette

  “So when are we going to talk to them?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “You’re going to protest with Bobby, Riya is going to take Mr. Mason over to the clinic and check him out, and we might get busy if their sale brings more foot traffic.”

  “The protest isn’t until later,” she said.

  “Where is it?”

  “On the block where Rhys Enterprises wants to buy.”

  “Is anyone from Rhys going to be there?” I asked. Didn’t seem like it would do much good if the company they were protesting against wouldn’t know they were doing it.

  “I don’t know. Veronica said someone from the company was coming to take Zeke’s place, but I don’t know if they arrived yet or not.”

  “Yeah, but Ivan said that a new company was taking over.” We looked at each other unsure what to do. “Well, anyway, I can’t go. Aunt Jack left and my mother would be here by herself. The ice cream store has to come first.”

  Maisie gave me a pained look.

  “We might have to admit defeat on this one, Maisie. This might be one that we won’t be able to solve.”

  chapter

  THIRTY-NINE

  Riya left with Mr. Mason. She said she’d check him out and see to him getting back home. I wasn’t even sure where that was. She said she would try to find out.

  Not long after my mother said she was tired and ready to go, although she did say she would be stopping by at Around the Corner Bookshop to see what she could pick up.

  But as it were, foot traffic turned out to be no more than the usual number of feet that went through that time of the evening, so again I left running the shop to Candy and Wilhelmina and headed out with Rory. The two of them headed toward the sidewalk sale, and Rory and I stopped by my house. We found Rory’s catalogue raisonné on the front stoop. It was a good thing my elderly landlord hadn’t seen it. She would have swooped it up, and we might not have ever gotten it back.

  I was tired, it had been a couple of taxing days, but I didn’t want to be the reason that Rory missed out on having something of value to take back with her.

  She told me on the walk over, she’d called and gotten an increase on one of her credit cards and wouldn’t have to dig into her savings to buy the painting she wanted.

  I wasn’t so sure if financing such a purchase was a good idea either, but I wasn’t one to talk, I had taken out a huge line of credit to redo the ice cream shop. My grandchildren would probably still be paying on it long after I was gone.

  But if business kept at the pace it was going, we just might be able to pay off that loan sooner than anticipated.

  The block where the proposed vertical mini mall was to be built looked beautiful. By the time we got there dusk had set in, and the candles they had used to line the sidewalk glowed cheerfully. There were bright lights sparkling in the windows of the stores and someone had a speaker going, playing soft music that wafted up and down the street just like the small crowd of people.

  All year Chagrin Falls has visitors from Cleveland, and its suburbs come in to see our waterfall and to browse our shop-lined streets. I didn’t think that there were a lot of people from anywhere else, but our citizens had come out to support the nonfire fire sale.

  “You want to stop and look in the bookstore?” I suggested. It was the first store in the block.

  “No,” Rory said. She swiped a wave of her red hair out of her face. “I just want to get to my picture before anyone else does.” She held up the catalog.

  “Okay,” I said. “Too bad you didn’t have a chance to study it before we got here.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll see what I want and then slip out to the restroom and consult it. It’ll be more efficient that way, anyway. I’ll know what I’m looking for.”

  As we passed the Juniper Tree I noticed Bobby and Maisie inside. There were a handful of people with them, all with signs, but there didn’t seem to be any marching or chanting going on. After Rory got her picture, I would have to check in with them and find out what was happening.

  “Hello.”

  I had turned my head to look into the Juniper Tree window and when I turned back I almost ran into Uncle Garud.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “Trying to cause more trouble?”

  “Have I caused you trouble?” I asked.

  “Where is Riya?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I lied. I didn’t know what he was up to. Riya had said he was shady.

  His suit seemed to be even less fitted than any of the others I’d seen him in. His bow tie was untied and laid around his neck. Tonight his smile looked sinister.

  “Have you seen the new representative from Rhys Enterprises?” he asked.

  “Bronwyn,” Rory said, “I’m going to go on ahead.”

  I tried signaling her with a look not to leave me but she didn’t seem to get it. She turned to walk away.

  “I have to go with my friend,” I said to Uncle Garud.

  “Oh no,” he said. “I have something you need to do for me.”

  “Do for you?”

  “Yes. Come with me,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “I have to go with my friend.”

  He grabbed my arm. “I want to know which one of you told,” he said. He spoke close to my ear, and I could feel his warm breath bristle the hairs on my neck.

  I pulled my arm away like Riya had taught me and stepped back from him. There were too many people out for him to try to do anything to me, I was sure, but his actions frightened me nonetheless.

  “I am not going to lose out on this because of you,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “But you need to leave me alone.”

  “Where are your friends now?” he said.

  I walked away from him, my heart beating a little faster than it had been. I just wanted to get away from him.

  The outside of the gallery had tables lined with small prints and paintings. There were paintings in the window and hanging on what looked like a clothesline. Bright, white Christmas-like lights hung everywhere.

  I wiggled through a crowd congregated at the front door and went in to find Rory.

  “What’s wrong?” Rory asked. She had her catalog tucked away under an arm and was eyeing a picture of a swamp and a weeping willow tree. Maybe I looked more shaken than I thought.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just Uncle Garud . . .” I let my voice trail off. I still couldn’t figure out what he wanted.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He seemed to be accusing me of something. Grabbing my wrist, trying to get me to tell him who’d done something.”

  “Did what?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’m okay.” I swallowed hard, trying to calm my nerves. I looked around the gallery. It looked just as stuffed with artwork as it had been the first time we visited. The only difference was that there were customers mingling around and food was set out. “Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked.

  “I think I did,” she said excitedly. “I was just going to find a bathroom and see if I can find it in my catalog.” She pulled it out from under her arm. “The gallery actually has a catalog of their offerings, too.” She had it clutched in her hand.

  “Oh good,” I said. “You can compare.”

  “Right. And negotiate.”

  “Yeah, right. If they are a little high,” I said, “you can show them the information you got in the mail.”

  “Exactly,” she said. I could hear her breathing heavily from the anticipation. “But I don’t think I have to worry about that.” She pointed to the price tag on the picture. “Look.”

  I took a look. “Oh,” I said and smiled. “Fire sale prices.”

  “Yes!” She beame
d. “Looks like I’m going home with a Florida Highwaymen painting.” She wiggled and giggled. “I’m going to study their catalog, too, see what they have.”

  “In the restroom?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I won’t be too long.”

  I wandered around the gallery. I walked past Ivan and could hear him say they were moving the gallery to California. Yep, they had sold out. And maybe next year, standing in the same spot, I’d be in the first mall Chagrin Falls ever had.

  Unless those Dixby sisters held out.

  For some reason I found that funny.

  “Have you seen Mr. Mason?”

  I turned to find Riya standing behind me.

  “No,” I said. “I thought he was with you. Why are you here?”

  “He was with me,” she said. “And I’m here because he came in here.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I haven’t seen him. Did he check out okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “High blood pressure and maybe a little malnourished from having such bad teeth. I think he might have had a TIA. I need an MRI to know for sure.”

  “All those abbreviations don’t mean a thing to me. Are you concerned he might pass out or have some kind of attack or something?”

  “No,” she said and shook her head. “He was fine until we passed this place.”

  “What happened?”

  “He wouldn’t leave. Kept pointing at some picture in the window saying it was a black hole.” Riya shook her head. “He was pretty upset about it and then he came in here.”

  “He asked me to help him with a black hole earlier,” I said.

  “Apparently he’s fallen through a black hole,” Riya said. “Because I can’t find him anywhere.”

  “Well, it’s not that crowded,” I said and looked around. “Maybe he left and went home.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I wanted him to go and take some tests tomorrow so I was trying to find out where he lived.” She looked around the gallery. “He sure is a sneaky old man.”

  “At least he’s not shady,” I said.

  She looked at me, her head slightly tilted. “No, that would be Uncle Garud,” she said. “I just saw him, too. Outside.”

  “So did I,” I said. “He grabbed my arm, wanting to know who told on him.”

  “Told what?” Riya asked, frowning.

  “I don’t know,” I said, rubbing my wrist, remembering how he’d grabbed me. “He was acting crazy. It kind of scared me, but I remembered that little move you showed me to pull my wrist out from someone’s grasp.”

  Her frown faded and I saw a wave of anger cross it.

  “He was trying to hold on to you? He is crazy,” she said, hissing out the words. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

  “No!” I said, trying to stop her. I knew that look. There was no telling what she might do.

  I needed to go after her, but I didn’t want to leave and not let Rory know where I’d gone. Stopping Riya might not be a quick excursion. I turned to find her, remembering she’d said she was going to duck into a bathroom to peruse the two catalogs. I didn’t know where the restrooms were.

  That was when I saw Mr. Mason. He had a painting in his hand and he was headed out through the back of the store.

  “Shoot!” I said.

  I looked the way Riya had gone and back to Mr. Mason. She could be charged with felonious assault if I didn’t get to her. But at the prices these paintings were going, Mr. Mason could be charged with grand larceny.

  Riya’s thing was a family affair. I decided to go after Mr. Mason. He needed my help more than she did. I took off after him.

  chapter

  FORTY

  Past the showroom area was a small hallway with the restroom, probably where Rory was, but I didn’t take the time to stop. Beyond that was a workroom. It was long and cluttered. Frames, canvas and the smell of acrylic pants and turpentine filled the area. Some finished paintings were stacked along the walls and it looked as if someone had been working on a painting or two that were perched on easels, but I didn’t stop to look at that either.

  When I caught up to him he was going through the back door and it looked like he had picked up another painting.

  “Mr. Mason!” I said. He looked back, I waved, but he either didn’t recognize me or was too intent on getting away with his crime to take the time to respond to me.

  I followed him out the back and found him by a dumpster on the other side of the alley that ran behind the stores. He was trying to put the pictures in it.

  “Mr. Mason!” I said and ran over to him. “What are you doing?”

  “What is going on out here?”

  I turned to see Baraniece Black coming toward us.

  “Oh shoot, Mr. Mason,” I said, “we’re in trouble now.”

  “I know you,” Baraniece said, pointing her talon at me. That must have been her signature line. “Do you know him?” she asked me.

  “Mr. Mason? Yes, I know him and I am so sorry,” I said and tried to tug the paintings from Mr. Mason’s hands. “He got ahold of these and I was trying to get them back.”

  “Get them back?” she said. “I’ll get them from the little thief. Step aside.”

  She said it with such force that it shook me.

  “He didn’t mean any harm,” I said, feeling protective of him. “I’ll get them from him. Just let me get them.”

  “Hey, why are you back here?”

  “It’s the red ball,” Mr. Mason said. “Back in the alley.”

  Rory had come out the back door and crossed the alley. “I thought I saw you come back here, but I wanted to check . . .” She took the situation in, it seemed, for the first time. “Why are you guys back here with those paintings?”

  She looked to me for an answer, it seemed, avoiding Baraniece. “Mr. Mason accidently”—as I said it I looked at Baraniece—“took them. I was just giving them back.” Rory looked down at the paintings as I tried to tug them from his hands again. He wasn’t having a problem with weakness because I couldn’t pry them from his hands.

  “How about if I buy them,” Rory offered. The idea seemed to just come to her and she seemed very careful with her words, barely looking at Baraniece.

  “I don’t know that you can afford them,” Baraniece said.

  “Can we make a deal?” Rory asked. “How much do you want for them?”

  “Two thousand dollars,” Baraniece said.

  “For the two?” I asked.

  “Each!” she said.

  “Fine,” Rory said and looked at me. “You two go around the front. I’ll pay for these and join you.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not letting you pay four thousand dollars for these paintings. Mr. Mason didn’t mean to do any harm,” I said. “We can give them back.”

  Baraniece raised an eyebrow. “I can get them back from him if necessary,” she said, her arms folded across her torso. She was tapping her foot.

  “It’s not necessary,” Rory said. Her eyes seemed to plead with me. “Take the paintings and go.”

  “Rory!” I protested.

  “Please,” Rory said, and for the first time it seemed that I heard agitation in her voice. “Please, just go.”

  “What is wrong here?” It was Ivan. He yelled from across the alleyway. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  It was turning into a backyard party. Only not a fun one.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Baraniece said. “We were just conducting business.”

  “In the alley!” he said. “Lately, you have begun to worry me.” He waved us in with a hand. “Please. Everyone. Come back inside.”

  “C’mon,” I said to Mr. Mason. “Let’s go back inside.”

  He shook his head and seemed to tether himself there next to the dumpster.

  “Fine,” I said. “You stay here, we’ll
go and buy these paintings and then you can throw them away.”

  “It’s a black hole,” Mr. Mason yelled as we walked away. “I won’t cut off my ear!”

  “He is crazy,” Ivan said.

  Rory eyed me and I could tell something more was going on than what I knew, but before we could get in the door Baraniece stopped. “I think they know,” she said suspiciously.

  “Know what?” I said.

  “Know what?” Ivan echoed my statement.

  “She does.” Baraniece pointed to Rory. “And he does, too.” She looked back at Mr. Mason.

  “What do they know?” I asked again. I was totally confused. “Rory”—I turned to her—“you know something? Because I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “No,” Rory said and shook her head. She licked her lips and I could have sworn I saw her bottom lip tremble. “I don’t know anything except I want to buy his paintings.” She flapped an arm toward Mr. Mason.

  He had stopped trying to throw them in the dumpster and was standing there holding them.

  “You are overreacting again, sweetie,” Ivan said, his accent heavy and gruff.

  “We can’t let them go back inside,” Baraniece said.

  “And we can’t kill them,” he responded.

  “Wow,” I said. “Where did that come from?” I held out my arms. “I said he was sorry. Mr. Mason is just going through something. We’re getting him help.”

  Baraniece looked at Rory. Rory lowered her eyes.

  “See, she knows,” Baraniece said.

  “Rory,” I said. “Do you know something? Something that would make this woman want to kill us?”

  She looked up at me, then over at Mr. Mason.

  “Mr. Mason doesn’t mean a black hole like space, he means Van Gogh,” Rory said.

  “Are those paintings by Vincent van Gogh?” I asked. “Is that why you were willing to pay for them? They have to be worth more than that.” I swung around and looked at Mr. Mason still holding on to the paintings.

  “They’re fakes,” Rory said, like she was happy to say it out loud. “Mr. Mason, it seems, is a recognized artist. I looked him up when I was in the bathroom because he was in their catalog.”