“Augusta’s letter said that my father’s paintings have recently received great acclaim and are fetching high prices. She said people are scouring the shops looking to invest in them.”
Once again the older woman perked to attention. “You’ll be wealthy, Carrie. Why, that is wonderful news. You’ll be able to do all the things you—”
“Other than the carousel picture hanging in my bedroom, I own only two of my father’s paintings. Father sold most of the others to pay expenses. And as I recall, none of those canvases sold for much.” The thought of how little still confounded me, for I had always known my father was a talented artist.
Mr. Lundgren looked across the table at me, his expression thoughtful and kind. “Hearing all this still makes you proud, don’t it?”
I bobbed my head. “Of course—very proud. But I wish it would have happened before his death. So much of his time was spent giving art lessons to untalented students.” I shrugged my shoulders. “But that was what put food on our table.”
“But if your father hadn’t been giving untalented students those art lessons, we would never have met you. And that would have been a terrible loss.” Mrs. Wilson patted her heart. “Maybe one day your paintings will be worth a great deal of money, too. When that happens, I can say that you lived in my boardinghouse as a young woman.” Mrs. Wilson straightened her shoulders as though I’d gained special stature in the art world.
“I think there are already those who are willing to pay for her drawings,” Josef said. The tablecloth fluttered and the floorboards bounced, synchronized to the jiggling of Josef’s leg.
“Do tell!” Mrs. Wilson’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at Josef, waiting to hear the news.
I spread a spoonful of applesauce atop my pork chop, hoping to give the dry piece of meat a little moisture—and a little flavor. “Josef is worrying overmuch. He thinks some businessmen are interested in purchasing my sketches of carousel animals.” I turned my attention back to Josef. “And those may be my drawings, but they are designs we developed together.”
“What are the two of you talking about?”
Mrs. Wilson was clearly confused and clearly eager to hear the details. Josef pushed away from the table, his food half eaten. “Carrie will tell you. I think I’ll go upstairs. My digestion, it isn’t very gut this evening, either.”
CHAPTER
24
During our walk to work the following morning, Josef apologized for his behavior the previous evening. “You are right that my worry will not change things. No matter what happens, God is in charge. This, I must remember. He will see us through these problems.”
My heart warmed at his use of the word us rather than me. Knowing Josef considered me a friend and an ally would make the blow easier if and when it came. And though I hadn’t expressed my innermost thoughts to him, there was little doubt something was afoot regarding the factory.
We’d departed earlier than usual that morning so that Josef would have time to go through his paper work in case Mr. Galloway arrived without warning. “I want everything in order so he can find no fault with my work,” he’d said.
I’d agreed to come along and help, but I hadn’t expected to leave quite so early. Had it been wintertime, we would have been walking to work in the pitch-darkness. I couldn’t imagine Josef had permitted any of his duties to fall very far behind. But I didn’t argue.
When we neared the front door, Josef removed the key from his pocket and grabbed the heavy lock with his right hand. The handle disengaged, and the door creaked open before he’d even slipped the key into the lock. His eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “The door is open!” He leaned forward and examined the lock. “This has been pried open. Look.”
I bent forward and examined the broken hasp and lock. Someone had been very determined to enter the building during the nighttime hours. But why? I considered the men who had visited the factory the previous week. Surely they had nothing to do with this. They were, after all, reputable businessmen—at least they had given that impression.
All color vanished from Josef’s face, and I fleetingly wondered if men ever fainted. If so, Josef looked like the perfect candidate as he waved me forward. “Let us pray no mischief has occurred.”
I followed him inside and waited a moment until my eyes adjusted to the dim light. All appeared to be in order in the office. Josef pointed toward the paint shop. “I will check the storage area. You make sure all is fine in the back.” I nodded and strode toward the door that divided the carving and paint shops. I hadn’t yet made it to the exit when Josef called, “You would please look to see if the back door is still locked?”
I waved my agreement and continued walking. Nothing appeared amiss thus far, but a knot formed in my stomach when I thought of young hooligans wielding paintbrushes or knives. In no time they could ruin work that had taken weeks to complete. I uttered a silent prayer as I entered the room. I held my breath and scanned the room. Everything appeared to be in order. I continued walking and let out a whoosh of air once I’d arrived at the back of the building. There was no indication anyone had been in the building. Josef would be greatly relieved.
I returned to the front and called out to Josef, “All is well in the paint shop!”
When he didn’t respond, I peeked into the office, but he wasn’t there. Stepping to the other side of the room, I checked the storage room, where the lumber and supplies occupied most of the space. I caught sight of Josef and stepped forward. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps, his face contorted in pain or fear—I couldn’t be certain which, but I quickened my step.
“What is it? Has something been damaged or stolen?”
He pointed over his shoulder, and no words were necessary. My father’s paintings were gone—I didn’t need to ask. I could see it in his eyes. A stirring deep inside my stomach made me thankful I hadn’t eaten breakfast. Wrapping my arms around my waist helped settle my stomach, and for some odd reason, the touch of my arms around my midsection offered comfort. Maybe because it felt like a hug—even if it was my own.
“Both of them?”
His grim nod confirmed my apprehension. “Your inheritance, it is gone. A new life for you, those paintings could have given.”
“They were my father’s artwork. I’m very sad that they are gone, but I wouldn’t have sold them.” I touched Josef’s arm. “As for a new life, I began that the day I moved to Collinsford.”
“I must contact the police.”
My stomach roiled and dipped in a violent lurch. “The police? Is that really necessary?” I didn’t want another encounter with Detective Lawton. The man would surely think I’d had something to do with stealing my own paintings!
His frown made it evident he thought I’d lost touch with reality.
“I haven’t gone mad,” I said. He didn’t appear overly assured.
“You stay here. I will catch the next streetcar and go to the police station.”
“What about the office paper work? I thought you wanted to be sure everything was in order if Mr. Galloway arrived.”
Josef pinned me with another strange look. “I think Mr. Galloway would overlook unfinished paper work before he would excuse an unreported crime.”
Unable to counter with an intelligent rebuttal, I waved a halfhearted good-bye. Once Josef was out the door, I returned to the storage area. Part of me wondered if someone had simply moved the paintings to another spot; another part of me thought this was all a bad dream and I’d wake up to find the paintings back inside their shipping crate. Neither turned out to be true. The paintings were gone. Before long Josef would return and likely have Detective Lawton in tow. No need to stand here staring at the empty space. The paintings weren’t going to miraculously reappear. It would be better to occupy myself with work.
I plodded off to the paint shop, donned my apron, and continued painting the leopard. Today I planned to complete much of the animal’s shading. Perfecting my technique would keep my mind o
n painting rather than the missing canvases or the police—at least that was my hope.
When Mr. Tobarth arrived, he was impressed with my technique as well as my progress. He rubbed his chin while he circled the animal. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful carousel animal. This even outshines the ones produced at the Philadelphia Toboggan Company.” Moving to survey from a distance, he gave a nod. “Yep. That’s fine work. Josef will be proud of that one. And so will Mr. Galloway.”
“I still have to complete the eyes, and I want to shade the paws.”
“How’d you get so much done before I got here? You been working all night?” He chuckled, but his narrowed eyes meant he expected an answer.
My explanation was brief. “Don’t say anything to the other workers. Since it’s my paintings that are missing, they’ll probably hold that against me, too.”
Mr. Tobarth slapped his forehead. “I’ll bet that’s it, Carrie.” His whispered voice sounded like gravel rubbing on sandpaper.
“What’s it?” I whispered back.
He stooped down beside me with a look that reflected I didn’t have the brains God gave a goose. “The men are playing a trick on you. I bet they got together and decided to take the paintings just to see you get all upset.”
Maybe Mr. Tobarth was right—and maybe he could find out if the men were involved. “Would any of them tell you?”
“Don’t know, but it’s best to wait and watch. Let’s see if any of them come back here—ones who don’t normally come into the paint shop.”
It wasn’t long before one of the apprentice carvers sauntered through the door and headed straight for Mr. Tobarth. I’d seen him in the paint shop only once before, and that was to carry some horses to one of the drying racks when Mr. Tobarth was ill. I strained closer. He was asking about Josef’s whereabouts.
“He’s off to fetch the police. Seems Miss Brouwer’s paintings are missing from the storage room. What did you need him for?”
“The wife is in a bad way and needs to see the doctor. I was hoping he could give me a little advance on my pay.”
After the two men had talked a few minutes longer, I saw Mr. Tobarth reach in his pocket and hand the man some money.
“Why did you tell him? I thought you said we were going to wait and watch.”
He tugged his apron over his head. “My mouth got ahead of my brain. I’m sorry. Maybe he won’t say anythin’. He’s worried about his wife.”
None of the other men came into the paint shop. Either the apprentice had warned them or Mr. Tobarth’s idea didn’t hold merit. I was disappointed. To have the paintings so easily recovered seemed unlikely.
At midmorning Josef returned. He’d been gone so long I’d begun to wonder if the police had locked him up. He strode through the door with a determined step. My breath hitched in my throat when I glimpsed Detective Lawton following him. The two of them marched directly to my work area.
Josef smiled broadly—as though he’d brought me a special treat. “The detective is very eager to speak to you, Carrie.”
“We meet again, Miss Brouwer.” Detective Lawton stepped forward, his eyelids lowered to half-mast while he scanned the room. “And again our meeting is in regard to missing valuables.”
“Only this time they are my missing valuables,” I said.
“Insured?”
“Excuse me?”
“Were the paintings insured? Can you collect insurance money due to the loss of your paintings? It’s a simple question, Miss Brouwer.”
His arrogant manner offended me. Perhaps that was his desire—to anger me so I would incriminate myself. “I have no insurance. Even if I had considered the paintings valuable, I wouldn’t have had the financial means to pay for insurance.”
“What do you mean if you’d considered them valuable? Mr. Kaestner reported that the paintings are of considerable worth.” The detective looked to Josef, who nodded.
I explained that Josef’s reasoning was based upon Augusta’s recent letter. “I really have no way of judging the value of the paintings. But because my father is deceased, they are of great sentimental importance to me.”
The detective paced the short distance between my leopard and Mr. Tobarth’s gray elephant. As my attention settled on the elephant, it became obvious the giant pachyderm would benefit from highlights of umber, deep gray, and black. I decided several places could use a touch of silver, as well.
“Am I boring you, Miss Brouwer?”
Startled by the detective’s loud voice, I lost my balance and took a giant sideward step. I nearly toppled into the elephant. “No. But Mr. Kaestner and I entered the building at the same time. I don’t know any more about this matter than he does.”
“But they are your paintings. And you’re the one who received the letter from Miss Galloway, so there are a few differences.” He took a step closer. “And there’s the missing jewelry, as well.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’ve told you all I know about the paintings and the jewelry.”
Mr. Tobarth hiked his paintbrush into the air. “I’m thinkin’ you might want to check with some of the men in the carvin’ shop, Josef. They might be playin’ a trick on Carrie. You know—like the problem with the paint.”
The detective arched his brows. “There have been other problems?”
I sighed and looked at Josef. “Why don’t you explain? I want to complete this leopard so I can begin work on the panther tomorrow.”
Josef motioned the detective toward his office, and the two men strode off. They were near the door when the detective stopped and turned. “I’d like to see that letter from Miss Galloway. I’ll stop by the boardinghouse this evening.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. I clenched my jaw, annoyed by his overbearing attitude. The detective certainly hadn’t learned any manners during his police training. It would serve him right if I didn’t go home after work. But then, he’d probably take my absence as an indication of my involvement in the theft. The man was determined to find me guilty.
By late afternoon I finished the leopard and went to the far rack to check the panther. The animal appeared perfect, and I was eager to begin work on him. Josef had done an exceptional job carving the muscular body. The animal looked as though it were flying through the air, prepared to pounce upon its prey.
Fear prickled my skin. I leaned against the panther’s wooden body, longing for answers that would erase my mounting apprehension. But the panther was too much a reminder of the obsessive detective and his determination to make me his prey. I pushed away from the carving and trudged back to my work station, glad the day had finally come to an end.
As usual, Josef stood by the front door until I arrived. The hasp and lock had been replaced with a sturdier variety. He checked the door two times to make certain it was tightly locked. When he attempted to turn the knob for the third time, I touched his hand and grinned. “It is locked, Josef.”
“Ja, too late I am careful. A stronger lock we should have had on the door.” He jammed his cap atop his head.
“Blaming yourself is not going to change things. If the paintings are never found, I will remain thankful for the one I have in my bedroom. It was the most important, after all.”
“Your forgiveness is gut, but I want to know who has done this. The men say they had nothing to do with it, and the detective believed them.” Josef touched his index finger to his heart. “In here I believe them, too. There has been no trouble since I fired Louis. I think they learned their lesson from that.”
I agreed with Josef. Although the men weren’t warm or inviting, there had been no other incidents during the past months. No new employees had been hired, and most of the men at least greeted me each morning. I didn’t want to cast blame on the workers unless there was convincing evidence. Such accusations would only reignite disharmony.
Conversation during the evening meal included a retelling of all that occurred during the day. Josef’s patience as he answered Mrs. Wilson’s
endless questions amazed me, and I was thankful to be relieved of the duty. We’d just completed our dessert when I heard a knock at the front door.
I pushed away from the table. “It’s probably the detective. You go ahead with your dishes, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll speak to him on the front porch.”
“Now, don’t you act like we don’t know how to properly entertain company in this part of town. Invite him inside. That’s why we have a parlor.”
I didn’t reply—not because I didn’t appreciate Mrs. Wilson’s hospitable offer, but because I wanted to keep the detective’s visit brief. Given half a chance, he’d probably settle in and remain the entire evening.
The detective stood on the other side of the screen door looking into the foyer. Had I shoved open the door, I could have rendered him quite a blow. The idea gave me some satisfaction even though I knew such behavior wasn’t an option—at least not one I’d really consider.
“Good evening, Detective,” I said from behind the screen door. He pulled open the door, but before he could gain entry, I took a forward step that forced him aside. “I’ll join you out here, where it’s a bit cooler.”
From his expression, I knew my move surprised him, and for a moment he peered longingly toward the interior of the house. “I want to review the letter.”
I patted the pocket of my skirt. “And so you shall.” After a quick perusal, I handed him the pages that mentioned my father’s paintings. While he reviewed the contents, I leaned back in the wooden chair and enjoyed the evening breeze. The scent of Mrs. Wilson’s climbing roses drifted toward me like a sweet perfume. The evening would have been lovely had it not been for the detective’s presence.
He rattled the pages and I opened my eyes. “Finished?” I extended my hand to retrieve the pages.
“I’d like to read the rest of the letter,” he said.
“I think not. The remainder of the letter speaks of personal matters, none of which have any bearing upon your investigation.” I was doing my best to maintain my decorum, but the detective was making it extremely difficult.
The Carousel Painter Page 25