The Black Painting

by Neil Olson

  “So they tell me.”

  “What are you doing here?” Then the penny dropped, and Jenny nodded slowly. She waved an arm back toward the restaurant. “That’s your man inside?”

  “My, um, yes,” Teresa fumbled. Her man.

  “It’s lovely to see you, child, but this is a terrible time. I have to be getting—”

  “Jenny, when did you last talk to Pete?”

  “Pete.” The word seemed foreign to her for a moment. “A few days ago. Why?”

  “He’s in trouble.”

  The woman deflated, shoulders falling as the breath went out of her. She swayed a moment, then pulled in a fresh lungful of river air, straightening up. Resilient. Or anyway, unsurprised.

  “Of course he is. How bad?”

  21

  The tavern was small and dark, and far enough from The Riverside that Jenny did not fear meeting coworkers. She waited until noon on the dot to down her first Jameson, then nursed the second. Dave ordered a beer, to make her more comfortable. Teresa, still feeling last night’s whisky and adrenaline, drank water.

  “I was sorry to hear about Mr. Morse,” said Jenny. “Your grandfather, I mean.”

  “That’s generous of you,” Teresa replied.

  “Well, he treated me right for the most part. I suppose there was nothing he could do after all that fuss but let me go.”

  “Would you have wanted to stay?” Dave asked.

  “Not really. But I’d been there a long time, and it was hard getting work with that blot on my record. And there’s Pete going to jail for something he didn’t even do.”

  “You mean steal the painting.”

  “What else would I mean?”

  “But he did steal other things,” Dave said casually.

  “Small things that no one missed. And the old man knew he was doing it.”

  “He stole something large that day. A flat object that filled up a sack.”

  “It was a platter,” Jenny insisted. “A silver serving platter that gathered dust in the pantry for years. No one used it. He stuck it in that hole in the big tree, to come back for later.”

  “The oak tree? Where we built the fort?”

  “The same. He used to hide things there during the day, then return at night to pick them up. He’d park out on Long Hill Road and come in through trees so no one would see.”

  “He must have fenced it pretty quickly,” Dave said.

  “No, no.” Jenny shook her head in frustration. “I thought everyone knew this. I wasn’t using my head. I wasn’t thinking about it being his alibi for a bigger crime. All I thought is they suspected him, and I had to do something. He knew enough to stay away, but I went out that night and got the damn thing. I brought it in and washed it up and put it back in the pantry, pretty as you please.”

  Destroying your brother’s defense, Teresa understood, but managed not to blurt out.

  “No witnesses,” the woman said. Disconsolate. “No way to prove it happened. The lawyers laughed at me. It never even got entered into evidence.”

  “That’s a heavy load,” Dave said sympathetically. “But somebody did take the painting. And club poor Ilsa.”

  “He never—” Jenny jabbed a finger at him, pale fire in her eyes “—he never would have done such a thing. He’s not a violent man.”

  Dave laughed out loud, surprising both women.

  “Your brother nearly broke my back last night. And I learned a few days ago that he would have been out of prison in five years, but he beat another inmate nearly to death.”

  “He was attacked, that’s why he beat that man. Maybe you attacked him, too.”

  “Haven’t laid a glove on him. He crushed my bumper and cracked my ribs, and all I’ve done so far is collect his cigarettes.”

  Dave’s tone was so dismayed that in a moment Jenny’s rage crystalized into laughter. Dave laughed, too, and then Jenny laughed harder. Teresa thought she must have blacked out and missed something.

  “Lucky Strikes,” Jenny guffawed.

  “Lucky Strikes,” Dave affirmed, and they tapped glasses. I’m not drinking, Teresa thought. That’s the problem.

  “Three people testified as character witnesses for your brother,” Dave said after a swig of pale ale. “Audrey Morse. Philip Morse. And Ilsa Graff.”

  “If you say so, I don’t remember that well.”

  “Take my word, then. Why those three? Were they all close to Pete?”

  “None of them were. Audrey flirted, but there was nothing between them. Maybe she wanted to embarrass her father.”

  “Did Fred have it in for Pete?”

  “Nah, hardly noticed him. He had it in for his own daughter, though. My God, that man. Teresa knows what I’m talking about. They were terrible, those Morse boys.”

  “Philip and Fred?” Dave asked, and Jenny nodded behind her empty glass. “So why did Philip speak up for your brother?”

  “Who knows?” she murmured, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe Audrey asked him to.”

  “What?” Teresa said. “Why would he listen to her?” A look from Dave told her not to pursue it. He knew things, she realized. He was holding out on her.

  “And what about Ilsa?” Dave asked.

  “Ilsa has been a good friend to me,” Jenny replied, eyes shifting nervously. “And that’s really all I can say. I have to get back to work.”

  “Actually, you’re off this afternoon,” Dave said, waving at the waitress. “That’s why we got down here so early. Look, when I saw Pete last night he had been kicked to hell by someone. I mean it was bad. His face was swollen like a melon, and there was blood everywhere.”

  Jenny scrunched her own face in displeasure, but without the shock Teresa expected.

  “It’s not the first time,” the older woman said.

  “Jenny.” Dave leaned across the table toward her. “Your brother is in an ugly dispute with those Morse boys. You know how they are. He is not going to get the best of this. He has no allies. He is in very deep trouble if you don’t help us.”

  The besieged woman rocked back and forth on her chair as the waitress put a fresh drink in front of her. Jenny picked it up quickly and downed half.

  “What do you want know?”

  “How has Ilsa been good to you?” Teresa asked before Dave could speak. He let the question stand.

  “She’s called me, come to visit. She testified for Pete, like you said. She even, while I was looking for work, you know. She took care of me a little.”

  “Financially,” Dave said. Jenny nodded.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Kindness of her heart.”

  “Come on,” Teresa said. “That’s not Ilsa. Loyalty, maybe. Duty. But not kindness. Tell us the truth, Jenny.”

  “Damn you,” the woman sighed. “Promise you won’t tell her I said anything.”

  Teresa looked at Dave, who shrugged. He might not care about making such a promise, but Teresa did. She grabbed his glass of ale and took a long swig.

  “We promise,” she said.

  “There was something Ilsa said to Pete. When they were alone, going over yard work.” Jenny finished the third Jameson and leaned forward. “This was before the theft, mind you. She asked him... Now all I have is his word, but it was so strange that I didn’t see him making it up. She asked him how he would go about stealing that hideous painting.”

  “You’re joking,” said Teresa.

  “Swear to God. She didn’t actually ask him to do it. More like she was curious how he might, you know...”

  “Hypothetically.”

  “Exactly. Hypothetically, how he might take it. Later she said it was about checking if their security was up to snuff. But Pete didn’t believe that for a minute.”

  “What did he say to her?” asked Dave.

 
“He thought it was some sort of test, so he just laughed it off.”

  “But after the theft,” said Teresa, breathless. “Why wouldn’t he have mentioned it?”

  “There we are,” said Jenny heavily. “His word against hers. Plus, she got bashed in the head. Concussion, in the hospital. A little hard to convince anyone she was the thief.”

  “He had nothing to lose,” Dave pressed.

  “That was the first time she came to me. We weren’t friendly before, when I worked for her. But since then we’ve become sort of friends. I know you don’t believe it, Tay, but I think she’s sincere. Anyway, that first time she works her way around to saying that if Pete will forget a certain conversation, she’ll help me out while he’s in prison. You have to know Ilsa, Mr. Webster. She can say something like that and make it seem like she’s doing you a favor. That there’s nothing at stake for her. And honestly, Pete couldn’t prove a thing.”

  “Well,” said Dave, sitting back. He glanced at Teresa, who nodded in agreement. Then quickly scanned the room. There were only four other patrons. Older men drinking quietly, none of them looking her way. Yet she had felt eyes upon them. Dave had mentioned a similar feeling last night.

  “How much did she give you?” Dave asked.

  “Not a lot,” Jenny replied. “I mean not at once. It was a little here and there.”

  “Thousands? Tens of thousands?”

  “Sure, but that’s over years. The old man was paying her good.”

  “Is this still going on?” Teresa asked.

  “She stopped after I got full-time work. But Pete let her know he didn’t like that, so she started up again.”

  “Pete went to see her when he got out.”

  “Yeah,” Jenny agreed. “Felt he was owed. But he pushed too hard, wanted the old man himself to pay him! Ilsa told him where to get off. Said he had to be patient.”

  “Until...” Teresa said, the rest quickly falling into place. “Until Alfred died and she inherited it all? Is that it?” Her voice had grown harsh, and Jenny did not reply. But the way she hung her head was answer enough. “For God’s sake.”

  “It’s easy to judge,” Jenny snapped. “You haven’t had to work like a mule your whole life. No one helping you. Watching out for a brother bent on mischief.”

  “When did you last see Ilsa?” Dave asked, refocusing her.

  “A few days ago.”

  “You must have discussed her new status.”

  “Of course. And the Morse children wanting their share. It was too much for the poor woman. She said she wanted to make things right with Pete once and for all, and now who knew when that would happen.”

  “And what else?”

  “Things about the boys. Not nice things. Not things to repeat.”

  “But you did repeat them,” Dave said, his tone sharpening. “Didn’t you?”

  Jenny turned her face away as tears began rolling down her rough and swollen cheeks.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “God help me.”

  “What things?” Teresa asked, leaning close enough to smell the woman’s distress.

  “It came up because of me wondering why everything went to her. Turned out the old man had consulted Ilsa. Not about what she got, but the children. He meant to cut them off, and wanted to see if she agreed. Freddie was obvious. He hadn’t only bankrupted himself. He nearly bankrupted Philip and Alfred, too, with those crazy Asian investments.”

  “Right,” said Teresa. “And Philip because Grandpa thought he stole the painting.”

  “See, I didn’t know that,” Jenny gurgled, fresh gossip temporarily soothing her grief. “But that’s not the reason Ilsa said.”

  “No?”

  “Philip,” Jenny stage-whispered. Then looked around for added effect. “You may already know this, but Philip has a thing for girls. I don’t mean twenty-five, I mean teenagers. We all knew that in the house. What only Ilsa knew was that he and Audrey had a...well, you understand what I’m saying.”

  “No,” Teresa breathed. More in sorrow than disbelief. It was ugly, yes, but it also had a déjà vu quality about it. Once learned, it was as if she had always known. “How did Ilsa find out?”

  Jenny tried to look properly appalled, but there was a mad glee in her eyes.

  “She saw them doing it.”

  “When?”

  “That summer before the theft. Everyone else was off doing something.”

  “She was fifteen years old,” Teresa said.

  “Yes,” Jenny replied. “And we can’t assume that was the only time. Who knows how old she was when it started?”

  “That’s prison for him,” Dave noted, “if it’s proven.”

  “No one’s talking about prison,” Jenny said in a panic. “The girl went along with it, obviously. She probably started it.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” said Teresa. “And how do you know she went along?”

  “She told Ilsa.”

  “Ilsa confronted her?”

  “No. Audrey knew they’d been seen, she cornered Ilsa. Told her to keep her mouth shut or she would kill her. Kill her, mind you. A fifteen-year-old girl! Well, Ilsa wasn’t afraid of Audrey, but she kept quiet just the same. Then the old man heard somehow. I think maybe Cynthia found out. He asked Ilsa to confirm it, and she had no choice.”

  “Of course she didn’t,” Teresa said acidly. “Why did she tell you?”

  “We’d had a few drinks. She was agonizing over using it to make Philip back off the estate fight. But she’s too honorable a woman, wouldn’t do it. Swore me to silence.”

  With that, the tears started once more.

  “Which you violated,” Dave said again. “By telling Pete.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Jenny wailed. That turned a couple of heads in their direction, and she lowered her voice. “We only have each other in the world, me and Pete. It’s natural for us to tell each other things. He hates those boys. I knew it would make him happy to hear Ilsa had it over them. I told him not to do anything with it. I begged him. But that way he smiled, I should have known.”

  “So you don’t know his actual plans?”

  “You showing up is the first I’ve heard of anything. You couldn’t be wrong, could you? Maybe it’s something else. Nothing to do with Philip.”

  Dave stared at the weeping woman with an odd expression. A kind of tempered pity. Teresa admired it in him, but felt none herself. Violent acts had been triggered because of gossip. Because of spite.

  “Maybe,” Dave allowed. “Anything is possible.”

  But no one at the table believed it.

  22

  They drove north again. Into the lowering gloom of evening. Teresa had been leaving it to Dave to speak first, her ire and anxiety growing with every silent mile. Until she realized that he was giving her room. It was her family, not his, and he was letting her sit with these new and wicked truths for as long as she needed.

  “How much of that did you already know?” she finally asked.

  “First,” he said, “don’t assume it’s all true. We had her cornered, and thieves are liars.”

  “People are liars.”

  “Well. Yes.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “For the most part,” Dave replied. “There’s something between Audrey and Philip. Something unhealthy. And we already knew that Philip and Pete had tangled. What I couldn’t make sense of was Pete’s condition. You never know about people, but I just couldn’t see Phil putting that beating on him.”

  “Freddie,” she said. “That’s where he was going in such a hurry yesterday.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking also.”

  “So put this together for me.”

  “Not to lay any ‘mystery man’ bullshit on you,” Dave replied, “but I’m more interested in your take.”r />
  “Starting where?”

  “Good question. The more you peel it back, the more there is.”

  “Back to my grandfather buying that painting. And what it did to my father, and Philip, and James. And then what Freddie and Phil did to Audrey.”

  “Let’s not...” Dave sighed. “I realize it takes a lot of pressure off to blame everything on the painting, but families have been screwed up for—”

  “Fine,” she said. “Take Jenny at her word. She blabs to Pete about Philip and Audrey, and now he has something. He doesn’t have to wait for the will to get settled and Ilsa to pay him. So he calls Philip and says what’s it worth to you for me to keep quiet?”

  “Good. And Philip says?”

  “Fuck off,” Teresa replied. “If I know Philip. Or anyway, whatever he said wasn’t good enough for Pete, because...”

  “Because it doesn’t end there,” Dave supplied. “Next thing, Philip tells Fred to go back to California. And tells me to go to the house so that Fred will leave.”

  “Right,” she said, slapping the seat. “He’s trying to keep Pete and Fred apart. Knowing Pete will go to him next.”

  “But Fred won’t leave. Pete calls him. Says meet me somewhere private and I’ll tell you a thing you need to hear.”

  “Jesus,” Teresa breathed. “He must have lost his mind, or forgotten what kind of guy Fred is. Pete wouldn’t be able to get to the blackmail part. As soon as he made the accusation, Freddie would go crazy. Beat the living crap out of him.”

  “Exactly,” Dave said. “So badly that he might think later he killed him.”

  “But it’s Philip who called us.”

  “Because where does Freddie go next?”

  “God. To Philip’s house, to see if it’s true. And before Philip can deny it, Fred knocks him around, too. And somewhere in there he tells him about leaving Pete for dead. So Philip calls you, and... Okay, but where are they both now?”

  “Another good question,” Dave replied. “Philip was okay by the second time we spoke, so I assume he talked Fred down. Otherwise we would have found him beaten to death.”

  “But Fred never came back to the house. Where did he go?”

  “My guess would be on a major bender.”