The Sugarhouse Blues

by Mariah Stewart

  “You have a picture of your old bedroom wall in your phone?” Allie asked, obviously touched.

  “I do. I look at it sometimes when I feel homesick for my old house and my old room.”

  “Honey, you didn’t tell me you felt homesick.”

  “It’s just sometimes, Mom.” Nikki smiled. “It’s okay. My room at Dad’s is more grown-up. Sometimes I just like to pretend I’m back with my animals.”

  Des suspected Allie wasn’t the only one with a lump in her throat.

  “Wow. You did that freehand?” Cara stared at the image on the screen, and Allie nodded.

  “Then making some stencils and following a pattern should be easy peasy for you. When do you want to start?” Cara handed the tracings and the photos to Barney, who studied them carefully.

  Barney handed the tracings back to Nikki, but her eyes kept returning to the photos. Her fingers tapped on the table.

  “What are you thinking?” Des asked, having noticed Barney’s continued scrutiny of the photos.

  “There’s something about the colors. I don’t know what I’m missing.” She threw up her hands and seemed to dismiss whatever thought she’d had.

  After breakfast, everyone went their own way. En route from the kitchen to the front hall, Des passed the dining room but was derailed by the scent of peonies. She went into the room and leaned into the vase that stood in the center of the table, inhaling deeply. These were the flowers Cara’d picked a few days earlier.

  “What are you doing in here?” Allie stood in the doorway.

  Des turned so Allie could see the vase.

  “Oh, we should bring them into the parlor instead of leaving them here in a room where no one ever goes and Barney refuses to use.”

  “It’s because of the mural.” Des pointed to the wall, where the artist husband of a distant aunt had painted a scene of the waterfall that gave the town its name. The same waterfall where Barney’s fiancé had fallen to his death. “I don’t blame Barney for not wanting to look at it every day. It certainly doesn’t hold a pleasant memory.”

  Allie had pulled the vase close and buried her face in the flowers.

  “Des, you’re right. We’ll take these into the parlor where we can all enjoy them.”

  “Allie—look at the mural.” Des stood in front of it, her hands on her hips.

  “Oh, I’ve seen it. As much as the subject matter haunts Barney, it’s a great piece of art. It almost looks like the water is flowing over those rocks. But if it hadn’t been done by a well-known artist of the day, she’d have had it painted over a long time ago.” Allie lifted the vase. “Which means we’d be eating in the dining room once in a while instead of the kitchen all the time. Not that I mind, but—”

  “Who was the artist again?” Where had she recently seen something similar?

  “Oh. Alistair Cooper. He painted a lot of landscapes in the early thirties. He met our great-great-aunt Josephine at college and they fell in love, but her parents had higher sights for her than a penniless artist. The parents went on a trip, and when they came back, they found that Alistair had painted this mural on the dining room wall, and they recognized he had real talent and figured he had promise. So they let Great-Great-Aunt Jo marry the guy. At least, that’s how I remember it. He went on to become pretty famous, though it took awhile. He had a reputation for his amazing colors, their saturation. It was one of the things that set his art apart—his signature, if you will. His work has become more desirable over the past twenty years or so. That mural is worth major bucks.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

  Des turned on the overhead light, then drew closer to the mural. “That the blues in the sky remind me a lot of the blue on the ceiling at the Sugarhouse. That peacock shade? See, right here.” Des pointed to the sky above the falls.

  Allie put the vase down and stepped closer. “I do see.” She spoke slowly as she studied the other colors in the mural. “The green in the trees . . . the gold sunlight. The red of the flowers down near the basin . . .”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t drop something like this on me, then leave. Where are you going?”

  “I’m getting Seth’s photos.”

  Des returned with the photos, a clear shot of the ceiling in one hand. She held the photo up to the wall. “Okay, let’s make allowances for lighting, and for the fact that this is a photo. Still, I think the colors are awfully close.”

  “I guess you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

  “If you’re thinking that Alistair Cooper painted the ceiling at the Sugarhouse, yeah.”

  “The theater was built in the 1920s. Cooper painted this in the early thirties. He’d have been out of college by then, maybe hanging around Hidden Falls because of Josephine.”

  “We should find out. There has to be some mention somewhere.”

  “We’ve been looking for the name of the theater artist for a couple of weeks and we haven’t found anything,” Des reminded her.

  “Maybe the ceiling wasn’t painted when the theater was built. Maybe the fancy painted décor came later.”

  They both fell quiet, thinking of the possibilities.

  “Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place,” Des suggested. “Maybe the name of the artist isn’t in the original files because there was no artist working on the theater when it was built. Maybe it’s in a later file, or maybe someone kept a journal. Josephine, maybe, or her mother.”

  Allie groaned. “If there are journals, you know where they’d be.”

  “In the attic. Where Barney’s mother stashed everything she didn’t want or wasn’t using, but never, ever tossed away. It’s worth looking for. Think of how much more likely we are to get a grant if we can prove that the ceiling and the lobby were early works by Alistair Cooper.”

  “Not if I touch them up.” Allie leaned against the back of one of the dining room chairs. “I could ruin the whole thing.”

  “No, you won’t. Let’s go ask Barney if she knows where any journals might be.”

  “Wait, you said the mural made you think of two things. The ceiling was one. What’s the other?”

  * * *

  “Could we have that table there, near the back of the room?” Des asked the friendly waiter.

  “Of course.” He led the way and handed them each a menu when they were seated. “We’re not quite set up for lunch yet since it’s early, so take your time. I’ll be back for your beverage order.”

  Allie’s eyes were on the framed artwork that hung on the walls of Lotus.

  “What did I tell you?” Des said.

  “Let’s take a little walk around. There’s no one else here, so we won’t be disturbing anyone.”

  They started at the closest landscape.

  “Look at the signature.” Des pointed to the lower-right corner.

  “Forget the signature, look at the greens in that field. That’s as much his signature as his name there in the corner. The quality of the color, the chroma, if you will.”

  “You really did study art in college, didn’t you? Why didn’t you pursue it?”

  Allie sighed. “Because I was stupid. I married Clint and he convinced me I’d never make any money painting. We wanted to buy a house in a certain neighborhood and we both knew I’d make more money working in TV because I could play off my family’s name, which I did for years.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry, Al. He really sold you short.”

  “I sold myself short. I could have stood up to him, or I could have gone back to painting after the house was paid off. I did neither. It’s on me.”

  They moved around the room slowly, from frame to frame, lingering longer over some than others.

  “What do those rocks remind you of?” Des asked.

  “They’re the same rocks as the ones in the dining room, the rocks that overlook the falls. Only these are in a woodland scene. Interesting how he used elements from one in the other.” Allie bit her bottom lip. “I wonder wh
ich he did first.”

  When they returned to the table, Allie sat next to Des and said, “I counted eight definite Coopers. They’re all dated between 1924 and 1936. There are three others that are in his style, but there’s no signature on those.”

  “I noticed that. And there are those two others where we couldn’t read the name, but it’s definitely not Cooper’s.”

  “Someone needs to have a chat with the owner. If he has no idea what he has hanging on his walls, as Greg told you, he’s grossly underinsured for fire and theft.”

  “I’ll give Greg a call.”

  “She said reluctantly,” Allie observed. “Have you heard from him since the weekend?”

  Des shook her head. “Nope. There’s not much point, honestly.”

  “So it’s Seth or nothing?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I turn my back for one minute, and my little sister runs off with a bald, tattooed giant on a Harley. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  Des laughed. “Actually, it’s the right picture. Finally.”

  “How’d you get that so wrong?” Allie asked.

  “I think I wanted someone who didn’t make me feel threatened. I wanted safe, nothing dangerous.”

  “You mean physically?”

  Des shook her head. “No. I mean emotionally.”

  The waiter arrived for their orders.

  “I’m not as hungry as I thought. Could I please just have a cup of coffee?” Des said.

  “Same for me.” Allie handed over her menu.

  “Two coffees,” the waiter mumbled as he walked away.

  “Seth does present a danger,” Des admitted. “He’s dangerous because deep inside I think I always knew I could care about him. But if we just stayed friends, he couldn’t hurt me the way Clint hurt you and Drew hurt Cara.” Des swallowed hard. “And the way Dad and Mom hurt each other. I liked him enough that I wanted to keep him in my life, and for a time, I thought the only way to do that was to just be friends with him.”

  “You really believed that?”

  Des nodded. “I said, for a time.”

  “And that’s changed because . . . ?”

  “His heart, his goodness, his honesty—those are the things that matter. When someone is as good, and kind, and sweet, and as caring as he is, it’s hard not to want more. And I realized I do want more.”

  “How much more, exactly, did you have along with your steak?”

  Des laughed at the not-so-subtle innuendo. “I kissed him. And I made him kiss me back.” She smiled at the memory. “I think he was in shock at first, but he adjusted quite nicely.”

  “Zing went the strings of your heart?”

  “Totally. Like being tossed across the room by a hot wire, to paraphrase Cara.”

  “And this leaves Greg where?”

  “Searching for someone else to date, I suppose. Look, he is a genuinely nice guy. But he’s the one I should be just friends with.”

  “Does he know yet?”

  “It’s not a big deal, really. I only went out with him twice. It’s not like there was anything between us except for a few anemic kisses.”

  “You knew that after the first time you went out with him, so why the second date?”

  “I was hoping I was wrong, I guess. I thought dating Greg was a good idea because I think I knew instinctively that I’d never fall in love with him.”

  “That’s just plain mean.”

  “Agreed. But it’s what was in my twisted little mind at the time.”

  “What untwisted it?”

  “Seth,” Des told her. “Seth just being Seth.”

  “Awww, that’s so cute. And he made you dinner.”

  “You scoff, but it was a very romantic dinner, out under the trees, with candlelight, flowers on the table, wine, a gentle breeze blowing across the fields, starlight.” She sighed, remembering. “Oh, and incredible baklava.”

  “Oh dear Lord, this is more serious than I imagined.”

  Des laughed. “Let’s go home and tell Barney and Cara what we found here, and I’ll give Greg a call so he can alert his friend that he has some valuable artwork on the walls of his little restaurant.”

  Des called Greg from the car and left a voicemail. When he called back twenty minutes later, she was already home and in midst of telling Barney, Cara, and Nikki what she and Allie had discovered.

  “I thought maybe we could do dinner again one night this week,” Greg said.

  “Actually, I’m kind of tied up right now. I just wanted you to tell your friend who owns the restaurant that some of those paintings are probably worth a lot of money. He needs to bring in a credible art appraiser.”

  “Wow. That would be amazing, wouldn’t it, after finding all those things in a storage shed? How crazy is that?”

  “I know. But it does happen. The point is he needs to secure them and make sure he has them properly appraised and insured.”

  “I will tell him. Now, how ’bout this weekend? Are you free?”

  “Um, no, I’ve got plans.”

  “Well, could I come over and chat with your aunt about the Hudsons and the coal mines? You know, for that class I was telling you about.”

  “That would be fine. I’ll check with her and get back to you.”

  “Great. Thanks. I’ll look forward to it.”

  “I have no idea where my great-grandmother’s journals would be, if in fact she kept such things,” Barney was saying when Des rejoined the conversation. “Unless they’re in the attic.”

  “I volunteer to look,” Nikki said. “I was going to search up there for the emerald necklace anyway. Finders, keepers, right, Aunt Barney?”

  “That’s the deal.” Barney nodded.

  “So we know for certain Cooper did this mural, and Allie and I saw some of his work today, and some of it was dated, so we can prove he was in the area from the 1920s through at least the midthirties. The colors in the mural are very distinctive, and they are really close in quality to the colors in the theater. I think we could make a case for him having done the work in the theater.”

  “I suppose it would help a great deal with grants and obtaining historic designation for the Sugarhouse if we were to prove that Alistair Cooper did all the painting,” Barney said.

  “I’m sure it would. In the meantime, we have the plaster repair starting next week. I’d have liked to have gotten that done faster, but Giovanni had several other jobs lined up before ours and didn’t feel he could bump them. Allie, you need to be ready to go to work once the plaster is dry.”

  “I didn’t say I’d do it. I’m still not sure that I—”

  “All in favor of Allie repainting the damaged parts of the ceiling, raise your hand.” Des ignored her by counting the votes. “Let’s see, that would be unanimous.”

  “It’s not. I didn’t vote,” Allie protested.

  “Doesn’t matter. You’d have lost.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Des had offered to help Cara water the backyard flower beds and the planters for Barney, who was off at a last-minute meeting for the Fourth of July parade. The hose was already connected and in a heap on the patio, so Des was surprised to find Cara standing in the yard, staring at the carriage house.

  “You’re looking awfully dreamy this morning,” Des noted as she picked up the hose and began to work out the kinks.

  “I do love that building,” Cara sighed.

  “Me, too. It’s a shame it isn’t being used for anything these days. It would be a great space for, oh, I don’t know. Maybe a yoga studio?”

  “Or a home for wayward pups?” Cara countered.

  “It would never work. Too noisy. Plus the building’s too close to the house.”

  Des turned on the water and began to spray the black iron urns where Barney had planted bright red geraniums and English ivy. “Besides, you’ve had your sights on that place almost since day one, and you’re right. It would make a perfect yoga studio.”

  “How did
you know?” Cara frowned.

  Des tapped her temple. “Psychic. It’s pretty obvious that out of the three of us, you’re the one who’s going to stick around after our work at the theater is completed.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “Hey, if I had a stud like Joe following me around with his tongue hanging out, I’d have a change of plans, too.”

  “He is hot, isn’t he.” It wasn’t really a question.

  “Totally hot. And he’s so totally into you.”

  “It’s mutual.”

  “So have you talked about staying with him?”

  Cara nodded. “But more like if I did stay, maybe I could do this, or maybe I’d do that. Just in general terms, you know?”

  “That’s how those conversations begin. Next thing you know, you’ll be flashing a pretty ring and looking for a caterer.”

  “Whoa, slow down. There’s been no talk of rings or caterers.” Cara began to deadhead an early rosebush. “But there has been some talk about me helping fix up that fixer-upper of his. He has a darling Cape Cod a few blocks from here, but it’s totally 1972 once you step inside. It’s dingy and dark and needs all sorts of things to spiff it up. Once Joe heard we’d redone Barney’s kitchen, he figured he and I could redo his.”

  “You up for another project?”

  “It would be fun. It’s so much smaller in scale than the theater, and I wouldn’t have to worry about running out of money because I wouldn’t be paying for it.”

  “So one might assume one could be living there at some point in the future. If one were so inclined.”

  “One might assume that. Of course, this one would still have to earn a living.”

  Des took the hose into the yard to water the beds, and Cara went inside. She emerged a moment later and held up a key as she headed to the carriage house. She unlocked the door and disappeared inside.

  She’s going to ask Barney if she can use the second-floor space, and she and Joe are going to live happily ever after in Hidden Falls, Des mused.

  Des had just finished up when Lucille roared into the driveway. Barney left the car there and stormed toward the house.