by Nancy Warren
“I am very well Ben. It’s good to see you. The judge and Mrs. Bailey are very happy to have company today.” She extended her smile to Ashley. “Please, come in.”
She led them through the quiet house, decorated in a more modern fashion than Ashley would have imagined, and out to a covered patio with a stunning view. The judge and his wife sat side-by-side reading pieces of the Sunday Times, and Ben strode forward not waiting to be announced. “Judge Bailey, it’s so good to see you.”
The older man rose. He must have been close to eighty, but he stood tall and straight, with dark, piercing blue eyes under a shock of white hair. He had the permanently tanned look of a golfer or a sailor. He and Ben shook hands and patted each other on the shoulders simultaneously. Then Ben turned to the older woman. “Martha, it’s so good to see you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
He turned with practiced politeness, “And I think you both know Ashley Carnarvon? Duncan and Millicent’s niece.”
The judge offered her a slightly cool look as he held out his hand. “Of course. I haven’t seen you for some time.” She had no idea how to respond to that, so she simply smiled and shook his hand.
She’d met his wife even fewer times than she’d met the judge, so she bypassed the cheek kissing and shook the older woman’s hand.
The four of them sat outside and the judge and Ben did most of the talking. The judge offered them wine, champagne, a sherry before dinner, or something stronger. She asked for iced tea, explaining that she was driving. Ben sent her an approving look, and also opted for iced tea. She understood the source of the approving look when Martha said, “Ernest tries to use guests as an excuse to drink wine at lunch time. Even though his doctor has told him it’s bad for him.”
“Only trying to be a good host,” the judge replied.
They all sipped iced tea and then a young maid brought out a wheeled tray containing salads, which she put in front of each of them. This was followed by crab cakes, and then roast chicken and vegetables. Dessert was fresh fruit and coffee. Over coffee, Ben got the judge talking about case law, in particular the case law surrounding the history of crooked cops in LA. “Do you mind if I tape this?” he asked, pulling out a small digital recorder.
“No. Of course not.” The judge settled back and talked. He was like an encyclopedia. Reeling off facts and names and dates. Ben let him talk, interspersing the odd question.
At the end of probably half an hour, Ben said, “This is fantastic information. Thank you so much.” He switched the recorder off. “Now, I’ll stop dominating the conversation with work. Martha, how are things going at the gallery?” Before Martha could answer, he turned to Ashley. “Martha is an expert in the post-Impressionists.”
Martha shook her head at him. “Not an expert, dear. Merely an enthusiastic amateur.”
Once more, Ben turned to her. “Martha’s being modest. She studied art in Paris and when she returned to California, she brought with her a passionate love for Picasso and the cubists. She developed one of the best private collections in the United States, and has donated a number of works to museums around the world.”
Martha smiled modestly. “I don’t believe that one should hoard art for one’s own pleasure. It’s meant to be enjoyed by everyone.”
All of a sudden the judge lifted his fist and banged it down on the table so the coffee cups jumped and clattered. It was like a clap of thunder in the middle of a peaceful, sunny day. Everyone turned to stare at him.
His face was ruddy with emotion as he glared at Ben and then at her. “I don’t know what your game is here, but I don’t like it.” Ashley glanced at Ben to find him looking as bewildered as she felt. She wondered about dementia, but the way the judge had rattled off all those figures from old cases made her wonder.
There was awful silence for many seconds and then Ben said, “I’m not sure what you’re referring to judge, but I’m not aware of any game.”
To her horror, the judge pointed one of his bony fingers right at her chest. “And what about you, young lady? You know anything about a game?”
She shook her head, wishing she could turn tail and run. “I came with Ben. That’s all.”
The judge grew even redder in the face. He still glared at her unwaveringly and she felt that if he were still sitting behind the bench she’d be sentenced to life imprisonment, or worse. “And what about your fiancé? Where is Eric Van Hoffendam?” He spat the words.
She swallowed nervously. “His house, I guess.” She glanced over at Martha, wondering if they should leave so the judge could have his afternoon nap or whatever he clearly needed. But she found Martha also staring at her, a sad expression in her faded brown eyes.
“What’s Eric got to do with this?” Ben asked.
“You really don’t know?” the judge replied, but again he was looking at her.
A horrible sick feeling blossomed in her belly. She felt like she was getting in trouble and she didn’t know what she’d done wrong. She shook her head mutely. The urge to run grew stronger by the second. If she hadn’t returned the car keys to their rightful owner before entering this house, she thought she might actually have scampered out of there, never to return.
“Ernest, please,” Martha said softly. “Remember your blood pressure.”
The judge turned to his wife. “If this young lady truly doesn’t know, then I think she has a right to learn what kind of a man she is marrying, before it’s too late.”
She spoke up. “I don’t understand, I didn’t even realize you knew Eric.”
“I’ve known his father, and before that his grandfather, for years. Good, decent men. But that youngster, that hooligan is another story.” He poked his finger at her again. “He ought to be in jail. And if it weren’t for you, he would probably be on his way. I may be old, but I’m still a power to be reckoned with.”
Eric was many things, but he wasn’t a criminal. She couldn’t imagine what he could have done. And then she thought of his history of pranks, some of which could be pretty elaborate, and she wondered if he’d hired strippers to sing at the judge’s last birthday or something. She glanced around, but couldn’t see any topiary gardens that had been disfigured. “Did he pull one of his pranks on you?”
The redness in the judge’s cheeks grew deeper and she could see purple veins like a map of the world’s rivers. He threw down his napkin and rose on unsteady feet. “You can decide that for yourself.” He strode into the house, shouting, “Maria?”
The housekeeper arrived, walking calmly from another part of the house. “Yes, judge?”
“Get somebody to set up that surveillance video from the vandalism incident,” he snapped.
A worried frown creased her forehead. “Are you sure you want to see that right now, Judge?”
“No, I don’t want to see it, but I’m going to show it to this young lady.”
By this time, Martha had followed them into the house. She and Maria exchanged a glance and then Maria nodded. “I’ll set it up for you in the media room.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you know what’s going on?” Ashley asked Ben.
“I am completely mystified.” And yet, she didn’t think he seemed as shocked as she was. She kept her gaze steadily on his face and he shifted and glanced away.
Martha said, “Well, I suppose we should get this over with.”
She led them down a flight of stairs and along a short corridor to a home theater. A movie screen dominated one wall, and black padded chairs looked like comfortable seats from which to watch a movie.
Maria was already fiddling with machinery when they got there. They sat in a row. Martha, then the judge, then Ashley, and beside her, Ben. She wished she hadn’t eaten so much at lunch. Her stomach felt tight with nerves. The judge hit a remote to dim the lights. Before he pushed play, he said, “Martha and I were away for our wedding anniversary and so we gave the staff the weekend off. Neighbors, a few doors down, were also away. They have a son who has b
een known to throw parties in their absence. They’ve never been able to control him, so they seem to ignore his behavior, I suppose, in the mistaken belief that what they ignore doesn’t exist. As I said, our staff had had the weekend off. But we have an excellent security company and because of the number of valuable paintings and artifacts in this house, there are security cameras everywhere.” He sighed heavily and glanced at her from under bushy eyebrows. “If this is truly something you are unaware of, I am very sorry.”
And then he pressed play. She could see a swimming pool and surrounding it a few carved marble statues. She didn’t know mythology well enough to identify them, but she was certain that they were most likely rare and valuable. The garden was lit and spotlights highlighted the statues. A date and time stamp appeared in the top right-hand corner of the picture.
After maybe ten or fifteen seconds of watching an empty pool and the silent garden, there was movement on the right-hand side of the screen. Four guys staggered into the frame. Tall, blonde, and drunkest of them all was Eric. There was no sound, so it was like watching a silent movie. She could see the four of them: Eric, Toad, a guy he called Slade, and the college buddy whose parents lived nearby. His name was Dave. The four of them were laughing, Eric was drinking what looked like rum straight out of the bottle. He passed the bottle to Toad.
She couldn’t stop watching Eric. She felt her fingernails dig into her palm, wishing he would go away, that they’d all go away. There was more joking, and she saw Eric sidle up to a female statue that looked Greek, and serene, and had wings. It was a goddess or an angel, she couldn’t be sure, but to her horror Eric walked over and grabbed the statues naked breasts like he was feeling up a real girl. Then he started to dry hump the statue. The other three were doubled over with hilarity. Please, she said to herself, please just go away. Let this be all there is to it. But of course, Eric loved to show off, and if he had an audience he was inclined to escalate his pranks.
Dave, the one who lived near here was waving his arms, pointing at the house. Next thing she knew, Eric was unzipping his pants and while the four of them watched from their comfortable movie recliners Eric peed in the swimming pool.
“I am so sorry,” she said, as though Eric were somehow her responsibility.
But the horror was only beginning. Dave joined his college buddy and also relieved himself in the pool. Then the four drunken delinquents staggered around trying the doors to the house. She imagined they were looking for more booze. She could see them twisting the doorknobs.
They began banging on the doors and she could see that they were yelling to be let in. Finally, the neighbor boy picked up a stone and banged it against the glass panes of the French door. She suspected he had only meant to get the attention of someone in the house, but in his drunken state, he didn’t know his own strength, and while they watched this awful silent movie, she saw the pane of glass break. For a second the four men froze, and then Dave put his hand through the broken pane of glass and opened the door.
“Don’t you have an alarm?” she cried.
“It’s a silent alarm. The second that glass broke the security company was alerted and they were on their way.”
The picture jerked and now they were looking at the wall inside the house. Three paintings hung in a row. Ashley didn’t know much about art, but these looked like something you’d see in the Met or the Louvre or somewhere famous. They all had a Picasso-like look to them and her heart began to pound with dread. Peeing in the pool and dry-humping garden statues was one thing, but breaking and entering jumped Eric and his buddies up to a whole new level. What were they thinking? What were any of them thinking?
This was like a nightmare that wouldn’t end. She knew something awful was about to happen and she wished she could wake up so she didn’t have to know what it was going to be.
As she had dreaded, the four drunks ambled into the picture. At least Eric had already drained his bladder, so there was no possibility he could pee on the paintings. And he didn’t.
He walked and squinted at all of them. Then he struck a pose, like a teacher, or a tour guide, and he began an animated discussion as he pointed to each of the three pictures. She had no idea what he was saying, but his three companions doubled up laughing. He moved out of the frame and then, to her horror, he returned holding a Sharpie in his hand. “Oh no,” she moaned. She wanted to cover her eyes but she couldn’t.
He waved the Sharpie, and then, as she watched, helpless to stop the destruction, he yanked the top off the indelible marker and with great swoops of the pen, as confident as Picasso himself, he painted two boobs on the chest of the middle painting and added round circles for nipples. At this point, something happened. She suspected the security people arrived, for, like actors in a bad silent comedy, the four of them froze, looked at each other in panic, then all began to run.
The judge turned off the picture and hit another button to turn up the lights.
Complete silence filled the room. It was Martha who broke it. “I brought that painting back with me when I went to Paris in 1963. It’s not a Picasso, but a fellow artist and a very good friend of his.” She sighed, as though she were at a funeral. “It’s not always the monetary value, sometimes the value is in what a painting means to a person.”
“Can it be repaired?” she asked in a small voice.
“I’ve had the painting sent to the top team of art restorers in California.” She shook her head. “They’re doing everything they can.”
The judge spoke up, “Those paintings are like my wife’s children. And I will not stand by and let anyone hurt my wife.”
His hands formed into fists. “That boy should be in jail. I was fully prepared to press charges. Then Charles Van Hoffendam asked for a meeting.”
He glared at all of them.
“I’ve known Van Hoffendam for years. But that wouldn’t have stopped me. That punk of his needs a sharp lesson and he’d get one in jail. But Millicent and Charles came to see us. They offered to pay damages, pay to have the pool drained and cleaned, to pay for the restoration, but it’s not the money that matters. That boy should be punished. However, they convinced us he was trying to change.”
“They really both looked ill when they saw the video. They dragged Eric over to see us the next week and he apologized to us,” Martha added. She was clearly a softer-hearted woman than her husband.
The judge continued. “He’s promised to clean up his act. He’s getting a job, I understand, and when they informed me he was marrying a nice girl from a good family, a Carnarvon. Well, Martha and I allowed ourselves to be persuaded. When we saw the engagement announcement in all the papers, we assumed you knew.”
She licked her lips. They were dry as though all the moisture had been sucked out of them in the last few minutes. “What if I don’t marry him? Will you send him to jail?”
The older man looked at her steadily for a long moment, then shook his head. “I am going to give you some advice, young lady, and I’m an old man who has seen far too much. What I do, or the Van Hoffendams do, or anyone does should have no bearing on your conduct. But you should think very carefully.” He waved a hand at the now black screen. “This is the man you’ve agreed to marry.”
They left soon after that. As they were leaving, Martha said, “I’m so sorry,” as though it was somehow her fault that Ashley should end up having such an awful day.
Chapter Seventeen
SHE AND BEN GOT INTO THE CAR and he didn’t even offer to let her drive. She was shaking too badly.
He started the engine and headed back the way they’d come, so happily, a few hours earlier.
For a long time, neither of them said anything, then she cried, “You knew, didn’t you?”
He glanced over at her. “No. I didn’t.”
“Then why, today of all days, would you want to have lunch with the Baileys of all people? Are you trying to ruin my life?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Do not lie t
o me. Enough people have lied to me in the last few weeks.” Everything was coming clear to her now, as clear as the vision of Eric defacing a nice old couple’s priceless art collection. No wonder Eric had suddenly wanted to marry her, and that his parents had welcomed the union with open arms when they’d never acknowledged her existence previously. “The date stamp on the video footage was one week before Eric proposed to me. How could I have been so stupid? I knew everything was rushed and it wasn’t natural for Grace and Charles Van Hoffendam to treat me so nicely. Except that they needed me. I was his Get Out of Jail Free card. You knew something. What was it?” She almost screamed the last words. She and Ben had become close over the past weeks. They’d pretended they were friends, but she’d fallen in love with him. She’d believed, even if he didn’t share her feelings, that he’d be honest with her. Now it felt as though he were part of a grand cover-up.
He jerked the wheel and pulled over to a viewing area. He got out of the car and she did too, slamming the door behind her.
Near the beach, a huge rock heaving with sea lions was the big viewing area attraction, but she didn’t have much interest in the antics of sea creatures right now. There were a couple of land creatures who had her full attention.
Ben stared out to sea for a moment and then turned to her. The wind whipped at his hair and he pushed it back impatiently. “At your engagement party, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Charles Van Hoffendam and Duncan Carnarvon. It didn’t make a lot of sense at the time, but they mentioned the judge. I thought it was strange that he wasn’t at your engagement party, and something about the tone of that secret meeting’s been bothering me ever since.”
“Uncle Duncan knows about this?”
Ben looked at her almost with pity. “I don’t know how much he knows, but he obviously knows something. Frankly, it was a bit of a pissing match with both of them claiming the other one’s kid was getting the best deal.”