by Leona Fox
Cyrus Dumville’s house was a single family home, a ranch sitting on the back of its lot, with a well-landscaped lawn and flower beds leading down to the sidewalk. They walked up the path single file with Sadie in the lead. Somehow this neat little house didn’t seem like Cyrus. She couldn’t imagine what his house might look like, but this house reflected his deceased wife’s taste, Sadie was pretty sure. Not that she knew what a house that reflected Cyrus’ taste would look like.
The old man opened the door and ushered them into a dark living room. The inside of the house was apparently much more like Cyrus than the outside. The first thing Sadie would’ve done would be to open all the curtains. Of course, then the dust would’ve been much more noticeable. It seemed Marnie was more a caregiver than a housekeeper, but there weren’t any old take-out boxes on the coffee table so that was something.
“Sit down.” Cyrus gestured to the couch and chairs gathered around the coffee table.
“Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back with coffee.”
He was back before the women even had a chance to comment on the gloomy room. He was pushing a cart laden with a silver coffee service, including a cake plate featuring a Victoria sponge cake. Sadie knew it was a Victoria sponge from her trips to the British Isles.
Cyrus’s hand shook so much when he was pouring the coffee it about flooded the tray. Sadie had to restrain herself from taking it away from him. If he had wanted her help, he would’ve asked for it. Jumping up to take over from him would be treating him like a child. She glanced at her friends and saw Betty was sitting on her hands, and Lucy was chewing on her lip. Clearly they both were restraining themselves as well.
“Here you go, ladies,” Cyrus said placing the coffee cups on the table in front of them, and then turning to cut the cake.
It occurred to Sadie it was so damn dark in the room he might not have realized he spilled coffee all over his tray. She tasted her coffee while he was handing out the cake. It wasn’t as good as John’s but it wasn’t bad either. And truthfully, it was better coffee than she could make at home. Cyrus put his cup of coffee on the table and sat down on the couch next to Sadie.
“Marnie is not having coffee with us?” she asked.
“She thought she’d take this opportunity to do some errands while you’re here with me,” he said.
“She doesn’t like to leave me alone. She’s afraid I’ll fall and break my hip, I guess.”
“Funny, I’ve never heard of a man breaking his hip,” Betty said.
“Is that a thing?” She took a sip of coffee and looked at him over her cup, eyebrows raised.
Cy looked at Sadie and said in a low voice, “What does she mean--is that a thing? What is she talking about?”
“She’s just asking if older men break their hips as easily as older women. Because women get osteoporosis, and it makes the bones brittle.” Sadie smiled. “That’s what ‘is that a thing?’ means.”
“Oh,” the old man said, looking confused.
“I never thought about that. Marnie always is saying ‘Be careful going down those steps you might break your hip.’ I just took her word for it. Don’t men get osteoporosis?”
“I don’t think so,” Sadie said. “What other things does Marnie say to you?”
“She’s very concerned about my health,” Cy said.
“Which is good, right? Because she’s my caretaker. She says it’s dangerous for me to have a dog. I can’t go out late at night. Drinking in the bar with my buddies is limited to once a month, and I have to eat a very limited diet.” He frowned.
“I don’t like that last part, but I guess I shouldn’t complain because it’s working. I’ve never been in better health.”
“And what you do with all the money you save from not having a dog or drinking with your buddies or eating too extravagantly?” Lucy asked.
“It’s in my savings account,” Cyrus said. “You don’t have to worry. I pay Marnie well, and she’s not in my will.”
“Smart move,” Lucy said. “Does she have access to your bank accounts?”
“Do I look like an idiot?” Cy asked.
“I do all my own banking. I pay my bills, I balance my accounts, and I reconcile my statements. My banker says I’m fiscally responsible, but really I’m just careful. I always wanted to be careful so I wouldn’t let my sweetheart down.”
“Oh, that’s so charming,” Betty said. “This is a lovely cake, Mr. Dumville, did you make it yourself?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, “I bought it from the bakery. Do I look like the kind of man who puts on an apron and bakes a cake?”
“I’m sure you’d look charming in an apron,” Lucy said.
“Of course I look charming, I’m a charming old man. That doesn’t mean I can bake a cake. As it turns out, I can’t. And neither can Marnie.”
“Did Marnie find you when you got hit on the head, and your painting was stolen?” Sadie asked.
“Yes, I told that nice lady police officer. Marnie found me and put me to bed.” He touched the back of his head absently.
“Where were you when she found you?” Betty asked. “In here?”
“No. The kitchen. And she cleaned up the mess. That lady police officer was not pleased about that. And it’s funny,” he looked at Sadie, “funny strange,” he winked, “because we have a cleaning lady. Marnie never cleans anything.”
“What are Marnie’s duties?” Sadie asked.
“My son hired her, mostly she’s just here if I have an emergency. So I’m not living alone since my wife died. But Marnie, she takes her duties seriously. She says as long as she is getting paid to keep an eye on me, she’s going to make sure I don’t do anything stupid.” He sighed.
“But I wish she’d let me see my friends more often. I’d even give up the beer.”
“Maybe I can do something about that,” Sadie said. “I could mention it to your son, and he could ask her to ease up.”
“Would you do that?” he asked. “I tried to tell him, but he just says I’m exaggerating. I say to him, ‘Go down and ask Leonard and Willie what the last time was they saw me.’ But my son is too busy, he doesn’t ask them.”
“We can do that for you,” Sadie said, “because no one should be without their friends. And if you really want a dog, I can take care of that, too.”
The minute she said it Sadie wondered how in the world she was going to take care of it. What if Marnie was allergic to dogs?
“I don’t need a dog if I can have Leonard and Willie,” he said.
“I was just lonely. I thought a little dog, you know, a dog like your dog, would be good company for when Marnie is out of the house. But if I could go see Leonard and Willie, then I won’t be lonely.”
“Okay then,” Sadie said. “I’ll see what I can do. But can you tell me about the Holocaust treasure? It seems like a funny story to me, and by funny I mean strange. I have a friend who is a history professor and he says it’s very doubtful that any Holocaust money is buried in Seagrove.”
“Oh, that,” Cy said. “Marnie told me that. Now she says I misheard her, and she never mentioned the Holocaust. But I’m not senile, I know what she said.”
“Maybe what she meant was that she was mistaken,” Betty said. “She thought it was Holocaust money, but she was wrong.”
“Huh,” Cy grunted. “Maybe.”
“Could I use your bathroom?” Sadie asked and stood up.
“Certainly, down the hall past Marnie’s bedroom. Second door on the left.” He waved his hand in the direction of a door on the far side of the room.
Sadie made her way through the gloom and was relieved when she got to the door without tripping over an ottoman or a side table. Marnie’s door was open, and she glanced in on her way by. Nothing remarkable there. But when she was finished in the bathroom she couldn’t help but stop at the door to the caretaker’s room. Why had she told Cy the painting held the clue to the Holocaust money?
She stood listening to t
he voices in the living room for a moment before entering the room and closing the door behind her.
5
Sadie stood in Marnie’s room and scanned it. It was a pleasant room in an airy white and blue kind of way, but sparsely furnished, and there were only three places a painting could be hidden; the closet, behind the dresser or under the bed. She listened at the door for a moment but didn't hear anything. So she headed over to the closet and eased open the door. She felt around behind the clothes, on the shelves, and against the front wall, but no painting was hiding there.
The dresser was tight up against the wall, and there was no way a big gilt frame was going to slide behind it, so she knelt down and peered under the bed. There was a package there, and it seemed like the right size, so she slid it out from under the bed. Whatever it was, Sadie was willing to bet money on it being the painting. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
She contemplated putting it on the bed to unwrap it but decided it would be better to do it on the floor. The least amount of evidence of tampering the better. Because she was going to tamper. The first knot untied easily and she pulled the string away from the top of the package and laid it out on the floor. She felt a bit anxious, so she got up and listened at the door again.
Still no noise in the hallway.
The second knot was not easy to untie. It was tight, and not the kind you could pull the ends to release. She went to work on it, easing some slack into the string and pulling at the tangle, looking for the place that would free up things if she just could get the string to pull through. It took patience, and she was well aware the three people in the living room must be wondering if she'd fallen in the toilet.
She worked the knot and finally it came free. She laid the string neatly to the side and unwrapped the brown paper. It was the painting from the shop. She supposed she could have mistaken the painting itself, but the frame was unmistakable. That clunky gilt frame. It was so wrong. Too gaudy, too big, too ornate. The painting begged for a thin neutral frame. Or even a wide neutral frame, just not this gold monstrosity.
"What are you doing in my room?"
Sadie froze. Marnie was behind her, but there was no way to hide the fact she'd found the painting and unwrapped it.
"The real question is what is this doing in your room?" Sadie turned to face Marnie and gestured to the painting.
"That is my property," Marnie said. She was tight-faced, and the skin around her lips was ringed in white.
"Funny, I thought this was Cyrus' property." Sadie stood up and picked up the painting in its wrapper.
"Shall we go ask him?
"You leave him out of this," Marnie said and lunged for the painting.
Sadie jumped back. The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sat down abruptly.
Marnie grabbed the painting and tried to tug it away, but Sadie held on tight. There was tearing, and Marnie stepped away with nothing but wrapping paper in her hands.
“Darn it,” she said. “Give me my painting.”
She reached across Sadie’s lap, hooked her hand over the frame nearest Sadie and tugged. Marnie was at least half a head taller than Sadie, and probably a good deal stronger. Sadie moved her hands so they cupped the corners closest to Marnie and held on with everything she had. Then she slid the painting back until Marnie’s hand was trapped between the sharp edge of the frame and Sadie’s stomach.
Marnie wrenched her hand free and rubbed her palm where it had been pinched by the edge of the frame. Sadie got up and headed toward the door, but Marnie grabbed her arm and swung her around.
“I’m well within my rights to keep this painting,” Sadie said. “It was in my container, and I paid to have it shipped from Italy.”
“You didn’t pay the bribe,” Marnie spat.
“No, but every crate I ship is paid for by the pound. This ugly frame probably cost me a hundred dollars. I think that makes it mine.”
Sadie did not really believe this, but she wanted to keep Marnie emotionally off balance until she got the painting out of the room.
“If you want this painting, you can buy it from me,” Sadie said.
“I’m not going to buy it from you,” Marnie said. “It already belongs to me. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Sadie asked.
“Because I’m pretty sure that’s another urban legend.” She wrenched her arm free of Marnie’s grasp and tried skirting around her to the door.
Marnie blocked her, putting her own back against the door so it couldn’t be opened.
“You are not getting out of here with that painting,” Marnie said, “so you might as well just give it to me.”
There was a window on the far side of the bed and Sadie headed for it, wincing inwardly as she stepped onto Marnie’s clean bedclothes. She slid the painting under her left arm and, keeping that side to the window, unlatched the window, and pushed it up with her right hand. There was about a four foot drop to the flower bed that ran along the perimeter of the back lawn. She was trying to figure out the best way to get out of the window when Marnie jumped up on the bed with her, grabbed the painting and tugged it out of Sadie’s grasp.
“Oh no,” Sadie said, and lunged for it.
That was a mistake, because she missed, fell into Marnie, and they both ended up on the floor with Sadie on top. Neither of them moved for a moment while they caught their breath.
“Finally,” Marnie said, “get off,” and tried rolling out from underneath Sadie.
Sadie looked around for the painting and discovered it on the floor near the dresser. She lunged for it, snatched it up and jumped back onto the bed, grabbing the pillow as she went by. She tossed the pillow out the window and was just about to drop the painting on top of it when Marnie yelled “No!” Sadie felt Marnie’s fingers wrapped around her ankle.
Sadie braced for the yank she knew must be coming, hoping to keep her feet. But before Marnie could get a good enough grasp the bedroom door flew open.
“Stop this instant,” Cyrus said. “What do the two of you think you’re doing with my painting?”
Sadie looked over to see Cyrus standing in the door, flanked by Lucy and Betty. Betty had a horrified look on her face, but Sadie thought Lucy was trying not to laugh. Cyrus looked confused, and Marnie looked sheepish. Sadie was glad she couldn’t see her own face, she thought she probably looked pretty foolish.
“Excuse me,” Betty said and pushed past Cyrus to retrieve the painting from Sadie’s hand. Sadie had been about ready to drop it, but Betty pulled it gently back in the window.
“What were you thinking?” she said, and this shocked Sadie.
“I dropped the pillow out the window for it to land on,” Sadie said, “I’m not totally irresponsible.”
“Living room. Now.” Betty said, and she marched out the door.
For a moment no one moved, then Marnie let go of Sadie’s ankle and got off the bed. They looked at each other, shrugged and then everyone turned and followed Betty.
“In the living room,” Lucy said, “I’m sorry Cyrus, but it’s just too gloomy in here,” and opened the curtains on both sides of the room, letting in the natural light. It was a huge improvement, Sadie thought, even though the layer of dust was more obvious.
Betty took the painting into the kitchen and was back a moment later with a spray bottle and some paper towels. She handed the painting to Lucy, then dusted the coffee table and covered it with clean paper towels. She ducked out into the kitchen again, and Sadie raised her eyebrows at Lucy. But Lucy just shrugged.
A moment later Betty was back minus the cleaning supplies. She took the painting and set it on the paper towel-covered coffee table. Betty looked at the four of them still standing around looking perplexed and said: “Sit.”
They sat.
“Now someone had better start explaining,” Betty said, “or I am going to get fed up and call Chief Woodstone.”
She look
ed at Sadie. “I can’t believe you were going to drop that painting out the window.”
“There was a pillow,” Sadie began, but Betty just crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She narrowed her gaze at Marnie.
“Clearly you know more than you are saying,” she said. “Spit it out.”
Sadie was totally in awe. Betty usually was organized and easy-going. She laughed readily and didn’t get her knickers in a twist over nothing, but when she did, watch out. Marnie didn’t have a chance, Sadie saw her realize that and deflate.
“Roger Orwin is my brother,” she said.
“We never really have been close, but when my mother died he promised her he’d keep an eye on me. And I promised her I would keep an eye on him. But there was some trouble a while back, another artist was accusing him of forgery or faking, I don’t really remember. Roger had to leave the country, and I broke my promise to my mom. I should’ve gone with him to keep an eye on him.”
“But Roger’s last name is Orwin,” Lucy broke in, “and aren’t you a McAdam?”
“Different fathers,” Marnie said, and the light bulb went on in Lucy’s head.
“Of course, how stupid of me,” she muttered.
“Do you think he really was forging paintings?” Sadie asked.
“He is awfully good at copying other people’s work. He painted Starry Night for me, and even the brushstrokes are indistinguishable from Vincent’s. He sold some like that, but with his name on them. Not as forgeries. Copies. Some people are happy with posters of the original, and other people would rather have a painted copy.”
“So why did he leave, then?” Betty asked. “If he wasn’t doing anything illegal?”
“What I want to know,” Cy interrupted, “is why you told me that painting was mine? And what about that Holocaust money?”
“I had to tell you it was yours so you would go pick it up,” Marnie said.
“I didn’t want to have to answer questions about how this painting got here. I figured you could probably get a pass, Cy, but if I showed up there, I'd get the third degree."