Shades of Deception

by Charlie Hudson

  Whatever the paper was beneath the poster was sticking a bit to the print – not as if glued, but clinging. She used her fingernail again to hold the paper in place and peel the print up enough to slide her hand underneath. She kept the flat of her hand on the paper, not able to tell what it was covering and separated the print which she placed on top of the glass. What the hell was she expecting to find?

  A pelican. A big white pelican in profile sitting on a section of a tree branch. Huh. It looked like a watercolor, but there seemed to be pencil as well — as if maybe it wasn’t finished yet. There was no signature, date or note. The drawing paper was odd though and Crystal brushed her fingertips over it lightly. She’d never seen anything like it. Was the original owner an artist and was maybe embarrassed by the sketch, couldn’t quite bear to throw it away and wanted to cover it up instead? It wasn’t bad at all, but she was always hearing how artists could be really critical of their own work. Crystal removed it using her fingertips and held it to the light. It was heavy and there was some sort of watermark on the paper, although she couldn’t tell exactly what it was. The sketch, or whatever the right term was, looked familiar. Crystal laid it down and closed her eyes to concentrate. They didn’t have white pelicans in Florida, or at least they weren’t common, so whoever drew it had either been somewhere else or been inspired by… Her eyes popped open and she went to her laptop on the kitchen peninsula. It took only a few clicks to find James Audubon. There had been a big special exhibit of his not long ago and one of his white pelican prints had been featured in the publicity about it. She swiveled on the bar stool. It was similar, but the tree branches were different. There were no leaves like in the one on the computer and now she looked closer, to see the branches weren’t even drawn complete.

  She caught her breath, her mind racing. Was this possible? How could it be? The paper seemed unusual and it did look old. Why would someone hide it though if it was an original Audubon? Would there be a way to find anything out about the piece? What yard sale had her mother been to? Had she just been out and seen a sign the way she did sometimes, or was this one she knew about before? If so, she would probably have written the address somewhere. Her memory was for shit and she was always making notes because otherwise she’d forget the simplest thing. She moved to the other end of the counter where the telephone was with the square rattan basket next to it. They kept a couple of pens and a scratch pad. Stamps, coupons, and other items had piled up. No one bothered to clean out the junk until it overflowed. There was nothing useful. Then she remembered her mother bitching that morning when the strap of her brown purse broke and she swapped to a black one. The brown was the one she always carried and she’d left it on the couch. She’d been in a hurry and would have only taken the essentials. Crystal dumped the contents of the purse onto the coffee table. A comb, tube of lip gloss, wadded up tissues, a pen, and several bits of paper. A gas station receipt, a coupon from one of the local restaurants, a couple of business cards from out of town — no doubt guys at the bar. Okay, yes, there was a local address scribbled on the back of one. YS at 7:00. The house was within biking distance if the note referred to the start time of a yard sale. Crystal didn’t have to be at work until 6:00 p.m. and on the ride over she’d think of some story about why she was showing up in the stranger’s yard. There might not be anyone at the house anyway, or maybe the note had nothing to do with a sale. First though, she needed to hide the sketch in her room and put the original print back together. Her mother might get home to change before leaving for her second job. It wasn’t like she really thought there was anything to this, but what if there was? She couldn’t take a chance of her mother seeing the piece she’d found. It didn’t take long for her to be on the way and the house she was searching for was at the end of the street. A “Yard Sale” sign leaned against the mailbox post and there was a decrepit black kettle grill, a dirty blue ice chest with no lid, and two bulging black garbage bags on the other side of it, probably waiting for trash pickup.

  The unfenced terra cotta colored house was a basic design, no doubt cinder block construction and most likely a two-bedroom, one-bath. A blue Honda Accord with Ohio tags was in the attached two-car carport. The white shutters seemed freshly painted and although the front door was open, a screen door decorated with a white metal large egret was closed. A short sidewalk led to the shallow covered entryway supported by two white poles. Crystal dismounted her bike as the side door into the carport opened. A thin woman stepped out holding two more full black garbage bags and Crystal took the opportunity. “Oh hi, may I give you a hand with those?”

  The woman turned her head and blinked. “Oh, thank you, that would be a help.”

  Crystal hurried forward, taking them both and moving to the car when the woman inclined her head. She pulled a set of keys from the pocket of her navy blue slacks and popped the trunk with the remote button. She looked to be in her fifties, short black hair streaked with silver and an oval face with defined crow’s feet. Her smile was tentative and the look in her brown eyes was trying to place Crystal.

  “We haven’t met,” Crystal said cheerfully. “I think my mother was at your yard sale.”

  “Oh, there were quite a few people,” the woman said. “I’m taking these clothes to the Salvation Army.”

  “My mother can be really careless sometimes,” Crystal continued quickly. “She can’t find the bracelet she was wearing when she was here and has searched everywhere. The catch wasn’t very sturdy and she was wondering if it might have come loose here and someone picked it up. It was silver turtles with green glass for the shells.”

  The woman’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, no, I don’t think so, but to be honest, it was a little hectic at times. If someone picked it up and made me an offer, I would have taken it. The jewelry I had for sale was mostly beads and gold colored. My grandmother didn’t care for silver, so I might have noticed it instead.”

  Crystal smiled. “I didn’t really expect to find it, but I did promise Mom I would check. I know what you mean about hectic. We went through the same things with my grandmother’s stuff. Do you have more bags to carry? I have a little time and would be glad to help. It’s no problem.”

  Crystal wasn’t surprised the woman bought the lie. “Aren’t you sweet? Actually, there are a few more things and two boxes of books I’m planning to take to the hospital library. Gran didn’t reach the level of hoarder, but the place was jammed. Sales were pretty good and then a neighbor who was friends with Gran wanted some things, so this load is really all that’s left. I’ll be glad to have it done. Come on in and excuse the mess.”

  This woman obviously had a different idea of “mess” than what Crystal was used to. The kitchen they passed through smelled of lemon cleaner and there wasn’t a dirty dish or clutter in sight. The den and dining room had minimal furniture and spackled spots dotted the walls where pieces had once hung. Three more black garbage bags were on the bare tile floor next to the square dining table and two boxes of books were on top.

  “As you might guess, I’m working on getting the place fixed up for sale,” the woman said and smiled ruefully. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Lucy Tyler. I was named after my grandmother, Lucy Nelson — the only grandchild actually.”

  “I’m Crystal Lofton, and what a coincidence. I was the only grandchild for my grandmother, too. She had been ill for quite a while though. She’d never been the same since my grandfather died.” The box of books wasn’t too heavy. The lie about her family was calculated to generate confidence.

  “I’ve known of couples like that. Gran’s case was different. I never really knew her husband. They divorced when my mother was young and he went off somewhere never to be heard from again. Gran swore she wouldn’t remarry and didn’t.” These bags must have been lighter because Lucy didn’t seem to be struggling with them. “Old sheets to take to the animal shelter,” she said.

  “That’s a good idea. Was your grandmother an ani
mal lover?” There was no indication of pets.

  “I’m the dog and cat person — horses, too. Gran was allergic to pet dander. She loved birds and that was part of why she moved to the Keys. In fact, she had this cockatiel we thought would outlive her and it almost did.”

  Loved birds? “She sounds like a fascinating woman.”

  Lucy laughed as they placed the items in the trunk. “Well, she and my dad never got along. The polite word for her was eccentric. Dad used other terms. She was definitely not like my other friends’ grandmothers. She left Ohio during World War II — went off and became a WAC and that lit a fire under her for travel. They trained her to be a telephone operator and she turned that into a career. You’re too young to remember how important telephone operators used to be. She took a job in Washington, D.C. after the war and that’s where she was married. She only came back to Ohio because…” Lucy paused. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear these old stories.”

  “Oh no, I do enjoy them,” Crystal said quickly. “I used to listen to my grandmother for hours. She was quite a talker.”

  Lucy tilted her head. “To be honest, I’ve hardly had a normal conversation for the past month with everything that’s happened. Gran had a heart condition she hadn’t told us about, so we weren’t really prepared for this. Mom is having fits with arthritis and is not very good with these kinds of situations. Mom and I came down for the last couple of weeks to be with Gran. I sent Mom home and said I’d take care of everything down here.”

  Crystal wanted to keep the woman talking. “Oh, that must be very difficult for you. Trying to deal with all of that at one time.”

  Lucy nodded. “Tell you what. If you’re not in a hurry, I have some Cokes and cheese and crackers in the fridge. Let’s finish loading and we can sit down for a bit. If you’re from here, I haven’t decided on a real estate agent yet and maybe you know one. The guy who’s been helping me get the place ready recommended this one woman, but she hasn’t returned my call and I really want to get on with this.”

  “Oh sure. As a matter of fact, I work part time at a dive store and the wife of one of our instructors is supposed to be really good.” At least that was true.

  “Well then, I’m sorry about your mother’s bracelet, but you coming along seems to be my good fortune.”

  Crystal hoped this wasn’t a complete waste. “Isn’t it funny how that works out sometimes?”

  In the hour they spent together, Crystal had to hold in her excitement with polite nods and assurances she was enjoying hearing stories about Lucy’s grandmother. The woman had a nice collection of bird paintings and limited edition prints, some quite expensive. She’d left them to various relatives and friends. That was, of course, after her divorce since from what Lucy had been told about her grandfather, he was either a gambler or had some other problem with money and her grandmother could never have anything valuable in the house or it would wind up in the pawn shop. Once he was gone, it was different. It wasn’t like her grandmother had a lot of money, it was more that there were certain things she was willing to spend money on and she had enough of a head for investing to be comfortable on her own.

  Crystal gave Lucy the name of the woman who was the real estate agent and wished her luck with the sale. She thought through what she’d been told on the ride home. It wasn’t too hard to imagine Lucy’s grandmother somehow getting hold of an original Audubon unfinished piece and if she was married at the time, she could easily want to hide it from her husband. It didn’t make a lot of sense for it to have remained hidden unless maybe she expected it to become much more valuable and didn’t want anyone else to know. If true though, why had it apparently been stuck away and, for sure, why hadn’t she said anything before she died? She had been an old lady and maybe she’d started having memory problems and got all mixed up. It could have been like what happened with Mrs. Wheeler in the trailer park. She got Alzheimer’s or something when she was only about sixty. But she wasn’t that much of a social person and no one really knew what was going on. It wasn’t until she fell and had to be taken to the hospital that her daughter, who lived up north somewhere, came and found out she’d been stashing cash, some of her jewelry and little figurines in all kind of odd places in the trailer. The daughter took her back with her to be in a home and it had been the talk of the trailer park for a week or more.

  She wasn’t going to get too excited yet about the pelican, but it wasn’t like this was impossible. She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone and she would have to figure out what research to do.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Frank Henderson said as they settled onto the deck, fresh beers in hand. Bev was drinking the local Shark’s Tooth red ale and her father had his Budweiser. “Kyle gets back tomorrow?”

  “Uh, huh. He was in Fort Lauderdale most of yesterday and up in Jacksonville for a conference today.”

  Her mother knew Kyle was out of town and called to say she would be at Lorna’s for the evening. Although it wasn’t as if her father needed company, and they usually dined together at least once a month, Bev hadn’t been in the mood for dealing with dinner. The thought of spending an evening in conversation with her dad had been more appealing despite the early start of six o’clock.

  “That’s the Handley’s Chris-Craft I was telling you about,” he said, pointing to the motorboat turning into the canal to dock at the end house up and across from her parents.

  “Nice,” Bev said. “Forty-something feet?”

  “Forty-seven, a 1969 Commander. Decent shape with good bones. Doesn’t need too much work and Lloyd is looking forward to fixing it up. Rita’s been talking to your mother about new fabrics and such for the interior. They’re not in a rush. Lloyd doesn’t retire for another six months or so and they haven’t decided whether they’ll head out right after or wait. It depends on if they do the Intercoastal for their first cruise or go to the islands.”

  Bev nodded. Like couples who chose to take time and tour part, or all, of the country in an RV, taking a cruise along the Atlantic Intercoastal Waterway or west to the Gulf Intercoastal was a common goal among boat owners. “Have they done much extended cruising?”

  “Not for more than maybe a couple of weeks at a time. They’re already talking to several people who’ve done it. Speaking of couples retiring though, I ran into Herb Mecklenberg yesterday at the bank. He was looking pretty down and we went to Harry’s for a drink.” Frank tilted his bottle toward her. “He and Rachel appreciated how y’all handled everything.”

  Bev gave a small sigh. “They’re good people. How the hell do you come to grips with your own son being a thief and a liar? I mean, it would be easy enough to blame drugs, but Dad, I’ve got to tell you when we were interviewing him, it was more than that.” She paused, remembering the sound of Marlon’s contempt. “There was a lot of anger and I don’t want to use the word rage except it seemed almost unbalanced. Mostly against Dov.”

  Frank shrugged. “Cain and Able go a long way back.”

  Bev swigged her beer. “Funny, I thought about that, too. I guess what gets me about it is you see people you think you know, who seem to be so, well, I guess normal is the word, and you find something like this. You have to wonder how it happens, or maybe I mean why.”

  “This whole business brings to mind a case we had, Lord it was my second year on the job…”

  “Something similar?” Bev prompted. She loved his stories and he too often trailed off and changed the subject. It was usually out of respect for her mother so she wouldn’t have to listen about dangerous situations he had perhaps downplayed.

  Frank angled his chair to where he was facing her more. “Worse, as it turned out. The Tredwell family — Conchs like us — born and raised in the Keys. Bobby, the dad, had been a fishing captain all his life. Becky, his wife — nice lady — had the florist shop in the Plaza. Started it up as a matter of fact. Three kids — all stair-
stepped with only about five years’ difference among them. Pete, the oldest, then Rick, and Betty was the baby. Those were the days when you didn’t have much big money in town — working families — tourists coming were looking to take it easy, enjoy the weather, not after anything glitzy. The flip side of the coin were the wild times though with the cocaine wars and drug smuggling. We didn’t have folks being gunned down in the streets or bodies found stuffed into car trunks like up in Miami. Running shit into here though, there was a hell of a lot going on if you knew who to ask. It really is ideal for smugglers if you’re familiar with the waterways.”