Chloe Babineaux Private Investigator
Page 38
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I left in search of lunch. I wasn’t really hungry, even if I didn’t eat much breakfast because I was nervous now that I was finally going to see the painting—or find out where it was. I knew Sister Bonita had it or knew where it was. Okay, I was lying. I was hoping she knew where it was. I had no idea if she really knew. I was bewildered. Lack of food and brain damage will do that to a person.
I found a hole-in-the-wall that sold pizza and subs and salads. I had an hour before seeing Sister Bonita, so I ate a salad very slowly and still had forty-five minutes to waste. I sat in my truck with my book but found it hard to concentrate. What was I going to do after I saw the painting? I told her I could solve it. I sounded a lot more confident than I felt.
It was finally time to visit Sister Bonita again. I was hoping her family had left. I was also hoping she didn’t run them out because I was coming back. I guess if they had more to say Petunia could say it and her mother could write it down some other time.
I asked for Sister Bonita at the front gate and was told to wait. A few minutes later Sister Bonita arrived with a wan smile. She jerked her head to the side telling me to follow, so I did.
I followed her to her room where she told me to sit on her bed. I was so nervous I was starting to sweat. She pulled out a large cardboard box from under her bed, slid out the object within and there it was. The painting.
It was beautiful. It didn’t look to be a hundred years old because it was well taken care of. The colors were vibrant. The barn was red, and the house was white and the shutters emerald green. The sky was overcast as if it had just rained. The clouds were blue and gold with a beam of sun streaming out. This painting was so much better than I could have ever hoped for.
I took out my cell phone and took several photos of it. I wanted to make sure I took it from different angles in case I missed something. I wanted to cry and scream and jump up and down, but I controlled myself. I only jumped up and down.
“Thank you, thank you, Sister Bonita.” I was so happy I hugged her, and she hugged me back.
“This painting mustn’t leave this room,” she said pulling herself away from me. “Petunia doesn’t know, so please don’t tell her.”
“No, ma’am. I won’t,” I said with tears in my eyes. “Do you know what this painting means?”
“No dear,” she said shaking her head and slightly smiling. “I have no idea what it means. I just know it’s a beautiful painting and that something odd is connected to it. Maybe one day Petunia will have it.”
I walked to the door, stopped, turned and asked, “Just one more question. What do nuns wear under their habits?” I grinned.
She laughed and said, “That, you’ll never find out.”
I walked to my truck smiling. I had another stop to make.