My Favourite Muse

by Atabo Mohammed

The phones got busy again. The evening news about the stolen painting got her all bent out of shape and she had refused to answer her calls or the doorbells. She needed a break; she needed a fresh start that morning so that maybe, she could be able to work out some angle.

  Refreshed by a hot bath and clothes, Nicole got downstairs and into the kitchen to get something to eat. She was starving and could eat a horse. Actually, she had forgotten the last time she ate something meaningful. The last food she had were biscuits covered with sausage gravy, iced tea and water. Nicole needed something a little heavier this time around. Fortunately for her, the fridge was stuffed. She settled to make scramble eggs, toasted bread with honey and some coffee.

  And as she prepared her breakfast, the door bell rang; she grunted. Then it kept on ringing again and again until it got her all pissed off. Like a teased lioness, she stormed the door, enraged to the brim. She yanked it open.

  "What the hell do you w..." she stopped

  "Morning, Ms Ingermanson."

  He stood there with the serious, boyish face. Nicole's rage brewed more and she stared menacingly at him, all red hot. "Well, well. Look who's here; the new big mouth on the block."

  "Excuse me?" Ruben was stunned

  "You heard me. I'm sure you've seen the news lately; I never knew running to the press is part of a cop's job description."

  "Miss Ingermanson I am sorry for that. But I..."

  "Oh Save it; you've already blown my cover. I couldn't answer my calls because I don't want to to hear the voice of a nosey journalist asking me what the painting is worth. I'm scared to go to Firkin and Fox for lunch because a wild lady with her camera guy could be standing by my front porch waiting for me to pop up; thanks to you."

  "I did not talk to the press!" He retorted in such a commanding tone that startled her. "I never talk to the press over this. We had over seven cops working in the house at that time and anyone or them could do that; but certainly, not me. Now if you have time, we have to talk." Ruben was looking into Nicole's eyes. She nearly got intimidated. "We have to talk; now."

  "Just so you know, I hate that goose; whoever it was." She moved away from the door way.

  "Yeah I'm cool with that. But I have to do my job anyway. Ruben strode in. He stood in the middle of the living room and squeezed his face. "Is something burning in here."

  "Shoot! That would be my breakfast.” Nicole rushed to the kitchen.

  "Take your time. I have all day."

  While Nicole was in the kitchen, Ruben looked around the living room and observed the paintings on the wall. The collection was a mixed bag and he recognized only one; a Canaletto, which he knew must be a print. The other three were made by an artist he couldn't pick. He moved on to the paintings on the stair wall.

  There were three miniatures he recognized; the first painting was by Claude Monet; the second was a Van Gogh; all were prints, but have finishing that made them look real. The third one however, was an original. It was a landscape of a dry countryside with a shallow stream. Two boys were overlooking the stream. Ruben looked closer to observe the signature.

  "Mhm; that's interesting."

  Ruben instantly appreciated the old lady's artistic sense even though he doesn’t know her. Her collection spanned from the Impressionists down to the Contemporary. It also confirmed his thoughts that the stolen item could be a painting; one of high value.

  "Going upstairs?"

  Ruben turned and saw Nicole holding a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and toasted bread.

  "No; I was looking at the paintings. The old lady really had some taste."

  "Tell me about it." Nicole gave him a 'You-nosey-cop' look.

  Ruben is used to that kind of look. Sometimes he finds it offensive and it provokes him to give a piece of what he's made of. He sighed and pointed to the first painting with the index finger. Nicole followed his finger

  "This masterpiece is called Boulevard des Capucines; Claude Monet, 1840−1926. It was inspired by the artist’s fascination on the rebuilding of Paris in 1873. It's a remarkable period in the growth and beautification of the city on its journey to the twentieth century." He moved to the second one "This one is a piece by Vincent Van Gogh; he called it 'The Bridge at Trinquetaille'. It's painted in June 1888. Van Gogh went to Arles and fell in love with sunlight which he expressed it in his art with brilliant yellow and deep blue colours in bold brushstrokes."

  Nicole was amazed at how he flawlessly described the paintings and she wondered how he did it. Ruben moved to the last one and he looked down at Nicole.

  "I'm hoping you'd tell me about this one."

  "You tell me." She said.

  "You don't know? Well, that's a shame; because the old lady did it herself. Here, come take a look."

  Nicole stood there looking at him. His eyes were penetrating and she could feel them scanning her brain. She placed the food on a table beside the staircase and ascended the steps. She had never taken a closer look at the paintings before. She looked at the signature down on the right side of the painting.

  M. Fletcher

  "I'm surprised you didn't know your close friend was an artist." He descended the stairs.

  Nicole didn't move; she kept starring at it. It's yet another secret covered by Maggie that's just been uncovered by a detective; that was incredible.

  "Miss Ingermanson, your breakfast is getting cold."

  "Nicole; call me Nicole" her eyes still on the painting. Then she walked down and got back into the kitchen.

  Ruben watched her. He knew she's been through a lot lately and she could go down in the dumps on any unusual discovery about Maggie. He gave her a moment.

  He went back to the other three strange paintings in the living room to take a closer look. All were Maggie's; he found out.

  "Why are you here?"

  He took his eyes off the paintings and looked at Nicole who was poised behind and looking squarely at him. Her eyes were a little red from fresh tears.

  "The results from the labs didn't give us much. We know that Maggie had a painting whose frame was about ten years old; but that didn’t help much since there are canvasses of over three hundred years old that could still be reframed. We also couldn't find any finger prints; most of the prints we found were yours. So technically we have nothing"

  "You have nothing."

  "Sadly, yes. But we're working on..."

  "Wait a second; you're telling me that with all the trouble with the press and that of bringing the cops in here got to nothing? I almost got killed for God's sakes."

  "I'm sorry for that. But we need to go back to the drawing board and see if we can pick up better clues. That's why I'm here. I need you to please chill out and listen to me."

  Nicole stood there with a hand on her forehead, fuming over what Ruben told her. She couldn't believe her ears; she's all burnt out already.

  "Nicole, I need you to understand that I'm chosen for this case because I'm the best at it. I can only resolve it if only you give me your full cooperation. Please sit down."

  She shot a stare at him for a moment before taking a seat. Somehow she believes what he said; the way he described the paintings was a hell of a proof.

  Ruben walked to the table where she had kept her breakfast and brought it to her. "I think you're going to need this."

  "I lost my appetite." She maintained the stare.

  "Too bad," He took a little bite at the toast "This is delicious. I love toasted bread."

  "Are you trying to put the moves on me?"

  He smiled "No; I'm only trying to make you comfortable." He handed her the coffee and she took it.

  "So tell me; how well do you know Mrs. Fletcher?"

  "As far as the matter at hand is concerned, I'm not sure anymore. I never knew she was an artist. I only know her as a warm and loving woman. Born in the US, grew up in France, came back to the States like twenty years ago. She was knowledgeable and wise; comforting, loved cooking, gardening and the list go on"

/>   "It sounds like she was an awesome woman."

  "Yes, she was." Nicole took a bite of the toast. "She was the grandmother I never had."

  "I can see that. What was your favourite moment with her?"

  "I loved the times we used to sit and just talk." She sipped her coffee. "She was very eloquent; her voice sounded fifty years younger than her age. She was good with words; very good. She knew a lot of those old sayings and proverbs that sometimes made me think she was just making them up." Nicole gave a curt chuckle. "But they were good; really good and encouraging stuff. I relate to them whenever I have a downer."

  "Can you remember any of those words?"

  Nicole sipped her coffee and sighed. She prays she won’t cry considering how emotional she is especially when it comes to reminiscing.

  "There was this day; we were talking about her amazing book collection and I told her I'd love to write a book of my own; but I can’t. She asked why and I said because I don't have the talent. So she said 'Nicole you are a smart woman and you can do whatever you want to do if only you can put your heart to it.

  "And then she said to me: 'He can who thinks he can, and he can't who thinks he can't. This is an inexorable, indisputable law.' I found the statement a little silly but kind of motivational. It's one of her statements I tell others most often." She paused. "Well, I do get weird glances and rolling eyes sometimes, but at least it works for me."

  "I agree with you. It works on me too." He said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "That statement was made by Pablo Picasso; the greatest artist of our time. I'm sure you heard of the man"

  Like hell I did; Pablo was Maggie's last word.

  Ruben smiled at the look on her face. "Surprised I guess. He was some art god. Tell me another one."

  "Go and do the things you can't. That is how you get to do them." Nicole said. "She told me that the first day I helped her out in the garden when I thought I couldn't cut off the tips of the herbs properly."

  "She was right on that; and that was another quote from Picasso; another one?"

  "Com'on; what is this, Picasso Quotes contest?"

  He shook his head and smiled. Nicole thought for a moment and then said; "People want to find a meaning in everything and everyone; that's the..."

  "...disease of our age..." Ruben completed the sentence.

  "Ok; you're making me suck."

  Ruben stood up and began pacing around the living room as if he was looking for something on the floor. But in the actual truth, he was deep into his own thoughts. It's unbelievable what's happening right now.

  "What?" Nicole sensed something strange in him.

  "Picasso was born in Spain but migrated to France in 1900 to pursue his art career; he lived in France until he died in 73. He had produced between twenty to fifty thousand masterpieces in his 70-year old career and collectors of his works are now wealthy. He initiated the controversial transition from traditional art to modern art." He paused; "Nicole that man was worshipped by fans and other artists worldwide; it could be possible that Maggie was one of them."

  "She is; she called his name just before she died." Nicole said casually.

  Ruben looked puzzled "Is that right?"

  Nicole told him how it all happened. She also told him about her little search in the house and on Maggie's body in the Mortuary.

  "I thought it could be some password or security code but I found out I was mistaken."

  Ruben looked calm; but as a matter of fact, he was all psyched about the whole PABLO stuff.

  "How did you find that out?" He asked

  "I used it on her computer to see if I can get access to some files; it didn't work. The first time I went to the cellar and saw the security door, it occurred to me that maybe if I could change those letters to numbers, it could work." Then she kept quiet, the rest was something she didn't want to say.

  "And the thief came and attacked you." Ruben helped her out. "For what's worth, I wished all that never happen to you. But I need you focused now. If we can get some clues, maybe we'll get to know what exactly is stolen and probably get the guy that did it."

  "I don't know, Ruben; but I think there's a lot to find out here about Maggie; we're just scratching the surface."

  "Then let's start digging."

  Ruben looked around at the various paintings on the walls, he pointed to the Canaletto. "See that painting, it's called Piazza San Marco with the Basilica; painted in 1730 by Antonio Canal, popularly Known as Canaletto. He lived from 1697 to 1768. No one in the history of fine arts had studied and loved scene painting as he did at that time. He did it with such scrupulousness that the viewer can see the intricate patterns of objects in his paintings.

  "Scene painting was the love of his life. All the stories he told were embedded in his works. Picasso also said that 'Painting is just another way of keeping a diary' and it's true; Canaletto probably captured h... "

  "Wait a second; what did you say?" She interrupted him.

  "I said Canaletto probably captured..."

  "Not that; you said something about diary."

  "Yes; painting is just another way of keeping a diary."

  The statement reminded Nicole of two things; Maggie's dairy and the three paintings on the wall of the cellar.

  "I need to show you something."

  Ruben and Nicole stood before the three paintings on the stair wall of the cellar. None said a word. They just stared at them like they were some strange magic mirrors.

  Nicole marvelled at Ruben’s crisp composure as he looked; she wondered what he was thinking because his action seemed way out of proportion.

  "So?" Her impatience was eating her so she spoke to at least remind him that he's not alone.

  "This is brilliant." He said.

  "Of course it is; you look as if you're looking at a Holy Grail."

  "These are also Maggie's paintings, but she used a different style from the ones in the living room."

  "What kind of style did she use?" She leaned closer to observe the signatures.

  "Picasso's; when he resorted to real abstraction, he started creating distorted human figures, like these. One of his paintings; 'Ladies from Avignon, 1912, was seen by critics as his starting point of real abstraction because it showed vivid figure distortion. He did say; there was no abstract art; and one must always start with something. Afterwards he can remove all traces of reality out of it. That's just what Maggie did in these paintings; she removed lots of traces of reality from the figures."

  Nicole observed the man's figure in the first painting closely; the orientation of his eyes was kind of gross; one was above the other. So was his mouth which was drawn on the left cheek. The woman also had wild strips of hair, like a witch. Nicole’s eyes shifted to the next painting.

  "What about the middle one?"

  "I think it's an expression; something deep; you know, like a deep feeling, She might use the shapes and colours to represent abstracts ideas such as conflict, ecstasy, anger, happiness, etcetera. And if you observe, there's more of blue colour there. Picasso used more blue especially if he doesn’t have red. That's what she did." Ruben pause; his gaze never left the paintings. His pupils moved from painting to painting in an attempt to try to connect the trio to see if something more meaningful could surface.

  "I think it's a story. You know; it could be a true story she didn’t want to forget so that she'd have a vivid recollection of the moment every time she looks at them."

  "Yeah right; painting is just another way of keeping a diary." Nicole added.

  "Exactly. Oh this is brilliant."

  Just then, Ruben's cell phone gave a buzz. He brought the device out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. Seeing who it was, he excused himself and went out, leaving Nicole still staring at the paintings.

  Nicole remembered the dream she had; how the pictures seemed to be moving and coming for her; what Maggie said to her.

  "FIND IT NOW!"

  Maggie's voice barked
in her mind. She took her gaze off the paintings and closed her eyes; and then she looked down the stairs and recalled the scene in the dream where she saw Maggie. Then she went back to the paintings and sighed.

  What should we search for? What clue is locked up in here?

  She tried hard to focus but couldn't see the relevance of observing the paintings. They need to 'find' something; not observe.

  "Nicole there's been a development. Traffic cameras have captured the image of a car we believe could be our guy's. So I got to go to the station now and see what we actually have."

  "How can I help?" she asked

  Ruben shifted his gaze from her face to her knee and back.

  "I'll keep you posted. You take care." He turned and walked out of the door.

  "Ruben, wait!" Nicole followed him out into the garage."There's another thing; Maggie had a strange dairy."

  "Strange dairy?"

  "It's a normal dairy only that everything in it is written in poems. I read some of it but got all put off because I don’t know what it means. I don't know what the actual events are and I can’t work out anything from it; really pissed me off."

  Ruben observed her for a moment, scratched his nose and, "Can I take a look?"

  "It's in the bedroom upstairs."

  "Let's get it."

  Nicole led the way to the bedroom. Ruben had his eyes on the walls, observing the paintings on them. Never had he seen a house, though not so full of paintings, but so full of the love for it. He stopped to observe another miniature by one of his favourite artists: John Constable.

  "The Wivenhoe Park, 1816; Super awesome." he whispered to himself.

  "Ruben; bedroom is this way." Nicole called.

  Ruben looked at her and noticed he had walked past the bedroom door because he was carried away by the Constable.

  "Com'on, you don't have all day."

  He took another look at the painting before walking into the bedroom. Nicole was waiting for him with a black dairy in her hand. He took and opened it. Then he read the poem on the first page aloud.

  "Mhm, that's interesting." He said.

  "What does it say? Can you change it to a plain language?" She asked.

  "Not exactly but we can try. Poetry is an expressive art where language is used for its beauty. Sometimes, literal devices are used to hide the actual meaning of what's written and therefore opens it to numerous interpretations"

  "Ok?"

  "In this one here;" He read.

  Oh! Those songs of the night,

  So sweet; so bitter; so dark

  Life; what happiness, what plight,

  What living has no pain, nor lark?

  "Songs of the night could be anything. They could be sweet dreams or nightmares, or they could just be her usual thoughts, you know; the things she saw when she closed her eyes at night; that could feel sweet, bitter or looked so dark. The last two lines are self explanatory."

  "Life is full of ups and downs." She added.

  "Right; you aced that one." He covered the diary and handed it back to her. "I need you to read through carefully and try to make a meaning of each event."

  "What? No; that's your job. You said you're best at what you do just twenty minutes ago."

  "Nicole my hands are all full now and I'm going to need some help. As a matter of fact, I'm going to need more help than that. I need you to continue with the search; books, clothes, pictures, safes, anything. I know there's more attached to the stolen painting than we know"

  "What would I be looking for this time? Because I did it before and got nothing but 'Ps'."

  "We need more than that now; I know you regarded Maggie not just an ordinary woman, but more. Today's findings were preliminary confirmation. I know you'd like to know more and in order to get not just that but also her stolen property, we must put all hands on deck; together. That's what I meant by going back to the drawing board. We must travel back in time and look for Maggie."

  She didn't say a word. His words and keen eyes had penetrated the depth of her reasoning chamber; she was moved.

  "I'll call you later." He went out of the room and she followed him.

  "What about the press? I love my privacy"

  "I'll tell them the case is closed if you want. It's a lie I can contend with."

  "Good idea. I'd like that." She smiled as she hurried after him down the stairs.

  "Do you feel safe here, all alone? I mean, your knee isn't healed yet; and despite all that happened you still stick to the house."

  "I feel less moody today; thanks to you; even though you nearly drove me crazy with this whole art stuff."

  "Yeah; I know I'm boring."

  "Right, especially for a Doctor like me."