Art of Deception

by Brenda Donelan

  “Yes, Conrad was kind enough to give me the position as maid after I’d fallen on hard times. I knew when I accepted it that I would wear a uniform. It’s not an issue between us,” Rita said as everything about her body language betrayed her comments.

  “What type of work were you in before you fell on hard times?” Marlee asked.

  “Conrad and I were co-owners of a computer software company. When we sold it, I had no other means of income. He invested and saved, and I didn’t.” Rita spoke through clenched teeth as she rose from the chair to indicate the conversation was nearing its end.

  “What was the name of your company?” Marlee asked as she also rose to her feet.

  “Tech Solutions,” Rita said without further comment. She walked to the front door and unceremoniously held it open for Marlee to exit.

  “Thank you for chatting with me, Rita,” Marlee said as she left the residence. Even though Rita’s eyes were shooting daggers at Marlee, she liked to end her visits on a positive note. She was feeling anything but courteous at the moment, but faking niceness was just how it was done in the Midwest, and Elmwood was no exception. The heavy wooden door slammed behind Marlee as she walked to her car. Mission accomplished, she thought. Rita’s cage had indeed been rattled. It nearly killed her to talk about losing her money while her brother succeeded from the sale of their software company. There was more information there that needed to be uncovered.

  Marlee felt as if she had been teleported home, as she had no recollection of the drive from the Thayer residence to her own. She was deep in thought about Bridget’s predicament and how the Thayer family and Sean Yellow Tail and his employees fit in.

  She wasn’t in her home more than ten minutes before she decided to contact Abby. Marlee made a quick call to Abby, and they arranged to meet at Marymount since Abby was still on campus working on a project. Per their usual arrangement, Abby met Marlee at the door and let her in. They sat in Abby’s office, papers and files in disarray, cluttering the desktop, floor, and side table.

  “What happened here? Was there a break-in?”

  Abby sighed. Marlee wasn’t sure if she used it as a stalling tactic so she could think up a lie, or if Abby really was overcome. “I’m looking for something and I can’t find it.”

  “What are you looking for?” Marlee was used to students having a mental crisis when they misplaced a paper or the instructions for a project.

  “The provenance for Uncle Conrad’s urn,” Abby said as she shuffled through papers and files on her desk.

  “What’s a provenance?”

  “It’s the history of ownership for a piece of artwork. It documents the previous owners and also if the piece is an original work or if it’s a fake,” Abby recited as if giving a lecture on art history.

  “So the provenance shows all the previous owners and the years they owned it?” Marlee asked.

  “Yes. Well, as far back as records were kept. This urn dates back to the 1920s. I don’t know how far back the provenance goes, but it would at least name the owner prior to Uncle Conrad.”

  Marlee thought for a minute. “How long has your uncle owned the urn?”

  “At least a year, maybe longer,” Abby said.

  “You said the provenance would also indicate if a piece of art was real or if it was a fake. Why would someone knowingly buy a fake? Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose? I mean I wouldn’t pay for a BMW if I knew it was really a Ford dressed up as a nicer car,” Marlee said.

  “Some collectors like to have a fake to display and then keep the original in a safe. Others can’t afford the real deal, so they buy the fake and are satisfied with that,” Abby stated as she continued to sift through papers on her desk, glancing up at Marlee as she fielded her questions.

  “The urn is real, isn’t it?” Marlee asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So why are you looking for the provenance?” Marlee wasn’t sure if this story was real or just more of Abby’s baloney.

  “Because it was in the file a few days ago, and now I can’t find it. I think someone took it,” Abby wailed as she threw her hands up in the air.

  “You loaned me the file a few days ago, and I looked through it, but I don’t remember seeing a provenance,” Marlee said, but was wondering if she might have passed over it as she hurriedly made copies. “Do you want me to help you look for it?”

  “No. That’s okay. Like I said, I think somebody took it and misfiled it. Dr. Zane is in charge of The Showcase now. Maybe she has the file,” Abby said, now much calmer since she realized her new supervisor likely had the provenance.

  “Who’s Dr. Zane? Do you have classes with her?” Marlee asked. She never heard Bridget mention a professor by that name.

  “She’s the senior member of the department and is retiring at the end of this semester. Good riddance! I’ve only had one class with her, but she’s a beast. Everybody says so. She likes terrorizing students during class and…”

  Marlee interrupted Abby before she could continue further with her anti-Dr. Zane monologue. “Abby, tell me about your Aunt Rita. I know she works for Conrad.” The inquiry was as broad as possible, allowing for any type of information Abby wished to provide.

  “She’s been working for him for over a year, ever since they sold their company.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but it seems a little strange that a brother employees a sister as a maid and makes her wear a uniform,” Marlee said.

  “I know. I guess that’s part of her punishment,” Abby said.

  “What do you mean?” Marlee was on the edge of her chair as she waited for Abby to elaborate.

  “Aunt Rita was the reason they had to sell the company. They owned the software company together as equal partners. My aunt was in charge of the finances, and my uncle handled the technology aspect. Aunt Rita made some big financial mistakes and they had to sell. That’s about all I know other than Uncle Conrad blamed her for everything. She lost her home, her livelihood, everything, so Uncle Conrad took her in on the condition she worked as his maid. Aunt Rita didn’t have any other options, so she moved in.”

  “What kind of financial mistakes did Rita make? Were they honest miscalculations or did she embezzle from the company?” Marlee asked.

  Abby thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know. Not much has been said about the whole situation, and I didn’t want to ask.”

  “What exactly did their company do? I know it dealt with computer software,” Marlee said.

  “Uncle Conrad developed online games. Star Tempter was the latest game he developed. Another was Sceptor. I can’t remember the others.”

  “Sceptor? I’ve heard of that game.” Marlee had discovered the game by accident when she was on Bridget’s computer at her apartment. “Do you know how to play it?”

  “No, I’ve never played it. I’m not much of a gamer” Abby said as she leaned back in her office chair, done searching for the lost provenance.

  “Why did you cover for me when the police came to Kathleen’s house today?” Marlee asked, switching gears.

  “Because I didn’t want Bridget to get thrown back in jail. I didn’t want you to get in trouble either. It just seemed like the easiest solution to make up a story about why your car was parked out front.” Abby looked at Marlee without expression, unfazed that she had lied to the police.

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate you doing that for us.” Marlee was genuinely appreciative of Abby’s ruse. She didn’t trust Abby, but was glad her actions saved Bridget from a return trip to jail. And it helped that Marlee didn’t need to explain that she initially thought Abby was there to harm Bridget.

  After leaving the Amos building, Marlee hopped in her SUV and grabbed for the seatbelt. She needed to go home and work on the crime chart to help her sort out her thoughts. Talking to Hector would also help her figure this thing out, but he hadn’t returned any of her calls since he walked in on her and Vince wrestling at her house. There was only one thing
left to do.

  I was about seven when I went to the lake with my friends. I was the only one who didn’t know how to swim, but I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I floated on my back, which seemed harmless enough until I was several yards from the shore. Realizing the severity of the situation, I tried to stand upright but my feet didn’t touch the bottom. Not unless my head was a couple feet under water. My splashing and gurgling caught the attention of my friends. Only one jumped in to help me. The others just stood on the shore and stared. One even laughed. This is the story of my life.

  Chapter 23

  When Hector stayed in Elmwood previously, he rented a room at the Super 8 Motel. Marlee wasn’t sure if he was still in town, or if he’d driven back home to Chamberlain, so she swung by the motel to see if his vehicle was in the lot. It was. Now all she needed was to figure out what room he was in.

  Marlee approached the front desk and waited until the clerk finished taking a telephone reservation. The Super 8 had seen better days. The carpet was worn and dirty from frequent foot traffic. The artwork and furniture were at least fifteen years old and in need of updating. Overall, it was a glum atmosphere, but they charged the lowest rates in town, so that kept them in business.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” asked the pimply-faced teen.

  Marlee hated it when people called her ma’am. It made her feel like an old granny. She wasn’t even forty yet; much too young to be called ma’am. In spite of the desk clerk’s gaffe, Marlee smiled sweetly and said, “Hi. I’m Mrs. Ramos, and I left my key in the room. My husband must be in the shower or asleep because he didn’t answer the door when I knocked. Can I get another key?”

  The scheme which wouldn’t have worked in most towns came off without a hitch in Elmwood. The residents tended to trust people, and Marlee had spun a convincing story. The clerk looked annoyed at having to program another key card, but after a quick glance at the computer, did so and handed it over to her. Unfortunately, the card did not have the room number on it. The Super 8 had over one hundred rooms and she wouldn’t be able to go to each room and try the key card without getting caught.

  “Thanks!” chirped Marlee as she took the key card and also one of the manager’s business cards on the front desk. She ran into an unlocked supply closet and pulled out her cell phone. She looked at the business card and dialed the number of the Super 8 motel.

  “Hello,” she said in a deep, gruff voice. “I need to get a wakeup call for 6:00 tomorrow morning. This is Hector Ramos and I’m in room, uh, um, shoot, I can’t remember the room number. Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a bit foggy in the brain.”

  “Room 212. Got you all set for a wakeup call tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Ramos?” asked the desk clerk in a monotone suggesting he didn’t want to provide any more help than absolutely necessary.

  “Nope,” said Marlee as she clicked the phone to OFF. She marched up the stairs and stood before Room 212 and waited. Technically, she could get in since she had her own key, but decided it would probably go a long way toward patching things up if she didn’t barge into Hector’s room. Not that he would show her the same courtesy, since he was always showing up unannounced and uninvited at her home.

  Marlee knocked gently on the door. She stood off to the side so Hector couldn’t see her through the peep hole.

  “Who is it?” Hector asked, standing near the door.

  “Strip-o-gram!” Marlee called out.

  Hector swung the door open and Marlee stepped into view. “Ah-ha! I knew that would get your attention,” Marlee said with a smile.

  “Come on in,” Hector said as she stood to the side to allow her entrance. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. “The desk clerk just called to confirm that my wife was able to get into the room and to assure me that the wakeup call was set.”

  “Uh…” Marlee hadn’t expected Hector to discover her ruse until she told him. If she told him.

  “Very clever.” Hector gave a half-hearted smile and motioned for her to sit on one of the hard motel chairs. She glanced around. It was a double room and Hector used one of the beds for his duffle bag and extra clothes. The other bed had the covers pulled down and the pillows were tossed about.

  “You haven’t been returning my calls, and I just wanted to clear up some things. Vince and I aren’t back together. He just showed up at my house early this morning when I was on a breakfast run. When I came home he was sitting at the kitchen table. We argued and he stole my Egg McMuffin, and I tripped him. Then I fell on top of him and that’s when you walked in. That’s all there is to it.” Marlee could see the skepticism in Hector’s eyes.

  “The two of you went to supper after you got back from drinks at Conrad Thayer’s house. Isn’t that right?” Hector sat on the other hard chair in the room and studied Marlee, no doubt looking for signs of deception.

  “Yeah. We went to Apollo’s afterward. Why?”

  “Because I called your house that night and talked to Vince. He said you two were going out and that you couldn’t come to the phone. Then I come by the next morning, and you’re rolling around on the floor with him.”

  “I didn’t know you talked to Vince that night. He never said anything to me about it,” Marlee said with an exaggerated sigh. “And I already explained why we were on the floor.” She was becoming angrier by the minute. Angry at Vince for mucking things up with Hector. Angry at herself for the constant miscommunication with Hector. And most of all, angry at Hector for being Hector.

  “Well I didn’t know any of this until now. I thought you and Vince were back together, and you didn’t have the guts to tell me,” Hector said.

  “Then why are you still in Elmwood if you thought I was back with Vince?” Marlee couldn’t figure Hector out. Even when he was mad at her, he still kept one foot in her life.

  “I was plotting my revenge.” Hector smiled and then broke out into a laugh. “Actually, the more I thought about it, I figured there might be some sort of screwball explanation for everything. With you there’s always something out of left field. I thought I’d stick around town for another day or two and see what happened.”

  “What if nothing changed?” Marlee asked.

  “Then I was going to kill Vince,” Hector said with a straight face and a twinkle in his eye.

  “Very funny. So do you want to hear everything I found out since you stopped taking my calls? Marlee decided it wasn’t too soon to sting the detective with that barb.

  Hector frowned but gave a slow nod. Marlee went on to update him on the meeting with Conrad Thayer, the search of Kathleen’s house while she was there, the chat with Rita Thayer, and her most recent visit with Abby.

  “You’ve been busy! Do you remember seeing a provenance when you went through the file Abby loaned you?” Hector flopped down on the bed across from Marlee, fluffing up an extra pillow to put between him and the headboard.

  “I don’t remember seeing it, but I went through the file really fast, and there were several documents in there that didn’t mean much to me. I need to look through the copies I have at home. Abby was in a tizzy because she couldn’t find the provenance, so there might be some useful information in the document.”

  “Let’s go to your house then.” Hector stood up and slipped on his shoes. He grabbed his duffel bag and stuffed jeans, shirts, and other items into it.

  “What are you doing?” Marlee looked at Hector’s duffel bag as he continued to pack up the contents of his motel room.

  “I’m staying at your house. That way I can keep an eye on you and make sure there’s no more miscommunication.”

  Marlee hesitated. She wasn’t sure about having Hector stay over, especially since she hadn’t made her big decision yet about her love life. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

  “I don’t need an invitation. I’m funny that way,” Hector said nonchalantly as he shrugged into his coat and grabbed his duffel bag. “I’ll meet you there.” He walked out of the room and did
n’t pause to see if Marlee was behind him.

  With a huff, Marlee got out of her chair and followed Hector out of the motel. The front desk clerk gave them a half-hearted wave as they walked out the door. They drove separately and arrived at Marlee’s house within a fraction of a second of each other. Not that they were racing and not that anyone was keeping score. Marlee parked her car in the garage and Hector parked out front. They both raced to the back door, arriving at the same time.

  “In a hurry?” Marlee huffed as she sought to catch her breath from the sprint.

  “Not at all. You?” Hector huffed back, also winded from the burst of exercise.

  After grabbing beers from the fridge, they settled at the table and began sifting through the numerous pages Marlee copied from the Marymount file on Conrad Thayer’s urn. One hour and six beers later, neither of them could find any mention of a provenance in the papers.

  “Well, that was a bust!” Papers flew in every direction as Marlee sought to contain them back in the kitty-cat folder. “Let’s move to the crime chart. I have some new names to add.”

  With a flourish, partly for show and partly because of the amount of alcohol in her system, Marlee swooped up the crime chart from the floor and placed it on the table. A cup containing six markers of various colors was plopped next to the crime chart, and Marlee spoke as she began to write.

  “The main suspects I have right now are Conrad, Abby, Sean Yellow Tail, and Sean’s employee Derek Geppert. My secondary suspects are Rita Thayer, other Marymount employees, and Unknown.” After rattling off the suspects and making sure each was documented on the crime chart, Marlee listed the reasons she thought each could be involved.

  “My main suspect is Conrad. I think he had some help from Abby, and others may be involved too. He coerced Bridget into taking the urn and hiding it at my house. He was able to do this by manipulating her mortgage payment records at her bank and threatening her family. He’s a computer whiz and a real oddball. I think he wanted to keep the urn and get the insurance money for it too.” After stating her case, Marlee paused and slugged the remaining beer in the bottle. “What do you think?”