by Dale Mayer
“Already on it.” Geir’s fingers moved rapidly on his phone’s keypad. “It’s coming up as Vitus Chan. He purchased it a year ago.”
“So maybe it’s an investment property or is planning to move in soon?”
They walked up to the front door on the neighbor’s side and knocked. Nobody answered. They walked around to the back of the house but couldn’t see any signs of recent habitation. No vehicles were parked in front or back, and, though a fence divided the respective yards to the two halves, both appeared to be empty. It was supposed to be a rancher, they thought. But it was surprising that it ended up being a duplex.
“This is a weird setup.”
“It is.”
Standing at the back door to the other side of the duplex, they couldn’t see any of the neighbors because of the trees and a wooden privacy fence. Plus the door was designed as a wind protector that blocked their view even more.
Making a quick decision, Geir knocked on the back door and heard no answer. He tested the door, but it was locked. He pulled his tool kit from his back pocket and had the door open in seconds. He stepped inside, calling out, “Hello, anyone home?”
There was only silence. The two men walked through the small space; this side of the duplex appeared to be no more than one thousand square feet. Probably the same for Poppy’s side of the duplex.
“This is kind of a waste. You’d think, for this neighborhood, it would be better developed.”
“Depends who built it and when. It could have been a long time ago.”
Geir nodded. “Hopefully we can get some details on that soon enough.” As they walked through, he shrugged. “No furniture, no food. It’s definitely an empty space.”
It looked like it hadn’t been used in a long time. Frowning, they stopped and studied the wall that separated them from the other half of the duplex.
“Too bad there isn’t a connecting door.”
“No, there may not be a connecting door, but I wonder if we can get up in the attic? I know the house itself has been divided into two residences, but it was likely a single dwelling at one time.”
Geir looked at Jager in surprise, heading into the master bedroom, opening the closet. “Most of the time their attic access is through a closet.”
“Sure, but this is California, and anything goes in a place like this. So many places have been dropped and rebuilt. Others converted as was convenient.”
“I guess that’s what I mean about it’s odd that this place is empty. I wonder why such a small house? It’s prime real estate, and a larger house would have definitely made more sense in terms of resale value.”
“It is what it is.”
Geir pointed up to a small trapdoor at the far end of the master bedroom closet, a closet that wasn’t even big enough in his mind for a house this size.
Jager was taller than Geir by a couple inches. Jager managed to pop the trapdoor and slide it off to the side. Geir held his hands cupped as he bent slightly. Jager put a foot in them, and Geir boosted Jager up so he could take a look into the attic space.
“Does it connect?” Geir asked.
“I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll let you know.” Jager went through the trapdoor, his feet the last to disappear into the darkness above. There was no chair or anything for Geir to pull himself up on. He could jump and get in, but there was no point if Jager didn’t find a way across to Poppy’s half of the duplex.
Shortly thereafter Jager’s face popped into the hole, and, with a big smile, he said, “There’s a trapdoor on Poppy’s side of the building.”
Geir swung his arms up and jumped, pulling himself up with difficulty into the attic. He sat there straddling the opening for a moment and said, “Sure do miss my foot sometimes.”
“You mean, your human foot.” Jager smiled.
“I mean, mine,” Geir said for clarification. “It’s one thing to have prosthetics to get around, but it’s another thing to have them when you’re doing this kind of work.”
Jager was already halfway across the attic, walking carefully on the timbers so he didn’t fall through the ceiling. The space was small, and he was crouched down low, trying to get to the other side.
Fiberglass was in between the framework, so falling through the ceiling or into the insulation would just end up hurting Geir or getting him itchy. He shrugged. Choosing to travel on his hands and knees, he joined Jager on the far side. And, indeed, there was a trapdoor, exactly the same as they’d come through.
Jager soundlessly lifted it up, placing it on top of the struts. He leaned forward and peered in. Coming back up again, he said, “It goes into the master bedroom, same as the other side. Stay here. I’ll be back in five.”
Jager lowered himself into the closet, landing so softly that Geir had a hard time hearing Jager’s movements. Geir edged over to the hole. He waited for a few minutes, studying the closet and the clothes here: hanging suits, shoes, all male apparel stacked in the closet. Nothing that he could see as being female. The shelves held a few items and boxes. One of them looked to be a banker’s box. The lid was off, and Geir could see envelopes inside. He was desperate to take a closer look.
Jager suddenly appeared below. “The place is empty.”
After Jager stepped out, Geir nodded and slid into the closet. As he stood here, he grabbed the banker’s box, put it on the floor and turned on the light in the closet, taking a closer look. “Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath.
But Jager was already gone.
Geir did a full sweep of the closet to see if anything else here should be double-checked. Then he focused again on the box. In it was paperwork, but, more than that, there were photographs. Mouse had definitely been here and had spent a lot of time here, as proven by a lot of Mouse’s childhood memories, growing-up memories, stored away in this box. Had Poppy kept them for Mouse? Or were they mementoes that Poppy had wanted to keep when Mouse was intent on throwing them out?
Geir shook his head. “Aah, Mouse, you spent time here. Lots of it. Or stored your memories here at least. Or rather Poppy did.” Mouse had never mentioned having a place like this to go to. If anything, while on leave, he was always talking about going to some third-world country for vacations.
Had he ever gone to Libya, Somalia, Sudan? Or had he just come back to California? Nobody would have been the wiser. How long had Mouse expected to maintain that lie? But then to have even gotten as far as he had in life with such a background, obviously he was one hell of a liar. It completely amazed Geir just how different the Mouse they knew was from the person they were finding here. And Geir wondered about a man who lived with such hollow beginnings and such emptiness inside that he needed to create another persona in order to survive. Or was this deception something Mouse enjoyed?
Geir looked around for other paperwork but didn’t find any. He squatted beside the box, carefully lifted out envelope after envelope. He emptied one to see pictures, and he winced. They were all images of men in sexual positions. And, in every one of them, Mouse stared back at him.
“Oh, Mouse, I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us.”
They’d all known he was gay. They’d all protected and closed ranks around him because he was one of them. But to have had such a childhood and to have not been able to share that with them? Maybe he would have given more time, or maybe he wouldn’t have trusted them to that extent.
Geir realized then that most of the men in the photos were the same one or two men. And one of them was older. Geir stared at the photo and thought it could be the teacher from the current online photo.
He flipped over the photograph and found the name Poppy and the year written on the back. Geir studied it for a long time, realizing this had to be the same man who had groomed Mouse since he was young. Mouse appeared to be at least twenty-five in this set of photographs, though Geir could be off by a couple years. Although Minx had stated that Mouse would be thirty now. They didn’t even know for sure if Mouse was the age he ha
d claimed to be while in the navy. His driver’s license found at Poppy’s first house, issued five years ago, gave his DOB, but was it his actual date of birth or a fake ID?
As he squatted here, Geir sent Levi a question, asking to confirm Mouse’s DOB and if there was a record of Mouse changing his name while in the military. It might be a question better put to Mason instead.
Geir pulled up another envelope from the very bottom and found a birth certificate. It was, believe it or not, for Mickey Mouse. Mickey Mouse O’Connor. Geir stared at it. So Minx out of Texas had been right. Mouse would have been thirty this year, and his legal name was Mickey Mouse. God, what kind of parent would do that to a child? Geir took a photograph of the name and then the document itself.
Next he found a picture of Minx. He took a photograph of that, realizing, at one point, Mouse had thought of his childhood friend. Geir came across other documents he didn’t recognize, but he photographed everything he found and returned it all to the box, then reshelved it. With another glance around, he saw nothing of value.
Until he found a photograph in an envelope under some T-shirts on another shelf.
Jager came back at that time. “I didn’t see anything else of interest.”
Geir nodded. “I found lots, and it’s all in that box. Mouse was legally Mickey Mouse O’Connor, just like Minx said. So this Mouse is her Mouse.” He held up the photograph of a young man. “But take a close look. Who does he remind you of?”
Jager took one look and whistled. “That’s our Mouse.”
Chapter 10
Morning led the way to her studio. Nancy had been here many times in the past. They chatted as they walked up.
“It feels empty in here today,” Nancy said. “You’ve got such a big house. I often wondered how you felt when you were alone but then realized that most the time you weren’t alone. Yet today …”
Morning nodded. “It does feel empty today. Maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve had some difficult self-reflection moments, making me a little less confident in what I’m doing.”
Nancy looked at her friend in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Morning hesitated. “It’s kind of hard to explain, but the house has always been my hideaway. It’s my safety net. But more than that, it’s been a haven for me. I hadn’t recognized how much I put stock in that concept until my father discussed maybe selling. And, of course, my father wants his money from it, and, since I’m not making enough money to pay him for his half, I will likely have to sell. And every time I think about selling, it makes my stomach cramp, as pure panic hits.”
“I can understand that.”
Morning shrugged. “I can understand it theoretically too. But emotionally … it’s like a visceral attack on my gut.” She took out her keys and unlocked the studio door, pushed it open and turned on the lights.
Nancy walked to the pretty pictures and smiled. “I’ve always loved these.”
“Of course you have, but those aren’t the new paintings,” Morning said drily. She walked Nancy around to the easel. “This is my current one, the half-done one that I’m finishing up.”
Nancy’s jaw dropped. She stepped back farther, shook her head and leaned closer. “Wow.”
Morning stood off to the side. She held her coffee with one hand, but she shoved the other into her pocket, rocking on her heels. “What does wow mean?” she asked nervously.
Nancy slid a glance her way, then zinged her focus back to the painting. “You don’t know?”
Morning shrugged. “I’m very insecure about my painting, as you know.”
“Well, you sure as hell don’t need to be. This is freakin’ unbelievable.”
Nancy stepped forward as if it would give her added clarity. She shook her head and stepped back. “I don’t understand that glow. But it’s like a translucent light. And, because of the fog, it’s like something’s trying to break free. If I could just get closer, I could see it, but I can’t see it because of the fog.”
Morning smiled. “I know. I’m not sure what to call it yet, or the entire series, but there is something very different about it.” She motioned to Nancy. “Now close your eyes, and I’ll switch out the painting.”
Morning lifted the cityscape, resting it on the floor, and brought up the first one with the blossoms, putting it on the easel. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”
Nancy’s eyes flew open, and her jaw dropped. “I don’t even know what to say. Oh, my God, that’s absolutely stunning.”
Pleased and feeling relief wash through her as she admitted that maybe she wasn’t prejudiced about her own artwork, she stepped beside Nancy and looked at the light coming through on the painting. “This is the first one I did. And I wasn’t exactly sure what the hell I’d done, so I was trying to repeat it or to do something similar, when I did the first one you saw.”
Nancy reached out, her fingers opening and closing. “I really, really, really want that one. But I think you could sell that for thousands of dollars.”
Morning’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you think so?” She was cautious with her words. “A part of me wants to believe that, but, at the same time, I’m concerned I’m fooling myself.”
“Well, you certainly got me fooled then,” Nancy said. “I’ve never seen work like this before. The use of light, it’s… unique.” She frowned. “I swear to God I didn’t even know you had this in you.” She turned to look at her friend. “You should be very proud.”
Morning felt a warmth wash through her heart as she took in her friend’s compliments, listened for that voice of truth and realized she really was hearing it. She gave a happy sigh. “Thank you. I was so afraid they were no good.”
“No good? Oh, my God! They’re fantastic.” Nancy looked greedily around the room. “Are there any more?”
“Well, there is the third one, the weird one,” Morning said. “Close your eyes again.” Nancy closed her eyes, but, at the same time, she snapped her heels together and froze.
Morning laughed. “It’s not that bad.” She brought up the red painting. As she placed it on the easel, she said, “Now remember. This one isn’t meant to be anything. It’s just an abstract.”
“Can I open my eyes?” Nancy asked impatiently.
“Okay, open them.”
Nancy opened them, and her eyes grew wider and wider. She stared at the painting for a long moment. “How can you say it doesn’t represent anything?”
Morning, not sure of her reaction, studied her friend’s face. “What are you talking about?”
Nancy stepped closer and reached out. “I thought at first it was a self-portrait or something—but in an abstract way—because look at the two women.” She leaned into the canvas, tilting her head. “No, it’s a man and a woman.”
Frowning, not having a clue what Nancy was talking about, Morning stepped up beside her friend and studied the painting. And she saw it for herself, almost in a yin-yang symbol from the circles. Caught up through the layers of the red strokes was an abstract male and female face. She stood and stared at it for a long moment.
Nancy looked at her. “Didn’t you plan on that?”
Morning shook her head. “Not really. What I was trying to do was express the emotions I was feeling at the time.”
“What kind of emotions?” Nancy shook her head. “There’s a lot of red, a lot of cream and that light again. The use of light on these three paintings is stunning. Yes, this one’s incredibly different from the other two, but I like it just as well.” She stared at it. “Honestly, maybe I like it a little more, but it’s so hard to say because they’re all freaking fantastic.”
Overwhelmed by her friend’s enthusiasm, Morning smiled. “Well, then I won’t feel quite so bad about taking them to the gallery owner tomorrow.”
“You better not feel bad at all,” Nancy said. “I’d love to come with you so I could see his face.”
“And maybe you can at that. I don’t know. You’re the only one who has seen these three. Well, Geir saw
the first one too.”
Nancy pounced. “Geir has?”
Morning nodded. “Yes. Not that I invited him in, but he was looking for me and somehow managed to come in when I was working on the cherry blossom one.”
Nancy motioned at the pretty pictures. “I’ve always loved those. They could hang in my kitchen and living room or anywhere. But these three new ones are intense. I just can’t stop staring at them. I can’t tell which one I like the most because they are so different. That fog one is really special because it keeps sucking me in, but this one with that hidden meaning through the color …” She shook her head. “Wow.”
Morning chuckled. “You’ve just made my day. Thank you.” She walked to the double French doors that were still open. “I guess I can close these now. The smell in here is not too bad, is it?”
Nancy shook her head. “I didn’t notice when I came in. It’s a good space for you because you can open those doors.”
“I should have either a ventilation system or a much bigger room. But I don’t have the space, not if I need the rooms for guests.”
“The rooms are income. But I tell you, sweetie, you get a handhold in the art market with these, and you won’t have to have a bed-and-breakfast anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll be that easy.” Morning smiled. “The thing is, these are something I’m not even sure I can repeat every time I pick up a paintbrush. Right now I’m worried the next thing I do won’t have the same luminescence behind it.”
“The only way to do that is to keep painting,” Nancy said. “I believe in you. I always have because I love those first paintings of yours. But these, Jesus, they are an entire level above.”
