A Bad Reputation

by Jane Tesh

  Jerry tried to stall. “What money is that?”

  “You don’t know? You was right there with her, wasn’t you? The ten thousand dollars our daddy left us, only half was to come to me, and Gloria ran off with all of it.”

  Annie gaped at her. “You never told me that.”

  “That’s ’cause you thought so much of your Aunt Gloria, I didn’t want to say nothing, but I’m fed up with it now. You see anything in that spirit world that looked like my money, Fairweather? If she told you where it was, you’d better tell me, or I’m going right to the police.”

  “I promise you she did not say anything to me.”

  “Huh! Better not be fooling me, young man. In fact, you go into that trance again and get her back here.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this was my very last séance.”

  “I don’t believe you. You get her back right now.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. The spirits have to cooperate.”

  “Are you trying to put one over on me, boy?”

  Annie was appalled. “Aunt Louise, it’s time to go home.” She took her aunt by the arm to steer her out. “Sorry, Jerry. She’s been in the root beer again. It makes her crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy! My sister’s crazy if she thinks she’s getting away with this!”

  Aunt Louise complained and whined as Annie pulled her along. Annie’s friends followed, still giggling.

  I gave Jerry a long look. “Do I really have to say anything?”

  He blew out the candle. “Well, I have to say I’m glad this was my last séance. It’s hard to put a spin on little surprises like Aunt Louise.”

  ***

  I hardly slept at all that night—sorry that I’d lost my temper with Jerry and even sorrier we were still being haunted by his past shady career. What if he was wrong, and this was a real lawsuit, and we couldn’t prove it was a case of mistaken identity? His last con had cost us thousands of dollars. At the time, I’d thought this was a huge sum, but it didn’t compare with the million dollars Denby Forest wanted. And if Denby Forest was this Honor Perkins, what did she really want besides playing a stupid prank?

  Honestly, these friends of his.

  ***

  In the morning, I stopped by my office before heading over to Flair For Fashion. I sincerely hoped there wasn’t more mail. I couldn’t take any more surprise letters. There wasn’t any mail, but I had a visitor. Wendall Clarke tapped on the door.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  I motioned for him to enter. “Not at all. Please come in.”

  He came in, followed by Flora, who glanced at me shyly and smiled. “I wanted to talk to you some more about helping with the gallery,” Wendall said.

  “As I said, I’ll be glad to think about it, but my work here keeps me busy.” And cleaning up after my husband, I wanted to add.

  “Seems to me I recall you winning Miss Parkland a few years ago. Am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so. Your mother still lives there, doesn’t she? I’ve run into her at several charitable functions. And you know Chance Baseford, don’t you?”

  I certainly did. It had taken me a long time to get over Base-ford’s harsh criticisms of my first art show. “Yes, I do.”

  “He practically dared me to set up a gallery here, said the peasants wouldn’t appreciate it or care. I’m going to prove him wrong, and if you’ve had similar experiences with the man, my guess is you’d like to prove him wrong, too.”

  He was right about that.

  Wendall leaned forward. “Here’s what I have in mind, Ms. Maclin. I’m going to invite the very best artists from this area to show their work in the gallery. I’ll get a respected critic and some reputable journalists to come cover the opening, and this will send a loud message to Baseford and others like him that art isn’t just for a few snobs in Parkland. What do you think?”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “I’d like to feature your work, of course. Do you know any other artists who should be included?”

  “Pamela Finch mentioned that she paints, and there’s a local artists’ club that meets at the library every month.”

  “A good place to start. Can I count on your help?”

  I really had no excuse not to help, and down deep, a vengeful little part of me wanted to best Chance Baseford. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Excellent! The workers have already started on the remodeling. I expect to have the gallery ready in a couple of days.”

  “A couple of days?”

  “Oh, yes. I have offered substantial bonuses to the contractors. When I want something done, it gets done.” He smiled down at his wife. “Baby, didn’t you have something you wanted to say?”

  She tugged nervously at a curl of her blond hair. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Maclin.”

  “Please call me Madeline.”

  “Madeline, I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to me at the party yesterday. You might have noticed that most people there gave me the cold shoulder.”

  “I did, and I’m very sorry.”

  “I really hope we can be friends.”

  I felt a stab of sympathy for this worried little woman. “Certainly. Where are you staying in town?”

  “We’ve rented a house in River Ridge,” Wendall said, “just until the gallery is open and running. I’m in discussions with several curators about the position.” He handed me his card. “Please call any time. I’m sure Baby would love for you to visit.”

  River Ridge was Celosia’s country club area. I wondered if the neighbors had been as friendly and welcoming as the reception crowd.

  “Thank you, I will.”

  Flora looked at me hopefully. “Come for lunch today if you’re not too busy.”

  I agreed to this, and they both left smiling.

  ***

  No one was smiling at Flair For Fashion. I arrived to find a group of women, including Bea Ricter, bunched up at the back of the store, arguing fiercely about whose work was suitable for the new gallery. When Pamela saw me, she gestured me over to one side.

  “Emergency meeting of the Art Guild. There’s been some confusion about who’ll be in charge of acquisitions at the new gallery.”

  “Won’t Wendall be in charge?”

  “After the reception yesterday, he mentioned he’s talking to several people about the curator’s job.”

  He’d mentioned this to me, too. “So what’s all the fuss about?”

  “We should be the ones to run the gallery. We can’t imagine Wendall staying in town to oversee everything. If he’s opening an art gallery for Celosia, then Celosians ought to be in charge. If he chooses an outsider, there’s a very good chance some of us will never get to show our work.”

  “Have you talked to him about your concerns?”

  “I tried to talk to him yesterday, but he just laughed and said not to worry. He’d take care of everything.”

  This sounded harmless, but apparently the Art Guild had heard his statement as a threat. “I’ve just had a conversation with him, and he plans to show local artists’ work.” At this, all the women turned to look at me. Some of their looks were concerned, but most were unfriendly. This didn’t bother me. I’d been the object of hostile stares before—try backstage at Miss Parkland—and these ladies couldn’t compete.

  “Why was he talking to you?” Bea asked. “You’re not even a member of the Art Guild.”

  “But Madeline’s an artist,” Pamela said. “Didn’t you have something at the Weyland, Madeline?”

  At the mention of Parkland’s prestigious gallery, I got a few more dagger glares.

  “Wendall Clarke and I have both had run-ins with Chance Baseford, an art critic in Parkland. We agreed we’d like to show him that Celosia can have a great art
gallery, too.”

  Pamela addressed the group. “We agree with that, too, don’t we? What else did he say, Madeline?”

  “What I’ve just told you. He wants to include local art.” I didn’t add, good local art.

  This set the members of the Guild into another tizzy.

  “But who’s going to decide?”

  “And who goes first?”

  “How long will someone’s exhibit be up? Is it a monthly schedule, or weeks, or what?”

  One woman called for quiet. She had red hair and freckles and looked very annoyed. “We’re getting nowhere with this. If one member of the Guild has a showing, then every member of the Guild should have a showing. That’s the only fair way to do things.”

  “No,” Bea Ricter said, “it should only be the best.”

  The red-haired woman turned to her. “Good lord, Bea, who are you to say what’s best? You make things out of dead wood!”

  The group went off again. I’d lived in Celosia just a few months, but I recognized most of the women, including Samantha Terrell, Austin’s mother, by face if not by name, having seen them in Deely’s or Georgia’s Books or at the community theater. They’d always seemed to be pleasant, reasonable people, but the gallery had them all stirred up.

  This was exactly like a group of pageant contestants arguing over who got to be in front during the opening number. “Ladies, I know I’m not a member of the Art Guild, but could I make a suggestion? Why don’t you sit down with Wendall Clarke and get things straightened out? Pamela made a good point when she said this is a gallery for Celosia, so you should have some say in it.”

  “I think Pamela should run the gallery,” Samantha said, and several others nodded.

  I could see Pamela was pleased by this. “Oh, my, no. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” Samantha said. She was a small attractive woman with Austin’s smile and his tenacity. “You’re the only one of us with any experience running a business.”

  “How hard could it be?” another woman said.

  “But what about my store?” Pamela asked.

  Samantha had a solution. “Hire an extra salesclerk to watch the store when you’re not here. You’re never very busy, are you?” Pamela looked at her askance. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it, sorry. But you have to admit you have a select clientele.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Pamela said. “I still don’t think I could run the gallery.”

  “You could try,” another woman said. “We need one of our own in charge.”

  Pamela appealed to me. “Madeline, did Wendall tell you who was going to run the gallery? Did he ask you to do it?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t want the job. My main occupation in town is private investigation.”

  “Maybe you should investigate Wendall Clarke and see what he’s really up to,” another woman said.

  These artists were determined to paint Wendall Clarke as a cad. “I don’t think he’s up to anything. I think he’s giving you a great opportunity,” I said. “Tell him you want everyone to be represented. Then if he says no, you’ll have a legitimate reason to complain. Pamela, if you don’t want to run the gallery, maybe he’d accept you as an assistant.”

  They looked at each other. Bea Ricter gave a sniff. “I still don’t appreciate that dead wood remark, Ginger.”

  “Well, it is dead wood,” the red-haired woman said.

  “That does not make me any less of an artist than someone who makes cross-eyed birds out of ping-pong balls.”

  The group immediately divided into those who thought dead wood was artistic and those who sided with Ginger and her ping-pong birds. I moved away.

  Pamela came to me. “Sorry about this. Ever since we heard about the gallery, emotions have been fraying. Some members of the Guild have waited for years to show their work. Many of us have been turned down by every gallery in the state. We see this gallery as our last chance.”

  “Why haven’t you started a little gallery of your own? It wouldn’t take much to transform one of the empty stores downtown.”

  “I’d thought about it, but it would take more time and money than I have, even with the support of the group. Wendall Clarke’s plan is a wonderful surprise and a terrible problem.”

  “It could still work out well for everybody.”

  She glanced at the group. The women were now arguing about the merits of felt versus velvet. I heard Bea Ricter say, “Well, just because you had one wild night, that doesn’t make you any sort of expert,” and Ginger answered, “You were just as crazy at that craft show, dancing around like some demented cancan girl. Nobody wanted to see your crocheted petticoats.”

  “You’d better be quiet, Ginger, unless you want me to mention you-know-what.”

  Whatever she was talking about was enough of a threat to make Ginger back off, although she attempted a final shot. “Well, there are things about you that people might be surprised to find out.”

  Bea had the last word. “Not as surprised as they’d be about you.”

  Ginger turned pink with embarrassment and didn’t say anything else.

  “I don’t see how you could work with all this racket going on, Madeline,” Pamela said. “Do you want to come back this afternoon?”

  “Sure. I’ll check with you later.”

  As I started out, Samantha Terrell called, “Wait a second, Madeline.” She followed me out the door. “I’ve had enough of their arguing.”

  “It doesn’t take much to stir up a group around here,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it. I thought the Garden Club would explode over all that Mantis Man business a few months back. You remember that, don’t you?”

  I sure did. Celosia’s legendary monster had caused plenty of real and imaginary trouble. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

  She laughed. “I’m not. I’m making a scrapbook for Austin. That’s as close as I get to art. Pamela saves things left over from her pictures for me, scraps of paper, ribbons, buttons, things like that. I’d just stopped in to get them and got caught in the middle of that.” She swung her purse over her shoulder. “I wanted to make sure Austin isn’t bothering you with all this about a Wow System. He said he’d asked Jerry to buy one.”

  “Jerry would be happy to buy one. He loves all the latest gadgets.”

  “I just don’t want Austin to become a pest.”

  “He’s not. He’s a great kid. We both get a kick out of him.”

  She gave me an appraising look. “The two of you are really great with children. Any plans to start your own family?”

  “We’re thinking about it.”

  “Well, I really appreciate all you’ve done for Austin. He loves both of you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “What’s your take on Wendall Clarke and the gallery? Could the Art Guild handle running it?”

  Samantha glanced back at Flair For Fashion, where the women were still arguing. “This is different from the Garden Club. Anybody can plant flowers or pull weeds, but when it comes to their art, these ladies are very passionate. The problem is some of them aren’t very good.”

  “But art is subjective.”

  “And I don’t want to be subjected to some of their stuff. Austin’s kindergarten pictures are better than some of that.”

  I figured Samantha might know something about all the major players in this drama. “Is Pamela serious about running the gallery? Could she do it?”

  “I think she’d be perfect. She’s the most levelheaded of that bunch.”

  “And Wendall Clarke?”

  She shrugged. “I never had any problem with him. He was a grade ahead of me in school, and the only thing I remember about him was he was a big guy who talked loud and had lots of friends.”

  “Larissa Norton?”

  “A very p
roud girl. Stuck-up, as we used to say. Her family was poor, and I think she was ashamed of that.”

  “How about Flora? Had you met her before?”

  “No. I don’t know a thing about her.” Her cell phone jangled. “Oh, excuse me, Madeline. That’ll be my husband wondering where I am. I’m supposed to meet him for lunch.”

  Time for me to investigate.

  Chapter Six

  I took a short walk down the street to the site of the new gallery, which had been vacant ever since Jerry and I moved to town. It was an unremarkable building, one story, smooth and gray, with double glass doors and all glass along the front, one window proclaiming Arrow Insurance in black and gold letters. Workmen were already hammering and painting, moving out leftover shelving and boxes, cleaning the wide front windows, and sweeping up dust. One of the workers was our handywoman, Nell Brenner. She stopped what she was doing and came to the door.

  “Come in and have a look, Madeline. See what you think.”

  I admired the space inside, the high ceilings, and smooth wooden floor. “Perfect.”

  Nell wiped her large hands on her ever-present overalls and tucked a stray strand of short blond hair under her baseball cap. “I know it’s causing all kinds of ruckus with the Art Guild, but it’s good business for me. Wendall’s offered a bonus if we get done by Friday.”

  This was Tuesday. “That soon?”

  “Well, the place is in great shape. Just needs cleaning, some paint. Turn the water and electricity back on and you can put all the art in you like. And let me show you this.” I followed her to the back of the store. “Here’s an office. The insurance company left all the furniture and filing cabinets. There’s even an intercom system if people want to use it, a two-way mirror to keep an eye on the store, a mini-fridge I guess nobody wanted, even one of those old adding machines. Once everything’s clean, Wendall can move on in.”

  I checked out the mirror, which gave a good view of the main room. “He’s not likely to stay in Celosia, is he?”

  “Nah. He’s got business elsewhere. And he sure don’t need to hang around here, not with that new wife of his on his arm.”