by Leo Bonanno
I got home and could smell mom’s sauce instantly upon my entry. The whole house was filled with the smells are mom’s triumph over the culinary arts. I threw my coat over a chair at the kitchen table and hugged my mom from behind as she stirred something in a pot on the stove. “Wash up,” she had said. “You’re just in time.” I did as I was told and headed for the bathroom. Moments later, I heard my mother scream in terror, and something heavy hit the floor. I rushed back to the kitchen to see this name here I can’t read this name. What? What?
“I’m sorry, what?” I said aloud, remembering where I really was.
“I can’t read this name here, Carol something,” the young woman said. “It is Carol, isn’t it?”
“Sykora. Sykora is the name,” I answered, and kneeled with squinted eyes to check the other names on the list. “And that one there is Trago with a T.”
“Got it!” She said, and spun around perkily in her chair to face the screen again.
It is Carol, isn’t it? What a familiar ring that had. It is Carol, isn’t it? It is Carol, isn’t it? As I repeated the phrase in my head, the voice saying it began to change. First it was my own voice, my own Little Reevan regurgitating the same phrase over and over. It is Carol, isn’t it? Then it was the young woman in the library. Then it was Carol. Then it was Emily. Then it was…“Damn it!” The young woman jumped in her chair.
“Excuse me!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, not you. I have to run an errand I just remembered. Can you have this ready for me by the time I get back?”
“Sure, I’m almost done.”
“Really? That’s great,” I said, genuinely impressed.
“Well, actually, the user-friendly search engine installed on a superior processor makes it very easy to fi-”
“Oh jeez, I’m having another stroke,” I blurted out. Her smile turned to a straight slit above her chin.
“Just go,” she said. I smiled and headed for my car.
I pulled up to a house a few minutes later that was unlike any I had ever seen. A relatively tiny house stood far back from the road, covered in brush and trees of all colors and creeds. It was truly remarkable, and I knew I was in the right place.
I knocked on the door and what sounded like a pack of wolves began growling from the other side. Then they barked, and I heard nails scratching against the door. Somewhere inside the house, a tiny voice was saying “Company’s coming! Company’s coming!”
The barking grew louder, and I stepped away from the door, sure the beasts inside were going to break free and chew my legs off at the knees. All of a sudden, a powerful commanding voice screamed “Heel!” The barking stopped, the scratching stopped, and I think my heart even skipped a beat or two. “Get lost!” The voice roared, and I took another step back. Oh, great. You disturbed some hermit mountain man and now he’s going to kill you and use your skull for an ashtray. Before I knew what to do, the door opened and a woman I recognized stepped out. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to them,” she said, and pointed into her home at three very large dogs sitting quietly, eyeing me eyeing them. “How did you find me?”
“Personnel file,” I said, heart rate returning to what passes for normal these days. “Gotta love those public records!” The woman smiled.
“Please, come in. You’re welcome anytime.”
“Thank you, Carol,” I said, and stepped inside.
“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked Carol, standing in her living room surrounded by her very large dogs. Off in the corner a colorful bird in a cage whistled and then told me to take a seat, so I did.
“Got a clue or two. Friend of mine was doing some shopping near Dunlowe Caterers a little while ago. Said you and Sheriff Tuttle busted the punks that killed my boss. That true?” He words were flat and emotionless, as if they came out of a typewriter instead of a person
“Seems so,” I shrugged. “But he wasn’t just your boss, was he Carol?” Carol sat beside me on the dog hair-covered sofa. I couldn’t shake the feeling she was about to punch me, and I remembered how she was almost unstoppable when she lunged for Dennis Trago. I had to tread lightly if I didn’t want to wear false teeth for the rest of my life.
Carol grabbed my right hand and turned my palm up. She dropped three doggy biscuits in it. “It’ll calm them down. They don’t know whether or not to like you yet.” I looked at the dogs, who were looking at me, and I smiled. They sat like huge furry soldiers, and all of a sudden I felt very uncomfortable holding their food in my bare hand. I tossed the three biscuits in front of the pooches, but none of them moved a paw. They watched as the cookies landed in the carpet, and then they all turned their heads towards Carol. “It’s okay,” Carol said, and they pounced. The biscuits were gone in a flash. “Now lay down,” Carol said, and the three soldiers did so without hesitation, still rolling their eyes to the tops of their heads to keep a watchful eye on me.
Carol looked at me and had water in her eyes. “When did you know?” She asked.
“At the party,” I said. “I saw the way you looked at him, and the way you touched him. I’ve had that look myself.” I put my hand on her shoulder and she broke into tears, crying into her hands. “Carol, how do you know Ida Scribbs?”
“What do you mean?” She asked, surprised.
“I know you knew her before the party. Remember? She called out your name when she came in. When was the first time you met her?” Carol slid across the sofa to a little table in the corner. She reached for the box of tissues and brought it back with her.
“Well,” she said as she blew her nose, “I met her once about four or five years ago. Yeah, it’s been about five years. I took Arnold out to dinner because he was so depressed about losing his wife Janet a few weeks before. She walked in and saw us sitting at a table and made a beeline straight for us. She said she had heard about his wife and wanted to stop by and give her condolences. That’s when Arnold introduced us, but…”
“But what?”
“But you know, that wasn’t really the first time I had met her. I guess she didn’t remember the first time. It was fleeting. I was coming and she was going. You know how it is.”
“Where was this?” I asked. Carol wiped her nose again and then pulled another tissue from the box.
“Well, it was at her museum. Oh, wait, her science center,” she added sarcastically.
“What were you doing there?”
“Dennis and I went once when the center first opened. You know, to get a look at the competition.”
“So Dennis introduced you to her before that night at the restaurant?”
“Yeah, but like I said, I was going in, she was coming out, you know.”
“I don’t understand, Carol. Why would Dennis introduce you to the Curator of the Boyhan Science Center?” Carol snickered a little sinister snicker.
“I see there is still one personnel file you haven’t gone through yet, Mr. Hunt.” I looked at her the way Niki looks at me when I say the word sausage. “Dennis Trago used to work at the Boyhan Science Center, Mr. Hunt. Ida was his boss.”
After a long pause and ponder, the silence was finally broken by none other than Carol’s colorful bird. “Dennis killed him! Dennis killed him! Fat bastard! Fat bastard!” Then he whistled and fluttered his wings. All of a sudden I had a real problem breathing. Jokes aside, I think I may have had an actual stroke because the room started to spin. Carol grabbed my arm. She was laughing. Her face was red.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt. He picks up everything I say. I think that one came from my last phone conversation with my sister.”
“Thank God,” I said, taking in a deep breath. “That would have been my third stroke today.” She laughed, and handed me a tissue. I didn’t know why at first, but then I realized a tear was dripping down my face. “You know the weirdest part of all of this?” I asked. “How did you and Dennis Trago manage an entire car ride across the county to Boyhan without killing each other that day?” Carol laughed again and nodded.
“Oh?” I asked with a smirk on my face. “Are you that good of an employee?” She smiled back and leaned in close.
“They don’t come any better than me.”
Carol walked me to my car as her three sentinels followed us out. I got in and started the car, but then rolled down the window. Carol bent down and stuck her head inside. “Carol, did Arnold ever tell you who he was going to recommend for his position when he left?”
“Of course,” she said. “He told me everything.” She stood there as my old engine hummed along with just a smile on her face. “Please don’t be a stranger around the museum, Mr. Hunt,” she finally said, standing up. “I have some very big plans.”
Thoughts bombarded my brain as I drove back to the library. To name a few: Who else knew that, according to Carol, she was going to get the promotion? Why did Dennis Trago want that job so badly, besides the obvious Napoleon complex? Why would two boys conspire to kill a harmless man and take nothing from his office besides gaudy rhino statue? Who found out about Carol and Arnold and spread the word? What the hell did all of that have to do with Arnold Medley?
I arrived back at the library and walked slowly into the small hot room where I had last seen my young helper. The room was empty when I got there and I panicked for a moment, fearing my personal research assistant had abandoned me for a younger, more handsome, more useless man. “Excuse me!” A man called out from behind me. I turned to see a very tall man in big-rimmed glasses waving to me. I walked over and asked for the young woman who was around earlier. “I thought it was you. Sarah had to go, but she finished pulling the information you wanted. She asked me to keep an eye out for, how did she put it? ‘A very sarcastic man in a brown jacket’.” I looked down at my jacket, which was indeed brown, and was still confused.
“How did you know I was sarcastic?”
“We’re public servants, sir. We get so much sarcasm we can smell it on you when you walk in.” I stared up at him and then burst into laughter.
“That’s very good,” I said. “I guess you knew I could take a joke, too, huh?”
“We’re public servants, sir. We don’t care how anyone takes anything, as long as they take it and go.” With that, he reached under the counter and pulled out a small stack of photo copies. He dropped them on the counter top and asked “Anything else?” I stepped forward and fumbled through the few pages that were there. There wasn’t much. “Is there anything else, sir?” He asked again, a little louder.
“No, thank you,” I replied, concentrating on the papers. “What do I owe you for the copies?” As I asked, my eyes fell upon a copy of a newspaper article that was a little more than ten years old. The headline read:
LOCAL MUSEUM VANDALIZED
CURATOR VOWS TO FIND STOLEN ART
“It’s a steal at five cents a copy,” he said sarcastically. At that moment, that very moment, the neurons started to fire. The lights went on upstairs, the elevator went all the way up, I was cooking with gas, I was on fire, I was off like a shoot pick a metaphor and run with it just try to keep up with Reevan, Leon, Carol, Dennis, Tommy, Simon, Arnold, Ida, caterers, music, fountain, chandelier, botanist florist what’s the difference, white orchid, It is Carol isn’t it, bank statements, Drop it off on my way to work, I didn’t do nothin, out for dinner, Gotta love public records, retirement, What’s he done, he’s Reevan, he’s the one you want, oh can I talk now, vandalized, I sat on them, parasitic plant, The End of Eden, who the hell is Arnie, they prefer to look at the homeland, assistant for over seven years, Dennis killed him the fat bastard, who the hell do you think you are, twenty-five big ones, it’s a steal, didn’t do nothin, anger management, nice deposit, Janet, out for dinner, is that my orchid, call Bruce Chancey, succeed despite their efforts, bank statements, yeah five years, what good are you, sir, messy afternoon, departed wife, sir, missing art, yeah five years, Sir?, It’s a steal, bank statements, Sir? Sir? “Sir! Are you in there?
“Wh-what?” I said, my heart pounding in my throat.
“I said five cents a copy.”
“Where’s the phone?”
“Excuse me?”
“The phone! The phone! Where’s the goddamn phone!” The library came to a halt. The shuffling feet, the rustling pages, the clicking keys all disappeared. There was nothing except me, a tall man in black rimmed glasses, and a library full of eyes staring at us both.
The weenie behind the counter reached under it again and put an ancient taupe telephone on the counter. “Now get lost!” I barked. He jumped, and walked away. I dialed and then peered around the open room as the phone rang. As my eyes met those of the people around me, they quickly jump-started themselves into carrying on again. “Come on…come on…pick up…Myron!”
“Professor? What’s wrong? You sound ups-”
“Shut up Myron, for God’s sake, shut up! Do you have the statements Myron?”
“You mean Medley’s bank statements? Yeah, but I already went through them. There’s nothing in th-”
“Look again, Myron. Look again. You said Arnold had a few deposits every month, didn’t you? You said he had one ‘nice deposit’. Remember?”
“Yeah, I did, but I told you it was just the usual stuff.”
“Did you follow up like you said? Did you call Bruce?”
“Well, no, but why? We got the kids alrea-”
“She died five years ago?” I blurted out.
“What? Who? Who died?”
“Janet Medley.”
“Okay, so what.”
“Carol Sykora told me that she and Arnold Medley went out to dinner about five years ago just after his wife died!”
“So, she was a bit overeager, what’s your point?”
“Don’t you see! You told me that Arnold was getting a nice deposit for the past seven years! You said you thought it was his wife’s insurance policy payouts, but it can’t be because she-”
“Only died five years ago,” he muttered.
“Yes!” I screamed, and the library came to another screeching halt. The tall dweeb started towards me, and I shot him a look that must have turned his blood cold. He stopped in his tracks and backed up, nearly tripping over a book cart. I looked around at the other patrons, who all began to examine their shoes or their watches.
“Professor? Professor! So where is the money coming from? Investments of some kind?”
“I doubt it, Myron. I pulled Arnold’s personnel file and Curators don’t make as much as you might think in this county, or probably any county for that matter, but especially this county!”
“Professor, you’re rambling! What are you talking about? Do you know where the money is coming from?”
“I think I do, but there’s no time to explain. I need you to confirm it all. Call Bruce Chancey, Myron. Confirm where all of those deposits were coming from, then get everyone to the museum! I’ll meet you there! Hurry, we’ll only get one shot at this, Myron!”
“Professor, wait! The museum? Everyone? Why?” But I was gone. I was charging towards the door and before I knew it, I was in the car racing home. I had to get the files, had to get the proof. To cram one more metaphor into this synopsis: Stick a fork in it, this case was done.
LOCAL MUSEUM VANDALIZED
CURATOR VOWS TO FIND STOLEN ART
Over one hundred thousand dollars…that’s how much the taxpayers of the City of Beaumont are going to have to pay to get their Art Museum back to normal.
According to the Beaumont P.D., an unidentified individual or individuals broke into the Beaumont Museum of Art two nights ago. So far, three pieces have been reported stolen and countless others damaged during the break-in. Damaged art and exhibits can often be restored by
competent professionals, but the service doesn’t come cheap. Local Art Restorer Peter Deleuth stated that “the damaged sculptures could easily cost the City $10,000 to restore, which pales in comparison to the $40,000 needed to restore various paintings and damage to the museum structure itself.”
The two stolen paintings, Alfred Pintaro’s Rhapsody and Susan O’Donahue’s The End of Eden, in addition to a stolen sculpture, Barry Nitalino’s Paradox in Blue on loan from the artist’s personal New York City gallery, push the bill up to over $100,000. Ida Scribbs, Curator of the Beaumont Museum of Art, was not available for direct comment. Instead, museum department head Dennis Trago read a statement on behalf of Ms. Scribbs at today’s press conference. “This crime will not go unpunished. These vandals have robbed this City and its citizens of not only valuable works of art, but items of immeasurable educational and inspirational value. My staff and I will cooperate with the authorities to ensure these individuals are brought to justice and this City’s artistic heritage is restored.”
The museum will be closed pending the completion of the police investigation. Any individuals with information regarding this crime are encouraged to contact the Beaumont Police Department immediately.
Lisa Rochello, Senior Reporter
I arrived at the museum before any of the others. Eventually, police cruisers pulled up outside delivering all who had been invited. The second museum party was about to begin.
I asked Myron to get everyone inside the great room. The room seemed lifeless now; no music, no running water, and when someone turned on the lights, the chandelier seemed dim and grey.
