Fatal Family Ties

by S. C. Perkins

  “They’re all incredible,” I said, moving to the nearest wall to get a better look.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Camilla open her mouth to say something, but it wasn’t her voice I heard.

  “He doesn’t collect them,” Elaine said with a touch of asperity. “No, Charlie took all these photos himself. He’s a very talented, though amateur, photographer.”

  “I’m very pleased you like them, all the same,” came a deeper, more formal voice.

  I turned to see the same man who’d taught my wine class last year. Tall and barrel-chested, with a full head of snow-white hair, Charlie Braithwaite limped in, leaning heavily on his cane. He was clad in a tartan robe over dark blue pajamas, but somehow he retained a sophisticated air. I noted he had a cleft chin like Camilla and his gray eyes held humor, even though his overall appearance was one of exhaustion.

  The past year had been hard on Charlie. His limp seemed more pronounced than I remembered, his cheeks were slightly sunken, and he now had so many age spots on his face and hands that he looked like he’d been splattered with drops of brownish paint. I was glad Camilla went over to him and kissed his cheek, because I was a bit speechless at the change in him.

  “Uncle Charlie, this is Lucy, the genealogist I told you about. She says she took a wine class from you about a year ago. She remembers you fondly from that night.”

  Charlie assessed me for a moment, then held out his hand. “I remember you as well. If I’m correct, a young man had broken your heart that night, seemingly just before our class began.”

  I shook his hand, grinning. “You’re correct, and you helped me get through that night by being kind to me—and not so much to my ex.”

  Charlie’s smile lit up his tired face. “I hope he noticed as much as you did, and I hope you are well and truly rid of him.”

  I had to laugh. “He did notice, and I haven’t looked back, I assure you.”

  Elaine cleared her throat, moving to his side. “Now, Charlie, you shouldn’t be up and about. Let’s get you back to bed where you can rest.”

  “Oh, Elaine, I wanted to dust all the photos,” he replied. “You know it’s my weekly chore. It helps me relax.” He cast Camilla a fond smile. “And my lovely grandniece switched out some photos last night and added in several from just after my time in Vietnam. I want the joy of finding them as I make my way around the room.”

  “Yes, you told me as much, but you’re not well, so I’m dusting for you this one time,” she said, her tone suggesting he was being a stubborn child. “You can do it next week, when you’re feeling better. Now, come on. You can show Camilla’s friend—” She looked back at me.

  “Lucy,” I reminded her, even as Camilla shot Elaine a baleful look that she didn’t see.

  “Yes, thank you.” Elaine took Charlie’s elbow to guide him forward. “You can show Lucy that painting you love so much and then I want you back in bed.” She turned to Camilla and me. “He has it hung in his office. If you’ll just follow us.”

  Camilla was definitely irritated now, especially at being shown around her own relative’s house by someone who was nothing more than a neighbor. She shook her hair back behind her shoulders with one heck of a twitch, but gestured for me to walk ahead of her down the narrow hallway.

  NINE

  “Well, Lucy, what do you think of it?”

  Charlie had been helped into a comfortable-looking chaise longue by Elaine, who’d left the room after giving the framed panel of Charles Braithwaite’s triptych a look that suggested she would never give such a work pride of place in her own home. Camilla, her jaw set and her arms crossed over her chest, had openly glared at Elaine’s back. I had a feeling Elaine knew, and was deliberately playing up the fact that she held some sway with Charlie just to rankle Camilla.

  For his part, Charlie had settled onto the chaise with a grunt of discomfort. His office was as neat as the rest of the house, yet with its calming slate-blue walls, well-loved armchairs, and dark wood shelves lined with books and more photos, it had a more relaxed feeling than the living room. The desk helped; there were papers scattered across the top, along with a box of letterhead, a leather blotter with a calendar insert, another couple of photos, and a handful of knickknacks. Two were small jade figurines—dragons, facing each other snout to snout. I couldn’t tell if they were meant to look like they were kissing or about to breathe fire at each other.

  Speaking of breathing fire, I noted that Charlie either didn’t notice the animosity between his grandniece and Elaine, or wasn’t feeling up to playing referee between the two women and was thus ignoring the situation. Either way, I couldn’t blame him.

  And part of me couldn’t blame Elaine for her reaction to the painting in front of us. Camilla had described the battle scene as resembling folk art in the simplicity of the people, animals, and landscape it depicted, as opposed to truly realistic detail. I quite liked that style of painting, so I’d been looking forward to seeing this piece of the triptych.

  This painting, however, was … not well done. It looked just short of cartoonish, in fact, with the Confederate and Union soldiers so crudely painted, they looked like a bunch of blue and gray rectangles with blobs for heads and various black markings representing belts, buttons, and gun holsters. More black lines represented rifles, and the one horse in the painting looked like a cross between an elephant and a giraffe; it was also a sickly shade of orange never found on any living equine. The background consisted of one big swath of green for the grass, a darker shade of greenish brown for the mountains behind it, and a wavy strip of blue for the river. As for the clouds, Camilla hadn’t overstepped the mark by saying they were white blobs. Honestly, I could have attached a paintbrush to NPH’s left front paw and he would have done a better job.

  What made it worse was that the painting—already the size of a poster—was ensconced in a wide wooden frame that looked like it was made out of barnwood. The bottom-right corner of the canvas had also sustained some level of damage. The whole ensemble dominated a large portion of the short wall between the door and the room’s south-facing window. I was now no longer remotely surprised the Alden museum had deemed it to have more sentimental value than anything else.

  “It’s … well … it’s quite unique, isn’t it?” I said. “And really colorful.”

  “You don’t like it?” Camilla’s voice registered another emotion I’d never heard from her: hurt. I realized she’d really wanted me to see the charm of it.

  “Well … I … um, I mean …”

  I slid my leather tote off my shoulder and onto a small side table, where it promptly tipped over and fell to the floor. I hastened to apologize as I bent and stuffed two file folders and my keys back inside. “I’m so sorry, really.” Straightening again and feeling even more flustered, I said, “I saw the drawing your ancestor did of the 1865 Texas Emancipation Day celebration and those he did in his journal that’s in the Alden museum. They were so wonderful, so detailed …”

  Charlie held up a veined hand as my voice petered out and my face went hot with embarrassment. “No need, Lucy. You’re right, it’s horrible.” Seeing Camilla’s jaw drop as she rounded on him with a stunned, “Uncle Charlie! How can you say that?” he reached out for her hand and squeezed it with an affectionate smile. “It’s true, and you know it, sweetheart.” His eyes came back to mine. “Though I’ll admit I still have a deep affinity for the darn thing, just like Camilla here does. It’s part of our family history, and therefore precious to us.”

  I just nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth again, lest I have to insert another foot. Camilla was still looking a smidge disgruntled, but when Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, stretching out his bad leg, worry came into her face.

  “I’ll go get a pillow to prop your leg up,” she told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Go on, tell Lucy the news, and I’ll be right back.”

  Charlie smiled fondly after her as she disappeared down the hallway, then looked up
at me. “Camilla has told me all about you, Lucy, and what a good genealogist you are. She read me that infernal article about our ancestor, and we’re both hoping you can prove that reporter wrong. But I’m also hoping you can help us in another way.”

  “I—well, I’m very happy to try,” I said.

  Charlie still looked as unwell as he had moments earlier, but his voice now sharpened with excitement as he used his cane to point to the bottom-right corner of the painting.

  “No doubt you noticed my piece of the triptych is damaged. It happened a few weeks ago, when one of my employees came over with his two-year-old daughter. She was toddling around, holding a stuffed elephant, being no problem at all.” Charlie reached over to the side table next to his chair and laid his hand on another elephant. It was made of brass, about the size of a softball, and its trunk curled upward, emphasizing two long, pointed tusks. “Well, as always seems to happen, we looked away for two seconds and things went south. The little girl dropped her stuffed elephant, picked up this brass one, and began banging it against my painting, tusks first.”

  From the pocket of his robe, Charlie pulled out a plastic chopstick and a small flashlight. He handed me the chopstick. Nonplussed, I opened my mouth to jokingly ask if he was expecting me to follow the toddler’s lead and take a jab at the painting, then thought better of it. He pointed his cane toward the damaged canvas and said, “Take a good look at the result and tell me what you see, Lucy. And here’s a hint—use the chopstick to lift the canvas.”

  Curious now, I moved to take a closer look at the damaged corner. The painted scene in that area consisted of a dark blue rectangle that I guessed was a Union soldier standing beside a shapeless brownish-gray blob I could only take for a large rock. There, a small section of the canvas, about two inches high and an inch wide, had been ripped before being partially smoothed down. Using the chopstick as directed, I gently lifted the canvas to see underneath, helped by the beam of light from Charlie’s flashlight.

  I saw not a hole, but a neck. An actual neck, drawn to proportion, flowing down into a gray uniform collar and rising up under a few tendrils of dark, curling hair. There was also a long scratch that was likely caused by the brass elephant’s tusks, but it didn’t seem deep. The other fine lines I saw seemed to be the crackling of paint, and—if what I was looking at was real and not fake—they could be an indication of age. The detail, even in that little bit of neck and collar, was outstanding.

  I turned around, whispering the words. “That’s a person—the neck of a soldier. There’s another painting, a whole other canvas, underneath this top one, isn’t there?”

  For a moment, Charlie’s eyes brightened. “I think so, yes, but I’d like to know for sure. We tried to look at the back, in case there was evidence I’d never noticed before of another painting, but there’s some sort of thick cardboard backing that’s concealing it from view. I’m not confident enough in my art knowledge to try and take off the backing, either, and I’m afraid I haven’t had the energy to research it further.” He gave me a tired smile. “And despite my work and my love of photography, I don’t really have any contacts in the art world. Not any living ones, at least.”

  He switched off the flashlight, then looked up at me again. “Lucy, would you happen to have any art-expert friends who might be able to look at this painting and see what’s underneath? I’d really love to know if my ancestor Charles painted a real battle scene and then covered it up with this outer canvas for some unknown reason.” Charlie’s mouth twisted with a touch of dismay. “Or if maybe Charles took someone else’s painting and covered it with this travesty, charming as I do find it.”

  “Travesty” was certainly the right word, I thought. Charming? Well, maybe it had a little bit of charm, too—but only after you got used to the garishness of it.

  Using his cane again, Charlie made an encompassing gesture at the painting. “I’d like to get it certified, so I can insure it if need be. Eventually, Camilla will inherit my piece of the triptych, since no one else on my side of the family seems to want it, and in case it might actually be worth something, I want her to be able to plan for it.”

  “Actually, I do know someone in the art world,” I said. “Her name is Helen Kim, and she works doing art restoration but has some appraisal knowledge as well. How about I call her and ask her to come once you’re feeling better?”

  “That would make me very happy, Lucy. Thank you.” He handed me one of his business cards. As I began taking photos to show my friend Helen, we heard arguing from out in the hall.

  “He’s fine, Elaine,” came Camilla’s voice. “He just needs his leg propped up.”

  “He needs to be back in bed,” Elaine protested.

  “I’m taking him to the doctor in an hour,” Camilla shot back. “I think it would be better for him just to nap in his favorite chair in his office instead. Or dust his photos for a while, like he wanted to before you took over.”

  “I know what’s best for him, and that’s rest,” Elaine retorted.

  Camilla strode back into the office, Elaine hot on her heels, both with blazing eyes and looking like forces to be reckoned with—yet Charlie staved off further arguing with great equanimity.

  “Elaine, how about I nap while Camilla drives Lucy home? And then, Camilla, I’ll spend a few minutes enjoying myself with some dusting before we leave for the doctor’s. Sound good?”

  Both of the women in his life nodded curtly, though refusing to look at each other, and Charlie shot me a surreptitious wink as he held out his hand and shook mine warmly.

  I couldn’t help but grin back. “I’ll be sure to let y’all know as soon as Helen gives me a day and time when she can come over.” Charlie thanked me again, and I stood with a fuming Camilla as Elaine bustled him off to his bedroom.

  Once Camilla and I were back in her car, driving down Charlie’s street, I decided she needed a good venting session about his pushy neighbor.

  “So, Elaine … wow,” was all it took to set her off.

  “I know I’m not the most warm-and-fuzzy person sometimes,” Camilla groused, then shot me a sideways look. I congratulated myself on keeping a straight face. “But I really couldn’t even tell you what her problem is with me. She’s been Uncle Charlie’s neighbor for about a year, and she took an instant dislike to me when we met. This weekend, though? She’s been nothing but a bossy, pushy witch, and I’m sick of it.”

  “Do you think you accidentally said or did something to offend her?” I asked.

  “I didn’t do either,” Camilla insisted. “All I was doing was rearranging Uncle Charlie’s photos like I always do. I mix them up and add new ones so the view changes. He’s got thousands of photos stored in boxes, you know, and changes the photos regularly as well. He always tells me he enjoys the search and the memories it brings up when he finds one he hasn’t seen in a while.”

  She scowled as she pulled into a visitor parking space, not yet ready to change the subject. “I also don’t like it that she acts like my uncle Charlie is her boyfriend when they’re not even dating. It’s gotten worse since he’s allowed her to spend time at his house, too. Until recently, he always finagled it so he would go to her place.”

  “He didn’t like her to be in his house before now?” I said this with a frown as I unbuckled my seat belt. I hadn’t gotten that impression.

  Camilla canted her head. “It’s more that he’s never been a fan of anyone being at his house for longer than a short social visit.” Her lips briefly curved up. “If you didn’t notice, Uncle Charlie is a bit of a neat freak, and very protective of his photos, so he’s always preferred to go to other people’s houses for dinners and such. Somehow, though, Elaine wore him down, and she’s started to spend time over there.”

  I pulled in my lips to keep from smiling. “Camilla,” I said gently, “are you sure they’re not dating, and Charlie just doesn’t want to upset you by telling you?”

  She stared at me for a moment, then swore. “God, I’v
e been so dense. They are dating, and that’s why she’s acting like she owns him.”

  “Well, at least she’s looking out for him,” I said, trying to be positive but anticipating an eye roll from Camilla.

  She surprised me again, however. “You know, you’re right,” she said on a sigh. “It’s not as if Uncle Charlie is willing to move back to Houston to be nearer to me, so it’s important for him to have someone he trusts and who will take care of him. For whatever it’s worth, he does seem to like her.”

  “I think that’s a good way to view things,” I said. Then the weird silence of two people who’d established a fragile connection stole over the car, and I hastened to get out before it grew.

  “I’ll call you after I talk to Helen,” I told her again.

  Camilla gave me a stiff nod that was all too familiar, though it seemed less abrupt now. I took that as a win.

  TEN

  Only two hours later, I was using my elbow to knock on the glass doors of Helen Kim, Art Restoration. I had no other choice, since my hands were full with two coffees and a box containing four sinful goodies from a little shop not far from my office.

  “Cupcakes!” Helen exclaimed after unlocking the door and pulling it wide for me. “Oh, you are terrible, Lucy Lancaster.” She took the box from me, then pulled me into a hug. “And I’m so glad you are.”

  “I brought all our favorites,” I said, nodding toward the white box with blue lettering, “plus cappuccinos, just like every Friday afternoon of our junior year before History 303.”

  “And what an excellent tradition that was,” Helen said, taking her coffee, her warm brown eyes dancing with good memories. Gesturing me over to a large worktable in the center of the room, she pulled back her long, black hair into a low ponytail like she always did when she was about to eat something with a high potential for messiness. We each chose a cupcake—red velvet for me and double chocolate for her—and began unwrapping them and cutting them in half with a knife, knowing we would share them just as we had back in college.