One Woman's Junk

by J. B. Lynn

  Beatrice shrugged, not sure that that was the explanation she was looking for. She didn’t think her godmother’s death was connected to a ghost.

  Then again, she’d been wrong before.

  46

  It took hours for Beatrice to get a chance to be alone in the shop. Finally, when most of the customers had cleared out for the day, Amanda decided she was going to go over to the hospital to try and see if she could find Letty there.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Beatrice asked, secretly impatient for her sister to leave.

  “I think it’s the quickest way to find answers,” Amanda replied.

  Winnie, who was sitting at the cash register sketching on her pad, just shook her head at the exchange. “I think you’re both delusional.”

  “You don’t have to believe,” Beatrice told her quietly. “But you don’t need to make fun of us, either.”

  Aggravated, Winnie closed the pad and picked it up. “I’m going to go get myself a cup of coffee.” She walked out of the shop.

  Amanda glanced over at Beatrice. “Will you be okay here alone?”

  Beatrice nodded. “I can handle anything that comes my way.”

  “Okay, that’s my Uber pulling up now.” Amanda dashed out of the store.

  As soon as Amanda was gone, Beatrice rolled her way over to her cot, where she’d stowed the memory card reader beside the sports jersey.

  She dug into the depths of her pillowcase and got out the tiny memory card. Taking it, and the reader, up to the computer she tried to control the wave of excitement that coursed through her. “I really feel like I’m going to find the answers,” she muttered to herself.

  “Go for it,” Pim encouraged.

  She put the little sheep on the counter beside the computer so he could see what she did. She plugged everything in and waited a moment. There was a flicker, and then images began to appear on the laptop’s screen.

  “What is it?” Pim asked.

  “It’s a painting of a lake. I think it’s the one at Red Bug Slough.”

  Beatrice eyed the prints that were still rolled up into a tube, sitting on the counter, wondering if they were the same image. She didn’t dare touch them again, afraid of what she might see or experience.

  “She was really obsessed with that,” Pim remarked.

  Beatrice enlarged the images on the screen. “It doesn’t look like it’s on canvas. I think it’s some sort of mural.”

  She tilted her head this way and that, trying to get a better look at it.

  “A mural?” Pim asked.

  Beatrice nodded. Then, she noticed the hexagonal skylight shining light on the painting. “That’s it,” she murmured.

  She slammed the laptop closed, grabbed her phone, snatched Pim up off the counter, stuck him in her pocket, and rolled outside.

  “Hey! Wait! What’s going on?” Pim demanded to know.

  “I don’t have it all figured out yet,” she told him. “But I think I’ve got an idea what’s going on.”

  As difficult as it was maneuvering in the Uber, with a driver who seemed annoyed to have to help her put the wheelchair in his SUV, Beatrice got herself to the hotel where the art installation was taking place on the roof.

  She glanced up at the sky, which was filling with gray clouds. The approaching storm appeared ominous and filled her with a sense of dread.

  Rolling herself inside, she was prepared to take the elevator straight to the roof, but as she rolled herself through the lobby, she saw that there was an art exhibit already set up there. Curious, she rolled herself over to look at it. Some of the paintings were quite breathtaking, but there was one that really caught her attention. She rolled over to it and stared at the picture that had been so important to Letty.

  “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” a man asked from behind her.

  Turning, she found the charity runner, Nottingham, who she’d seen at Ash’s place, smiling with satisfaction at the picture.

  “Is it an original?” she asked.

  He nodded. “All the pieces in today’s show are originals.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  The fact she thought it wasn’t must have been evident in her tone because the man stiffened and frowned. “I thought I recognized you. You’re one of the nieces of that junk woman.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “Goddaughter, and don’t talk about my godmother that way.”

  Nottingham began to walk away from her.

  “I know what you’re up to,” she called after him.

  He stopped in his tracks, turned on his heel, and stalked back to her. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be full of empty threats, just like she was.” He loomed over her, clearly irate.

  “Did she threaten you?” Beatrice asked. “Did she say that she would expose your scam?”

  Glancing around the lobby to see if anyone had overheard her accusation, he said through gritted teeth, “I run a legitimate charity, not a scam.”

  Bea had a moment of hesitation, wondering if, in fact, he even knew that the painting wasn’t an original.

  But then he leaned in close and whispered, so that only she could hear, “It would be terrible if an accident befell you, too.”

  Alarmed, Beatrice leaned back in her seat, goose bumps rising on her arms, fear coursing through her body.

  “Hey, Bea,” Rena called from across the lobby, hurrying up to her.

  Relief flowed through Bea at the sight of the girl’s friendly face.

  “What are you doing here?” Rena asked.

  “I just wanted to see the hotel,” Beatrice lied smoothly. “I’d heard so much about it.”

  Nottingham continued to glare at her for a long beat.

  Seeing Ash walk up behind him, she asked, “Can you give me a ride back to the shop?”

  “Sure, I have to run back to mine anyway to pick up a tool.” He pushed her chair back outside while Rena chattered about a famous author she’d spotted at the bar.

  Beatrice glanced back and saw that Nottingham was still staring daggers at her. “This isn’t over,” she muttered under her breath.

  47

  “I think I’ve got it figured out,” Beatrice announced excitedly to Winnie as she rolled back into One Woman’s Junk. “Or, at least, partially figured out. It’s all got to do with this picture Letty was obsessed about.”

  “You left the store empty,” was Winnie’s unexpected reaction. “You can’t just leave the store unattended during business hours. I know responsibility isn’t your strong suit, but still…”

  “I had to take care of something important.” Excited to finally be able to tell her what she’d discovered, Beatrice ignored her older sister’s lecture.

  The bell over the door jangled, and Piper burst in, apron flapping. “Come with me. Amanda collapsed. She’s at the hospital,” she announced worriedly.

  “What happened?” Beatrice and Winnie asked simultaneously.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that Tom told me she’s there,” Piper said.

  “You go, Winnie, ” Beatrice told Winnie. “It will be a lot quicker and easier without me.”

  Winnie hesitated for a moment, then nodded, acknowledging Beatrice’s self-sacrifice. She rushed out of the store with Piper.

  Beatrice watched them go, her stomach in knots. She hoped Amanda was okay, but she understood she was more likely to get in the way than to be helpful.

  She then looked at the dog. “Today is not going the way I thought it was going to go, Air Bud.”

  Not amused by her joking name, he cocked his head to the side and lay down.

  “Benji? Boomer? Marmaduke?” Bea continued.

  The dog turned over on his back, practically begging her to stop.

  She wheeled herself over to where the rolled-up prints were, and steeled herself. “This is the only way I’m going to figure anything out,” she said out loud.

  Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and grabbed them. She wasn’t surprised
by being transported into the vision, this time, and she paid close attention to what she saw.

  “You’re nothing but a scam artist stealing another man’s work,” Letty accused indignantly.

  “Says the woman who peddles old junk,” the man that Beatrice couldn’t see said.

  She really wished that Letty would turn around so she could see his face, but that didn’t happen.

  “I’m not going to let you get away with this,” Letty declared.

  “The last person who went up against me ended up dead,” the man said.

  Beatrice gasped at the threat, and she could feel the fear that had gone through Letty. Her godmother stormed out of the gallery, and the vision ended.

  Beatrice released the print and leaned back in her seat, trying to catch her breath.

  “She was threatened,” she murmured out loud.

  “Who did it?” Pim asked.

  Beatrice shrugged. “I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Was it that Nottingham creep?” the sheep asked.

  She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. The voice didn’t sound like his.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Pim asked.

  “Maybe I should ask Ash about it,” she mused aloud. “It’s obvious the pictures were taken in his shop.” Then, she trailed off and allowed herself to consider the possibility that had been nagging at her since the moment she’d recognized the hexagonal skylight in the photos on the memory card.

  She flipped on the computer and looked at the pictures again. There it was, clear as day.

  She sighed.

  “What are you thinking?” Pim asked.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I’m thinking maybe Ash is in on it. Maybe he was being so nice so that he could keep tabs on what we knew. It seems pretty obvious that the original painting was done on the ceiling of his shop. Whatever they’re auctioning off isn’t an original.”

  The dog whined.

  She didn’t know whether that meant he agreed with her or if she was wrong.

  “What are you going to do?” Pim asked.

  Beatrice considered the question for a long moment. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m going to find out the truth. I owe that much to Letty. I’m going to go to that silly art gala.”

  48

  Amanda was relieved to get back to One Woman’s Junk.

  As soon as she walked in, she took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of orange and cinnamon. It gave her a sense of peace. She saw that Rupert was pacing the length of the back of the store.

  “You’re okay?” he said with obvious relief.

  She didn’t answer him as Winnie walked into the store behind her.

  “Where the hell is Beatrice now?” Winnie demanded.

  Amanda shrugged. “Maybe she left a note?”

  “What? She doesn’t know how to use a phone? She doesn’t understand how to just do the responsible thing and hold down the fort for one hour?”

  “She’s trying,” Amanda told her.

  “I’m not going to bet my entire future on Beatrice’s version of trying,” Winnie snapped. “She’s impulsive and unreliable.”

  “She’s just trying to figure out what happened to Letty. That’s all that any of us are trying to do, Winnie.” Amanda’s voice cracked at the end, revealing her fatigue.

  Winnie grimaced guiltily, as though remembering she’d just picked her up from the hospital. “You should sit down.”

  “I really am fine,” Amanda told her. “It was just a combination of the heat and…”

  “The heat and what?” Winnie asked, ignoring her declaration that she was okay and gently pushing her into the velvet chair.

  Amanda glanced over at Rupert. “There were so many ghosts there.”

  “What did you expect?” he asked. “It’s a hospital. People die there all the time.”

  Winnie rolled her eyes. “Are you really going to go on about this ghost thing?”

  “It’s real,” Amanda said. “And whatever those visions are that Beatrice is having, I believe they’re real, too.” She squinted at her sister. “What I don’t understand is why you’re not seeing anything unusual.”

  Winnie got busy fussing around the store. She picked up the prints that Beatrice had dropped on the floor. “Why do you think she’s so obsessed about this picture?” She unrolled it and stared at the shades of grays and whites.

  “It’s incredibly bleak,” Winnie said. “Depressing, even.”

  Amanda saw Rupert stop his pacing and frown at her.

  “Have you seen it? It’s not Letty’s aesthetic at all.” Winnie frowned at it. She carried it over so Amanda could get a better look at it.

  Amanda eyed it curiously. “No, definitely not Letty’s style.”

  “Maybe Letty felt like she knew the artist,” Rupert suggested.

  Winnie gave the print a critical assessing look. “I mean, it’s not the best painting I’ve ever seen. Sure, it’s evocative, mood-wise, but—”

  Amanda gasped. “Let me see that.” She snatched it out of Winnie’s hand and practically pressed her nose against the paper, trying to get a better look at the signature. “It’s only signed with one name.” Amanda looked across the room at the ghost who was standing there with his hands on his hips, waiting expectantly. “It says Rupert.”

  “Guy must be full of himself to only use one name,” Winnie said, unaware of the significance.

  Ignoring her sister, Amanda stared at the ghost. “So,” she said slowly. “If the bakery used to be a bar, what was this shop?”

  “Who are you talking to?” Winnie sounded worried.

  Rupert shrugged. “As far as I know, it’s always been retail.”

  “So it wasn’t yours?” she said.

  He shook his head. “Now, where the carpenter’s place is… That has amazing light.”

  “Are you talking to a ghost?” Winnie asked with concern.

  Amanda nodded. “Shut up.”

  Her sister huffed her annoyance, crossed her arms over her chest, and tapped her foot impatiently.

  “It used to be my studio,” Rupert confided. “Before it was a pawn shop, which was before it was the carpenter’s space.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Amanda said. “Is that why you’re sticking around?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone has reasons for doing the things they do. I wanted to protect that piece.” He pointed at what she held. “Specifically, I wanted to protect the original.”

  “And where’s that?” Amanda asked.

  “On the ceiling of the carpenter’s shop,” Rupert confided.

  Amanda looked down at the print she held, confused.

  “So where did this come from?”

  “That horrible woman, Amber Axelrod. She breezed into the pawn shop, trying to unload a fake Dali.”

  “She had a fake doll?” Amanda asked, confused.

  Rupert rolled his eyes. “Dali. Salvador Dali. He has his own museum over in Saint Petersburg.”

  Exasperated by the bewildering one-sided conversation, Winnie blurted out, “Why are you talking about dolls?”

  “Shhh!” Amanda ordered.

  Winnie stuck her tongue out, but remained silent.

  Amanda looked to the ghost to continue.

  “Axelrod took some pictures of the painting. Then someone reproduced it as an oil on canvas, and passed it off as an original,” Rupert said unhappily.

  “They forged your work?” Amanda gasped.

  “Who forged what work?” Winnie asked impatiently.

  Rupert nodded. “Yes. And your sister figured that out over an hour ago. You might want to go get her out of trouble.”

  49

  Beatrice, who’d pulled a non-descript, oversized black dress over her other clothing so she’d be mistaken for a hotel employee, sat in her wheelchair, pretending to be an elevator attendant. She made conversation with all the men who entered the elevator, trying to identify the voice of the man who had t
hreatened Letty.

  She recognized his voice the moment he stepped into the elevator, talking on his phone in a booming tone that was too loud for the enclosed space, refusing to even acknowledge her.

  “Another hour,” he said into his phone, “and we can leave this hell-baked city forever.”

  Beatrice listened to the conversation with interest. After he exited the elevator, she followed him. The rooftop party was stunning, replete with tables covered with billowing white cloths, champagne, a five-piece band playing classical music that was partially drowned out by the rumbling of approaching thunder. The mood oozed wealth and privilege.

  The setting was elegant, but no amount of money can control the weather. The sky overhead was growing darker with every passing moment and the wind was messing up the carefully-coiffed ’do’s of the city’s elite. Nottingham was making the rounds, a fake smile pasted on his face, trying to assure people they were perfectly safe from the approaching storm.

  Bea tucked her wheelchair into a back corner, hoping the charity organizer wouldn’t notice her.

  Ash’s fancy frame was against the roof’s edge, the art contained in it covered by royal blue silk sleeves that rippled as the wind buffeted them.

  She spotted the man from the elevator talking to Ash at the opposite end of the roof. He was still in his jeans and t-shirt, a direct contrast to the well-heeled party-goers and sharply uniformed staff.

  He said something to Ash, who frowned angrily and opened his mouth to protest, but the other man turned his back on him. Ash glanced around the party.

  She slunk down in her seat, hiding behind a melting ice manatee so he couldn’t see her.

  Jaw tense and hands balled into fists, Ash stalked away.

  She watched him get into the elevator and descend. He looked unhappy, and Beatrice wasn’t sure if that was because their scam was falling apart or because Ash was just an innocent employee who had been unceremoniously dismissed by the smug thug.

  For a moment, she considered chasing after him, telling him what she’d discovered, and the threat against Letty, but instead her attention was grabbed by the arrival of Amber Axelrod, wearing a heavily-tassled silver dress that made her look like a walking spider web. She made eye contact with the man from the elevator, but then advanced on Nottingham with an unabashedly seductive smile.