Studying the picture in the newspaper, Charlie Chief
thought, this could be the break they’d been hoping for.
Sunlight
filtered through the Low-E glass windows and pale-blue curtains. A
painting of woods and water from Charlie’s North Woods and Native American
origin hung on the wall in the living room of the Victorian in Woodstock,
Illinois. Framed photographs of his and his son’s fiancée graced the top
of the mahogany hutch.
Charlie
leaned forward on his recliner and rested his hands on the teak coffee
table. “Look at this photo in the newspaper, Jimmy.” He didn’t give
a hint as to his reason for asking.
After
stretching, Jimmy got up from the leather recliner and peered over his father’s
shoulder at the picture. “Why would Pat Strom have his picture in the
newspaper?”
A
robust man in his mid-twenties, Jimmy always seemed to have a smile lingering
just behind his rugged features. Except for streaks of gray in Charlie’s
black hair and a few wrinkles in his bronze complexion, he and Jimmy could have
been brothers.
Handing
Jimmy the paper, Charlie said, “That’s not Pat, but he sure is a dead ringer
for him. That’s an art expert, Gene Ness…”
Without
letting his father finish, Jimmy said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking
about our client and that Maxwell Conn guy?”
Their
client, Alicia Gomez, a chunky brunette with a stubby nose, complained to the
Chiefs about being cheated by Maxwell Conn when Alicia sold a painting for
$200.00 to Maxwell at his gallery. She had gotten the painting with its
HO initials at a local auction for about a hundred dollars several years
earlier. At first it fit into her décor, but she redecorated. She
took it to Maxwell Conn, who gave her two hundred. A relative noticed the
missing Merry Woodland Folk, the title of the painting. Alicia
told her relative of the painting sale. The woman said, “You’re
kidding? You sold an original Horace O’Toole for two hundred? It’s
worth plenty.” No sooner had Alicia heard the story then she went back to
see Maxwell Conn; however, the transaction was legal with a signed bill of
sale. Alicia had no recourse. She then decided to consult with
private detectives, Charlie and Jimmy Chief. The Chiefs had no solution
until…
Smiling,
Charlie said, “Exactly. Now we approach Pat for a favor, an acting
assignment, identifying the Horace O’Toole painting as a copy - not an
original.”
While
his father talked, Jimmy got out his cell phone and punched in Pat Strom’s
phone number.
“While
you’re at it, you might as well give Alicia a call, too,” Charlie said, “and
tell her we might have a scheme to get her Horace back. Not a sure thing
though.”
***
Sitting
stiff, somber and upright in the Chief’s office, Pat shifted his glance from
side to side while Jimmy and Charlie went over the scenario. Usually
happy-go-lucky with a ready smile, Pat pressed his lanky back into the leather
chair as though to escape.
Jimmy
said, “A couple weeks ago Dad and I talked with employees in nearby stores to
find out anything about Maxwell Conn. ‘A shrewd business man,’ we were
told. We couldn’t find that he’d ever crossed the line and done anything
illegal.
“Next
I went into Maxwell Conn’s Gallery. We didn’t want to wait too long in
case another buyer turned up.” Pat clenched his hands together in front
of him, listening. “I looked around casually. I saw the Horace
O’Toole painting hanging on a wall. He signs HO on his paintings.
The painting shows an outdoors scene with forest folk at play. I asked
the price. Maxwell, I call him Maxie, tells me – ‘Sale price,
$2,500.’ Both Dad and I went to the gallery, once for each of us.
No headway for either of us. You could say so far it’s been a Maxie Conn
standoff.”
Pat’s
eyes opened wide. He gulped. Then he interrupted. “That’s a lot of
money for a painting. What if I goof up the scheme?”
“Calm
yourself, we’d be no worse for trying then we are now,” Charlie said.
“We’ll rehearse you. We have art world experience from our links with the
Aurora Borealis Extraordinaire caper, as Jimmy likes to call it.
You’ll have everything down pat, Pat, before we’ve finished. Go ahead,
Jimmy.”
Pat
stood up. “OK, if you guys have faith in me, let’s get started.” He
shook their hands before settling back, ready to rehearse the caper.
***
Parking
his BMW in front of Maxwell Conn’s Gallery, Pat Strom turned off the
ignition. Immersed in the identity of Gene Ness, he leaned back in the
leather seat, muttering to himself: “Brushstrokes, artist initials, color
choices.”
Jimmy
waited while Pat settled his thoughts, then he said, “Walk in boldly, head
up. Kind of look down your nose at the displays. Remember there’s a
woman in there ready to greet you as Ness. That in itself should convince
this Conn guy you are really Gene Ness. Now relax and go with the flow,
Pat – rather Gene”
Alicia
Gomez had gotten one of her lady friends to play the part of a Gene Ness
fan. .
The
two men got out of the car and sauntered into the gallery. An expansive
room greeted their eyes. A myriad of paintings hung on the walls, and
statues decorated tables, all artfully displayed.
At
the far end of the gallery, a man they supposed to be Maxwell and a woman stood
talking. She shook her head and walked away.
The
woman wearing a floppy hat and a stylish, gray dress approached Pat and
Jimmy. Wide eyed, she clapped her hands together. “Oh my. Mr.
Gene Ness, the art expert. How thrilling! I read all about you in the
newspaper and here you are in the flesh.”
Jimmy’s
cell phone beeped. He stepped away and answered it. “Yes,
speaking. Hi, Alicia. Oh, thanks for letting me know. So far
so good. Yes, here’s hoping. Bye.” He hung up and looked at
Pat and the woman. He had to warn Pat that Alicia couldn’t get the woman
friend to go to the gallery. Well, maybe not. To himself he said,
“”Who the ‘H’ is that woman? She’s really convinced that Pat is the art
expert, so who am I to shatter her illusion.”
His
hands on his hips, Jimmy stood several feet from the action, watching and ready
to dash to Pat’s aid if needed.
The
manager, Maxie, trailed behind the woman, smiling. He hovered a few feet
away, listening.
Not
expecting such a vocal welcome, Pat froze for an instant, but he remembered the
rehearsal. He looked to Jimmy. Jimmy nodded and forced a
smile. Pat said, “Yes, Ms, and thank you.”
He
was about to move on, but she persisted. “May I shake your hand?”
Better
than that, Pat hugged her while she giggled. “Thank you. I must
toddle off now.”
Jimmy
guided Pat towards the Horace O’Toole. It really stood out with the
oranges and yellows in the background and a bright blue sky, certainly a joyful
creation. All smiles, Jimmy said, “That was a nice touch that Alicia
thought of, wasn’t it?” He didn’t mention that the woman Alicia was to
have sent couldn’t make it. Why bother Pat with details and fluster him
now.
Out
of the corner of his eye, Jimmy saw the woman reenter the gallery.
“Excuse me, Pat.” Jimmy strode up to the woman, wondering if she’s
smelled a mouse. “Hi, Mr. Ness is busy just now. Can I help you?”
“Well,
how long will Mr. Ness be in town? The paper said that he wouldn’t be
available for appearances while…”
“Yes,
true, but I coaxed him to do this one favor.”
“Oh,
yes… I must be toddling.”
Jimmy
walked back to where Pat stood. “Whew, that was close.” Jimmy wiped his
brow from perspiration.
Pat
nodded while staring at the painting.”Hmm. Very well done, but…”
“But
what?” Jimmy responded in a loud voice while staring at the painting.
“Not
quite well done enough.” Pat said. The H. O. is off as are the brush
strokes and color ever so slightly.”
Jimmy
put his lips to Pat’s ear. “You mean it’s…”
Aloud,
Pat replied, “Right, Jimmy, I’d say. Hmm, offer about $200.00 for it.”
Jimmy
turned and bumped into Maxie Conn. Jimmy said, “I like the painting and
want to buy it. I’ll pay you, let’s say $250.00. Is…”
“Maxie
grabbed Jimmy’s hand and said, “Sold!”
***
The
triumphant group sat in the Chiefs’ Victorian home. They lifted glasses
of Riesling wine and toasted the Horace O’Toole painting propped up on the
sofa.
Smiling
after a glass of wine, Jimmy said, “I think it was the HO initials being
slightly off that sold Maxie on what Pat said.”
Alicia
said, “What ever. Thanks, Pat, Charlie and Jimmy, for getting Merry
Woodland Folk back for me.” She hugged each man and kissed each one
on his cheek.
Ever
ready, Charlie said, “You could say that Pat was our Trojan Horace at the
gallery.”
They
all chuckled, except for Jimmy’s “Oh, no.” His brain whirred, searching
for a pun to top his father.
“Now,”
Alicia said while opening her purse, “How much do I owe for a job well done?”
Pat
boomed out, “$2,000.”
Grabbing
the painting, Alicia bopped Pat on the head with it, cracking the frame.
She said, “Take that!”
“Hold
off, Alicia, he’s joking,” Charlie said. “You are joking, Pat?”
Rubbing
the top of his head, Pat smiled and nodded. “This role playing can get
dangerous.”
“Oh.
Oh,” Alicia said. “Sorry, Pat.” She gave him a second hug. “Guess
I’m still uptight about the Horace finagling.”
Setting
things straight, Charlie said, “A couple of hundred dollars is plenty.
Jimmy
spoke up, “Now that makes Horace c-e-n-t-s.”
B--
