Waterbury Winter, page 20
Julia pauses for a sip of wine, then goes on.
“Horace had gotten pretty drunk by the time we finished. He got angry and went after Mike. I guess he didn’t want to strike me, a woman. Mike was drinking as well, and the two of them came to blows. Sean tried to pull them apart, but finally had to call the police. They arrested Horace, who witnesses said instigated things, for assault and disturbing the peace. He never forgave me for winning, and Mike and I never went to O’Malley’s again after that.”
“Aha. Now everything makes sense. Thanks for explaining it all. But you weren’t to blame for what happened, so why all the embarrassment?”
“I should never have been with a man like Mike. It was one of my less successful relationships, and I thought you would think worse of me for even being around people like him and Horace.”
“Well, I’m relieved to know this. Why should I judge you? I’ve had problems of my own and done things I’m not proud of. It’s good you never knew me when I was a heavy drinker. I can tell the difference, now that I’m sober again.”
She reaches over and touches his arm.
“It’s really so good to see you,” he says.
Sean approaches the table. “So, we have two winners here.”
“Only one, I believe,” Barnaby says.
“Two.” Sean turns to Julia. “Barnaby won $500 in a fishing contest.”
“Well. I’m impressed. Didn’t know you liked fishing,” Julia says.
“I don’t. It was a fluke.”
“Go on.”
“There’s nothing to say. What’s strange about it is Horace Holmes competed as well. He got mad when I won.”
Julia laughs. “Serves him right.”
“That was some game you played, Julia,” Sean says. “May I bring you another drink?”
“No, thank you. I have to leave now. I’ve had enough excitement for one day. This place wears me out.”
“That’s the whole idea. It’s another world. Congratulations again.”
Julia turns toward Barnaby. “I really have to go. Great seeing you.”
She stands up, flings on her coat, and strides toward the door, blowing Charley a kiss. He’ll never know how big a favor he did me tonight.
CHAPTER 34
Barnaby stares after Julia. He’s not sure if she wants to see him again or not. He’s surprised at his powerful attraction to her and feeling of pride when she won the pool contest. It would all be easier to understand if he’d had more experience and knew what to expect from a woman’s mixed signals. Seeing her pushed recent unpleasant events out of his mind. She’s magnificent. As he sits in the bar’s corner, he considers what he can do to please her. Then his eyes light up: flowers for her birthday. It’s late, but that’s okay.
The following day, he calls a local florist and arranges delivery to her home.
She calls him right away. “Thank you for the flowers. They caught me completely by surprise. Red tulips. Lovely.”
“Happy birthday and congratulations again on winning the game. I was hoping you’d like to go out with me this weekend.”
“I’d love to.”
“Wonderful! I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again.”
“Sorry if I gave you that impression. I needed time to think things through, and the flowers came at just the right moment.”
Barnaby smiles with satisfaction. The flowers were a good idea.
Meanwhile, the troubling business of the lost paintings haunts him. He can’t reconcile himself to the idea of letting the scammer go. Preoccupied on his workday, he vacillates, blaming himself for foolishly eliminating the emails and then forgiving his errors because of his inexperience at using a computer.
But then he remembers he had sent them to Oregon. So probably Horace wasn’t involved, though the timing pointed to him. Who else could it be? Sly? But he doesn’t think Sly would engage in such shady dealings when he has a business reputation to consider. It’s puzzling that the shipping address was Oregon—although if someone were trying to hide their identity, that would be a good way of doing so. He scolds himself. Face it, Barnaby. You’re in over your head, too new in the online business to understand how to protect your interests—and drowning underwater, as you will be soon if you don’t keep up with your house loan payments.
He’s at a loss for what to do, but talking to Julia couldn’t hurt. She’s smart and competent and might have some suggestions. Calling her at work, he explains that he’d like her to help with a thorny problem regarding his online painting business.
“How so? I wasn’t aware you had one.”
“Only recently started it. Without going into many details, it’s possible Horace Holmes stole three of my paintings. Is there any way you could see him and talk to him? I need to find out if he has any connections in Oregon.”
“Barnaby, I’d like to help, but without understanding all the details, there’s not much I can do. Besides, how would I approach him? He’s not a friend.”
“Right, but you could call him up and ask him for coffee or something as a pretext. He’d hardly refuse a meeting with a pretty woman. I think his ego is big enough that he’d be flattered you asked.”
“But he saw you with me at the bar. He might guess I’m on your side and get suspicious, especially if he’s guilty of theft. Talk more about that.”
He explains the details of how he got scammed.
“Good God,” Julia says. “What bad luck. So you lost the paintings. Did you lose a lot of money as well?”
“Two thousand actual cash loss and nine thousand in paintings.”
“Oh dear. Have you called the police?”
“Yes, but I can’t give them much to go on.” He continues to explain the series of events leading to the possibility that Horace had something to do with the theft. “I know there’s only a slight chance he’s the scammer, but I’d like to satisfy my curiosity,” he says.
“My God,” she says. “I suddenly remembered. He has a pretty impressive art collection. Look, it wouldn’t work if I talked to him, but I could ask my lawyer friend Nancy what to do. You might need her services, anyway. Let me talk to her. We’ll try to work something out. I’ll tell you when I have something to report, but it may take a while.”
Barnaby hangs up the phone and paces the kitchen. He can only wait and see now he’s left things in Julia’s hands. His head buzzes from all the fretting.
CHAPTER 35
“I need some advice,” Julia says to Nancy on the phone. “Would it be a conflict of interest if you did a little sleuthing?”
“Possibly. It would depend on whether I’m providing legal services for the party involved. Who are we talking about?”
“Barnaby. Someone scammed him, and he wants to find out who.”
“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that? Does he want to take legal action?”
“No, nothing like that, at least, not yet. Let me get straight to the point. He sold three paintings over the internet and shipped them to a man called Steven Michael before the check cleared. It turned out to be a bogus cashier’s check. There’s no hard evidence, but he and I suspect Horace Holmes. You remember what a creep he is. Barnaby wanted me to talk to him and find out if he’s a suspect. I can’t do it because Horace saw me with him recently, and so if he’s guilty, he wouldn’t talk freely. But he doesn’t know you. All I’d like you to do is casually sit down with him and ask him some questions. You’d need to feel your way so you don’t arouse suspicion.”
“I can’t do that,” Nancy says, “but it looks as though your friend could use some legal advice for protection in the future. This might be a case for the police, or FBI if it’s an organized scam out of state. How are things going between you and Barnaby, anyway?”
“We have a date this weekend. Meanwhile, he asked for help with the tangle he’s created as part of his new online art business.”
Nancy smirks. “I’ve heard about cases of scams aimed at artists. I don’t mean to stereotype, but those creative people are often clueless and easy victims.”
Julia shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “He’s not really clueless,” she says, uncertainly. “Only luckless.”
“Well, has he reported this scam to the police?”
“Yes. But as I’ve said, he has no factual evidence. Just a strong hunch. The police can’t act on that.”
“What makes Barnaby think Horace is a criminal? It could have been someone else, anyone who saw the website.”
“True, but the timing suggests him. The website had only been up for a couple of days, and right afterward Barnaby went ice fishing. Horace was there. He made disparaging remarks about Barnaby, who apparently sketched the scene. What got him hopping mad was Barnaby’s winning the fishing contest.”
Nancy snorts. “Barnaby won a fishing contest?”
“So then shortly afterwards Horace showed up at O’Malley’s and started pumping the bartender for information about Barnaby, asking about his skill as an artist.”
“Hmm. Okay, that could seem like circumstantial evidence. Barnaby shipped the paintings to Oregon, to someone called Steven Michael, right?”
“So I understand.”
Nancy groans. “What can I say? It’s classic. That’s often how scammers work. They give false names, a distant address so the shipping costs are higher, and pass a fraudulent check.”
“Oh dear. Didn’t know this was so common.”
“More than you’d think. Makes me mad. The victims usually don’t protect themselves by obtaining legal advice first. I understand they can’t afford it, but it often costs them in the long run. Actually, I’d consider doing some pro bono work for artists for this reason.”
“Great. Perhaps you could start with Barnaby.”
“For your sake, I’ll consider it. Your Barnaby sounds like a good man, despite his troubles.”
“You’re a true friend. Thank you.”
Relieved that her sensible and knowledgeable friend would help Barnaby, Julia turns her attention to the immediate task, her family history project. When she brought her beloved old dollhouse home, she set it on Alice’s chest containing documents in a corner of her bedroom. Now she lifts it up. The wooden house, sliced open to display the rooms, feels light in her arms, and the miniature figures and furniture shift as she tips it onto the floor. She kneels beside it and delicately restores the pieces to their original positions. How many times had she done that, wanting to restore order, even as a small child? Maybe now she’s moving into a new adult phase of her life, at last.
She lifts the musty books from the chest and examines each one before placing it in a pile by chronology. The earliest letters, dated 1882, involve correspondence between Alice’s great-great grandmother Emma Hampton and her English family about her sea voyage to America. Several more letters to her family describe her happy marriage to Thomas Lowell. After 1890 Julia can’t find any further letters from Emma but discovers a divorce agreement giving custody of her child Robert to her husband. This must have been a scandal in 1890. She hopes later documents and photographs will tell the story, but fears her ancestor had suffered in marriage, as Alice had. And as she had. Julia doesn’t believe in curses handed down from one generation to another, but even if true, the curse will end with her. She’s sure Alice would have wanted that, and she knows it’s within her power to do so.
CHAPTER 36
Barnaby reviews the newspaper clipping Brooke gave him, then visits the Waterbury Arts Commission website and scrolls down to find details about the mural competition. A private donor is financing the project to honor Waterbury’s industrial past. Images of historic buildings in the National Register District are especially welcome. Artists are required to submit drawings as part of the application. He’ll enjoy preparing them, using the new subject matter.
Saturday arrives, the day of his date with Julia. They have agreed to go to the Country House again, for lunch this time, when daylight will allow them to see more of the countryside, something they both appreciate. They wear heavy coats and snugly fitting hats, and their spirits soar skyward as they reach the old farmhouse. The hazy winter sun throws purple shadows on the snow, and thickly forested hills stretch into the distance, bare limbs softening in the gray mist.
Barnaby inhales the chilly air. “So pure, like spring water,” he says, exhaling a thin cloud of breath. “Let’s walk around and see the animals before we go inside.”
The black cows stand with bent heads in a field near a rust-colored barn. As Barnaby and Julia approach, they look up, their dark eyes serene.
“It must be a good life for these cattle,” Julia says. “They’re in a lovely place, are well fed, and they have a barn to go to in bad weather.”
They watch a flock of crows fly overhead, their loud cawing fading as the birds become black flecks vanishing in the sky.
“I’ve always wanted to live in the country,” Julia says. “I grew up in Boston, and we usually got out of town in summer.”
“I’ve lived in a city all my life, but I like it here. Freer. More expansive. Like the ocean.”
He takes her hand. They stroll to the restaurant, their footsteps crunching on the frozen snow.
“Mr. Brown. Welcome back, sir,” the maître d’ says as they enter the dining room. He shows them to their table next to a window. Barnaby shivers as the outside air penetrates the glass and observes Julia, who sits hunched, arms hugging her chest.
“Are you comfortable here? Shall we ask for a table next to the fire?” he says.
“I’d like that.”
Barnaby flags the server’s attention and asks for different seating. Soon they’re placed in a warmer spot, ordering their food. They both refuse wine.
“I wasn’t aware you grew up in Massachusetts. There’s still so much to learn about you.”
“Well, I was born in Boston and I’ve lived in New England all my life. I planned to teach, but I never completed the training because my mother became ill and I moved out of the dorm to look after her at home. She died of leukemia the summer after my junior year of college.”
Barnaby remembers how he had watched Anna die. “I know how sad losing someone can be, especially when it’s slow.”
She nods, sniffing. “Anyway, soon after I graduated, I got married. Too soon. I still missed my mother. My father remarried, I felt lonely, and I wanted my own family. But as I’ve mentioned, the marriage wasn’t a success. My husband became violent when in the manic phase of his condition.”
Barnaby touches her arm. “Excuse me for asking, but did he hurt you?”
“Sometimes.” She moves her arm and fiddles with her napkin. “Anyway, after the divorce, I moved to New York and earned my master’s degree in social work. That’s where I met Lisa. She had already qualified and was working in the field. When she took the job in Waterbury, she suggested I move as well, and I’ve lived here ever since. She’s a longtime friend, although lately she’s not been as friendly.”
“So that’s how you ended up here. As you know, Waterbury’s hardly the garden spot of New England.”
“True, but it has its character. Hard to explain how a place weaves itself into your heart, but it does.”
Barnaby blinks. The thought had never occurred to him, but it makes sense.
Their food arrives. Barnaby takes a sip of soup and puts down his spoon. “Too hot.”
“Better hot than cold. That’s true of relationships, too,” she says, smiling.
He gulps. She’s flirtatious! How can she mirror his own feelings, stating them so boldly? “Uh . . . I understand colors more. Cool colors versus warm. Blue versus red.”
“And I’m red?” she asks.
“Yes.” He beams at her.
She gives him a shy smile. “Okay, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They finish their soup and wait for the next course.
He leans forward. “You know, comfort is important. Things have to fit, like elements in a painting. Works of art are like homes. When they’re a refuge, the colors are warm.”
“Makes sense, but cool colors make beautiful paintings, too. Take blue, for example, your favorite.”
“True, but I’ve been thinking lately that I’ve spent too long allowing the cold to seep the warmth from my life. It’s no way to live . . . and you know what?” He smiles. “I think that we’re fine, and we should go back to O’Malley’s.” He regards her solemnly. “Neither one of us has anything to apologize for, and it’s long past time for forgiving ourselves.”
“You’re right,” she says.
“We also need to come here again, to this valley. I’d like to see the place in summer, when everything’s green.”
“Agreed.”
They finish their lunch and drive back to Julia’s condo. They talk easily until midnight. As he puts his arms around her and kisses her—a long, lingering kiss—the thought passes through his mind that he could quite happily spend the next forty years at her side.
CHAPTER 37
O’Malley’s is empty but for Professor Miller. Barnaby wants to have an early dinner and a Coke and go home. Sean hands him a drink, and Barnaby walks to his usual seat. As he passes the professor, he asks, “How’s the investigation going? Have you uncovered the identity of our mystery poet yet?”
“Still no clues, but whoever it is keeps publishing. Today’s poem is a limerick, though it doesn’t fit the traditional format. Quite silly, but then limericks are. Want to hear it?” “Sure. Silly poems are always welcome.”
“There’s no title, but it’s signed N. Staey again.” He recites the poem.
“The young beauty appears
At all times of the year
All eyes are upon her. It’s true.
But she sits at the bar
With a smile from afar
And the men have found others to woo.”
“I guess we know who this one’s about. So that eliminates Brooke from the list of possible authors,” Barnaby says. “Any other ideas?”
