Pentimento

Chapter 8 - Start that investigation

"I know him! He is the one that encouraged me to teach!"

Marjorie stared at her; questions written all over her face.

"Okay, not directly. He used to be semi-famous. I attended a lecture by him once and he gave me his card and told me that I could teach art if I wanted to!"

Marjorie's eyes moved all over the room, her brain trying to fit these details into a logical narrative.

"Where was this lecture? What did he talk about?"

"I don't remember, really. Art, I suppose. It was at the Base Museum."

"Do you think it is him?"

Rose closed her eyes to think. Even though the name would be burned into her memory forever, there had never been a visual to go with it.

Frustrated she put the paper back on the table. "Oh, I don't know! I haven't seen him again since that lecture at the museum. I didn't go to teach at the art department, I teach psychology," she paused for a second, "I try and avoid the art department. I've never been near it."

"Don't worry! That's quite understandable. Let's go over the rest of the names."

Rose didn't recognize any other name. Hopeless, she looked at Marjorie.

"I'm sorry for bringing you all this way."

Marjorie stared at the name on the paper, Evert Headley, she let it ring in her head over and over, it made her shiver. It wasn't so much a creeped-out shiver, more one of those shivers you used to get when you got out of the bus on a school trip, finally seeing the amusement park you'd dreamed about the night before and very eager to explore and enjoy.

Of course, she wouldn't let Rose know that. She looked old, even in the soft light of the cozy lights inside. Marjorie had calculated that she couldn't be much older than fifty-three, but the wrinkles on her forehead and the tired look in her eyes suggested she had seen enough tragedy for several lifetimes.

"What do you want to do next?" Marjorie asked.

"Nothing?"

Marjorie frowned. Nothing? She thought about that option for a few seconds.

"In two years, they would get legal ownership. They could sell it back to the museum..." she eventually said.

"Or?" asked Rose, biting her nails.

"Or they could sell it to a big-time criminal who could use it as leverage when he gets caught."

"I don't think that's it. The Dutch government wouldn't do that. We don't negotiate with criminals like that."

"Honey, it's happened before. Why do you think art gets stolen in the first place?"

Rose pondered over that question. She'd read it in the books she had gotten from the library, but they never mentioned the Netherlands. There was another reason she hadn't thought about it too much. There was no reason solid enough for someone to kill James, so whatever was the answer, it didn't matter much to her.

Still, it felt like someone was poking at her heart with small, sharp needles. Putting them in, pulling them out only to push them in again. James died, so some rich criminal could get a few years off his sentence. That sounded worse than she could have imagined herself.

To Marjorie's relief, she said, "I can't let that happen."

"Well... I don't really know what we could do..."

"Maybe you could ask around a little bit, at your work for example?"

"And then what?"

"I could come and investigate?"

"Didn't you book a flight back?"

Marjorie waved her concern away with her hands in the air. "I'll get a hotel in your city and just stay there for a bit to see what our options are."

She talked about it like it was a vacation, for her, this was even more exciting than a vacation.

"You can stay with me if you want? I have a guest bedroom if you'd like?"

"Wonderful!" Marjorieclapped her hands together.