Harbor Nights Read online

  “Missing is perhaps the wrong word. Disappeared may be better. I stopped by Framed this morning. The owner, Gunderson, wasn’t happy. The kid didn’t show up for work. He tried calling Muddd’s apartment and got no answer.”

  “Doesn’t mean he disappeared.”

  “No, but add it to the list of oddities.”

  “How long are you staying up there?”

  “Coming back Monday morning.”

  “You’re not going to stay and look for her?”

  “No. I’ll do some more poking around tomorrow and I have a few ideas.”

  “Are you worried about her?”

  I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t at first, but I am now that I saw the studio. But she has a lot of family and friends up here who would be more than willing to hide her. If she needs me, she’ll call.”

  “And if she does call?”

  “Then I’ll call you. There are some people I’d go to jail for, but she’s not one of them.”

  She was quiet. I hoped she believed me, but I wasn’t going to ask.

  “What are you going to do, Spencer?”

  “I want to check out the Chicago part of this puzzle. What do you know about the Simmons Gallery?”

  “Not much. After some confusion, they reported a painting as stolen and the kid who works there said he saw Kathleen walking out with it.”

  I put my feet up on the coffee table. “That would be Harbor Nights?”

  “Right.”

  “Did he actually see the painting she walked out with?”

  “Well, I don’t know. But that’s the painting that’s missing.”

  “So he may have just assumed that was the painting,” I said.

  “What else would it be?”

  I explained the confusion with the names. “I don’t see her having any reason for taking Harbor Nights. She was trying to sell it.”

  “But it is missing.”

  “Yeah, strange. Are you going back there?”

  “Me! Really? I lost their suspect. That’s the last place I want to be! When we find her, we’ll get them for an ID.”

  “I hate to ask, but would you do me a favor?”

  “Depends. What?”

  “Run this Cletis Muddd. Paul said he moved to Door from Tennessee with a stop in Chicago. I’d like to know where.”

  “You think he’s involved?”

  “Theft and a missing suspect and the kid disappears. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, weird. Let me know how Simmons goes.”

  I sat up and glanced out the picture window. An almost-full orange moon was rising out of the water, looking twice as big as it does up higher in the sky. “I’m going to stop there Monday morning. How ‘bout lunch?”

  “Well, if you don’t mind company, sure.”

  “Company?”

  “We have a new detective reporting Monday—Brenda Pitcher. I’m taking her to lunch.”

  “Fine with me. Does this mean Steele has a new partner?”

  She laughed. “Usually, but I kinda like the guy. Don’t know if I want to give him up.”

  “I thought he drove you nuts.”

  “He does, but he’s growing on me. He can be frustrating, but just when I decide I’ve had it he does something extraordinary.”

  “Okay, your funeral. Where and when for lunch?”

  “Molly’s—noon.”

  “See you then, Rosie. Get some sleep.”

  “Night, Spencer.”

  I watched the man in the moon smiling down on the bay for a few minutes and then headed for bed. I had been up since five and was beat.

  Chapter 13

  Simmons was a typical storefront on Clark Street just south of Belmont. Lots of glass with paintings displayed in the windows. I got there at ten-thirty Monday morning and walked in. A bell over the door rang. There was no one in sight, but there were signs of activity. It looked like paintings were in the midst of being displayed in the main room off to the left. They were Kathleen’s. I looked through a break in the middle of the wall into another room and saw a wall filled with clown pictures. I had always been leery of clowns.

  Dad took us to the circus every year at the Masonic Temple. Mom loved the clowns. They were her favorite part. Mine was the acrobats, and the music. There was something about the clowns that bothered me. Mom just gave me a hug and laughed. One of my friends called me a scaredy-cat, but I wasn’t scared—I just didn’t trust them. What were they hiding?

  I faced my nemesis and looked at the clown paintings. I was in the back corner when a man came into the main room without noticing me and started placing paintings on easels. He looked to be in his fifties, was nicely dressed in an immaculately tailored blue suit, and had beady eyes and too much forehead. I could have watched for a while and learned something about placing paintings, but I had better things to do. I walked up to a few feet behind him and cleared my throat. He jumped and turned around with a look of fear.

  “Oh my. I’m sorry. You startled me. I didn’t see you there.”

  I backed up a few feet. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I got caught up in watching you work.”

  His eyes closed a bit, he sort of shivered, and then looked puzzled. “And you are?”

  I held out a card. “Spencer Manning. I’m a friend of Kathleen Johnson.”

  It was quick, but he flinched. He recovered well.

  “And you are here because…” he said slowly and carefully.

  “Just trying to get some culture. Interesting clown exhibit.”

  He sighed. “That’s not exactly my idea of culture. My assistant set that up—he likes clowns, and, more importantly, so does a wealthy benefactor. The only one I like is the sad one—some pretty strong emotions there. So, why are you really here?”

  He hadn’t bought my culture story. “Well, I’m trying to straighten out this missing painting situation.”

  “What about it? I understand Miss Johnson was arrested. My employee is going to have to make an ID.”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t make sense to me.” He didn’t respond. “I like things to make sense.”

  He went back to adjusting a painting. “Not everything does, Mr. Manning.”

  I nodded. I had long ago stopped trying to make sense of Kathleen. “I agree, but this is keeping me awake at night.”

  “That is a shame,” he said with no concern for my sleep habits.

  He wasn’t good at sincerity. I continued without it.

  “The police say you saw her take a painting.”

  “Not me. My employee.”

  I moved around in front of him. “And I don’t doubt that. But I think she took a painting that wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place.”

  He answered without looking at me. “That I know nothing about. There is a painting missing and she walked out with a painting. Simple logic.”

  “And which painting would that be?”

  “That would be Harbor Nights.”

  I moved some more but he kept looking away. “I understand there was some confusion with the painting Blue and Green.”

  “Not as far as I know, Mr. Manning.”

  “Did you check the paintings when they arrived?”

  “Do I look like I check in paintings? Now, if you will excuse me, I need to concentrate on my work.”

  “Sure, I can see you aren’t at your best. Is your employee here?”

  “Which employee would that be?”

  “That would be the one who saw her walk out with a painting.” I was working hard to be polite.

  “Yes, but he’s busy. We’re working on your friend’s show.”

  “I’d just like a few minutes.”

  “Well, perhaps if you come back this afternoon.”

  I nodded. “Okay. What’s his name?”

  “Tony Vitale.”

  “And your name is?”

  He straightened his back with a haughty stance and looked me in the eye for the first time. “Mr. Bloom,” he said, with the emphasis o
n the Mr.

  “You’re the owner, Mr. Bloom?”

  “Hardly. I am the curator.”

  “And who is the owner?”

  “I don’t see where that is any of your business, Mr. Manning.”

  “When Tony said he saw Kathleen take the painting, you called the police and then checked the paintings you had?”

  “Yes.”

  “And all thirteen were there. Correct?”

  He looked nervous. “Well, we thought so. At least that’s what I was told.”

  “Did you check the names?”

  “No, Tony counted them.”

  “So nothing was stolen.”

  I could see tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and he appeared to be agitated. I continued.

  “But the next day there was a missing painting.”

  “Yes.”

  “So couldn’t it have been stolen after Kathleen left?”

  He took a breath and tried to regain control. He didn’t wipe off the sweat and still looked flustered.

  “All I know is there was a missing painting and she was seen walking out with one. And you have taken up enough of my time.”

  “Well, thank you for sparing some.” I didn’t offer my hand.

  He turned back to the painting and fiddled with the easel.

  As I was walking out, he asked, “Do you know when?”

  “When what?”

  “When Tony is going to have to make the ID. I can’t spare him for long.”

  “You’ll have to talk to the police about that.”

  “I’ll just do that,” he said contemptuously. “It had better not take too long—that’s all I can say.” He had recovered his composure and his insolence.

  I let myself out and walked back along the windows, glancing in. He was gone. I wondered if I had stirred another pot.

  Chapter 14

  I parked on the street a few doors from Molly’s a little before noon. A block from the station, it was a family restaurant serving breakfast and lunch and it was a popular police hangout. I nodded to several people I knew while looking around the diner. Rosie wasn’t there. I sat near the door.

  A few minutes before noon, a nervous-looking girl wearing a blue blazer came in and scanned the crowd. She walked slowly over to me.

  “Are you Mr. Manning?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I am. You must be Brenda.”

  She smiled. Brown, shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, a pug nose, and a nice smile. But overall, pretty homely.

  “May I sit?”

  I smiled back. “Of course.” I held out my hand and she slid into the booth opposite me.

  A waitress dropped off another glass of water. I told her we were expecting another and would order when she got there.

  “Detective Lonnigan is going to be late,” Brenda said nervously. She looked around the diner. “She said to entertain you.” She barely smiled. “I’m not sure what that means.”

  There was something very odd about her voice. The words were kind of pinched off at the ends, almost like someone had their hands around her throat and squeezed a little whenever she talked. It sounded painful, but she didn’t look like she was in any pain.

  “Hmm. I can’t wait to find out,” I said with a slight smile.

  “I’m also not supposed to take anything you say seriously.”

  “Nice. I’ll have to have a talk with her.”

  She looked surprised. “Oh, no. That isn’t from Detective Lonnigan, it’s from…”

  I held up my hand. “That’s okay. I know who it’s from.”

  We chatted for a half hour before Rosie showed up. Pitcher became more confident as she talked. She told me about growing up in a little town in southern Illinois and how she ended up as a cop on the streets of Chicago. I didn’t quite follow the story, but it seemed like a big jump to me. But here she was, and her excitement about being a detective was obvious.

  Rosie finally arrived, slid in next to me, and I caught the waitress’ eye. Two Cokes and an iced tea for Brenda.

  Looking at me suspiciously, Rosie asked Brenda, “Did he behave himself?”

  With a laugh, Brenda replied, “Yes. We had a nice chat.”

  Rosie squinted at me with a smile. “Give him time.”

  “I stopped by Simmons,” I said. “Met a guy named Bloom. Says he’s the curator.” I emphasized every syllable of the word.

  The waitress dropped off the drinks and took our order.

  Rosie took a long drink and, after chatting about the weather, asked if I had made any progress with Bloom.

  I rolled my eyes. “That guy’s a piece of work. Attitude from here to Door County.”

  “Tell me about it. I wish I had a reason to arrest him.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll find one.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Did you get Cletis’ address, Rosie?”

  “Not yet. As soon as I get it I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks. I assume you haven’t heard anything from up north.”

  She shook her head while chewing. The burger wasn’t as good as Coyote’s, but it was tasty. Hard to ruin a quarter pound of beef.

  “What’s your plan?” I asked.

  “Not much.” She wiped her mouth. “We’re working on three other cases. A missing painting isn’t going to get much attention.”

  “Sure.” I didn’t mention the missing person. I needed her on my side.

  “And what’s your next move?”

  “Going back to Simmons this afternoon and talk to Tony. I’d like to get his take on the theft.”

  “His take is Kathleen took the painting.”

  “Yes, but which painting?”

  “Good luck with that. He’s cut out of the same cloth as Bloom, but not as refined.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  We chatted some more as we finished eating. I asked Brenda if she looked forward to working with Steele. She said she would be happy to work with anyone. I wished her luck, paid for lunch, and left.

  Chapter 15

  I took a few hours to run errands and then headed back to Simmons around three. It had started to drizzle.

  The bell rang again when I entered. This time a man came out of the back almost immediately. Slicked-back black hair, about six foot, pointy nose, and eyes too close together. I guessed mid-twenties. He wore dark slacks and a grey knit shirt. Evidently the dress code didn’t require suits. I asked if he was Tony. He was.

  “My name is Manning.” I handed him a card.

  “Yeah, I figured. The boss said you’d be coming back.”

  “I have a few questions.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’ll have any answers.”

  And I thought Bloom was bad.

  “I understand you saw Kathleen Johnson walking out with a painting on Wednesday.”

  “Yup. I was just coming out of the back room when I saw her. She almost made it, but I caught her.”

  “What do you mean, she almost made it?”

  “She was almost to the door. She almost got away with it.”

  I gave him my best perplexed look. “But she did get away with it. You didn’t stop her.”

  He glared at me. “I don’t mean the painting—I mean the crime. I saw her. I’m a witness.”

  “Ah, I see. Do you always leave the gallery unattended?”

  “Oh, it isn’t unattended. But we have a small staff. Sometimes we’re in the back, working. But we come out to the front if the bell rings.”

  “So how did she have time to find the painting and almost get out with it unseen?”

  “I remember being on the phone, and I was the only one here at the time. I got out as soon as I could.”

  I continued to press my point. “When I was at the gallery this morning, I was alone looking at paintings for a good five minutes. Then Mr. Bloom walked out and was startled to find me there. What about the bell?”

  He acted a bit flustered and stuttered, trying to close the holes in his story. “Mr. Bloom is an old
man—he doesn’t hear so well.”

  I nodded. “Mr. Bloom said you were working in the back and couldn’t talk to me. Didn’t you hear the bell?”

  More stuttering. “Well, I, I assumed Mr. Bloom would see to it. I was busy.”

  “Hmmm. And which painting was it you saw her take?”

  “Harbor Nights.”

  “Did you actually see the painting?”

  He stared through me. I hadn’t given him any reason to hate me, but his eyes said he did.

  “I saw all I needed to.”

  “But did you see the painting?”

  He started to walk away.

  “What does ‘all you needed to’ mean?”

  He turned around. “It means exactly that. Why don’t you just mind your own business, Manning.”

  “Because minding your business is a lot more interesting. And your business just doesn’t make sense, Tony. Kathleen had sent that painting down as part of the showing. Why would she take it?”

  He shrugged. “Who the hell knows? That broad isn’t all there.”

  I ignored the insult and kept my response to myself.

  He turned and started to walk away again.

  “Do you know Cletis Muddd?”

  “Who?”

  “Cletis Muddd. Three Ds.”

  He looked thoughtful and rubbed his chin. It looked almost sincere.

  “No, can’t say as I do. Now you have a nice day, Mr. Manning.”

  I replied before he could turn away. “Seems pretty strange, Tony, not to know somebody you’ve met.” It also seemed strange that he didn’t ask about the three Ds.

  “And where would I have met this Cletis?”

  “Mr. Bloom tells me you’re the one who signed in the paintings from the frame shop.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Well, Cletis was the kid who delivered them.”

  His face lost the puzzled look. “That kid’s name is Cletis?”

  “It is.”

  “Strange name. Certainly would have remembered that if I had known.”

  I nodded. “Uh huh. But you did sign for the paintings, right?”

  “Yes. Now I have to…”

  “And how many paintings were shipped?”

  “Well, the slip said thirteen.”

  “Not what I asked, Tony. Did you count them?”