Faux Reel (Imogene Museum Mystery #5) (9 page)

“
Halloo,” Rupert called up the stairs. He was glistening by the time he arrived, and pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his brow. “It’s a pity you can’t take the day off. We’re a dull set, laboring on Labor Day.”

“
Nonsense,” Frankie chirped. “We get the best visitor counts on national holidays.” She slipped her loafer back on and gave me a slight nod which meant she’d ferret out the short people on the fundraiser guest list with the same single-mindedness Tuppence exhibits when she’s flushing rabbits. I grinned as Frankie scurried down the stairs.

Rupert stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and captured Mom
’s hand. “And you are?”

“
Pamela Stephenson, Meredith’s mother.”

“
Ahh, yes.” Rupert cast a glance at me. “I see it, in the — in the — well, in the demeanor, and the bone structure, and the — well, about the face.” He squinted at me. “Hmmm. Your father must have been a remarkable, handsome man, Meredith.”

I gaped. I think my mother might have a few grainy photos of my father, but he
’s a faint, faceless memory for me. I don’t know where the photos are, but I would love to have them — if she doesn’t want them anymore. But that was another thing I could never discuss with her. Since when did Rupert become an expert on human breeding that he could tell by looking at me? Or was he commenting on Mom’s taste in men?

I caught sight of Mom
’s face out of the corner of my eye. She was gaping too, and the fingers of her free hand were trembling.

“
Rupert,” I blurted, “I really need to speak with you about Cosmo, his history, anything you remember. Leland Smiley was asking.”

“
Leland?” Rupert released Mom’s hand. “I haven’t seen the old bloke in ages. He’s doing the microscopy? He is the best—” Rupert’s words trailed into a mumble as he pivoted toward the stairs. “Come with me,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ll dig through the files.”

Mom clutched my arm and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“I’ll wait in your office.”

“
Then call Alex,” I muttered. “He’s worried about you.” Might as well toss all the cards on the table now. “I quit running last night. It’s your turn.”

CHAPTER 9

One of my ongoing
— and it will probably take forever — projects is digitizing the Imogene’s records. Whenever I have a few spare minutes, I scan in a handful of the miscellaneous documents that tend to accompany and provide provenance for works of art. As I sort through what’s in the basement, I’ve been adding as much as I can.

But the only database Rupert uses is his own brain and a wall full of four-drawer filing cabinets in his office. When Rupert said we
’d dig through the files, what he really meant is first we’d spelunk through his clutter, then we’d try to figure out his filing system, then maybe we’d start sorting through files. Mentally, I rearranged my calendar for the rest of the week to allow for the time this process would take.

Technically, Rupert would qualify as a hoarder. The problem is the haphazard mounds that have swallowed his office furniture include everything from letters to Meriwether Lewis signed by Thomas Jefferson to the crust of yesterday
’s tuna sandwich. I can’t just order a dumpster parked beneath his second-floor windows and start tossing his junk overboard because too much of it is of historical or artistic value. Most of what’s in his office is his personal collection, but he’s also the inheritor and — until I came along — keeper of the Imogene’s records.

The best thing I could do was try to prod Rupert
’s memory while we were bushwhacking a trail toward the filing cabinets.

“
Was Cosmo your uncle?” I called as I stacked a couple boxes.

“
No.” Rupert’s voice was muffled by the object he was wrestling — was it a cowhide? His upper half was hidden by something hairy and floppy. He was struggling to tuck its irregular edges into a neat roll.

“
What is that?” I asked.

“
Commemorative calfskin from the 1911 Pendleton Roundup. Cosmo was my dad’s cousin, somewhat removed, not sure how far.”

“
Literally or figuratively removed?”

“
Both. He was from the California branch, but the family moved here soon after he was born. Raised here, but lit out for the big city — New York first then Los Angeles, if I remember correctly — as soon as he could. This is not first-hand knowledge, mind you, but Cosmo was the source of many back-of-the-hand stories in my family. Adults regularly rolled their eyes and commented on his troubles in terms us kids weren’t supposed to understand.”

“
He ever come back to visit?” I shifted a pile of yellowed newspapers onto a packing crate.

“
Whenever he needed money. Hence the eye-rolling.”

“
Did he get what he wanted?” I quickly flipped through the newspapers. The Paris Peace Accords dominated the headlines.

“
Probably. He was a smooth talker. Always up to some scheme or other.”

“
But he had plenty of funds if he could donate so much along with the painting. $85,000 was a lot forty years ago — it’s a lot now.”

“
Maybe one of his rackets paid out.” Rupert grunted as he rolled a smooth, oblong piece of driftwood the shape of a giant pickle out of the way. He balanced a bulging expandable file folder on top of the chunk of wood and brushed his hands together as if it was a great accomplishment.

I wrinkled my nose but refrained from asking what Rupert
’s plans for the log had been. Instead, I ducked back to my task — a shoebox that had split and spilled its postcard collection. “Cosmo doesn’t seem like the philanthropic type.”

“
Nope,” Rupert huffed. “I do remember Dad’s astonishment at the donation. But Cosmo had borrowed enough money from the family over the years, maybe he considered it a form of repayment.”

“
Did you — or your father — get the impression Cosmo was wrapping up loose ends with the donation?”

“
Couldn’t tell you. I was away at college then. I knew the museum would be my responsibility one day, but you know—” Rupert stopped to grin around the unlit Swisher Sweets cherry cigar he’d clamped between his teeth as fortitude against our monumental task. “I might have had other things on my mind at the time. If I remember correctly, her name was Ruby.” He frowned and scratched his ear. “Or was that Celeste?”

I bent quickly and rummaged in a crate of paper mache dragon masks to hide my surprise
— Chinese New Year, probably early-’60s. I’d thought Rupert was contentedly, if absentmindedly, single. Apparently not in his youth. I smiled to myself. That slice of his life certainly bore more investigating. I’d  been worrying about him anyway — he wasn’t in the best health, and at his age — 59 — and with his travel schedule, he could stand some company. Maybe I could do a little matchmaking on the side.

I didn
’t have a large roster to select from, though. Sockeye County is rather lacking in single women of a certain age — or of any age, for that matter.

Cosmo
— right. I was here because of Cosmo. “He died shortly after the donation, right?”

Rupert grunted assent.
“A few months, a year or so, later. Freak accident — sneaker wave off the Columbia River Bar.”

The Columbia River Bar is one of the most treacherous stretches of navigable water in the world. There
’s a reason the US Coast Guard runs their Advance Rescue Helicopter School out of Astoria.

“
He’d taken a couple of his cronies out for a chartered fishing trip,” Rupert continued. “His body washed up three days later.”

“
Were the rest of the passengers and crew ever found?”

Rupert glanced at me quizzically.
“Sure. They returned to port. Badly shaken, but there wasn’t anything they could do.”

“
You mean—?” I frowned. Cosmo’s obituary had been seriously lacking in what I considered pertinent details.

“
Cosmo was the only one washed overboard. He’d taken off his lifejacket because he felt he couldn’t manage his pole properly with it on.”

I shoved aside a plastic Alpenrose Dairy crate containing books so old they were held together with rubber bands.
“Where’d the Hagg family money come from?”

Rupert snorted.
“Well, it’s not illustrious, if that’s what you’re wondering. Cosmo was an outlier regarding risky business ventures, but not by much. In the early days of commercial transportation on the Columbia, there were a few upstanding capitalists who held virtual monopolies on the movement of people and goods and even the production of those goods. My ancestors had shares in several companies, and their activities included things like colluding with Chinese mob bosses to man the fruit and salmon canneries, undercutting competitors until they went bankrupt, and stripping the forests.”

Rupert straightened to wipe his brow with the handkerchief.
“I think that history is what prompted turning this old place into a museum. The most recent couple generations of Haggs have wanted to make reparation for the family’s past pilfering — a way to return some of their shadily-gotten gains to the community.” He sighed. “Not that there’s much left anymore.”

I nodded. The Hagg Family Trust made adequate provision for adding to the museum
’s collections, but the founding board members had forgotten the old mansion would need tending to as well.

We
’d planned the fundraiser in order to be able to perform basic maintenance on the Imogene. She was quietly and elegantly cracking to pieces under our feet. We desperately needed an outside infusion of cash to hold her together for the next generation. The Imogene has my complete devotion — we’ll keep her running, even if she does appear to list to port.

“
Sheriff Marge wants to know if we’ll offer a reward for information leading to the safe return of Cosmo’s painting,” I said.

“
I don’t see the point,” Rupert grunted. “But I suppose we could spare a few thousand out of the acquisitions allowance. I’ll leave it to your discretion.”

Rupert and I made good progress and reached the bank of filing cabinets just after lunch. I could tell Rupert was fading, and he mentioned needing to pack for his upcoming trip to
Ireland.

“
Do you mind if I carry on without you?” I asked.

“
No, please.” He waved dismissively. “You’ll make more sense of the files than I could.” He patted my shoulder. “What would I ever do without you?”

“
Get buried alive in here?”

Rupert chuckled.
“Probably. Keep me updated with Leland’s results.”

“
Send me something nice from Limerick.”

“
I do have a couple appointments with local antiques dealers and an ironmonger.”

“
Let me know if I need to build a display for ancient hinges and locks. That would be fun.” Asking for advance notice regarding Rupert’s purchases is a futile plea, but I try every time.

“
Of course, my dear.” Rupert shuffled toward the door.

“
And take care of yourself,” I called.

He waggled a finger in the air in acknowledgment before he disappeared around the corner.

oOo

I poked my head into my office, hoping to relieve my mother of the boredom of a morning by herself. She had settled at my desk, my encyclopedia of Victorian majolica spread open before her.

“How’s Alex?” I asked.

Mom
’s head jerked up, and she nearly tore the page she was about to turn. “You startled me.”

“
Alex?”

Mom flinched and swiveled the chair toward the window, blinking rapidly.
“Not now, Meredith. Not yet.”

“
How long is he going to wait?”

“
I don’t know,” she whispered.

I sidled around the desk and knelt in front of her.
“Why won’t you tell me?”

Mom traced a finger along my cheek.
“Do you want to know how imperfect I am?”

“
Frankly, yes. That would help a lot,” I blurted.

Mom
’s tears were falling freely now. “I’m scared. This time it’s beyond my control.”

“
Isn’t it always? The idea that we humans are in charge of anything is a delusion, don’t you think?”

Mom sniffed.
“Pretending makes us feel worthy.”

“
Therein lies the problem. Would you like to talk to Pastor Mort? He’s a good counselor.”

Mom squeezed my shoulder.
“Maybe — later.”

Her jaw was set, and she was swiftly wiping the tears away. The gap in her veneer had just snapped shut.

I sighed and stood. “I have the world’s worst filing system to sort through, and I could use some help. You game?”

Her eyes lightened for a brief moment.
“Sure.”

Mom caught her breath when I led her along the narrow swath Rupert and I had cut through his life
’s history of collecting, but she didn’t comment. I stopped in front of the row of filing cabinets.