A short story for a hot summer day

[James Jensen]

A BRUSH WITH DEATH
(An Annie Mae Book Detective Mystery)
By
J. A. Jensen
*7159 words*





As Annie stepped out of the artificially alpine air of her car, her glasses immediately fogged the world into primary colored blurs. She was enveloped by the wet wool blanket humidity of Brewton, Alabama in July. As she carefully shuffled forth she remembered the white blur coming up on her left was the police car that she saw when she arrived. Annie had double-checked the address to make sure she was not mistaken. Annie raised an eyebrow at the thought of a police car needed at an estate auction. She knew the first American edition of A.C. Doyle’s Sign of the Four she wanted to buy was valuable. Yet, Annie thought it a bit much to hire police protection.
Annie shrugged and aimed for the dark area between what she hoped was the blurred white columns of the front porch. Maybe the numbingly flat drive from her home in St. Augustine would yield some excitement after all. She stumbled up the steps and fingered around for the doorbell. However, before she could press the softly lit button, the door yawned open and a blast of air-conditioned breeze cleared her vision to reveal little Johnny Arm. “Little” Johnny was now about six feet and carried a large automatic pistol on his hip.
“Whoa, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect….” he did a visible double take. “…Mrs. Wentworth?” Officer John D. Arm said.
“You did not expect what Johnny?” Annie said without losing a beat.
Arm stepped out onto the porch and was followed by thin man dressed in an immaculate grey suit. Annie thought the thin man looked like a younger David Niven, without the good chin.
“I definitely did not expect to see my old high school librarian” Arm stammered.
The thin man gestured towards the police car.
“If you don’t mind officer,” he said stiffly.
Arm cringed almost imperceptibly but quickly recovered in front of his mentor and old friend.
“Right.” He said, “I was just going to the car to get the burglary forms.”
Annie’s right eyebrow raised. It was one of the very few habits that annoyed her late husband.
“Burglary forms?” she asked, “Has something been stolen?”
Arm walked towards his car with Annie at his heels.
“Yes, Mr. Mauvaise up there called in a report of a burglary about an hour ago.” Arm said.
“Please tell me it wasn’t the Sign of the Four.” Annie said.
“The Sign of the what?” Arm asked, then smiled “Oh yeah, Sherlock Holmes.”
Arm opened the patrol car’s door and reached in for his metal report case. It had been sitting in the sun and he tossed it from hand to hand like a hot biscuit.
“You always tried to get me interested in Holmes and Watson.” He said with a grin.
Annie nodded, remembering with fondness.
“Yes, but you fell for Poirot instead.” She said.
Arm twirled an invisible mustache, “Ah yez,” he said with an exaggerated Belgian accent, “it wuz ees use of the leetle grey cells that interested me.”
Annie gave a sharp bark of a laugh and quickly covered her mouth. Memories of an awkward teenager with a face full of acne, few friends, and wonderful sense of humor surrounded the confident looking young man like a nostalgic aura. She marveled at what six years could do. She felt a twinge of fatigue, but quickly shook it off.
“So fill me in Inspector,” she said, “that is, if you don’t mind me tagging along to watch the great police man at work.”
“Not at all” he told her, “It will be just like Poirot and Inspector Japp.”
She followed as he led the way back to the front door and an impatient looking Mauvaise.
“I’m afraid this is not going to be any great adventure,” Arm said with a hint of disappointment. “It’s a pretty dull and simple case of burglary.”
Annie shot Arm a mischievous grin as they approached Mauvaise.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “any crime can lead to a wonderful mystery if we are lucky”
“There is nothing wonderful about this crime Miss…?” Mauvaise looked down on Annie questioningly.
“Mrs. Wentworth,” Annie offered, “Mrs. Annie Mae Wentworth.”
Mauvaise stared at Annie for a moment.
“Yes,” he said, “We spoke on the phone about the Holmes book.”
Mauvaise opened his hands in a magician’s “nothing up the sleeve” gesture.
“I’m afraid that business will have to be postponed.” He said. “In fact, the whole estate sale has been put on hold indefinitely.”
Mauvaise paused as if he were used to everyone hanging on his every word.
“My family’s Monet has been stolen.” He said. “Bought by my great-great grandfather from the master himself.”
Annie looked at Mauvaise for a moment and then stepped past the startled owner and into the house.
“If you don’t mind,” Annie called behind her, “I would love to stay and hear the particulars of the case.”
She looked back with her sweetest, butter melting smile and said, “That is, if you two do not object.”
Arm shook his head and smiled as he followed Annie inside. They both left Mauvaise standing on the porch gaping. Quickly, he followed the two inside and closed the door on the jungle air outside. Mauvaise quickened his pace to catch up with the chattering pair.
“If you will follow me,” he said as he overtook them, “The theft occurred in the library.”
Annie and Arm followed him into a room on the right. As they entered, the familiar aroma of old books greeted Annie. She glanced around the room like a pilgrim in Jerusalem. Not a square inch had been wasted with paneling or decorations. Everything was made to hold and display the words of humanity. She reverently touched a table that sat next to a wonderfully overstuffed leather reading chair. Even the table was divided into shelves that were filled with books.
“This is the room of a true reader.” She declared.
Mauvaise walked across a highly polished wood plank floor to an immaculately clean fireplace. Above the fireplace was the only blank piece of wall in the room.
“I don’t go in much for books myself.” Mauvaise said. “This room was designed by a grandmother with too much time on her hands.”
He pointed to the blank spot above the fireplace mantle.
“This is where the painting was last seen.” He said. “You needn’t look too closely for clues since I’m quite sure who stole it.”
Annie and Arm looked at each other.
“You mean you know who took the painting?” Arm asked.
“I’m certain of it.” Mauvaise smiled Cheshire like.
He reached into his vest pocket and handed Arm a cream colored business card.
“A man came around here several days ago and inquired about some paintings I had listed for the estate sale” Mauvaise said. “When he saw the Monet, he was, of course, enraptured.”
Arm looked at the card. It was simple and to the point, “Angelo Contrefacon, Art Restorer and Appraiser, Milan, Italy”. He turned the card over and noticed the name of a motel and a telephone number hand written in a stylized script. Mauvaise pointed to the card.
“Yes,” Mauvaise said, “the little thief wrote the number of the dive little motel where he was staying in town.”
Arm pulled a plastic baggie out of his pocket and placed the card into it.
“Did you offer to sell him the painting?” he asked Mauvaise.
“Of course not.” Mauvaise said with disgust. “He could never afford it.”
“Besides,” Mauvaise continued as he walked towards French doors at the far side of the room, “The painting is a family treasure and I could never part with it.”
Arm placed the bagged card in his report case as Annie followed Mauvaise over to the French doors. She noticed the glass was broken out of one of the panes next to the brass handle.
“This, I suppose” she asked, “is where the thief is supposed to have entered?”
Mauvaise nodded slightly and quickly turned back to Arm.
“The alarm system was not triggered because it had been deactivated. My wife is having extensive renovations imposed on the house.” Mauvaise offered, “The clumsy workmen were always setting the blasted alarm off with their incessant hammering and banging.”
Arm walked over to the blank space on the wall.
“So, when did you notice it missing?” he asked.
“My wife noticed it missing early this morning when she came down to replace a book she finished last night.”
Arm pulled a form out of his case and began writing.
“And you called us around ten?” he asked.
Mauvaise’s right eye gave the slightest suggestion of a twitch and he quickly picked at phantom lint on his vest. Arm was busy writing and did not notice. Annie shifted on her feet and straightened her glasses.
“Yes,” Mauvaise continued, “we were at a loss of what to do first. So, I called the insurance company to report the theft. They, in return, suggested I call you immediately.”
Annie took an embroidered handkerchief from her pocket, opened the French doors and stepped out onto a side porch. As she stepped out, her foot crunched. She looked down and noticed shards of glass from the broken pane on the porch’s deck. She bent down, picked up a piece and looked back at the door. To the right of the door, she noticed a carpenter’s hammer with a cloth tied around the metal head.
“Johnny,” she called back into the room, “I believe this hammer was used to break the glass."
Arm walked out onto the porch and prodded the hammer with his pen.
“Does this tool belong to you, Mr. Mauvaise?” he called back to the owner inside.
Mauvaise walked over to the door.
“I do not own tools,” he said as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “I imagine it belongs to one of the workmen. They are always leaving things lay around.”
Arm bagged the hammer like he did the card. He looked around the porch, glanced at Annie, shrugged and went back inside. Annie followed, shaking her head. Back inside, Mauvaise was on the phone. Just as Arm was about to interrupt Mauvaise’s conversation, a woman with red hair approved by the FDA and a dress so fashionable that no boutique, other than one with “mart” in its name, would be caught dead with it on their racks, breezed into the room. Mauvaise stopped in mid sentence and seemed to clinch his teeth for quick beat.
“Darling,” he said stiffly as he covered the phone’s mouthpiece, “ please be a good dear and show the officer and his, friend, to the door.”
Mauvaise turned his back on all of them.
“They are investigating the theft and need to be running along to arrest the man at a local motel.” He said and then returned to his call.
Arm and Annie knew when they had been dismissed.
“Sure thing Sugar.” She said with an accent dripping with the sweetness of RC Colas and Moon Pies.
“Y’all have to excuse Phillip,” she said as she led them towards the door, “He’s a very busy man and not much on manners.”
Annie stopped as they reached the door.
“And you are?” Annie asked as she held out her hand.
The Southern Belle laughed and took Annie’s hand and pumped it good-naturedly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “here I’m talking about my sweetie’s manners and I’m being just as bad. I’m Hope Mauvaise, Phillip’s wife.”
Annie reclaimed her hand and stepped out onto the porch with Arm. She turned to Mrs. Mauvaise.
“You must be devastated by the theft of the painting.” She said with sympathy.
Mrs. Mauvaise laughed again.
“That old thing?” she said, “honey, that blurry bunch of pond weeds never was my style.”
Mrs. Mauvaise smoothed her dress.
“I prefer a good old fashioned American Painting.” She said. “You know, like that Rockefeller man who did those wonderful magazine covers.”
Arm put his hat on and started walking to the car while Annie discreetly covered a smile.
“You and your husband are a wonderfully interesting pair.” She said. “Have you been married long?”
“Oh going on two years now.” Mrs. Mauvaise said, “Before that, Phillip and my late husband were business partners.”
Annie kept her smile but raised her right eyebrow.
“Yes, when poor Richard died after being hit by that logging truck,” Mrs. Mauvaise continued, “Phillip insisted I should be among friends and said there was more than enough room in his family’s rambling old place.”
Mrs. Mauvaise pulled a handkerchief from her wrist and raised it to her mouth.
“Phillip was so sweet and kind.” She said. “He made all of the funeral arrangements and personally had his lawyer take care of my finances and Richard’s estate.”
Her face brightened as she talked about Mauvaise.
“He was so kind and patient during those rough times,” she said, “It’s not surprising I fell in love with him after a proper time of mourning.”
“That is a bitter-sweet story.” Annie said.
She shook Mrs. Mauvaise’s hand again, thanked her for her time and turned to leave. Annie hesitated on the first step and turned to Mrs. Mauvaise.
“I hate to bother you again,” she said, “but do you remember a man coming to see your husband about the painting several days ago?”
Mrs. Mauvaise thought for a moment, then brightened.
“Oh, you must mean Mr. Angelo.”
“You knew him?” Annie said raising both eyebrows.
Mrs. Mauvaise gave a wave of her hand.
“Not really,” she said, “he introduced himself when he came to see Phillip.”
“He was such a charming little man.” She added
Annie looked past Mrs. Mauvaise into the house.
“Did you notice if he seemed angry or upset?” Annie asked.
“Oh not at all.” Mrs. Mauvaise said. “I heard Phillip and Mr. Angelo having a grand time in the library.”
“Was he still in a good mood when he left?” Annie inquired.
Mrs. Mauvaise shook her head.
“I have no idea.” She said. “I left for New York to buy this dress that afternoon.”
“Phillip and Mr. Angelo were still in the library when I ducked in and kissed Phillip good bye.”
Annie nodded her head.
“And you were gone for…?” she asked
Mrs. Mauvaise looked up into the air and her mouth moved as she silently counted on her fingers.
“Oh about six or seven days.” She looked at Annie and laughed. “Phillip is used to my going off on whims at the drop of a hat.”
“He never says a thing.” She continued. “He did not even bat an eye when I said I wanted to remodel this stuffy old house.”
“How wonderful of him.” Annie said as she turned again towards the car. “Thanks again for your time.” She called back to a door that had already closed.
Annie walked to the passenger side of the patrol car. Arm was already inside scribbling away on his report. She tapped on the window.
“Are you going to let me ride up front?” she asked with a smile.
Arm reached over and opened the door. He grabbed a crumpled coffee cup and half-eaten bag of pork rinds off the passenger side and stuffed them under his seat.
“Excuse the mess,” he said, “the maid’s not due in until Thursday.”
Annie laughed.
“Just drive Watson.” She said. “The game’s afoot.”
“That’s Inspector Japp to you Miss.” Arm said with a bad cockney accent.
Annie shook her head with feigned disgust. The retired high school librarian and her favorite student caught up on the past six years as they drove to the motel that was the last known address of the mysterious Angelo.


Dive was not the way Annie would have described the motel at the East End of town, but it was close. There were only about 20 units in the whole Tom Sawyer white washed complex. There was only one floor and it slightly curved around a pool that looked like it stopped being filled with anything but rainwater years ago. Large, noisy window unit air conditioners bulged out of every unit’s front window like dripping metallic heat blisters.
“Nice place for a Monet.” Annie said as they left the sanctuary of the car and pushed their way through the muck of the afternoon to the door number written on the back of the cream colored business card.
“Maybe the ambiance is better on the inside.” Arm said as he knocked on the door.
Only the ticking of the A/C and an irritated June bug answered Arm’s knock. He tried again with the same luck. Annie reached around Arm and opened the door. Arm slapped at Annie’s hand.
“Don’t do that.” He said in a loud whisper. “I’ll have to arrest you for breaking and entering.”
Annie slapped Arm on the elbow.
“I thought I taught you better than to hit a lady.” She chided. “Besides, I just did the breaking, you can do the entering.”
Arm shook his head and pushed the door open. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lighted room before he stepped in with Annie pushing slightly from behind.
“Mr. Contrefacon?” he called out as he entered. “It’s Officer Arm with the Brewton Police Department.”
Arm and Annie moved inside the room and she shut the door behind them. Annie marveled that there were still rooms in this new century that were decorated in a “Brady Bunch meets Deep Throat” theme.
“Good lord it’s cold in here.” She said as she rubbed at the goosebumps that instantly formed on her arms.
Paint splattered newspaper covered the floor of the room and the furniture was moved to the walls, making things seem even more cramped. Two easels were in the center of the room. One held a painting.
“Well,” Arm said, “we know we’re in the right place.”
He turned to Annie and pointed his finger.
“You stay put.” He said. “This room is now a crime scene.”
Annie held up her hands and smiled innocently. Arm looked around the room and headed towards the bathroom. As soon as he turned his back on Annie, she moved to get a closer look at the painting. She turned on a floor lamp that had been placed next to the easel. Its shade was removed to expose the bare bulb. Breath taking was the only phrase that seemed appropriate to Annie. Many shades of green and blue mixed, separated, and mixed again into water, lilies, footbridges, and flowers. It all seemed so alive and vibrant, as if you could reach out and touch it. When Annie did, her finger came away wet blue.
“Oops.” She said wiping her finger on her handkerchief.
As Annie looked closer at the wondrous pretender, she noticed a strange, upraised edge under the surface of the painting. Maybe, she thought, it was an artist’s trick to give the impression of depth.
“This guy is really good.” She said.
“This guy is really dead.” Arm said as he stepped out of the bathroom.
“What?” Annie said as she was brought back to the reality of the room.
Arm opened the door wider as Annie approached the bathroom door. She could see two bony knees protruding from the rust stained bathtub. As she stepped closer, she saw the late Angelo staring up from below three inches of water. Annie had seen death before. She had watched her strapping horse of a husband waste away to a ghost of his former self from cancer. That senseless kind of death made her blood boil. It was still boiling when she spat steaming venom through the sharp fangs of her lawyers at a chemical company that allowed her husband to work with substances that the FDA would not even allow to be used on rats. In the end, the company shut down; she received a large cash settlement, and lost her high school sweetheart.
But, this little man’s death was different. The former Angelo just looked sad and pathetic lying so serenely below the blue tinged water. This did not look like a death cased by battle or disease.
“What’s up with the water?” Annie asked to break the morose silence.
Arm shrugged.
“I don’t know.” He said. “Maybe it was from the paints.”
Annie moved over to the edge of the tub and looked closer at the body. There were splashes of paint all over Angelo’s hands. It was on his face, in his thinning gray-black hair. Even flecks of it floated on the blue tinged water. Still, something did not seem right about the water’s color to Annie. She looked around the bathroom. There were no fancy Lilliputian shampoos and soaps on the chipped counter. Only an ancient electric razor, some dime store aftershave and box of Polident were evidence that the bathroom was being used for bathing. The sink was full of soaking brushes and paint smeared rags were piled on the floor by the toilet. The toilet caught her eye. Rather, the water in the toilet caught her eye. Annie walked over to the toilet and lifted the lid of the toilet’s water tank. She nodded her head and replaced the lid.
“You have that look in your eye.” Arm said. “That look you used to give me when I tried to sneak a late book back to the library.”
Annie looked back down at Angelo.
“Do you see those red rash marks on his hands and mouth?” she asked Arm.
He bent over and looked where she was pointing.
“Yeah” he said, “looks like he tried to eat a poison oak salad bare handed.”
Annie stood up and stretched her back.
“Well, you’re going in the right direction, just on the wrong path.” She said. “I did enough studying about toxins when I was pouring over books to help my husband’s lawyers with their case against Matanza Chemicals. I know chemical burns when I see them.”
“You don’t think he was poisoned?” Arm.
“Oh definitely.” She said. “But that’s only half of it.”
Arm put his right hand to his temple to kneed at the growing pounding of a migraine.
“What…I know I’m not going to like this, but” he continued, “what is the other half?”
Annie walked back into the other room and called over her shoulder.
“Your painting is a forgery.” She said. “It looks like someone beat us here.”

Arm waited at the room until another officer arrived with the crime scene technician. Then, he and Annie headed to the Brewton Police Station to fill out the required paperwork on a case that was growing faster and more intricate than kudzu vines through magnolia branches.
“Harassing old ladies again, Arm” the crew cut desk officer asked as Arm arrived with Annie in tow.
“No,” said Annie, “but it looks like you are…junior.”
Arm laughed as the desk officer’s mouth snapped shut. The Sargent Rock wannabe mumbled something under his breath and suddenly became interested in straightening things on his desk while his ears turned a deeper shade of rose.
“Did you hear him call me an old lady?” Annie said as Arm offered her a chair at a Spartan desk with his nameplate on it.
“He’s just a kid himself.” Arm said, “He even calls me sir.”
While Arm and Annie talked about the germinating case, he typed the required homicide and burglary reports on the Mauvaise case. Additionally, Arm entered an All-Points-Bulletin on the missing Monet into the computer and searched the national database for any information on late Angelo.
“Now this is interesting.” Arm said punching the keyboard with increasing vigor.
“What’s that Johnny?” Annie asked as she sat up and leaned forward.
Arm pointed to the monitor screen. “It seems our body has a colorful past.”
Annie moved her chair closer so she could see the screen.
“Enough of the bad puns.” She said. “What did you find out?”
“It looks like Angelo used to have quite a career as a master forger.” He said as he scrolled down the report on the screen.
“Used to?” Annie asked.
“Yes.” Arm nodded. “It appears he finished a five-year stint in London ten years ago for a Hogarth forgery that was sold at Christies.”
“I bet that went over well.” Annie smiled. “What has he been doing since then?”
Arm clicked away at the computer some more.
“It appears he has been quite the model citizen since he got out.” Arm continued. “He has a wife and a 16 year-old daughter who, get this, is in a prestigious art school in Paris.”
Annie eyebrows crinkled as she thought for a moment.
“A wife in Milan and a daughter in a Paris art school.” She mused. “I imagine those are quite a drain on the pocketbook and could lead someone back to a life of crime.”
“I don’t know about that.” Arm said. “According to this report, he has been doing quite well for himself restoring masterpieces.”
“In fact,” he continued, “There is recent news clipping listed here that says he was recently commissioned by the Vatican to assist in restoration work at St. Peter’s”
Annie shook her head.
“Then what in heaven’s name is he doing in this whistle stop Alabama lumber town forging a Monet?” she wondered aloud.
Annie sneezed and was going to blow her nose when she saw the paint on her handkerchief. She stared intently at the blue paint for a few moments. She sniffed it. Then, she raised her right eyebrow and she quickly stood up.
“Anywhere in town to get a good slice of Key Lime Pie?” she asked.
Arm looked up from the computer screen and wondered if this whole affair was beginning to effect Annie’s sanity.
“Uh, yeah.” He said. “I guess we could go to this new diner up by the Piggly Wiggly supermarket.”
“Great.” Annie said as she grabbed her purse and started walking towards the door. She stopped and handed her handkerchief to Arm.
“I think you might want your boys to do a toxicology test on this paint.” She told the startled officer. “Also, you might have them hurry that autopsy on Angelo and do the same toxicology test on him as well.”
Arm took the handkerchief and held it between his thumb and forefinger.
“I know that look.” He said. “What do you know?”
“Everything except why.” She said as she turned and started walking away. “And that I hope to find out after you drop that paint sample off and I fortify my gray cells with some energy food.”

They walked into the diner and Annie frowned. She could forgive the décor of the trashy motel. After all, you get what you pay for when it came to those kinds of places. However, she thought this diner bordered on criminal since someone obviously decorated it like this on purpose. The closest she could figure was that someone was going for the “Hee-Haw moves to Tara” look. Almost the entire front half of the diner was reserved for the “Country Store” that had pseudo plantation wares that must have made the sweat-shop workers who manufactured them feel guilty for accepting a wage at all. Annie gritted her teeth as a woman dressed like Scarlett O’Hara seated her and Arm at a checkered cloth picnic table. Annie mused whether Scarlett would have approved of polyester.
“What’ll y’all have?” she asked in the sweetest drawl.
Annie shot an annoyed look at Arm, who looked away smiling.
“I’ll have a piece of Key Lime Pie, please.” She said.
The chirpy waitress turned to Arm who just held up his coffee cup. Scarlett picked up their menus and headed off to the kitchen.
“You did this on purpose.” Annie accused.
Arm smiled.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “But I knew it would be worth it to see your reaction.”
“The truth is,” he continued, “this place isn’t even owned by anybody in town. Hell, all the managers were shipped in from Detroit.”
Scarlett arrived back with the coffeepot and Annie’s pie.
“Oh honey no.” Annie said as the waitress placed the pie in front of her. “No Key Lime pie, South of Missouri should be green sweetie.”
Annie handed the pie back to the pouting Scarlett.
“It’s alright sweetie.” Annie said. “Just bring me some coffee.”
Arm was about to repeat his apology when his cel phone rang. After several “uh-huh’s” and “OK’s”, Annie was ready to grab the phone. Instead, she tapped her fingers and tried to stare a hole in Arm’s forehead. With one last “OK”, he hung up.
“Well,” he said sitting back, “Good call Poirot.”
Annie smacked the table. “Poison wasn’t it?” she more stated than asked.
“Yep.” Arm confirmed. “It appears that both Angelo’s blood and the paint had high levels of...”
“Paraquat.” she said.
“Right again.” He said with not a little admiration and wonder. “It causes severe rashes and leads to death if ingested.”
“The poison oak salad.” She said nodding her head. “He must have had a habit of chewing on his brushes like you used to chew on pencils.”
“That’s not all.” He continued after he put his gnawed number two down on the table. “It seems Paraquat will also turn the urine blue.”
Annie’s eyebrows crinkled and she rested her chin on her hand. What tied a dead forger gone good with a missing Monet and a palate full of weed killer? Annie thought back to the beautiful painting they found. It had seemed so perfect. Even an art lover like her had been fooled until she touched the paint. Her right eyebrow shot up.
“Where is the painting right now?” She asked.
“Actually,” he shrugged, “Mauvaise requested he be allowed to keep it until his was found.”
“Interesting.” Annie said as she contemplated this.
“What?” Arm asked. “It had already been dusted for fingerprints and we really don’t have the proper place to store it at the station.”
Annie waved his protests away.
“You did fine.” She told him. “In fact, you might have solved the case by doing so.”
Arm truly looked puzzled. Annie reached over and patted his hand.
“Don’t worry my Inspector Japp.” She said. “Just like the character, you led Poirot in the correct direction.”
She smiled and Arm relaxed.
Annie stood up and started walking towards the cashier.
“I think it’s time to visit Mr. Mauvaise one more time.” She called back to Arm who was trying to catch up.
He paid the bill and they both went back out into the blinding afternoon. Annie looked at Arm over the police car’s roof. His image wavered in the heat.
“By the way.” She asked. “How did Mauvaise’s family come by their money?”
They both got into the sauna of the car and Arm quickly started the engine and cranked up the air conditioning on high.
“Lumber.” He said as they pulled away from Tara. “Their family owns most of the timber land in the area.”
“I didn’t think this town had any virgin forests left.” She said.
Arm laughed.
“Not by a long shot.” He said. “No, Mauvaise has several hundred prime acres of tree farming.”
“It must be a full time job for his employees to keep things clear with all the kudzu vines around the area.” She said.
“Nope.” Arm shook his head. “His spread is cleaner than a park.”
Annie looked out the window at the stately homes and manicured lawns that went by.
“Very interesting.” She said quietly.

It was late in the afternoon as Arm and Annie pulled into the Mauvaise’s circular driveway. Although the shadows of the trees were starting to stretch towards each other in an evening embrace, the summer sun was a long way from giving up the ghost of day or letting up on the heat. Annie noticed movement at the side of the house as they got out of the car and started walking up the drive.
“Isn’t that Hope Mauvaise over there?” Annie asked pointing to where Hope was throwing a large box into a huge industrial dumpster.
“Looks like it.” Arm said.
Arm raised his hand to wave as Hope looked up and saw them approach. She quickly threw some loose boards in the dumptser, smiled, and hurried around the back of the house.
“I definitely think that girl is all looks and no brain.” Arm said.
Annie pinched his arm.
“I taught you better than that.” She said. “Besides, like I always say, you can’t judge a book by it’s cover.”
“Oh, it was you who said that?” Arm said with a smirk as he rubbed his flesh.
Mr. Mauvaise opened the door when they rang the bell. He stood in the doorway looking down on them.
“I don’t see anything in your hands.” He said. “So, I take it you have come to waste my time with more inane questions.”
“No,” Annie smiled, “We got the inane ones out of the way earlier.”
Mauvaise did not return her smile. He also did not move from the doorway. Arm slapped at a mosquito and grimaced as his hand came away with a crumpled body and a dime-sized blotch of blood.
“Do you mind if we come in?” Arm asked. “One more attack like that one we’ll have another crime scene on our hands.”
Mauvaise turned and walked away. Annie looked at Arm and stepped through the shadowed doorway. Arm closed the door behind them and they followed Mauvaise into the library. Arm looked up to see the bare spot over the fireplace now was filled.
“Yes, believe it or not, it was Hope’s idea to put that imposter there” Mauvaise said in response to their stares. “After all, it is a very good forgery.”
Mauvaise walked over to the fireplace and rested his hand on the mantle.
“Until I have the real thing…or should I say if I have the real thing back, this will have to do.” He said.
Arm took off his hat and walked over to the French doors.
“I’m afraid there’s no good news yet.” He said. “It appears that the forger, Mr. Contrefacon, died of Paraquat poisoning.”
Mauvaise disinterestedly walked over to his desk and picked up a delicately small crystal glass of something thick and dark red.
“It was a nasty way to go.” Arm continued. “It looks he had a bad habit of chewing on his brushes and really getting into his paints. So, the poison in the paints got into his system over a couple of days before it shut down his kidneys and then his heart.”
Mauvaise waved his hand as if shooing a fly.
“And this is supposed to interest me or get my painting back?” he asked.
Annie had moved over to the fireplace and was staring intently at the painting. She reached up and touched the famous signature that sent shivers of delight in art lovers around the world.
“We were wondering,” she turned to face Mauvaise, “Does your company use Paraquat to kill the weeds and underbrush on your tree farms?”
Mauvaise took a slow sip of his drink.
“I have no earthly idea.” He said. “You would have to ask my foreman.”
He set his drink on the desk on sat down in the chair. The leather of the chair slightly groaned and squeaked as it settled around him.
“He has handled all the daily affairs of the farms since my partner passed so …unexpectedly.” He said with a slight bow of his head.
“I have been the brains of the business.” He continued. “My late partner was, as they say, the brawn of the outfit.”
Annie took one more look at the painting then went around to the front of Mauvaise’s desk.
“Well,” she said, “We don’t want to waste anymore of your valuable time.”
She held out her hand and Mauvaise rose and accepted it for a short shake and then sat down again. Annie brushed past a confused Arm and started for the library door. She stopped abruptly and turned causing Arm to almost run over her.
“Oh, one more thing.” She said with her sweet smile. “About the Sign of the Four I originally came for?”
Mauvaise leaned back in his chair.
“You will have to ask my wife about that.” He said. “The books are her pets. At least the ones with pretty pictures.”
Hope came into the room and smiled.
“What about pets and pretty pictures?” she asked.
Annie turned and pulled out her checkbook.
“I was asking your husband if the Sherlock Holmes novel was still for sale.” She said.
“Oh sure honey.” Hope said with a wide smile. “Just name your price.”
Annie wrote a figure on a check and handed it to Hope.
“From what I’ve researched,” she said, “I think that is a fair price.”
Hope took the check and barely glanced at the price.
“I’m sure that will be just peachy darlin’” she said.
Hope reached for a book on a high, dark shelf and placed it in Annie’s hands. She pointed at Annie’s checkbook.
“Don’t you just love those carbonated checks?” she asked. “They make it so easy to keep track of what you pay for.”
Annie smiled and agreed that they were handy. She and Arm were shown to the front door by Hope.
“I do wish you luck on finding the painting.” She told the two as they left.
Annie took Arm by the elbow and led him slowly down to the patrol car. She looked back and checked to see if the door to the house had closed.
“Do you have a pair of rubber gloves?” she asked.
Arm looked at her with a furrowed brow.
“Yes.” He said. “What in the world do you need those for?”
Annie pushed him towards the car.
“Now’s not the time to question why.” She said. “Just grab them and follow me Inspector.”
Arm opened the trunk and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves out of his first aid kit. He had to run to catch up to Annie who was at the large blue dumpster, leaning inside, throwing trash over her shoulder. Arm grabbed her dangling leg and pulled her to the ground. She had a large box in her hands.
“What on earth are you doing?” he demanded.
Annie sat the box down on the ground and grabbed the gloves from Arm and snapped them on.
“I’m getting you a present.” She said with a grin.
Annie slit the masking tape that sealed the box and reached inside. Arm muttered under his breath.
“Well I’ll be a son of..” He started to say.
Annie shot him a look with an upturned eyebrow that brought him up short. Then she smiled and held up a beautiful painting of blue and green.
“It’s the Monet.” Was all he could say.
Annie dug her fingers into the water lilies and began to peal away a piece of the canvas. Arm grabbed her hand.
“Have you lost your mind?” he shouted.
Annie shook his hand off.
“I just want to reading the last will and testament of Angelo Contrefacon.” She said as she removed a handwritten document from a paint-covered plastic envelope. She read the document and then handed it to a still stunned Arm.
“I believe you need to go back inside and make an arrest.” She said taking the gloves off and throwing them into the dumpster.
Arm read the document, looked up at Annie and walked quickly back up the driveway to the house. Mr. Mauvaise opened the door when they rang the bell.
“Good lord, you again.” He said not hiding his annoyance this time. “What did you forget this time?”
Arm held up the document.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step back inside.” He said as he pulled out his handcuffs.
Mauvaise staggered back into the house at the sign of the handcuffs and the determined look on Arm’s face. Hope came up behind Mauvaise and placed her arm around his.
“What is it honey?” she asked. “What do they want with you?”
Arm reached out and placed the cold metal on Hope’s small wrists. They steel clashed with her gold and diamonds. She looked down at the cuffs and up to her husband pleadingly.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said, her voice edging on hysterics.
Arm held up the document they had found in the fake Monet.
“It seems Angelo got suspicious of your motives to have a copy made of the Monet and wrote himself a sort of insurance policy explaining your agreement.” Arm said.
Hope’s eyes narrowed and she clinched her teeth. Gone was the sweet Southern Belle. In her place was the Scarlett digging through the dirt yelling that she would never be hungry again. Mauvaise placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Hope,” he looked worried for the first time, “what is he talking about?”
Hope jerked herself away from Mauvaise.
“Don’t you touch me you murdering snake.” She spat at him.
Mauvaise looked like he had been slapped.
“What are you talking about.” He stammered. “I never saw Contrefacon after he left here.”
She looked up into the air as if she were talking to a child.
“Not Angelo, you pompous ass.” She said. “I knew you killed my husband.”
She turned to Annie.
“Do you know how long it took me to set this whole thing up?” she said. “Now you two come along and ruin everything.”
Annie shook her head.
“Why did you have to kill Angelo?”
“That little jerk figured out I was going to fake the theft of the Monet and was trying to blackmail me.” She said. “I needed the money to get rid of that murderer there and head to Cannes for a long vacation. Instead, Angelo was going to blow the whole deal.”
Hope’s shoulders drooped as she gave in to the reality of her defeat.
“I guess you did not expect him to hide the contract you signed within the forged painting” Annie said. “I had noticed the raised edges when I saw the painting at Angelo’s motel room.”
Annie turned to Mauvaise.
“When I saw the painting in your office today,” she continued, “I noticed there was no ridge and the paint was dry”
She raised her finger.
“Oils never dry that quickly” she explained. “I knew it had to be the original.”
Annie turned to leave.
“Johnny, sweetie,” she said, “when you get done with her, pick me up at my hotel.”
She smiled as she placed the book under her arm.
“I believe you owe me a real dinner.” She said and walked out the front door into the dying light of the muggy, croaking sounds of another hot Alabama night.


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