 CHAPTER 9 (section 3) copyright © 2001, S. Y. Affolee “You’re going to stay right here. Don’t attempt to do anything,” Simone said as she took the keys from his hand. “You’re not in any shape for any exertion.” “I’m still going to the office,” Adrian protested. She opened up the apartment door and turned around to glare at him. “No. Not even that. This is your chance to become a couch potato.” “That does not make a very appealing scene.” Nevertheless, he headed toward the couch and sat down. Fuz who had been sleeping on the arm of the couch opened one eye and made his way toward his lap. “Well, if you want to be useful, you can use the phone and call up some local art museums to see if they have the Rose,” Simone replied. She retrieved the cordless phone from a nearby table and dropped it beside him. “This should be a relatively safe job.” “You want me to contact stuffy museum curators?” he asked in disbelief. “I knew you could do it,” she replied breezily. She headed back toward the front door. “Fuz, make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble, okay?” The small black kitten meowed and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. “Where are you going?” “I’m heading back to the office to get some equipment. I’m going to check out Professor Olivia Fitzgerald’s office.” “You’re going back to the university?” he said surprised. “That’s dangerous.” “Checking out a professor’s office is dangerous? Don’t worry, I’ll be in and out of there in no time.” “But...” Simone had already walked out and closed the door. He sighed and laid his head at the back of the couch. “I should have known she would have turned this back to her advantage.” Fuz ignored him and just stretched his paws to get into a more comfortable position. He began to flip through the phone book for the listings of local art museums and silently groaned at the long list that was presented. He wondered if it would be possible to foist the chore back to the secretary, but then realized that Danny was rather an air head and would possibly screw up the job one way or another by not asking the right questions or arousing suspicion too soon. Besides, Simone would disapprove of the tactic. He made a couple calls, inquiring about a scupture named The Rose, possibly by an anonymous artist and got negative answers. He looked at the next listing. Hermione’s Elanne Antiquities. It sounded familiar. It also sounded more like a boutique shop than a museum. He dialed the number. “Hermione’s, how may I help you?” The voice sounded faintly like that of a woman. “Hello. I’m calling to inquire about whether or not you have a particular piece in your collection.” “We have several collections. Exactly what is this piece?” “I believe it is a sculpture entitled ‘The Rose’. I am not quite sure if it was carved by an established artist or an anonymous one. It’s supposed to be fairly old. Three hundred years, possibly.” “Ah. Indeed we do have a piece like that, on auction, I’m afraid. At the moment, there’s already one bidder on it.” “Why haven’t you just sold it?” “We’re actually waiting for a month to see if there are any other bidders.” “I have a client who may be interested in bidding for it.” “Very good. Would you like to come by to see the piece then?” “Yes.” “Great.” Hermione’s Elanne Antiquities was more like a small shop huddled between a few others on a little street in the southern district of Elanne. Adrian was sure that Simone would have objected to him coming out to see the museum although his cat Fuz didn’t utter a peep. The lazy feline just kept on sleeping. You’re taking a grave risk, he could hear her telling him. And in a way, she would be right, but he didn’t see any muggers lurking around the more classier places in town, particularly a museum, no matter how small it was. The proprietor, a dull mousey woman well into middle age who called herself Ms. Hermione Phelps, did not seem as excited as he would have expected with a potential bidder for one of the peices in her museum. But then, he reasoned, if she had the piece for a while, she might have grown attached to it, very much like a child to his first teddy bear. But he didn’t say so out loud and he glanced at the outer displays first—some rather insipid water color landscapes and metal sculptures of indeterminate origin. When Ms. Phelps caught him glancing at these pieces, she explained that the paintings were from a local artist approximately a hundred years ago who fancied himself a naturalist although his talent was less than mediocre. The paintings were not even worth compared to greats like Rembrant or Raphael or Monet, but they did have a historical value, especially since they were painted during a time when art in Elanne was scarce. The scuptures were by a variety of artists even longer ago, two hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, who were part of a local metal working movement that had been termed the Smelting School. The artists were all anonymous, but during the time, the scuptures were in high demand in the area, a sign of great status—although today they looked more like lumps of dejected iron ready to be thrown into the scrap yard. But finally after the lecturing that he patiently endured, the proprietess led him to a back room that he noticed that someone had taken great pains to carefully illuminate. The room was painted black and there were pedestals placed every so often in the room so that it still created the illusion of space. Individual lights spotlighted the artifacts that were on display on each pedestal. Hermione Phelps pointed to near the back. All of items on display in the room were for auction. The artifact that she pointed out was apparently made entirely of black marble. It was cubical and on the top was carved the picture of a rose. The sculpture itself was not impressive, something that looked to be easily mass reproduced in the modern age. There was nothing distinctive, no marking of who may have carved the thing. It was The Rose, the proprietess explained, made three hundred years ago, most likely even longer. The stone, the black marble, actually came from a quarry in central Europe that was now completely exhausted. The artist was unknown for he did not make a mark anywhere, even on the bottom of the sculpture. It was not impressive, she agreed, but it did have some significance since it was supposedly associated with a cult that died out perhaps one or two hundred years ago. From that, Adrian pounced, asking if she knew anything about this cult, but she had shook her head saying that it was all she got from the solicitor who had delivered the sculpture to her. As for The Rose’s previous owner, she could only say that it had been some old eccentric by the name of Randall who wanted to get rid of it. She doubted if he was still alive. After reassuring her that she would get back to her on his client’s bid, Adrian exited the museum feeling a little at a loss despite his astonishing success at locating the artifact. Somewhere, he believed that there was something that he was missing. Standing on the sidewalk, pondering, he nearly missed the flash of gold at his feet. He picked the object up and observed the design. It was a cuff link composed of interlocking gold chains. |