The Seattle Cipher, page 4
“Alright, thank you.” Levi’s voice caused Patricia to snap out of her thoughts. “Mrs. Opals never opened the crates,” he informed Patricia in a careful tone. “Mrs. Opals assured me that the crates holding the photos were sent to Mr. Green without having been opened.”
“Which leads us to Mr. Green,” Patricia pointed out.
Levi nodded and then calmly retrieved an old wooden pipe from his jacket pocket. “Mind if I have a bit of cherry tobacco while we think?” he asked.
“No, I don’t mind. I actually like the smell of cherry tobacco.”
“I don’t smoke from my pipe very often, three or four times a week at the most,” Levi explained and then halted.
“What’s the matter?” Patricia asked, spotting a deep thought rush over Levi’s face.
“My pipe...” Levi shot to his feet and hurried off the stage. “Come with me, Patricia.” Patricia didn’t argue. She followed Levi off the stage and tagged after the man as he worked his way down an aisle that was filled with stacked wooden crates. Levi stopped at the end of the aisle, put his pipe away, and then stooped next to three open crates.
“Are these the crates the photos arrived in?” Patricia asked.
“Yes,” Levi confirmed. “As you can see, Roger had Greg just throw the crates anywhere. I like to stack the crates and keep them organized…no matter.” Levi stuck his head into an empty wooden crate, inhaled deeply, then popped his head back out. “Smell,” he told Patricia in an excited tone.
Patricia bent down as Levi scooted to the side. She placed her head into the wooden crate, spotted some hay, of all things, and then inhaled. “I smell...some hay...but I also smell...cologne? Yes, I smell cologne!” Patricia popped her head out of the crate and looked at Levi. Levi’s face was animated. “The cologne I smelled could belong to anyone.”
“But the cologne you smelled belongs to no other than Mr. Green himself!” Levi beamed. “Mr. Green wears a very distinct cologne that is shipped to America from Poland.”
“Well,” Patricia said and smiled, “it does seem like Mr. Green has opened the crates. That’s a little odd for a man who seemed to have no interest in the work of a man who is dead.” Patricia glanced down at the wooden crate she’d stuck her head into. “Shall we go give Mr. Green a call, Levi?”
“We shall, Watson,” Levi joked and then hurried back to the stage on excited legs. Patricia followed, feeling like a kid in a candy store. This case may be a real treasure after all!
Chapter Five
The exterior of the Seattle Art Museum reminded Patricia of an old Roman coliseum. A tall sculpture stationed outside—a figure holding what appeared to be a hammer, at least to Patricia—was positioned near the front entrance like some kind of strange thief preparing to break all the windows. Patricia glanced up through a heavy falling rain at the sculpture. Art is certainly open to interpretation, she thought. I suppose that’s the beauty of it. Everyone sees something different.
Levi spotted Patricia holding her green umbrella while staring upward. “This piece is supposed to be about building art, at least that’s what I believe,” he said in a clear voice.
Patricia lowered her eyes and watched people rush by holding different-colored umbrellas, fighting their way through the lashing rain, going here and there. Boy, am I being pessimistic. And it’s all Brian’s fault. Oh, I should punch him right in the nose! “Looks like silliness to me,” Patricia told Levi, unable to block her negative thoughts.
“Oh?” Levi responded.
Patricia felt a heavy sigh leave her heart. “I’m sorry, Levi. When we left the theater, my boyfriend Brian—the cop I’m dating in Georgia—sent me a text message. I wasn’t very nice in my reply. Guess I’m feeling—”
“Upset?”
Patricia nodded. “I’m not in the mood to decipher the deep meaning of someone’s artwork, I’m afraid.”
“Sometimes,” Levi offered in a brotherly voice, “it’s good to let the heart process difficult emotions. We all need time to work through frustrations before we can think clearly again.”
“In other words, do some soul searching, right?”
“Something like that,” Levi agreed. “Now, let’s get inside.”
Patricia smiled and followed Levi into the museum. Mr. Green was not present to offer a polite greeting, which left Levi a little time to show Patricia around the museum. After about forty minutes of wandering around, they entered a room filled with Australian art.
“I’ve visited Australia a few times on assignment,” Patricia whispered in order not to disturb a dignified old man and old woman who were peering at a strange piece of artwork as they whispered back and forth, trying to sound “Enlightened.” Patricia sighed. Or maybe those two people are just simply enjoying some artwork and discussing it. Boy, Brian sure has put me in a sour mood.
“I enjoy this room very much,” Levi told Patricia as he studied a beautiful painting. “I—”
“Levi, there you are,” a voice boomed.
Patricia spun around and, to her shock, spotted a very short man hurrying into the art room wearing a power suit. Henry Green approached Levi and shot out a quick hand. “Sorry for the delay. Meetings, you know?” he said in a quick, busy voice.
Patricia carefully drew in the air with her nose. I smell cologne—the same cologne scenting the inside of the crate I stuck my head into. “I’m Patricia McKay.”
“The travel writer, yes, I know.” Henry turned his attention to Patricia’s pretty face, hoping that his thinning black hair wasn’t too obvious. Henry prided himself on looking suave and powerful even though he was a short man who was suffering from four divorces—and he was only forty-four. “Levi told me about you, although he didn’t need to. I’ve read your work.”
“Oh, well—”
“You used to write humor columns, but lately I’ve been noticing that you’re writing more in a modern Nancy Drew style, if I’m not mistaken.” Henry placed his hands behind his back as the old couple frowned and left the room. “I prefer your old style. Murder isn’t my taste. But, whatever sells, right?”
“Uh, right.” Patricia nodded, staring at Henry’s arrogant face. Henry wasn’t much different from Roger, except in size. “So you’re the museum curator?”
“That’s right,” Henry confirmed in a proud voice. “I taught archeology at Humming Pines Private College for nearly fourteen years before moving to Seattle. Before I began teaching at Humming Pines, I taught art at Polar Hills High School for four years while I worked on my master’s degree.”
Patricia could tell that she was supposed to be impressed. “That’s very impressive.”
“I began teaching when I was twenty-four,” Henry proudly stated. “I graduated college when I was twenty-one. I began college when I was seventeen.”
“Oh, well, that’s impressive, for sure,” Patricia stated, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Mr. Green, Levi and I are here because—”
“Eva Vinovich was robbed,” Henry finished, allowing his tone to drop. “Yes, I heard of the robbery. I was never a fan of Paul Vinovich. Thought his work lacked...maturity. However, it’s a shame when the art world is robbed of a valuable collection. After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I may not have preferred the work of Paul Vinovich, but Levi here admired the man’s work.”
Patricia nodded. “Yes, he did, and so did I. But right now, Mr. Green, we’re here to ask you a few questions that concern the shipment of the photos rather than how a person feels about art.”
“The shipment?” Henry asked. “What do you mean?”
Patricia stepped forward before Levi could speak. She had enough experience dealing with killers to last a lifetime. Dealing with a little arrogant twerp was going to be a piece of cake. “Did you open the crates that held the work of Paul Vinovich, Mr. Green?”
“Open the crates? Of course not,” Henry stated and tossed Patricia’s question aside. “I assign certain staff members to receive and unload inventory and ship all items that pass through this museum. I am much too busy to be bothered with...low labor tasks. As you can see, Ms. McKay, this museum is very active and large. I am a very busy man. I have a great deal of responsibility attached to me every day. Managing this museum—if I might toot my own horn—does take a bit of brilliant oversight.”
Oh brother, is this little twerp ever full of himself. Too bad he’s not standing out in a cow pasture where he belongs. “Were the crates that held the photos that were sent to Roger Cameron ever opened?”
“Most certainly not,” Henry insisted. “Nothing is opened without my consent. Once the crates arrived I simply...pushed the chore of displaying the photos onto Roger Cameron. I promised Eva Vinovich that her father’s work would be displayed. I didn’t say where.” Henry pretended to look sad. “Eva Vinovich was once a brilliant artist. I admired her work, still do. Her devotion to Paul Vinovich is admirable, but Ms. McKay, you travel the world over. You have eyes and must see that we are living in a world that is constantly changing. To display the work of a man who was never very popular to begin with—in this museum—why, I would have been laughed out of Seattle. Roger Cameron was—”
“Convenient?” Patricia asked.
Henry tensed up a little. “Yes,” he replied, becoming cold, “if you want to use that term.”
Patricia glanced at Levi. Levi waited. He understood Patricia was a skilled detective, or at least a woman who knew how to ask the right questions. “Are you certain the crates holding Paul Vinovich’s work weren’t opened?”
“Of course. No staff member is allowed to open any crate, box, or even a matchbox without my permission. I’m the general of the museum, and my enlisted men and women answer directly to me,” Henry informed Patricia like a rooster puffing out its chest. “Now,” Henry turned to Levi, “if that’s all, Levi, I’m very busy today.”
Levi placed his hands behind his back. “Patricia was eager to speak with you, Mr. Green. It was good of you to speak to her. I do apologize if you have become offended. Patricia has a curious mind and I’m helping her with her questions.”
A cold, crocodile smile touched Henry’s lips. “I’m not offended at all, Levi. Ms. McKay is becoming known as a modern day Nancy Drew. When I heard that she was at the old theater when the photos were stolen, I expected a visit. Now, if you will excuse me...”
“Of course.” Levi nodded and then added: “Please accept my deepest gratitude for your time, Mr. Green.”
Henry enjoyed being treated like a prince. “I can always make time for you, Levi,” he said in a royal voice and then slithered away on his short legs.
“Nice touch.” Patricia grinned at Levi. “I play the bad cop, you play the good cop.”
“Never hurts to keep your enemies flattered,” Levi explained in a low voice, stepping close to Patricia. “Mr. Green lied to us.” Levi sniffed the air. “The smell of his cologne is nearly suffocating me. Come on, let’s go back outside.”
“And fast.” Patricia followed Levi back outside and entered a heavy rain. “I think your friend knows something we don’t, Levi.”
“I agree,” Levi confessed, opening his umbrella. “Let’s walk back to the theater.”
“No, let’s get a bite to eat. All this walking has made me hungry.”
Levi looked to his right and then to his left. “I usually eat at a little café that isn’t too far from here. The food is simple and isn’t that great, but the prices are reasonable, and it is quiet.”
“Lead the way.”
Levi smiled and walked. Patricia followed. “I admit that I haven’t been able to come up with any practical ideas as to why Paul Vinovich attached numbers to his work,” Levi spoke over the falling rain.
“Me, neither,” Patricia agreed, holding her umbrella in her right hand while carrying a purse in her tired left hand. “Could be an address, an area code, some sort of code, but whatever the numbers represent, it’s obvious they are very important.”
“Yes, I don’t believe in coincidences. If the photos were stolen, they were stolen for a very good reason,” Levi explained, walking past a slow-moving tour group. “Excuse us,” he told a gentle-looking Japanese man in a polite voice. The Japanese man offered a kind smile and moved aside for Patricia.
“Thank you, sir,” Patricia smiled. See, why can’t everyone be like that nice man?
Levi saw a genuine kindness in Patricia that comforted his heart. He felt most people were kind and decent, but the world’s demand for conformity often made people afraid to show compassion, fearing attack or judgment. Patricia, Levi saw, wasn’t one of those people. Patricia McKay was going to keep holding onto the beautiful heart beating inside of her tender spirit, no matter the cost. Levi could tell that faith was important to Patricia, and that gave her strength. “We’re almost to the café,” he said after a few minutes of steady walking.
Patricia nodded as they turned down a gloomy side street that didn’t look very appealing. She spotted a few buildings that were modern, a few that looked ancient. Fancy vehicles were parked in front of parking meters—vehicles with no meaning, just modern junk in Patricia’s eyes. Now there’s an artistic statement. Sitting between a fancy office building and a run-down insurance office stood a small brick café that reminded Patricia of Paris. And Paris wasn’t exactly a fun trip. Dealing with an angry killer in the city of love wasn’t a grand vacation, and Paris wasn’t the city of love. More like the city that time needs to forget. Of course, I guess back in the old days, Paris might have been...sweet. “Uh, this café looks...nice, Levi.”
Levi smiled a little as the heavy rain struck his umbrella. “Roger might be wealthy, but I’m not. I have to eat what my wallet can afford. Come on, let’s go inside and dry off.”
Patricia followed Levi into a quiet but surprisingly warm and spotless little café that, yes, was decorated to resemble Paris. Old French jazz music was drifting down from the ceiling, falling into a line of red and white booths with romantic candles. The outside wasn’t grand, but the inside was very romantic. I wish Brian was here. I... oh, forget it. I’ll just have a simple bite to eat with Levi and get back to the case and stop thinking about Brian—the jerk of the year. “It’s nicer on the inside than the outside.” Patricia smiled, closing her umbrella.
Levi looked at Patricia with curious eyes that held a strong wisdom that was rare to see. “Isn’t that how the heart is?” he asked and then walked to his usual booth as a red-headed woman wearing a pink and white dress appeared from the back kitchen. Levi offered a friendly wave. The woman waved back.
Chapter Six
Rachel Greenstone waited until Patricia seated herself across from Levi and then went to work. “You’re a little late today, Levi. I was wondering if you were going to show up.”
Patricia saw a lovely, delicate face that deserved to be plastered all over Paris. Rachel was beautiful—even though she was pushing fifty, the woman was aging gracefully. “I was distracted,” Levi explained in a polite voice. “I see we missed the dinner crowd.”
Rachel let out a quick laugh. “What dinner crowd? You’re the third customer I’ve had today. It’s a good thing I’m rich, Levi, otherwise I would have to close down this café.” Rachel focused on Patricia. Patricia was a beautiful woman. “Are you Levi’s girlfriend?”
“What? Oh, no, I’m—”
“This is Patricia McKay, Rachel. She’s a travel writer,” Levi helped Patricia. “She’s helping me work on a curious mystery that we came across at the museum.”
“You mean the old theater? I would never call the theater a museum,” Rachel told Levi, becoming a little stern. “My parents wed in that theater. I’d have purchased it, but that’s a tale for another day. I have coffee, donuts, bagels, croissants, vegetable beef soup, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and apple pie.”
“Two soups, served with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, heavy on the peanut butter, coffee and two bagels, extra cream cheese,” Levi ordered and then smiled at Patricia. “My treat.”
“Oh no, Levi, I—”
“A friend can treat another friend to a warm meal,” Levi insisted.
“Well, thank you.” Patricia smiled back and spoke in a silly southern voice. “I accept your kind offer, sir. Last time anyone treated me to a meal was when my granny was cooking her famous squash roadkill stew.”
“Squash roadkill stew?” Rachel asked, grimacing. “I’ll pass.”
Patricia laughed. “My granny wouldn’t touch a dead rodent for anything, but she did cook the best biscuits you ever sunk your teeth into.”
Rachel enjoyed seeing Patricia’s eyes light up. The woman seemed very sad when she entered the café. “What brings you to Seattle? Are you writing an article?” she asked.
“I’m not really sure why my boss asked me to come here, or why my boss dished out some good money for me to stay in a fancy hotel. Edna, that’s my boss, usually puts me up in a real dive, and flying first class—forget about it. I’m blessed if I even get a cramped seat in the back of a plane.” Patricia placed her hands together. “All I know is that Edna asked me to fly to Seattle and wait for instructions.”
“How did you meet Levi?”
“A nice girl who works at the hotel I’m staying at told me that the museum—I mean theater—Levi is working at was hosting a traveling art exhibit. And well, I didn’t really have anything else to do—please don’t take offense, Levi—so I decided to go see the exhibit,” Patricia explained. “When I arrived at the theater, Levi and I were introduced to a very odd conundrum.”
“Roger’s security guard was clobbered over the head, and someone stole a series of very valuable photos,” Levi added.
“Oh my, really?” Rachel asked in disbelief. Levi nodded. “You mean to tell me there was actually some excitement at the old theater?” Levi nodded for a second time. Rachel shook her head in shock. “Levi, we both know that Roger Cameron’s sense of art and history is about as sharp as a dull rock. If it wasn’t for you, the theater would have taken a serious nosedive long ago. Who in the world would want to steal anything that Roger Cameron considers valuable?”
