Still Life Without You

By Teresa Hubley

Teen-aged twins, Georgia and Jackson Phillips, spring into action when they find their favorite painting, "Nude Sketch No. 45.," has been stolen from the local museum. A visit to the artist, the heartbroken widower, Jonah Coffey, draws them into the sketch's dark back story and the designs of thieves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Hubley
• Release date: Jan 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458022073

Teresa Hubley

Teresa Hubley was born in Minneapolis and moved every couple of years after that, winding up in a handful of small Midwestern towns, suburban California and even west Africa. As an adult, she acquired a doctoral degree in anthropology and has lived most of her life in Maine, where she works in the health field. She usually has too many books to keep track of going at any time on her reading list. Favorite authors include Charles Dickens, E.M. Forster, Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, and Dave Barry. Lunch out with Teresa and her family usually includes the reading of a few pages while the meal is delivered. When she's not reading or writing, she might be drawing, going for a long walk, or sneaking a guilty pleasure moment playing games on her tablet.

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Still Life Without You

Published by Teresa Hubley at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Teresa Hubley

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1: The Lost Lady

The sign where the little watercolor nude had once hung read, Temporarily Removed for Restoration. This puzzled and disappointed the fans of the winsome lady who reclined on a vaguely outlined daybed, her face turned away as she contemplated some unseen object. She wasn’t very old, having originated just a few months ago from a local collection. In her short time at the city museum, though, she had acquired a solid base of regular visitors.

There was one admirer who never signed the guestbook at the gallery door or the comment log before the picture itself. Jackson Phillips was concerned that some other teenager he knew might by chance see his name and make fun of him for wasting perfectly good weekend days in museums looking at hazy nude portraits done in the impressionist style. Worse yet, he clearly came (possibly even willingly) in the company of his twin sister, Georgia, who signed both books in huge, bold, shameless letters and always left brief but embarrassingly gushing comments such as Inspirational beauty beyond compare!!

Both the Phillips twins stood gazing at the sign so sorrowfully that they attracted the attention of the Impressionist curator, Mia Trask. The petite Ms. Trask was making the rounds of the gallery in her trim blue blazer and matching pleated skirt, answering questions. She spotted the two teens standing still as sculpture and cruised in their direction. The boy was a beanpole six-footer with a mop of curly red hair, crowned by sunglasses worn on the top of his head. The girl was pear-shaped and a head shorter, her brown hair shaped into a pageboy.

Any questions? Mia asked, polishing her glasses as she spoke.

Where is she? Georgia asked.

As the sign says… Mia replied, replacing the glasses and patting down her glossy black hair.

That’s strange, Jackson said. It’s practically a new painting, just two years old. Look.

The plaque with the name Nude Sketch Number 45 was still in place, the year still visible.

Yes, Mia said, wringing her hands. Well, sometimes they need cleaning.

You sure? Georgia asked. We’ve seen her at least once a week for practically a year and she looked fine to us.

I’m sure she’ll be back in no time, Mia replied, unnecessarily adjusting her blazer. Do you have any other questions?

Who was she? Jackson asked.

Mia blinked hard before answering. Beg your pardon?

The girl in the picture, Jackson clarified.

Just a model. Nobody special, Mia told him.

What if she gets lost? Georgia wondered.

Mia looked at her watch and then gave a brief smile. She’ll be fine, she said. Keep watching this space, kids. I have some things to attend to now, so I’ll see you next time. Enjoy the museum. We have many more wonderful things for you to discover here. You might even find something you like just as much.

Mia gasped and shook her head when the two visitors showed up at her office an hour later.

Hi. Us again, Jackson announced. We can’t get the painting out of our minds. We talked it over and we think there’s more to the story.

If there were more to the story, why would that be your business? Mia asked.

We just want to help, Jackson said. That was our favorite painting. If she’s in trouble, we want to volunteer to pitch in.

There’s really nothing you can do, Mia said. She was stolen.

I knew it! Georgia exclaimed.

When Mia heard the names of her visitors, she couldn’t resist the follow-up question, which, by now, was very familiar to them. This time though, they were proud and eager to confirm they had been named after artists. Their parents loved art and often contributed money to artistic events and funds. This news made Mia visibly more alert, perking up in her chair.

Not a lot of money, you know, Jackson clarified. They’re just plain people. Dad works for the city library. Mom is a scrapbook artist and teaches adult ed.

Mia sagged a little but she smiled and offered her visitors a dish of candy. They each dipped in and came back with a piece. Mia gestured towards the comfy chairs in her office and the visitors each dragged their chosen seat before the desk and sat.

What happened? Georgia asked.

We just noticed her missing one morning, Mia said.

Isn’t she protected by alarms? Jackson wondered.

Not like the others. You were right when you observed that she is newer than the other items in that gallery. She was painted by a lesser-known artist and wasn’t very valuable. We didn’t consider her a theft risk and so she was not under the highest security. Still, it should not have been possible for her to go missing. There are motion-sensitive lights and cameras in that gallery and the rest of the museum is well covered with full time security. We should at least have an image of the thief available but we have nothing. Someone cut her out of her frame and rolled her up. I’m afraid the police have been all over this and they are just as stumped about how it was done without triggering the cameras.

Maybe we should ask ‘why’ first, Jackson said.

We have even less of an idea why than how, Mia commented.

I’m sure it’s ‘who’ we need to start with, Georgia said. We can get all the rest if we have that.

How can we possibly get ‘who’? Mia sighed.

Well, let’s name each ‘who’ connected with the painting, Georgia suggested.

Together she and her twin exclaimed Jonah Coffey! Mia nodded in reply. The artist, yes.

And who donated the painting? Jackson asked.

A collector named Robert Fine. Or to be precise, the estate of Robert Fine. The entire collection came in at once when he died, just as his will directed. The group as a whole included some very valuable pieces. He had a good eye. In general, that is. The best are in the special exhibits area.

Think of it, Georgia said. A man who was very devoted to art dies and leaves his art collection to a museum. But at least one is not like the others. It’s just a no-name piece by a no-name artist. What kind of value does a painting have if it’s not money?

Sentiment, Mia offered. She nodded and repeated the word.

Then someone else…some other sentimental someone… said, ‘No, Wait. I wanted that for myself,’ Jackson surmised.

Sounds intriguing, Mia admitted. I wonder what Mr. Fine’s executor might have to say.

What about Mr. Coffey? Georgia asked.

What if he is ‘Mr. Sentimental?’ Jackson mused. Or maybe just ‘Mr. I-Could-Really-Use-The-Cash?’ Maybe he hoped the painting would get famous if it was stolen. Not too famous, but just famous enough. I guess he didn’t count on you keeping it quiet.

Sounds like you’re far too suspicious to me, Mia said. Why don’t we just go visit Mr. Coffey at his studio and ask him what he thinks of the theft? Perhaps he has a lead for us, if you will. I can meet you tomorrow at ten in the morning in front of the museum. We can take a cab over to Mr. Coffey’s place. He has a studio in back of a frame shop called ‘The FrameLane’. He should be there at that time.

*****

The frame shop door had a sign of its own. It read, Closed, Please Call Again. Mia had come along with the twins, still dressed in her dutiful skirt and blazer, as she would be working that afternoon. The twins wore their own uniforms made of too-big pants and frayed t-shirts over socks and sandals.

Mia knocked at the door and called, Mr. Coffey! Mr. Coffey!

A figure appeared, rippling through the haze of the frosty glass. The door opened to a young-looking man. He had tousled sandy hair, one length around the tops of his ears, a round face and round glasses. He was dressed in a tie-dye sweatshirt and faded jeans. He was barefoot and one toe bore a golden ring. A cat the color of orange crème candies tried to dash out between his legs. He scooped her up with the exclamation, Fiddlesticks!

The cat’s name? Mia inquired, petting the cat.

No, the man said. One of the nicer things I can think of to say to her. Get going, Frida Katlo!

The twins twittered at the name.

The man tossed the cat back into the store and said, We’re not open and there’s no such thing as a framing emergency.

I’m not here about a frame but a picture, Mia said. Its name is….

Nude Sketch Number 45, Georgia filled in.

And? the man