[21] Dust by Martha Grimes

Author:Martha Grimes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-02-01T20:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SEVEN

They were stuffed into a smallish booth at a Happy Eater, whose bright carrot colors were enough to make the blind see. Wiggins had complained that they had not had lunch, and that tea had not really fortified him for the rest of the afternoon.

“You,” said Wiggins, shoveling down his beans on toast, “were out there for a goodish half an hour.”

“And you were in the kitchen for the same amount of time. I hope you used it wisely.” Jury ate his eggs.

“I did. The cook was quite nice, gave me more tea and a slice of her apple cake.”

This would be, for Wiggins, using the time wisely.

He went on: “Apparently, Roderick is pleasant enough, but the lady of the house is a right harridan. Margaret—that’s the maid—got a real dressing-down the other day for using her duster on the frames of the paintings.”

Jury frowned. “Why would that merit a dressing-down?”

“‘They’s to be touched by no one but me and my husband.’” Wiggins fluted, mimicking the little maid.

Jury thought about this. “Billy was very much interested in art, to the tune of subsidizing it. There are two paintings in that house Malcolm says weren’t always there, that were acquired perhaps a year ago. That strikes me as strange.”

“Why?” Wiggins sipped what was probably his hundredth cup for the day. “You could go out and buy two paintings at the same time if you wanted.”

“It’s not exactly like bed linen, sets of sheets. You wouldn’t be trying to match up two walls, now, would you? They might have come from the same source.”

Wiggins shrugged again.

“Billy was tracing their provenance, so something struck him as strange, too. Find out about them and where they were acquired, if possible.”

“Yes, boss.” He sounded doubtful. “But if they’re reproductions, well, there wouldn’t really be anything, would there?”

“That’s the point. Malcolm says Billy told him they weren’t; they’re the genuine article.”

“A Klimt? But that’s worth pots of money, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Then Wiggins returned to bemoaning the fate of the Happy Eater chain, which was to be shut down and turned into Burger Kings and more Little Chefs. He had nothing against Little Chefs as such, but nothing could drag him into a Burger King.

Jury had been forced to follow the Happy Eaters’ demise because Wiggins talked about it whenever they got on the road. “Well, they’re all owned, these motorway rest stops and A-road cafés, by Trust House Forte, aren’t they?”

“Probably, but can you imagine a Burger King in place of this?” Wiggins swept his arm outward and very nearly knocked over the young waitress with her tray who’d come with fresh coffee. Wiggins apologized; she only smiled and poured.

As she padded away on rubber-soled trainers, Wiggins continued: “They’re closing them down because, they say, Happy Eaters attract the gray-haired lot. They’re after a different demographic.”

“Please don’t talk like a television presenter. ‘Gray-haired lot’? That surprises me because I thought there was never anyone over six in Happy Eaters except for you and me.” He looked at the children’s play area, which was quite crowded even at this off-hour of three.

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