No Rest for the Wicked - Chapter 4

Max’s hands were abnormally sweaty, even for the heat of Las Vegas. Standing outside the Marjorie Barrick Art Museum on the UNLV campus, he wished he had stayed in his car while he waited for Fiona to arrive. He was surprised she agreed to help him out. When he called, her line went straight to voice mail, but with a text explaining his fresh case she responded with a thumbs up and “9AM, don’t be late” in reply. It didn’t hurt that he dropped it was a favor for Jerry, and that he omitted the bits about the paintings changing. He figured it was best that she thought it was just a cold case murder he was looking into, none of the “out there” stuff she hated so much when they were together.

He looked at his watch for the third time. 8:58 AM. It wasn’t like him to be early, but while terrified to see Fiona after so long apart, he was also admittedly excited. There had been other women since their breakup, but none of them had he been in love with. Not like Fiona.

He finally spotted her, walking toward him with a face that screamed irritation. Unfortunately for both of them, she was the only actual contact he had at the University, and he needed to get smart on art and Devine.

“Good morning, you look great,” he sputtered, wishing he had left the last bit out.

Fiona looked him over with a smirk. “You look like hell. Let’s just get this over with. You make sure you don’t embarrass me. I might not be in the art department, but word travels fast here and if it gets out I made an introduction to some wacko talking about crazy crap, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Relax, I won’t embarrass you. You used to like art. You don’t come over to the museum ever?”

“Rarely. I’ve been busy with my classes and applying for a fieldwork event.”

“Oh? Anything I would know about?”

“Doubtful unless suddenly you have an interest in anthropology.”

Fiona and Max had met in a forensic anthropology class when they were both in college. He took the class to help him with his detective work. She took it because she loved bones.

Fiona looked down at her cell. “I just texted the curator. He should be here momentarily.”

“Alright, thank you for doing this, Fiona. I really appreciate it.”

“If it means maybe you are investigating what happens in the world we all live in versus the one in your mind, who am I to stand in your way? Besides, I always liked Jerry.”

Max smiled, “I’m sure he’d love to see you sometime. Just because we aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean we can’t all be friendly.”

“I see Jerry occasionally. Now, here he comes.”

Fiona’s admission that she’s seen Jerry since their breakup stung like a hot iron plunged into his gut. It had never occurred to Max that Fiona would socialize with Jerry outside of their relationship, or that Jerry wouldn’t tell him about it.

The curator emerged from the front doors of the museum. Dressed in loose linen dress pants, a slightly lighter shade linen button up, sandals, and colorfully rimmed glasses, the blonde man embraced Fiona warmly and then turned to Max, “You must be Fiona’s friend, Mr. West, is it?”

Max held out his hand. “Yes indeed. Thank you for letting me come by and pick your brain, Mr….?”

The man grabbed Max’s hand with an unexpected firmness. “Please, call me Theo. Only the students call me Mr. Varnell. And I couldn’t possibly say no! A private investigator wanting my expertise!”

“Well, I’d love to stay but I must jet.” Fiona raised a hand in goodbye to Max and flashed a smile at Theo.

“No you can’t! Fine, if you must go you must, but let’s get some drinks and tapas tonight or tomorrow. It’s been too long, my dear!”

Clearly Fiona has at least spent some time with Theo, if not at the museum.

“Now, let’s get out of this dreadful heat and get messy with some art, Mr. West.”

“Sounds good. You can call me Max by the way. Mr. West was my father.”

Theo led the way through the doors and down a side hall from the visitor counter to a door that led to the back rooms of the museum. As they passed windowed offices, Max could see students assisting with cataloging artwork, restoring pieces, and doing various other administrative work.

“This is where all the work happens. Here we are. Let’s chat in my office first and then we can see what you need more in detail.”

The curators’ office was a lot larger than Max expected, with a window that overlooked a courtyard filled with sculptures and flora. The office itself was minimalist in style, lots of eggshell colors and clean lines. Theo gestured to sit on a couch off to the side in a sitting area away from his desk. As he settled into one side of the couch, Theo perched himself in the seat directly next to him, creating a uniquely intimate experience.

“So, first things first. How did you and Fiona meet?”

“W-w-well, we met in an anthropology class, actually.”

“But you decided to not follow in her boney footsteps.” Theo let out a laugh at his own pun and punctuated it with a hand on Max’s knee.

“Not quite. My life had a different path than hers.”

“Hmmmm intriguing, we’ll have to get into that more later! So, what can I help you with, Max?”

“I’m investigating the murder of Adrian Devine and was hoping to get some insight into his life and his body of work.”

Theo’s demeanor changed, and his face went from joyous energy to a sullen, slightly guarded look. “Oh, terrible thing what happened there. Adrian was a really talented man and such a treasure to the city.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

Theo nodded. “Yes, I did a few times. He had just started bringing his work and materials to the museum back when I started here as an associate.”

“What was he like?”

Theo removed his hand from Max’s knee and sighed, looking off into his memories. “He was…wonderful. Very humble but passionate about his work. Handsome too, although not fancy. He was always wearing these awful old dark jeans and these black and gray undershirts…covered in paint splatter, of course. What has made you decide to look into his murder? I understood it was a robbery. Do you have any leads on who it could’ve been after all this time?”

“Of a sort, a friend of mine has reason to believe that perhaps the random robbery theory might not be entirely accurate. I have no opinion myself yet. I just agreed to poke around a bit to see if there might be any teeth to that accusation.”

Theo leaned in, hand on Max’s knee again, “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. I remember the cops weren’t all that interested in any of his things that we had here.”

“What things might that be?”

“Like I said, he was moving a lot of his work and materials here around that same time. As an associate, it was my job to inventory and secure his things after his death, you know, for posterity.”

“What kinds of things? I guess I just assumed art museums had just art.”

Theo chuckled and rose from the couch, grabbing keys out of his desk, “Heavens no! We have many things related to the artists we have galleried! I can take you to his effects now.”

“That would be great, and you said the cops weren’t all that interested when they came?”

“Not at all. In fact, they never did come over here. The curator…gosh I can’t recall his name…anyway he had gone to the station and spoke to the officer in charge of the investigation to let them know we would cooperate and was blown off. Really struck a nerve with him at the time.”

Theo led Max down a wide, sterile hallway lined with fireproof doors and polished concrete underfoot. The further they walked, the more the hum of the cooling system deepened: the air in this part of the museum complex was chilly, meant to preserve objects that had already outlasted their creators by a century or two. At the end of the corridor was an unmarked metal door with a digital keypad and old-fashioned lock. Theo fished a key card from his linen pocket, then, after a dramatic pause, punched in a six-digit code and twisted the handle.

Max followed him into a warehouse-sized chamber crowded with rolling racks, archival shelves, and jumbled stacks of acid-free boxes. Lamps on motion sensors flicked on overhead, illuminating rows of oil paintings sheathed in Tyvek sleeves and upright racks of canvases as tall as Max himself. Some paintings were wrapped loosely in plastic; others leaned at odd angles against steel beams. Statues stood frozen between crates like refugees waiting for processing. In one corner, an intern dusted a molded horse head with obsessive care.

“Jesus,” Max muttered. The room was both colder and somehow quieter than he’d expected…a mausoleum for dead artists.

Theo looked back over his shoulder. “We are very proud of our collection…though things do tend to pile up when no one’s looking.”

They wove between rolling carts until Theo stopped before a double-wide shelving unit labeled D—E. He scanned barcodes on several boxes before pulling two identical ones down from chest height.

“Here we go! Devine,” he said in a ceremonial tone, displaying the bold block letters stamped on masking tape. He offered Max one box while clutching the other to his chest.

Max took it gingerly…the weight surprised him; there was more than paperwork inside. As they made their way to an unclaimed table in the far corner, Max couldn’t resist peering sideways at what other treasures filled this crypt: old sketchbooks bound with rubber bands; globby clay studies with fingerprints pressed deep; even what looked like a medieval bookstand chained to an iron rod.

Theo caught his glance. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff we have back here. Did you know Andy Warhol kept every single receipt from every purchase he ever made?” He didn’t wait for Max’s answer before plowing on: “Art museums are confessional booths for obsessive personalities.”

The table creaked under the combined weight of both boxes as they set them down.

“Alright, this is all the effects we have of Adrian’s that he had brought over. You are free to look at any of it and take photos, but you can’t take anything with you. I need to get back to the main museum for a spell. I have a class coming through for a tour. But I can be back in an hour? Maybe we can grab a bite and discuss his actual artwork?”

Max smiled politely and nodded. “That would be lovely.”

“Wonderful! See you in a bit!”

Theo headed back out the warehouse door, and Max looked down at the inventory sheets on top of both boxes. One box had primarily sketches and photographs, the other notebooks and personal effects. Starting with the second box, Max carefully took out notebooks, flipping through them, scanning for anything of interest. In the third notebook, a piece of paper delicately folded fell from the center. Opening the paper up, it had beautiful cursive handwriting.

“My love - A part of you and a part of me is growing into something entirely new. You once told me art was how you gave shape to pain…our daughter will be the one to erase the sins of my family’s past. Yours, E”