Probable Claws

12

January 6, 2017

Friday

“Marvella, how are you?” Harry spoke on the phone to a new friend in Richmond, Marvella Rice Lawson.

The elegant older woman, a power in the art and African American communities, replied, “Good. The snow is beautiful, the main streets are plowed. Big piles of snow everywhere, but Tinsdale and I,” she mentioned her husband, “bundle up and take our walks. What about you?”

“Same story. Main roads plowed. Fair plowed out our farm road, paths to the barn, and outbuildings.” Harry looked out the window. “Right now the snow is blood red. The sun first turned it gold but now it’s setting, blood red. Quite a sight.”

“You know, Sotheby’s for the last few years has been selling collections of Russian art. Lots of snow scenes, troika rides, that sort of thing, but some of the work is lovely. And it’s the first time we’ve seen any of it.”

“Isn’t it strange to think how politics affects the arts? Of course, there’s the good side, like those wonderful Renaissance painters giving us all their versions of the idealized Madonna.”

“Usually their mistresses.” Marvella laughed.

“Well, yes.” Harry laughed with her. “I was hoping you would be free next Friday and we could go to the Museum of Fine Arts. Have you seen the Architectural Etchings exhibit? They call it ‘Remnants and Revivals.’ Very uncommon work.”

“I have, but I’m happy to go again. Shall I meet you there in the lobby, say, at high noon?” She paused. “Unless there’s another snowstorm. I’ve dutifully watched the projected weather report for the next week but one can’t go by it.”

“There is that. Can you tell me where I might find a book containing some of those Russian paintings?”

“I can do better than that. I’ll give you a thumb drive I made. I’ve been leaning on my friend, Sean Rankin of Rankin Construction, to sponsor an exhibit of Russian art. So I made one for him. Made extras. If Rankin won’t sponsor it someone else will. After all, look at all those incredible Fabergé eggs the museum has in its collection.”

Hearing the surname Rankin, Harry replied, “Rankin Construction? The firm that began building the early high-rises in the seventies and beyond?”

“The same, and they’re still doing it. They’re already digging the deep foundations for the Cloudcroft Building. On the site of an earlier building.”

“Too many big buildings. They cut off the sunlight.” Harry gauged.

“And they suck in the money.” Marvella paused. “Oops, here comes the UPS man. I’ll see you next Friday.”

Harry, in her tack room, hung up. Speaking to Marvella put her in a good mood. Marvella, an art collector with the means to buy very good work, second-string painters from the nineteenth century, her favorite era, pulled Harry back to her college major, Art History. She wondered what had taken her so long.

Harry dialed Coop’s cell. “Where are you?”

“Office. Why?”

“Oh, just wondered if you were out cruising around.”

“No, I’m desk bound today and glad of it.”

“Do you think I could retrieve my plans from Gary’s office? If I can’t have the originals, may I make a copy of the work he’s done?”

“Wait a minute. Lisa Roudabush asked for Nature First’s design.” She pushed hold and in five minutes, which seemed longer than it was, her voice came back on. “Rick says he had duplicates made of current projects. But not today. The roads aren’t good. Let’s see how Monday is.”

“He had to be working on other commissions, not just mine and Nature First’s.”

“He was. One of them is a huge house for Gare Galbraith and Alex Ix. They’re transferring their project to Cathy Purple Cherry.” Cooper named a sought-after architect, offices in Annapolis, D.C., and Charlottesville.

“That will be something. She’ll be as faithful to his work as Gare and Alex wish, but whatever she does, it will be the best.”

“Could you live in one of those big houses?”

“No. Mine’s big enough.” She waited a moment. “Just spoke to Marvella Rice Lawson. She says Richmond is pretty in the snow but only the main streets are open. I should have asked her if she knew Gary. She mentioned that she knew Sean Rankin. Rankin Construction.”

“I’ll check him out. Actually, I need to ask Rankin Construction a few more questions. Just double-checking.”

“I would imagine Sean is either old or the son of the Rankin that ran the firm then. They must have tons of money because Marvella is going to try to get Rankin Construction to sponsor an exhibit of Russian art at the museum.”

“Well, why not?” Cooper evidenced little interest in painting or sculpture. “And I’m not going if they do it, by the way. My feet still hurt from when you dragged me through the exhibit of still life painting, much of it by women from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The flowers were beautiful but I can look at flowers in my garden. Well, actually yours.” She laughed.

“Neanderthal. I am shocked,” said Harry, who was not.

“Hey, Rick is buzzing me. Must be important. Talk to you later or tomorrow.” Cooper hung up, buzzed her boss.

—

Driving carefully, Cooper headed to Crozet as she followed Rick’s instructions. First she stopped at Barbara Barrell’s used tack shop, Crozet Tack and Saddle.

She opened the door. Barbara glanced up. “Are you looking for something for Harry?”

“No. I’m glad you’re open though. The weather has kept a lot of businesses shut. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure. Come sit behind the counter with me. I doubt we’ll be interrupted. I really opened the shop to get out of the house.”

Smiling, Cooper asked, “Were you open December twenty-seventh, Tuesday?”

Barbara nodded. “Had a lot of after Christmas customers looking for bargains.”

“Do you recall what you were doing around one PM?”

“I can’t be exact but I had two ladies trying on jackets, formal jackets. It had to be roughly that time as they both discussed what they’d eaten for lunch.”

“Did you see or hear anything unusual about that time?”

Barbara answered, “No. When the ambulance roared by, maybe one-twenty PM, that alerted me.”

“So before that, no traffic. Say a motorcycle?”

Thinking hard, Barbara weighed her words. “Like I said, I was dealing with two women trying on formal jackets. I think I heard a buzz. Maybe a motorcycle, but my attention was on the two ladies for whom this was a monumental decision.”

Cooper smiled. “Thanks, Barbara.”

“I haven’t been helpful. I wish I could be. Hearing an ambulance I assumed there’d been an accident, someone had a heart attack at work or home. I didn’t think about it. Of course, when I heard about Gary I was shocked. He was a good man.”

“Yes, I think he was, too.” Cooper stood, thanked Barbara again, and left.