Frame Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 5) by Joe Reese, T Gracie Reese Page B
Authors: Joe Reese, T Gracie Reese
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Grosse.”
Lessing’s great description of the statue of Laokoon, a Trojan who tried to warn his countrymen about the Trojan Horse.
Noble simplicity and quiet grandeur.
And the arrows.
The arrows.
“Oh, you poor man,” she found herself whispering, idiotically, since the poor man could not hear her.
Or…?
The arrows were small, seemingly no more than a foot or so in length.
But one, sticking in Sebastian’s upper leg; and another, directly in his chest; and a third in his shoulder…
…no blood at all.
Sebastian’s shadowed face, turned down toward the ground…
…and the stretching, almost writhing, body of the white-rag turbaned maid, as she attempted to untie him from the gnarled tree limb to which he’d been tied.
And all of it illuminated magically by light of a sun that had already set, and was glowing enough to radiate off distant crosses where other martyrs hung, watching night come, as they died.
“My God,” she whispered again.
She was sobbing now.
And she was praying.
So were the figures in the painting.
Three hours later—she had worked quite efficiently, and the job had gone better than she could’ve hoped for; she walked into Elementals, carrying Old Red Lighthouse #6.
“Nina!”
“Hey, Carol, how’s the morning been?”
“Great!”
“What have you got there?”
“Your lighthouse picture! I changed the frame on it. I think it looks really good now. You need to hang it!”
Nina walked toward her, shaking her head:
“Carol, I tried one time hanging my paintings and Margot…”
“I know all about Margot. But Margot isn’t here. She won’t see the painting.”
“Alanna might.”
“She won’t either. And if she does, I’ll talk to her.”
“And say what?”
“That I know a few things about this business, too. Nina, this painting is really good. There’s a kind of vibrancy about the colors…”
“Isn’t the dog too big?”
“Don’t worry about the dog.”
“But, I…”
“Price it at $350.”
Silence for a time.
“What?”
“Three hundred and fifty dollars.”
“But no one will pay that much for one of my paintings!”
“Trust me.”
“But…”
“Trust me.”
And Nina did.
So the painting was hung, just above a display of clay pots from Lucille Davis (who also sold her pottery in Vicksburg and New Orleans).
And in this way, Tennbruggen’s St. Sebastian Tended by Irene and Her Maid, disguised as Bannister’s Little Red Lighthouse #6 With the Slightly Too Big Dog, was offered for sale, at the price of $350, in Bay St. Lucy, Mississippi.
Four days later, at eight fifteen on the evening of October 25, Nina and Carol had finished their dinner, cleaned the dishes, and were deeply involved in a game of gin rummy. It was one of those strange games where no one could seem to win. The pile grew more and more slender, and, though Nina needed only a five, a seven, or a king—and God only knew how little it would take for Carol to win—no such card was forthcoming.
Rain pounded on the roof of the shack—a cool front had blown into Bay St. Lucy at five PM and soft rain had started soon thereafter. Turning to harder rain, then turning to this.
And so there was no possibility of walking on the beach, or strolling out on the stone jetty, or ogling the fall fishermen on the long pier as they attempted to hook hammerhead sharks or whitefish. No, there were only two things possible to do on such an evening: reading (which would come later) or card playing (which might extend until later, indeed for all eternity if these particular cards never showed up).
Another draw.
Six of spades.
Damn.
Discard the three of diamonds.
Carol’s draw
Four of clubs.
Would that do it for her?
No, apparently not.
Her discard.
The ten of diamonds.
Damn.
Rain rain rain.
Spatter on the sliding deck door.
Furl asleep beneath a cardboard box in the corner of the living room.
Carol drew, furrowed her brow, shook her head, wiped her
Lessing’s great description of the statue of Laokoon, a Trojan who tried to warn his countrymen about the Trojan Horse.
Noble simplicity and quiet grandeur.
And the arrows.
The arrows.
“Oh, you poor man,” she found herself whispering, idiotically, since the poor man could not hear her.
Or…?
The arrows were small, seemingly no more than a foot or so in length.
But one, sticking in Sebastian’s upper leg; and another, directly in his chest; and a third in his shoulder…
…no blood at all.
Sebastian’s shadowed face, turned down toward the ground…
…and the stretching, almost writhing, body of the white-rag turbaned maid, as she attempted to untie him from the gnarled tree limb to which he’d been tied.
And all of it illuminated magically by light of a sun that had already set, and was glowing enough to radiate off distant crosses where other martyrs hung, watching night come, as they died.
“My God,” she whispered again.
She was sobbing now.
And she was praying.
So were the figures in the painting.
Three hours later—she had worked quite efficiently, and the job had gone better than she could’ve hoped for; she walked into Elementals, carrying Old Red Lighthouse #6.
“Nina!”
“Hey, Carol, how’s the morning been?”
“Great!”
“What have you got there?”
“Your lighthouse picture! I changed the frame on it. I think it looks really good now. You need to hang it!”
Nina walked toward her, shaking her head:
“Carol, I tried one time hanging my paintings and Margot…”
“I know all about Margot. But Margot isn’t here. She won’t see the painting.”
“Alanna might.”
“She won’t either. And if she does, I’ll talk to her.”
“And say what?”
“That I know a few things about this business, too. Nina, this painting is really good. There’s a kind of vibrancy about the colors…”
“Isn’t the dog too big?”
“Don’t worry about the dog.”
“But, I…”
“Price it at $350.”
Silence for a time.
“What?”
“Three hundred and fifty dollars.”
“But no one will pay that much for one of my paintings!”
“Trust me.”
“But…”
“Trust me.”
And Nina did.
So the painting was hung, just above a display of clay pots from Lucille Davis (who also sold her pottery in Vicksburg and New Orleans).
And in this way, Tennbruggen’s St. Sebastian Tended by Irene and Her Maid, disguised as Bannister’s Little Red Lighthouse #6 With the Slightly Too Big Dog, was offered for sale, at the price of $350, in Bay St. Lucy, Mississippi.
Four days later, at eight fifteen on the evening of October 25, Nina and Carol had finished their dinner, cleaned the dishes, and were deeply involved in a game of gin rummy. It was one of those strange games where no one could seem to win. The pile grew more and more slender, and, though Nina needed only a five, a seven, or a king—and God only knew how little it would take for Carol to win—no such card was forthcoming.
Rain pounded on the roof of the shack—a cool front had blown into Bay St. Lucy at five PM and soft rain had started soon thereafter. Turning to harder rain, then turning to this.
And so there was no possibility of walking on the beach, or strolling out on the stone jetty, or ogling the fall fishermen on the long pier as they attempted to hook hammerhead sharks or whitefish. No, there were only two things possible to do on such an evening: reading (which would come later) or card playing (which might extend until later, indeed for all eternity if these particular cards never showed up).
Another draw.
Six of spades.
Damn.
Discard the three of diamonds.
Carol’s draw
Four of clubs.
Would that do it for her?
No, apparently not.
Her discard.
The ten of diamonds.
Damn.
Rain rain rain.
Spatter on the sliding deck door.
Furl asleep beneath a cardboard box in the corner of the living room.
Carol drew, furrowed her brow, shook her head, wiped her
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