ruined. All those wonderful publicity people I’ve lined up for Thursday night. Everyone would have seen me in People magazine!”
“Louis, going up to see Geraldine can’t hurt, it can only help; and furthermore, it’s our only hope.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Today, Louis.”
“This afternoon.”
“Now.”
“Let’s call first.”
“No. She might not agree to see us.”
“That’s not polite. Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’re not supposed to just drop in on people?”
“Louis,” Regan said firmly. “Get your coat on.”
“What about our tea?” Louis asked.
“Maybe we can have a tea party with Geraldine.” Regan stood up. “We’ll make this very civilized.” She reached for his hand and pulled him out of his seat. “This Geraldine sounds like a character. Let’s go give her hell.”
“If you say so,” Louis said in a little voice as he thought of the angry faces of all his investors. “I could just kill that Eben. Look at what he’s done to me!”
19
G ERALDINE WAS OUT in the barn muttering to herself when Regan, followed by Louis, tried to locate her.
Geraldine’s house looked, Regan thought, probably the same as it did when it was first built. Painted white with green trim, it was old-fashioned and charming. A barn was out back.
“Ms. Spoonfellow?” Regan called. They had seen that the barn door was open; when no one had answered the doorbell at the house, they had gone around the side to check.
“Maybe we should leave,” Louis suggested.
“Come on, Louis,” Regan insisted.
They stepped into the barn, their eyes slowly adjusting to the change in light. The place was filled with junk; Regan wondered if any animal had ever laid down its weary head on the straw-covered floor.
“Who’s there?” a voice called sharply.
“Ms. Spoonfellow?” Regan asked.
“That’s me. Who are you?” Geraldine snarled as she came into view.
“My name is Regan Reilly, and this is my friend Louis.”
“How nice for you. What do you want me to do about it?”
“We wanted to talk to you.”
“About what? I’m pretty busy here. I have a lot of odds and ends to rummage through.”
“It looks as though you have quite a few interesting artifacts here,” Regan said, lying through her teeth. “You could have some garage sale.”
“Yeah, well, I’m donating what’s good to the new museum in town. Other things”—she pointed to a canvas lying on the ground—“I don’t know what to do with.”
“What is it?” Regan asked.
Geraldine waved her hand dismissively. “I bought it for the frame. It’s just a beat-up portrait of some old geezer from France.”
“Can I see?” Regan asked, bending over.
“I guess.” Geraldine watched as Regan lifted the folded canvas. Staring from it, under layers of dirt and grime, was the corpulent figure of a white-haired aristocrat with a self-satisfied smile. He was wearing a velvet cape trimmed with ermine, silver slippers and hose. In one hand he held a plumed hat; in the other, a scepter. A throne could be seen behind him and a gold crown rested on the table next to him.
“I don’t know what possessed those guys to dress like that and wear their hair long and curly,” Geraldine said. “Don’t you think he looks awful?”
Regan laughed. “I think he was in the height of fashion for his day. It must have taken him a long time to get dressed. Will you be giving this to the museum as well?”
Geraldine shrugged. “As I said, I only bought it because the frame is really nice and I wanted it for the portrait of my Pop-Pop.”
“Your what?”
“My grandfather.”
“Oh. Do you know who this is?”
“He’s supposed to be Louis the Eighteenth of France,” Geraldine said. “At least that’s what the woman who sold it to me said. I didn’t care who it was. The museum certainly won’t want it. That guy never marched around Aspen. I’ll get rid of it somewhere.”
Louis had been hovering in the doorway. Regan’s
“Louis, going up to see Geraldine can’t hurt, it can only help; and furthermore, it’s our only hope.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Today, Louis.”
“This afternoon.”
“Now.”
“Let’s call first.”
“No. She might not agree to see us.”
“That’s not polite. Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’re not supposed to just drop in on people?”
“Louis,” Regan said firmly. “Get your coat on.”
“What about our tea?” Louis asked.
“Maybe we can have a tea party with Geraldine.” Regan stood up. “We’ll make this very civilized.” She reached for his hand and pulled him out of his seat. “This Geraldine sounds like a character. Let’s go give her hell.”
“If you say so,” Louis said in a little voice as he thought of the angry faces of all his investors. “I could just kill that Eben. Look at what he’s done to me!”
19
G ERALDINE WAS OUT in the barn muttering to herself when Regan, followed by Louis, tried to locate her.
Geraldine’s house looked, Regan thought, probably the same as it did when it was first built. Painted white with green trim, it was old-fashioned and charming. A barn was out back.
“Ms. Spoonfellow?” Regan called. They had seen that the barn door was open; when no one had answered the doorbell at the house, they had gone around the side to check.
“Maybe we should leave,” Louis suggested.
“Come on, Louis,” Regan insisted.
They stepped into the barn, their eyes slowly adjusting to the change in light. The place was filled with junk; Regan wondered if any animal had ever laid down its weary head on the straw-covered floor.
“Who’s there?” a voice called sharply.
“Ms. Spoonfellow?” Regan asked.
“That’s me. Who are you?” Geraldine snarled as she came into view.
“My name is Regan Reilly, and this is my friend Louis.”
“How nice for you. What do you want me to do about it?”
“We wanted to talk to you.”
“About what? I’m pretty busy here. I have a lot of odds and ends to rummage through.”
“It looks as though you have quite a few interesting artifacts here,” Regan said, lying through her teeth. “You could have some garage sale.”
“Yeah, well, I’m donating what’s good to the new museum in town. Other things”—she pointed to a canvas lying on the ground—“I don’t know what to do with.”
“What is it?” Regan asked.
Geraldine waved her hand dismissively. “I bought it for the frame. It’s just a beat-up portrait of some old geezer from France.”
“Can I see?” Regan asked, bending over.
“I guess.” Geraldine watched as Regan lifted the folded canvas. Staring from it, under layers of dirt and grime, was the corpulent figure of a white-haired aristocrat with a self-satisfied smile. He was wearing a velvet cape trimmed with ermine, silver slippers and hose. In one hand he held a plumed hat; in the other, a scepter. A throne could be seen behind him and a gold crown rested on the table next to him.
“I don’t know what possessed those guys to dress like that and wear their hair long and curly,” Geraldine said. “Don’t you think he looks awful?”
Regan laughed. “I think he was in the height of fashion for his day. It must have taken him a long time to get dressed. Will you be giving this to the museum as well?”
Geraldine shrugged. “As I said, I only bought it because the frame is really nice and I wanted it for the portrait of my Pop-Pop.”
“Your what?”
“My grandfather.”
“Oh. Do you know who this is?”
“He’s supposed to be Louis the Eighteenth of France,” Geraldine said. “At least that’s what the woman who sold it to me said. I didn’t care who it was. The museum certainly won’t want it. That guy never marched around Aspen. I’ll get rid of it somewhere.”
Louis had been hovering in the doorway. Regan’s
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