A Paint Stroke of Luck

It was a life or death situation. Fay had to have it.

This is why she went to these auctions. Her love of art lured her to the excitement of what new piece could be hers, even though she should’ve been saving up for the art studio that she so desperately craved.

“This next painting is a Ponalli original: Midnight on the Terrace. It has made its way to the great state of New York, from the “City of Light,” Paris, France. We’ll start the bidding at 100.”

What was a Ponalli original doing in this back alley auction house? Fay wasted time thinking because three bids rang out immediately.

“250!” Fay threw her paddle up, not even contemplating. There was just an urge that took over her.

“I hear 250, do I hear a 275? Going once…”

Fay’s breath caught in her throat. Could this actually be mine?

“Going twice!” the auctioneer yelled with a type of excitement that seemed to reveal he knew Fay was meant to have it.

“300!”

Oh, screw you. “350!” Fay threw her paddle up for what she had hoped was the last time.

Her girlfriend, Willow, gave her a look of worry, and Fay could all but read her exact thoughts. They had gone there not wanting to spend more than $300. Fay gave her an apologetic expression as her attention turned back to the auctioneer.

“Going twice… Sold to the young lady in the green!”

Fay looked down to find her wool, emerald coat, tied at the waist. She turned to Willow in amazement, “Well, he didn’t have to call me out like that.” Fay gave her a sly smile, knowing it was a bad joke, so she welcomed Willow’s eye roll with a slight chuckle.

* * *

A frazzled man runs into the auction house, “Where is Midnight on the Terrace?” He was out of breath, his cheeks were red with exhaustion, and his clothes stuck to his body with sweat.

“Well, that was our best seller of the night. It sold for 350,” the oblivious auctioneer, William, proudly responds, “I believe the happy buyers left quite a bit ago.”

“Of course it was the best seller! It was a Ponalli original! You didn’t think it was odd that it was being sold at a penny auction?” The man was clearly furious, and the auctioneer quickly fixed his attitude, his wide grin fell to a puny grimace, “Oh, well, uh…” William didn’t know what to say.

“That painting wasn’t supposed to be sold. I need it back, now!” The man walks up to William and grabs his collar in his fists, “and you’re going to help me.” William had no choice but to match this man’s stare; if he was trying to be intimidating, he had succeeded. He had a crazy look in his eye that didn’t leave much to the imagination as to what would happen if William refused to do what the man said. It was suddenly made clear that this painting truly was a life or death situation.

* * *

“You’re overthinking this way too much, babe,” Willow groaned.

As Fay carried the painting from wall to wall, she noticed a shuffling noise. She turned the painting around, tilted it side to side, and she felt a thump when she brought it down on the right side. Willow saw that Fay was playing with the painting and got up from the couch to look at what the problem was.

The back of the painting had a thick, brown paper cover that was stapled sloppily to the frame of the canvas. It didn’t look like it belonged to the back of such an intricate piece of artwork.

“Honestly, just tear it off. It looks like shit, and we have a brown paper bag that we could make look better than this when we’re done,” Willow said with a shrug before going back to the couch.

Fay started to rip off the back, anxious as to what she was about to find: a little black book. Fay hesitantly picked it up. The front page read,

In case of loss, please return to:

Harvey Grace

Before looking any further, Fay jokes “Looks like Harvey here was a bit of a busy, mystery bachelor. Who needs to hide their little black book in the back of an old painting? It’s just phone numbers.” Fay quickly found out that it was more than phone numbers.

“Babe… I don’t think we should have opened the back of this painting…” Fay’s breathing started to quicken as she flipped through the pages, which intrigued Willow. She got off the couch, and she looked over Fay’s shoulder to see what was getting her so worked up. The pages were a jumble of numbers and letters that Fay couldn’t understand. Willow took the book from Fay because she had already noticed a pattern.

“Well, there’s a recurring number, and the letters are infrequent,” Willow pointed out what she thought was obvious.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t know what this is, and I definitely don’t think we should look into it more. We should just find this Harvey Grace guy and return the book before we get into trouble,” Fay was spiraling. Willow ignored her and started from the beginning. She had enjoyed deciphering codes, so she grabbed her old decoder from all those secret notes in summer camp and got to work.

After a few hours had passed, Willow discovered that the code would lead them to four different locations.

“We have to go!” Willow exclaimed.

“Are you insane? We have no idea what is waiting for us at any of those locations. If someone went through the trouble of coming up with a personal code to decipher and hide it in an old painting, I don’t think we should be expecting sunshine and roses,” Fay had made a good point, but Willow had always craved adventure.

“If my decoding is right, the four locations are spread throughout the state of New York,” Willow stated while blatantly ignoring Fay’s concerns, “and it’s perfect timing since we took the week off from work for your parents’ birthday!” It didn’t seem like Willow was going to let it go, and Fay was usually the one to lose these types of things. Willow started packing for both of them because she was too excited to sit still.

“Alright, we’re ready to go. Albany is the first stop, and the other three are Utica, Syracuse, and Buffalo,” Willow seemed to have it all planned out. Fay was still trying to talk her out of this ridiculous so-called adventure. Unfortunately, Willow had cracked the code thoroughly, and Harvey’s little black book included specific coordinates within the cities. Fay hung her head in defeat as Willow jumped up and down in excitement on her way to the car with the bags.

“Don’t forget your mask!”

* * *

There was a heavy knock at the door of Willow and Fay’s apartment.

“Hello? … Hello?! Is anyone home?” Harvey started scanning the area to see if there was any movement in the apartment. He looked in the windows, walked around the building, and tried knocking again. Harvey looked for a spare key, but he couldn’t find one. He wrapped his fist with his jacket, and he punched through the window above the porch bench and climbed in. Midnight on the Terrace leaned against the coffee table, and the backing was strewn across the table.

“Damn it! Where the hell is the book!?”

* * *

“The first stop! I can’t wait to see what’s here,” Willow was erratically looked back and forth when she realized there was nothing around. It was just land, no buildings.

Are we going to have to dig? Both Willow and Fay had the same thought. They were also both right. They were going to have to dig.

“Guess we have to find a store first,” Fay grumbled.

“I don’t know why I continue to let you talk me into doing nonsense shit,” Fay whined to Willow mid-shovel. As Fay complained, Willow continued to dig.

“TINK,” Willow looked up to Fay, who immediately stopped groaning, but instead, started jumping to ridiculous assumptions, “It’s a coffin. We just dug up a dead body,” Fay’s imagination started to run as Willow stayed focused, and she uncovered a lockbox.

“But we don’t have a key!” Now it was Willow’s turn to start whining, “I don’t understand. I thought I went through the whole book. There was no mention of a key. Fay, can you hand me the book, please?”

“Okay, where did you put it when you were packing?” Fay started towards the car.

“I didn’t pack it because I thought you had it! Are you telling me we don’t have the actual book with us? Well, this is just great. I’m glad we drove two hours away from home without the whole reason we’re out here,” Willow was having a small conniption as Fay shyly handed her the book.

“I guess now wasn’t the time to make a joke… Sorry, babe,” Fay chuckled as Willow glared at her for a split second before flipping through the pages, trying to find something she missed. She turned to the last page so she was looking at the back cover, where she saw a flap. The flap was subtle; it looked like it could just be the lining of the cover, but Willow saw a slight opening and noticed there was something in it.

It was a key folded in a handkerchief, with the initials AR. Willow ran to the lockbox. Time seemed to slow as Willow lifted the lid to reveal what was inside. Fay’s eyes widened with fear as she started to worry again, “Holy shit. That is definitely stolen, and we are now accomplices to a crime.” Willow was speechless. She didn’t know what to say, or what they were going to do with it.

“Five… thousand… dollars,” Willow looked at the stack of money in disbelief, “There’s three more of these! What are you waiting for?! Start driving!”

* * *

Harvey had turned the apartment upside down, yet he couldn’t find the book anywhere.

“There’s no way they cracked the code in that small amount of time. Come on, Alexander! Think! What was the closest location to this apartment?” Harvey was growing more nervous by the second. What if they did crack it?

“They’re dead.”

Harvey marches out of the apartment to find three cops walking up to the door.

“Harvey Grace? Or should I say Alexander Rye? You’re under arrest for breaking and entering and the embezzlement of one hundred thousand dollars from your old art gallery, all those years ago. You have the right to remain silent…”

* * *

It was a tough stretch from Syracuse to Buffalo, but they made it. They counted out the last of the twenty thousand; they were still in shock that they now had that much money. On the drive home, Fay starts thinking about Harvey again: I hope he can’t find us, but someone who went through all of this trouble must have his ways of finding those he wants.

“We should pay it forward. I’m sure it wasn’t stolen. This was probably one of many little black books, and he didn’t want to pay taxes on it! I say we donate some to a good cause, and keep some to go towards our art studio,” Willow had been rambling when she wasn’t sleeping. That was probably her seventeenth idea as to what they should do with the money. The only difference this time was that Fay was interested in this one. An art studio had always been a dream of hers: a whole room dedicated to art, her projects, a whole room to defile with various art supplies. With an art studio, there would finally be a spot worthy of Midnight on the Terrace.

“Let’s do it, baby.”