When I had endured enough ocular assault, I left, promising to return soon. I spent the rest of the day thinking about the case. The rule in mysteries is it’s always the person or persons you least suspect. That would be Mike: he had the means and opportunity, but no motive. Why would he jeopardize his own job?
Then I had an idea: perhaps I could learn something from the Wilde sisters, so I called them and arranged to visit the next day. When I arrived at their quasi-palace, and they offered me the inevitable tea, which I declined, being (if you forgive the pun) a tea-totaller. They were primly and expensively dressed and talked freely of their travels and their ideas they had brought back, some of which now stood around Blandsville.
“I thought our best idea was the Blandsville Taj Mahal, but council felt that the gold dome would be too expensive, even if we paid for part of it,” said Patience.
“It would have made a great community centre though,” added Prudence, “but my favourite was a full-size replica of Rio’s Christ of the Erect in the Andes. Of course, we have no majestic hill to place it on.”
“How do you feel about the vandalism at the Loo-uvre?”
They looked at each other. “Naturally defacing any work of art is reprehensible,” said Patience, “even though the pictures aren’t terribly valuable.”
“And people can easily replace them,” added Prudence.
They seemed nervous, like the model student in a class caught in her only misdemeanor of the year. “You reported the incidents to the press, but not to the police.” The press was Blandsville’s daily newspaper, the police would likely have been Trade and Son.
“We didn’t want to waste police time on a matter they might have regarded as trivial,” said Patience. Trade and Son would probably have regarded Jack the Ripper or Britain’s Great Train Robbery as trivial.
“It’s too bad council rejected our latest idea,” said Prudence, sadly.
“What was that?”
“Turning all of Blandsville’s streets into canals, like Venice.”
I tried to imagine our taxi drivers in costume, poling gondolas around town and perhaps singing. The image was ludicrous.
“It was a good idea though,” said Patience, “and we were very disappointed.”
“We would even have bought the gondolas.”
“And costumes.”
“And poles.”
Was there a note of bitterness in the sisters’ comments? I took a wild shot. (Please forgive another pun.)
“Have you two bought anything from the hardware lately? Or any art supplies?”
They exchanged flustered glances.
“I can easily check.”
They confessed ashamedly. “It was a chance for free publicity and as we admitted, the paintings weren’t worth much and can easily be replaced. And we were bitter and disappointed when our canal idea was rejected.”
They were obviously embarrassed and I felt sorry for them. They had done a lot for the town, though nothing they couldn’t afford.
I reported to Mike, telling him that I had discovered the identity of the vandals, although I didn’t reveal it, and assured him that the grime wave, as I called it, was at an end.
Driving home, I remembered that my parents had kept most of my kindergarten drawings. They were around somewhere. I was especially proud of one called “Dark Night,” a sheet of paper completely black, and I wondered if it would be displayed on the wall of the children’s section.
