Sara Mason Mysteries Collection

Chapter 11

Sara stood at the north end of Main Street in Locke. Built in 1912, the town burned down and was salvaged and rebuilt in 1915. It was the only surviving town in the west built by Chinese agricultural workers. Historically, it was a town of gambling, booze, and opium. As a reminder of its past, the town maintained a gambling museum established for visitors.

Looking down the four single-lane blocks known as Main Street, the two-story buildings were old, their dark wood frames sagging from dry rot. Second floor balconies sagged over the sidewalks. The structures stood in the same condition as far back as she could remember. When some of the buildings were leased out, the shop owners repainted. Some of the sidewalls still held faded patches of soft drink and other product logos from nearly a century earlier. The names of many on the buildings were faint, though discernible. What Sara presently viewed was a rekindled memory. She wished to find that identical scene in an oil painting, the right size, the right wood tones, and hues. She wanted it for Talbot House.

Daphine had left her on her own to ogle. Sara peered into windows of empty storefronts and down damp narrow alleys leading to similarly aged residences adjoining Key Street and Locke Road at the rear of the nearly deserted town. In the middle of Main Street, she stared up at the sign for the gallery. It was made to look old to blend with the surrounding architecture. The name Virtuoso and artistic logo were painted in blues, greens, and whites with splashes of red. She paused in front of one large painting showcased in the window to the left of the doorway and then studied the one in the window on the right.

VirtuosoSara had twice driven past but was too late to catch the store when it was open. Today was the day she would share what Daphine had done with her talent and life since she, too, was left alone. Daphine"s parents were buried in the Franklin Cemetery. They were from the town originally, back when Franklin was nothing more than a scattering of farmhouses, one general store, and a tavern. It hadn"t changed much from the past. Suddenly a thought came that maybe Crazy Ike could have dug holes in Daphine"s parents" graves. She shook her head to dispel the bothersome images.

“Get in here, girl!” Daphine said, calling out from the counter at the rear of the long, narrow store. “Lock that door. I"m not open till ten.”

The store backed up to the embankment with the upstairs portion of the building being at the level of the top of the levee entering the town. That made the lower street level floor dark and shadowy. Seductive lighting above certain paintings in the alcoves gave the shop a certain mystique.

Soft jazz music came from a stereo on a shelf behind the counter. Daphine lit an incense cone. It had an aroma much like Sara had smelled at a séance once attended in the Caribbean. Unsuccessfully, she sought to find that particular fragrance for sale in local stores. Leave it to Daphine to locate anything rare.

“You don"t practice voodoo in the back room, do you?” Sara asked, teasing and gesturing with her eyes to the closed door behind the counter.

“No, we do that upstairs,” Daphine said, laughing. “I"ve never attended one of those séance things.” The way she spoke about anything revealed how much interest she had in the subject. She would have been a great friend to have along in the Caribbean.

On the back wall behind the sales counter hung numerous breathtaking nature paintings of various sizes. Several exquisite portrait paintings behind the counter were of a young Chinese woman with enigmatic eyes. D. Kuan had signed them all.

D. KuanDaphine smiled. Her face glowed. “Beautiful, isn"t she?”

“This is Jade?” Sara had lost touch with Daphine over the years. Sara was surprised to learn that her friend had such an exotic looking daughter.

During one of their first conversations after Sara returned, she learned that Daphine had married Kuan Ying, a tall husky classmate, and all-around athlete. His given name translated to Hawk. His parents disowned him for marrying a white woman. After Jade was born, his parents insisted she carried a Chinese name. Kuan Qiong meant Jade and Daphine felt it befitting. Jade had inherited her sea green eyes.

HawkKuan QiongJade“My in-laws never treated Jade as if she were half-American. To them, she was Chinese. Never mind that half of her genes came from me.” Daphine needed to get something out of her system, and Sara let her talk. Once Daphine and Hawk divorced, he began teaching English in China with a group of other American-born Chinese from Sacramento. He spent most of his time in China. Jade used to travel back and forth between college trimesters.

“Used to?”

“She has her Masters in Geology.” Daphine didn"t sound that elated. “Jade could hire on with the EPA restoring wetlands and protecting levees here in the Delta if she"d just come home.”

“She lives full time in China?”

“A consultant for the Yangtze River Dam.” Daphine swallowed hard. “Too much influence from her relatives.” Daphine turned away pretending to be busy.

Sara began to peruse the art pieces and noticed the style of art seemed vastly different from one side of the shop to the other.

“Not your everyday stuff, eh?” Daphine asked, joining her across the room. “I had to come up with something to exhibit that wouldn"t compete with the gallery down the street.”

Much of the art in half of the gallery seemed surreal, otherworldly, bordering on the paranormal, with names Sara did not recognize. Other pieces were lighthearted, of fragile looking fairies and angels; another alcove contained a series of small paintings of New Age people traveling through the universe on magic carpets; more pieces at the back were grotesque, of people suffering in the throes of what would be anyone"s guess. “Looks like the stuff Fredrik has in his room.”

“He scared me when he first came here,” Daphine said. “I didn"t know him. He started right off talking about people floating between this reality and the next before they died.” She shuddered. “Made me wonder if he was that sociopath and got off on watching his victims cross over.”

“You have a vivid imagination.”

“Well, when he showed interest in Fleeing Hell, I didn"t want my painting going to someone who might be a killer.” She smirked and didn"t seem serious.

“You sold it to someone else?”

“No, I painted it for myself.” Daphine tapped her chest. “Turns out Fredrik truly comprehends what his patients talk about and how they feel before they pass on.”

“That"s interesting, but his appreciation seems limited to this type of art. Doesn"t that feel creepy?”

Daphine only shrugged. “Wanna see the painting?”