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“Could you make another?”
“No. I’m into bones these days.”
“Oh.” Lucy found herself speechless. “Bones. That’s nice.”
“Gotta go,” said Klaus.
“Sure thing,” said Lucy, belatedly realizing the sculptor had indeed gone.
Lucy put her phone down on her desk and powered up her PC. “Bones?” asked Phyllis, from her desk across the room.
“He’s done with eggs, now he’s doing bones.”
“And people call it art,” said Phyllis. “Personally, I like pictures with cows, or babies. And I do enjoy my Audubon calendar with a different bird every month.”
“Me, too,” said Lucy, hitting the keyboard.
Chapter Three
On Friday morning Lucy followed up with a call to the police department and learned there was no progress on solving the theft of the golden egg. It didn’t take long to update the theft for The Courier’s online edition, there really wasn’t much to say. Lucy padded it with all the quotes she’d gathered, but even so it was a pretty disappointing effort that left plenty of questions that would need further investigation. She hit send, then got busy on the events listings. That took longer than usual and when she finally finished it was almost lunch time. “I didn’t have breakfast, I’ve gotta get something to eat. Do you want anything?” she asked Phyllis.
“Actually, I’d love a big old burger with a side of fries but I brought some homemade bean soup. I’m trying to lose my winter weight.”
“I’ll start dieting tomorrow,” vowed Lucy, grabbing her bag and heading out the door. She stopped on the sidewalk, trying to decide where to go. Choices were limited this time of year, and she was thinking of heading home, which would save some money and use up some leftovers, when she remembered that Cali Kitchen had been advertising affordable lunch specials in an effort to lure locals into the upscale eatery. Why not treat herself, while at the same time contributing some cash to the local economy? She might even, she thought, be able to claim the cost of lunch as a business expense if she interviewed manager Matt Rodriguez.
Spring had sprung, according to the calendar, and the sun was shining but a brisk breeze was blowing in off the harbor. She buttoned up her coat and jammed her hands in her pockets for the short walk to the restaurant, which was located next to the harbor parking lot and had an enviable water view. She was hit with a freezing blast of wind when she turned the corner onto Sea Street and began her descent to the harbor and was beginning to rethink her plan when she noticed a figure darting rather furtively behind the restaurant.
She picked up her pace and followed, walking alongside the restaurant wall. When she reached the end of the building, she stopped and peeked around the corner, where she saw someone lifting the cover off the restaurant’s dumpster. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, stepping forward. “You can go to the food pantry at the Community Church.”
The person, who appeared to be male, dressed in shabby clothes, turned to look at her. “Mind your own business,” growled the noted sculptor, Karl Klaus.
Lucy took a second look, not quite believing her own eyes, and confirmed that the dumpster diver was indeed the famed sculptor, winner of the St. Gaudens Prize. The very man she’d spoken to yesterday on the phone, picturing him surrounded by admirers and eager journalists. All of that had been her imagining, she realized, considering the little she really knew about the sculptor. He certainly didn’t have any patience for social niceties, he’d probably grabbed the prize and headed directly for home. But what had he been doing since the ceremony, four days ago? And what was he doing in the dumpster? What could he be looking for?
Her question was answered when he came up with a discarded take-out container and opened it, sniffing at the contents. Oh, no, she thought. “Don’t eat that,” she said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”
Somewhat reluctantly he dropped the container. “You sure?”
“Absolutely,” said Lucy, thinking this encounter deserved further investigation. It might even be a story. “This restaurant is pretty good.”
Klaus let the lid on the dumpster drop, which it did with a clang. “Okay,” he said, “as long as you’re paying.”
“Definitely,” said Lucy, taking in the sculptor’s appearance, which hadn’t changed since she last saw him. He was still wearing the bedraggled olive-green jacket and filthy black pants and was still kicking out one foot as he walked, due to that loose sole on one of his paint-spattered shoes. He had a tattered watch cap pulled down over his long gray hair, his beard could use a trim, and his eyeglasses were askew on his nose. He was also giving off a rather pungent fragrance which made Lucy regret her offer to give him lunch in the restaurant.
Cali Kitchen wasn’t crowded, however, and Matt seated them in a rear corner, away from the handful of diners scattered throughout the restaurant. When their server presented them with menus Lucy pointed out the specials to Klaus, but while she chose the featured soup-and-sandwich option he ordered steak with fries and a bottle of Cabernet.
“Want some?” he asked, somewhat magnanimously offering to share the wine she was paying for, when the server arrived with the bottle and two glasses.
“None for me,” said Lucy, hoping but not quite believing she’d be able to convince Ted that the lunch was a business expense. “So, how’d the medal presentation go?” she asked, taking a sip of water.
“Okay. Dinner was pretty decent but they wanted me to give a speech.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that I let my work speak for me.”
“A very short speech, then.”
“Yeah.” He smiled slyly, revealing many missing teeth. “Didn’t wanna bore ’em.”
