The Newell Murder excerpt 4

Joining Al on the sidewalk, they strode together to the gallery. “Maybe I’ll catch a van Gogh.”

He knew all the big names like Picasso, Whistler, Matisse, Rembrandt, but van Gogh was the first artist that always came to his mind. Gogh it was that he ever first read about as a kid and since then he had some sort of attachment to him.

Al looked at him, disbelief on his face, and thought to himself, didn’t Lauren know what he was saying? Everyone, but everyone, knew that van Goghs could only be seen in exhibitions, museums, national galleries, auctions or if one of those stinkingly rich collectors allowed one to see the one, or ones, in his collection.

He agreed all the same. “Maybe.”

Over the entrance was a big, fancy neon sign which had the gallery’s name boldly proclaimed on it. Lauren glanced up at it as they went past the doorman, who greeted them “Good morning, good sirs,” into the entry hall and then the waiting lounge where Al pulled to a stop.

The lounge was nicely decorated with expensive sofas, bowls and vases of exotic flowers, appropriate artwork, a centre table which was burdened with a mass of current magazines and copies of New Criterion and Kulturchronik. An imported English Stoddard Templeton fusion-bonded wall-to-wall carpet was on the floor and the air smelt of something nice.

“Gotta go catch my story, Dave. See ya.”

“OK, hotshot. Later.”

He watched Al make off toward a door, then he entered the main gallery hall, a long, vast, high-ceilinged, oak-paneled room. A blonde girl, one of the staff, came over to him with her welcome pitch that would make him spend his hard-earned money.

She even wanted to follow him around but he dissuaded her and she said he should feel free to consult her for any enquiries.

A fair number of people, including two celebrities, Wesley Snipes and Denzel Washington, were there, studying the artwork, knowing their artists and when they were done.

He was surveying some paintings at the far end when he saw the one he simply knew he had to absolutely have. It was a water colour and depicted a woman dressed in a yellow frock standing in a beautiful garden. It was 24 by 36 inches and aptly named Woman In A Yellow Frock.

Its painter was a H Rungs.

Lauren knew he had to have it because the woman in it was a carbon copy of his mother, at least in the face which stood out in clear contrast to the body and had all the features and likeness of his mom’s face that he would never forget as long as he lived.

Note: This is an excerpt of The Newell Murder, one of the books written by Oseyiza Oogbodo, curator of this blog, and it’s available as an eBook along with his other books at: https://www.amazon.com/author/oseyizaoogbodo