The Cat Who Could Read Backwards by Lilian Jackson Braun Read Free Book Online

something that started to be a smile but ended as an unpleasant mannerism: he raked his bottom lip with his teeth. "Mrs. Lambreth mentioned you," he said, "and I suppose Mountclemens has told you that this is the leading gallery in the city. In fact, it is the only gallery worthy of the name."
     
     
"I haven't met Mountclemens as yet, but I understand he speaks highly of your wife's work. I'd like to see some of it."
     
     
The dealer, standing stiffly with hands behind his back, nodded toward a brown rectangle on the wall. "That is one of Mrs. Lambreth's recent paintings. It has the rich painterly quality recognized as her signature."
     
     
Qwilleran studied the picture in cautious silence. Its surface had the texture of a heavily iced chocolate cake, and he unconsciously passed his tongue over his lips. Yet he was aware, once more, of a pair of eyes somewhere in the swirls of paint. Gradually there evolved the face of a woman.
     
     
"She uses a lot of paint," Qwilleran observed. "Must: take a long time to dry."
     
     
The dealer cleaned his lower lip again and said, "Mrs. Lambreth employs pigment to capture the viewer and enmesh him sensually before making her statement. Her declamation is always elusive, nebulous - forcing her audience to participate vitally in the interpretation." Qwilleran nodded vaguely.
     
     
"She is a great humanist," Lambreth continued. "Unfortunately we have very few of her canvases here at present. She is holding everything back for her one- man show in March. However, you saw one of her most lucid and disciplined works in the window."
     
     
Qwilleran remembered the paint-clouded eyes he had seen before entering the gallery - the eyes full of mystery and malice. He said, "Does she always paint women like that?"
     
     
Lambreth jerked one shoulder. "Mrs. Lambreth never paints to formula. She has great versatility and imagination. And the painting in the window is not intended to invoke human associations. It is a study of a cat."
     
     
"Oh," said Qwilleran.
     
     
"Are you interested in Scrano? He is one of the foremost contemporary artists. You saw one of his paintings in the window. Here is another on the easel."
     
     
Qwilleran squinted at the gray triangles on a white background. The painted surface was fine-grained and slick, with a gleam that was almost metallic; the triangles were crisp.
     
     
The newsman said, "He seems to be hooked on triangles. If you hung this one
     
     
upside down, you'd have three sailboats in a fog."
     
     
Lambreth said, "The symbolism should be obvious. In his hard-edge paintings Scrano expresses succinctly the essential libidinous, polygamous nature of Man. The painting in the window is specifically incestuous."
     
     
"Well, I guess that clobbers my theory," Qwilleran said. "I was hoping I'd discovered some sailboats. What does Mountclemens say about Scamo?"
     
     
"S-c-r-a-n-o," Lambreth corrected him. "In Scrano's work Mountclemens finds an intellectual virility that transcends the lesser considerations of artistic expression and focuses on purity of concept and sublimation of medium."
     
     
"Pretty expensive, I suppose."
     
     
"A Scrano usually runs into five figures."
     
     
"Whoosh!" said Qwilleran. "How about some of these other artists?"
     
     
"They command considerably less."
     
     
"I don't see any price tags anywhere."
     
     
Lambreth straightened a picture or two. "A gallery of this caliber would hardly be expected to post prices like a supermarket. For our major exhibitions we print a catalog, but what you see today is merely an informal showing of our own group of artists."
     
     
"I was surprised to find you located in the financial district," Qwilleran said.
     
     
"Our most astute collectors are businessmen."
     
     
Qwilleran took a turn around the gallery and reserved comment. Many of the canvases presented drips and blobs of paint in screaming, explosive colors. Some were composed solely of wavy stripes. There