Murder at the Falls by Stefanie Matteson Read Free Book Online Page A

latest of her young protégés.
    “Nine,” he said, “If you count the Short Stop.”
    “Oh yes, the Short Stop. The Short Stop, of which we have a painting, is the latest addition to Randy’s collection of diners,” Xantha explained. “He bought it last January. Saved it from the wrecking ball.”
    “The Short Stop that used to be in Belleville?” asked Tom.
    Randy nodded. “I have a collection of diners at my camp out in western Jersey. Five of them, now. When I see a diner for sale, I can’t resist buying it. I’m afraid that if I don’t, it’s going to disappear. I think of it as my contribution to historic preservation.”
    Intrigued by the idea of a collection of diners, Charlotte asked, “What do you do with them?”
    “I live in one, a 1931 Worcester lunch wagon with Haitian mahoghany paneling. I use another, a 1942 Tierney, for a studio and gallery. The other two—a Swingles and an O’Mahoney—are still being restored.”
    “I’d like to do a write-up on your collection,” said Tom.
    “You’re welcome to come out anytime.”
    “What about the Short Stop?” he asked.
    “I’ve turned the Short Stop into a guest cottage,” Randy replied. “That way my guests get the idea that I don’t want them to stay around too long,” he joked. “If they do, I just turn on the neon.” He raised his hands, opening and closing his fingers in a flashing motion.
    They all laughed at the image of guests being reminded that they had overstayed their welcome by a flashing neon sign saying “Short Stop.”
    “As I recall, the Short Stop is a Paramount, circa 1948,” said Tom.
    “Good guess,” said Randy, “Nineteen forty-seven, to be precise.”
    “Then you have an example of at least one diner from most of the major manufacturers from the golden age …”
    “I don’t have a Silk City.”
    “There are a lot of them around,” said Tom. “If you’re interested in finding one, you could put an ad in Diner Monthly .”
    “I don’t need to,” Randy said. “I know which one I want.
    “Which one is that, love?” teased Xantha.
    They had moved on to the paintings of the third painter in the show, Ed Verre. If Spiegel’s paintings could be summed up as intellectual and Randy’s as sentimental, then Verre’s would be documentary. In fact, it was a testament to the inaccuracy of such labels that these three painters had ever been lumped together under the rubric of photorealism.
    Unlike Spiegel’s and Randy’s paintings, neither of which showed people, Verre’s painting not only included identifiable people—John was clearly recognizable from his height and his hunched-over shoulders—but even the specials for the day. The title was “Falls View Diner at Two A.M. ”
    Though there was nothing specific to convey the idea of two in the morning, the painter had nevertheless captured the loneliness of the early morning hours. It was something about the harsh white light and the way the two men at the counter were huddled over their coffee cups, a stool apart—alone, yet together. The presence of the customers added an intriguing narrative element. One had the sense of specific people on a specific night, waiting for something to happen. There was a 1988 calender hanging next to the poster of the Acropolis with the dates crossed off. The date was a year ago last spring.
    Randy and Xantha had lingered behind, discussing his paintings. Now they joined the rest of the group in front of the Verre painting.
    “It’s very good, don’t you think, love?” Xantha said to her husband. “But not as good as Randy’s work, of course.”
    As the group’s attention shifted to Randy, something very strange happened. Charlotte had the distinct impression that he was disintegrating before her eyes. She could almost see him breaking up into a thousand little glistening shards, like the glass of a shattered windshield.
    In reality, his skin was twitching, causing his hands to scramble frantically all over