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| Mostyn and Kemper fighting monsters to save America and the world. |
The Medusa Ritual
A Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation
by
CW Hawes
An art exhibit. Modern art. Dotty’s not at all impressed. Not until she sees the sculptures. They are like nothing she’s ever seen before. They are too lifelike. They look real. And perhaps they were at one time.
4
In the morning, the team met in one of the hotel’s conference rooms. Mostyn ordered in breakfast. Before they all got settled, Jones did a perfunctory sweep to make sure that there were no bugs.
“Don’t want state secrets getting out,” he quipped.
The team engaged in small talk until the breakfast arrived. When the hotel staff departed, Mostyn began the working breakfast meeting.
“Tonight at eight, we’ll be going to the James Cortado art exhibit. Pay particular attention to the sculpture. Ask around and see what you can find out about it from the guests.”
“What are we looking for specifically?” Winifred Petrie asked.
“I think that will become apparent when you see the sculptures,” Mostyn replied.
“What do you want us to find out?” Harbin Hammerschmidt asked.
“Whatever you can,” Mostyn said. “No matter how outlandish or insignificant it seems.”
“I still don’t understand what all of this has to do with the book,” Otto Stoppen said, his face clearly displaying his puzzlement.
“I don’t either, Dr Stoppen,” Mostyn replied. “However, Dr Bardon thinks there is something of value we’ll learn at this exhibit that will aid our search.”
Stoppen held up his hand. “And if Dr Bardon says it is so, it is so.”
Mostyn smiled. “That’s right.”
“Is this a formal occasion?” Petrie asked. “Because if it is, I didn’t bring anything formal to wear.”
“Yes, it’s formal,” Mostyn replied. “After lunch a team of OUP people will bring the formal attire and get us fitted if we need it.”
“I hope they bring us women different dresses,” NicAskill said.
“I think you ladies will have a selection to choose from, all based on information from your personnel files,” Mostyn said.
“Really?” NicAskill’s face took on a look of genuine surprise.
“You’d be amazed at what is in your file,” Baker replied.
“Then, again,” Jones said, “you probably don’t actually want to know.”
“Wow,” was all NicAskill managed to say.
“If you live long enough, you’ll get used to no longer having a private life,” Kemper said.
“You aren’t helping things,” NicAskill replied.
Dotty shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
Mostyn held up his hand. “Back on topic, folks. You can do what you want for the rest of the morning. Just be back here in this room by one. Because if your clothes need some tailoring we want maximum time for the tailors to make the alterations. Any questions?”
There were none, and Mostyn continued, “Enjoy your breakfast.”
After everyone had eaten and departed, Mostyn asked Kemper if she wanted to see the La Brea tar pits.
“How romantic, Mostyn. Why the hell do you want to go there?”
“Always wanted to. Ever since I was a kid.”
“Never took you for a dinosaur lover.”
“Giant mammals, Kemper. Woolly mammoths and such.”
“Details, details.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her.
“Are we going to do this or see old bones.”
“See old bones. Let’s go.”
Kemper laughed. “Petrie was right.”
“How’s that?”
“Men.”
***
The gallery was located at the corner of Beverly Blvd and Fuller Ave. Mostyn arranged for two limousines to take the team to the gallery. They were posing as wealthy investors and modern art collectors from New York, and, according to Mostyn, had to look the part. They arrived at eight-thirty.
The champagne was freely flowing and each team member took a glass. However, Mostyn had warned them there was to be minimal drinking. They were, after all, on duty.
The team members spread out and began looking at art and making small talk. Mostyn and Kemper made their way to a wall on which hung two rather large paintings.
She whispered to him, “These have to be the most ugly things I’ve seen in, I don’t know, maybe forever?”
Mostyn whispered back, “I’ve seen worse.”
“God.”
An obviously overweight man, who wore his tuxedo badly, stood next to Kemper. The man took a drink from his champagne flute. “The angst. So palpable. It resonates in the soul. Don’t you think?”
Dotty looked at him. “It’s palpable, alright. As palpable as a morning shit.”
A look of indignation appeared on the man’s face. “Dear me,” he said, and walked away rather briskly.
“We’re play acting here, Dotty. Please remember that.”
“Look, Mostyn—”
Kemper was interrupted by the approach of a tall and slender man. He was dressed in black slacks, a black turtleneck, black shoes and socks, and had longish black hair that he wore combed straight back from his high forehead.
“If you like the paintings, I’ll knock off ten percent for the pair.” He smiled, showing his brilliant white teeth.
“You’re the artist?” Mostyn asked.
The man took a slight bow. “James Cortado at your service.”
“The paintings are very interesting, but my wife was actually more interested in seeing the sculpture.”
Kemper smiled at him. “We have a corner that I think just the right sculpture would be perfect in.”
“Of course. The sculptures are very unique. As one of a kind, as, say, one person is different from another. Follow me.”
Cortado led them to a part of the gallery that was partitioned off from the main room with curtains and movable wall partitions.
“The sculptures are here.”
“Why do you have them hidden?” Kemper asked.
“They are only for special investors.” He paused, and then continued, “I should let you know they are very expensive.” He pulled aside the curtain, and motioned with his hand for Mostyn and Kemper to enter.
Kemper looked at Mostyn, who walked into the area containing the sculptures. Kemper followed, and then Cortado walked in.
One look, and Kemper exclaimed, “Oh, my God, they look real!”
Cortado took a small bow. “Thank you.”
She looked at a bat, circling around it, and said, “This is amazing.”
“Look at this statue, Dot,” Mostyn said.
When she saw what Mostyn was looking at, she said, “A person.”
“I think you’ll want to see this up close.” The tone of his voice was such that she knew he thought it very important.
Kemper walked to where Mostyn was standing, and stood next to him. She gasped. “Oh, my…”
Before them was a statue of a woman sitting on the floor. Her hands were raised as if she were warding off an impending blow, and the look on her face was one of sheer terror.
Kemper examined the statue, slowly walking around it. “I’ve never seen anything so lifelike. How do you do it?”
Cortado smiled. “Trade secret.”
Kemper smiled back. “Of course.”
“How much?” Mostyn asked.
Mild disgust flitted across Cortado’s face. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. I’ll send Milt.” And Cortado turned and left.
“Guess you put him off,” Kemper said.
“I can’t help it I’m not rich. I always ask the price if I don’t see it.”
Kemper replied, “Tsk, tsk. We’re pretending to be rich. Your middle class is showing.” And she shook her finger at Mostyn.
“Sorry,” he said, dragging out the two syllables.
She bent close and touched the figure. “It feels like stone, but there’s so much more detail than I’ve ever seen on a statue.”
She stood just as a man wearing an ice cream suit walked in.
“Hello,” he extended his hand to Mostyn, who took it. “I’m Milt Salzman. I’m James’s manager.” He gave Kemper a bow.
“I’m sorry I insulted the artist,” Mostyn began, “but old habits die hard. I was wondering how much the statue cost.”
“The bigger pieces are very unique,” Salzman said. “We have three human figures, four rats, and the one bat. Half a million for the rats, one mil for the bat, and ten million for the human figures.”
“I see,” Mostyn said, while taking his phone out of his pocket. He typed on it and returned it to his pocket.
“Was there a particular piece you were interested in?” Salzman asked.
Kemper was looking at the two other human figures. One as a man lying on his side, his face displaying a profound look of horror. The other was also a man who was walking. His face showed surprise, rather than terror.
“Take a look at these, Pierce, dear.”
“The rats don’t sell well, if I’m honest with you,” Salzman said. “I can knock ten percent off the price.”
Mostyn’s phone chimed. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. He smiled and returned the phone to his pocket.
“I’ll take the woman, the bat at the entrance, and pick out a rat for me.” Mostyn handed his card to Salzman. “Call that number and arrange with my people for pick up. I want then tomorrow. Will that be a problem?”
“The show runs for another four days,” Salzman said. “We don’t let pieces go before the show ends.”
“I want them tomorrow, or no sale,” Mostyn said.
“Well, uh,” Salzman looked at the card. It told him Mostyn was an investor. “Yes, of course, Mr Mossman. I’ll make arrangements with your people first thing in the morning. We will, of course, have to run a credit check. It’s standard policy.”
“No. Call them now. They’ll pick the items up first thing in the morning.” Mostyn took out the phone again, tapped on it, and then showed Salzman the screen. “That’s my bank account. You can see I have the money in it.”
Salzman looked. “Well, yes, but, well, er… This is all highly irregular.”
Mostyn shrugged. “Do you want eleven and a half million, minus the ten percent, or not? This isn’t a difficult transaction.”
There was a gleam in Salzman’s eyes. “Mr Cortado wants his buyers to be happy.”
“Good,” Mostyn said. “Make me happy.”
To Be Continued!
While waiting for the next installment, the entire Pierce Mostyn Paranormal series is available for your reading pleasure.
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“An action-packed, and suspenseful read with good characters and just enough scientific theories wound through the plot to make it possible. It reminded me a little of the X-files. If you get spooked easily don’t read this on a dark and stormy night when alone in a remote area.” —from an Amazon review of Terror in the Shadows.
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The Medusa Ritual is copyright © 2019 by CW Hawes. All rights reserved.
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