Thrillers in Episodes
The Mystery Behind the Paintings — First Episode
The first chapter of an interesting thriller in episodes.
It was in the basement of the town library, where at least two hundred old and dusty books were piled up, which almost certainly no one had leafed through for at least a hundred years. He had had the brilliant idea of going down there, who by the way was also allergic to dust. But it was neither by chance nor by vanity that he was there. It was that he had a specific purpose: to find that manuscript his great-great-grandfather was talking about in his diary. And the directions were clear. The basement of the municipal library. He had been in there for at least two hours and his lungs couldn’t take it anymore. He had started coughing and sneezing all the time, and he couldn’t help himself anymore. Nonetheless, he had to continue his research. It was too important to let it go. Finally he found something. Maybe that was what he needed. An eighty-page booklet, faded red, with gold lettering. Yes, it was him. Just as his great-great-grandfather described him in the diary. The mystery behind the paintings. This was the title. He stole it from the archive and took it away with him. Besides, no one would ever have noticed.
It was the usual winter afternoon. It was snowing outside. The heaters to a minimum (by now the natural gas reserves were almost finished) and that shutter broken for at least two weeks still there, as if looking at it and saying: “why don’t you fix me ?!”. In a village like San Severino Lucano, lost in the mountains of the Pollino park, almost nothing happened. Never a strange fact. Never a particular case to solve. But all in all it was better this way. It meant that people behaved well. Better that way.
He was sitting in his usual chair, with his feet resting on the desk and his hands behind his neck, fantasizing who knows what seaside resort, lying on a cot, with the waves coming and going. And above all that scorching sun, which right now he could only dream of. He was deep in his dreams when the phone rang. He jumped from his chair, returning to reality. Before answering, he looked around and saw not the waves of the sea, but the broken shutter begging him to fix it. Please fix me, he seemed to keep asking him.
- Hello! Who’s talking? — he shouted lifting the receiver, as if his voice should not cross the telephone line, but should be heard directly by the person on the other side.
- Good morning captain! — began a small voice. — I’m Carlo.
- Carlo who? — replied the captain, still immersed in his “marine” thoughts.
- Like Carlo who? Mr. captain disappoints me so much … don’t you remember me? Carlo Carlicelli, known as Pantoprazole.
- Ah yes, Pantoprazole! Yes, yes. Sure, I remember. It’s just that I was thinking … — He stopped for a moment. Who knows why they called him Pantoprazole by nickname.
- Now yes! Captain! How many times have I offered you coffee at the bar? Tell me, but how many times? And then he remembers that time there at the club …
- Yes, that’s fine. — the captain cut short, as if he was in a hurry to end the call to return to his sea. He turned absent-mindedly towards the window and again saw the roller shutter from which two hands had now come out, which joined in prayer, begging him: repair me, I implore you with all my heart. — Tell me what happened, Mr. Pantop … er Carlo.
- Call me Pantoprazole! The man replied proudly. — So, this morning I got up as usual at six thirty and what do I find? The kitchen window was open. A cold breeze was coming in… and what did I find? Indeed what have I not found? I couldn’t find the picture that hung on the fireplace anymore. But the beauty is that only the painting was missing. There was also the wallet of Maria, my wife, but it was intact. All the money inside. Only the painting was missing.
- And what painting was it? Asked the captain, rummaging across the desk for his green notebook to take notes. He found him on the ground. Then the pen. He found a yellow one in the pen holder. He began to write but nothing could be seen. The ink was yellow. Ah my dear Tweety, who of all colors chose yellow, he thought. The thought of Tweety put him in a good mood.
- … and then he paid little money for which … — was continuing Pantoprazole.
- Excuse me, but can you repeat? Asked the captain.
- I was saying that my wife had bought the painting at the flea market, which they made a few years ago in Lauria. Four sous. I think he had paid 15,000 lire for it, yes, because then there were still lire when he bought it. The strange fact is that the rest of the room was in order. Only the picture. But I don’t know who could have stolen it, because it was worth a penny. If he asked me, I gave it to him, too!
- That seems kind of strange to me. — commented the captain, fumbling in taking notes. On one side the yellow pen, on the other the man who spoke quickly and finally also the slightly disturbed line. — Anyway, give me your details, so we can come to your house for an inspection.
- What, you don’t know my personal details? I told you before, captain! My name is Carlo Carlicelli. — the man chanted, proud again to bear that name. — I bear the same name as my grandfather, who was a great carpenter. I live on the course. He paused for a moment to think. — You know that little green house overlooking the street? He never came to my house for coffee. Ah, the bars, how many visits they save!
- Yes, yes I have this! — replied the captain, remembering that shack that overlooked the street, with that rusty railing and the small rotten wooden door, now worn by time. He had always wondered why they had painted it exactly green. He was about to ask him. But then he stopped himself. Luckily. Who knows how Pantoprazole would take it. Who knows what kind he was. — Okay — he concluded — then see you soon. I’ll call Marshal Funghetti and we’ll come to you. Please don’t touch anything.
- Thank you mister captain! I’ll offer you another coffee.
- Okay okay! See you later. — and hung up. He looked at the notes he had taken. Nothing could be read. Well, he didn’t say much, he thought.
And now?
Wait for the next episode :)
