#FlashFictionMagic: A Vast Landscape

It was worse than Madeline had said on the phone. Annie’s beautiful painting, of the vast landscape of farmland behind her grandparents’ home, was scarred by haphazard strokes of thick black paint. If she didn’t feel so numb, she’d break down in tears. She never would have entered the library’s art contest if she’d known this would be the outcome. 

“I just don’t understand,” she told Madeline as they stood before the painting in the community-room-turned-gallery. The two women weren’t normally friendly, not because of the decades between their ages but because Madeline disapproved of Annie. She took every available opportunity to point out that her daughter used her college degree for a real career in accounting instead of throwing it away on something like art. Annie appreciated that, despite their differences, Madeline had been kind enough to call her as soon as she discovered the damage. 

"Well, like I said," the older woman told Annie. “You know I don’t like to speak ill of others, but Trevor Scott was the last one out after the presentations last night. We locked up and told him to just pull the door shut when he left. So he had plenty of time alone here.” Madeline pulled her cardigan more tightly around herself. “And personally, I think he saw you as a threat.” 

Annie groaned. Trevor, a popular local painter whose work she deeply admired, was the special guest judge for this year’s competition. Annie had not been prepared for how critical he was of every single piece of art. ”A threat?” she scoffed. “Based on his notes, it’s more likely he thinks I’m a hack. Compared to him, I pretty much am.” 

Studying the blotches of black that now covered the distant mountain range she had painted so painstakingly, Annie wondered whether maybe this could have been an accident. Could someone have tripped and splashed an open container of paint? The deliberate brush strokes made that theory obviously far-fetched, but it seemed even less likely that a professional like Trevor Scott would intentionally destroy a painting. 

Madeline, seemingly having exhausted her reserves of human compassion, said, “You should probably call someone and report what happened, but there’s no sense just standing here all day. There’s nothing anyone can do now.” Then she departed, presumably to assume her post at the reference desk. 

A moment later, there was a tap at the door, and Annie turned to find another contest entrant, Leah Fielding, standing in the doorway. “Have they awarded prizes yet?” she chirped. Leah’s painting was a still life of objects related to knitting. At least, that’s what the title suggested. It was harder to tell by looking at the painting itself. Some of the balls of yarn resembled lopsided pieces of fruit, and the needles were oversized and crooked and looked like wet noodles. 

“The only thing I’ve gotten is a slap in the face,” Annie gestured to her canvas.

“Oh no!” Leah said. “What happened? Do you know who did it?” 

Annie shrugged.  “Madeline found it this way when she opened the library this morning.” 

Concerned, Leah hustled over to her own painting, but there was nothing wrong with it that hadn’t already been wrong with it. Annie studied her for a moment. It was clear to her that she and Leah were not in serious competition with one another, but did Leah realize that? Or was she the type of person who would destroy someone else’s painting to make her own look better? Maybe she was here, back at the scene of the crime, to see the reaction, or to direct attention away from herself.  

“How late did you stay last night?” Annie asked.

“I left right after you did,” Leah said. “I only had the babysitter for two hours.” 

Annie nodded. “Got it,” she said. What else should she ask? Interrogation techniques were not on her short list of talents. 

“I think you might win,” Leah said after a moment. “Yours is the best one. Trevor Scott spent more time looking at it than any of the other ones. The rest of us are just competing for second prize.” 

Forgetting to acknowledge the compliment, which seemed exceptionally kind given her own suspicion of Leah, Annie latched on to Trevor’s name.  

“Trevor Scott was still here when you left?” 

“Definitely,” Leah said. “Why do you ask?” 

“Madeline thinks he may have done this,” she said, watching Leah carefully to gauge her reaction.  

“Well, of course Madeline wants to blame Trevor,” Leah said. Annie gave Leah a puzzled look, and she quickly explained,  "Trevor used to be engaged to Madeline's daughter, Rosa."

Annie’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Wow. I had no idea.” 

Leah leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “He left her at the altar. Madeline nearly had a coronary.” 

“Huh.” Annie stared a bit longer at her destroyed painting, thinking about Rosa’s alleged perfection. Apparently, there were black smudges in every life. She wished hers were a little less literal. Also, it would be nice if she could stop seeing images in them. She blinked. 

“I’ll see you later,” she told Leah. “I need to figure out what I’m going to do. Good luck in the contest.” 

As she left the community room and walked toward the exit, Annie decided to take a brief moment in the restroom to splash some water on her face and clear her head. Turning the corner, she was nearly knocked to the floor by a fast-walking Madeline. As they narrowly avoided a collision, Annie found her eyes drawn to Madeline’s blouse. 

Madeline grabbed for the edges of her cardigan, trying desperately to cover herself, but she wasn’t quick enough. Annie saw, clear as day, the spatter of black paint against the white fabric, and when she lifted her gaze to meet Madeline’s, she knew. 

[Image credit]