Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. Thanks to C.E. Ayr, long-time member of the Sunday Photo Fiction community for this weeks intriguing photo.
The old church stood in a part of town called The Paseo, home to every wanna-be painter this side the Red River. Inside, I was greeted by a woman of innumerable years and teeth yellowed from too much tobacco. We exchanged pleasantries as she led me to the first gallery. Every painting had a story. She was a wealth of knowledge, this one, but none of it interested me.
“Tell me your story,” I said.
“No story,” eyes darting from side to side. “Just an old woman with a gallery.”
That, I doubted.
I asked to see her work, so she led me to a small backroom. I’m no art critic, but I knew bad art when I saw it. A brilliant deception I might add.
“Where are the abstracts?”
No abstracts she professed.
I said I was no art critic, but I am an art detective and I was running out of patience. For years I had searched for the missing Picasso. Not a painting, but a forger; the best in the world. I knew in my gut she was standing two feet away.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” I said. “How much to forge Les Demoiselles d’Avignon?”
Word count = 199