The Body in Bodega Bay: A Nora Barnes and Toby Sandler Mystery

Chapter 11

147 11 MARCH IN MADISON can still be the middle of winter. That was clear from the airplane window: carpets of snow and two frozen lakes framing the isthmus with its gleaming Capitol. But the sky was the bright blue of summer at the sea. Deceptive. I almost fainted from cold as I waited outside the terminal for my taxi. California-style layers were definitely not adequate for Wisconsin-style cold. But I kept up good spirits, excited to be bringing the icon for expert analysis. It didn’t take me long to get the precious cargo to the Campus Inn. My appointment with George Greeley was set for the next morning at his home on the east side of town. That gave me an afternoon and evening for myself. Resisting the temptation to spend the afternoon in my toasty room, I gently placed the briefcase in the closet and proceeded on foot to the university art museum, the Chazen. The plowed streets and the Library Mall, piled with snow, were thick with students marching swiftly by. The scene reminded me of Berkeley, in spite of the weather. There the kids would be in cut-offs and flip-flops; here they were muffled under hoods and parkas, long 148 scarves trailing behind them. Still, the two schools were about the same size. By contrast, Sonoma College, where I teach, is small and quiet. I wondered briefly what my career would have been like if I’d landed a job at a big university like this one. A higher salary? A lighter teaching load, with more time for research? Perhaps. But I like teaching small classes where I can get to know my students, and I like the feeling of community that comes along with a small campus. Besides, Toby hates winter. “It’s all right for the Eskimos,” he says, “but then, they don’t mind eating blubber, either.” Nothing could induce him to leave California , and I guess by now I feel the same way. A museum like the Chazen would be a nice teaching aid, though. It’s surprisingly complete for a campus collection. Two linked modern buildings house a sampling of sculptures, paintings, and prints from the ancient Greeks to the present. I played my usual game of “What would you take home?” and couldn’t decide between two paintings in my own field. The first was a glowing moonlight coastal scene by the Norwegian artist Johan Christian Dahl. The other was a sweet little landscape by a minor American painter named Henry Pember Smith, whose work has always appealed to me. It would be great to walk students over here fresh from class to stand in front of delightful works like these. A special exhibition of Russian icons was, however, my destination. The university owns a small collection, and it isn’t often on view. In a space for temporary exhibitions off the main gallery, I found twenty or so icons in typical shapes and subjects, but almost all painted in the nineteenth century to mimic an earlier style. Several older examples were impressive, but more than a few, at least to me, lacked life. Then I came upon a bright little triptych picturing various scenes from the life of a lesser-known saint, and it had the charm of a naïve painting. It was beautiful in its own way but nothing rivaling the delicacy of Rublev’s work. According to Al Miller, a great icon radiates spiritual energy. And you don’t get that just by layering on the gold paint. I left the room eager to know whether underneath our Michael icon was a work of uncommon power. 149 A visit to the museum shop was a must, even though closing time was approaching. In a whirlwind, I picked up my swag: earrings for Angie with Frida Kahlo’s self-portrait on them, a reproduction of a Roman glass necklace for our mom’s upcoming birthday, and for my desk a miniature Russian icon triptych, just over an inch tall. Something faux but appealing for each of the Barnes women. The security guard showed me out into the crystal cold. With ice crackling underfoot, I joined the parade of students heading out to the bars of State Street. If I had forgotten that it was St. Patrick’s Day, the signs advertising green beer and St. Paddy’s specials would have...