I'm Only the Trombone Player

Day 5 ~ Andre's Five Day Mini Challenge

January 14^th 2022 ▼

Andre the Blog Monkey's Final Mystery Challenge

IMAGE NOT SHAREABLE

Take a good look at this painting, is there something mysterious about it?
A painting of a writer, who's having a drink, possibly wine, but more likely whiskey, maybe beer, whatever is in that glass
you know it's going to get the guy drunk, that's all I'm saying, and there's nothing mysterious about that.

So... What is the mystery behind the painting?
I'm buying drinks for the blogger who writes the most intriguing mystery.
It's also Funny Friday so, make your entry funny and gain an MB.

Drop by the Banana Bar on Saturday, we'll have the prize winners posted and weekend blog prompts.

Mystery Painting

One of my jobs on our little island paradise is cleaning up the Banana Bar every morning, it's not a bad gig. Mostly a lot of empty rum and vodka bottles, banana peels, and straightening up chairs and tables. A quick sweep before Lilli gets in and we're good to go.

Lately, though there has been a particular peculiar plethora of events. Every morning when I open up, there is a fresh oil painting adorning the wall above the bar. It was so fresh you could still smell the oil in the paints curing. The paintings all had an old-world quality to them as if someone were copying the style of the old masters.

I couldn't figure how the painting kept appearing each morning, always a new painting every morning, hanging in the same spot, just above the bar. I would have shrugged it off, but the why and who intrigued me.

Late one night I decided to satisfy my curiosity. I waited until the lights went out in the bar, and then I snuck back over to the island. Creeping quietly up to the glassless window, I peeked in. I was shocked and surprised at what I saw. I could barely believe my eyes. A single swing lightbulb lit up an easel with short legs. In front of it stood Andre, a palette and brush in his furry little mitts. As he painted he hummed a little tune, taking careful little brush strokes he was carefully copying his painting from a book of fine art.

I walked quietly up to the door, being careful to avoid the squeaky board on the porch. I walked in slowly, it's best not to spook Andre. Moving into his line of sight I said, "Andre, what are you up to? That's a great painting by the way."

Andre jumped and looked fleeting guilty. Which we all know is unusual for Andre. Even more unusual Andre moved to the bar and poured us both a shot of his private reserve. Then he slid a small notebook over to me. In Andre's scrawl, was a detailed list of copied art and prices and payments.

"Oh, Andre, are you forging art?"

Andre shrugged and went back to his painting.