I nodded. It was the same with trying to solve these murders. The details kept churning around in my thoughts, and I had little peace of mind.
“It’s taken me a while, but now that I’ve seen it again, I know where I saw it before.”
“Where?”
“At Doris Becker’s home. It was years and years ago when I first started doing home nursing. I cared for her when she recovered from surgery.”
I blinked and looked at the painting again studying it closer.
Nita looked puzzled. “But I heard Doris never let anyone see her paintings. She didn’t think they were any good. How did you get to view any of them?”
“Seeing it again today, it finally clicked, and I remembered where I saw it. While caring for Doris, I went into a room adjoining her bedroom looking for extra blankets. She must have used the room as an art studio, and it was there.”
“In the turret room?” I asked.
“Yes. The room was round with lots of windows.”
When I saw her house, I’d wondered if she’d used that room to paint in.
“The painting rested on an easel in the center of the room, so I couldn’t miss it. But afterward, I got busy caring for Doris and didn’t think about it again, until now.”
I was puzzled. “Why would Anne’s painting be at Doris Becker’s home?”
“That’s just it. Anne Williamson couldn’t have painted it. She didn’t move to Louiston until years later. Doris must have painted it.”
“What?” I was confused, trying to absorb what she said. “But Anne said Doris’s work was simplistic. There is nothing simple about this painting.”
Nita shook her head. “We only have Anne’s word about Doris’s work. From what I heard, Doris was extremely private about her painting. She didn’t think her work was good enough to display, so no one ever saw it.”
I couldn’t understand it. “She must have had high expectations if she didn’t think this was any good. Look how much it sold for.”
“And sold by Anne Williamson as her work. She must have taken this painting from Doris. And perhaps all the other ones she sold. Did anyone ever see Anne working on a piece—perhaps at a group painting session to know what her work looked like? To compare?”
“I don’t think so. But don’t forget I haven’t been a member of the arts group for long,” Nita said.
“What about Doris? Did anyone ever mention seeing her paint, perhaps in a group session?” Mrs. Webster continued to stare at the painting.
“As I understand it, Doris enjoyed being a member of the group,” Nita said. “When she could no longer attend the meetings, the members tried to keep her involved. She was getting very forgetful. Anne befriended her and used to visit her often.”
“But how did Anne see Doris’s paintings?” I asked.
“Probably when she visited Doris,” Nita said. “If Doris was developing dementia, I bet it was easy for Anne to see what paintings Doris had in her house.”
“Used to visit her and took her paintings, a few at a time,” I said indignantly. “Her neighbor said he saw Anne loading her car with some of Doris’s things. She told him she was taking things Doris wanted to donate to the Salvation Army.”
Mrs. Webster grunted. “I always wondered about that woman.”
“But if no one saw Doris’s paintings, how do we prove she painted them and not Anne?”
I gasped. “Aunt Kit was a genius.”
“What’s this got to do with Aunt Kit?” Nita asked.
“She said art might have been the link between Ian’s and Damian’s deaths.” I turned to Nita and Mrs. Webster, who looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “I thought Aunt Kit was totally off the mark, but she was right. Don’t you see? The only person possibly familiar with Doris’s paintings had been gone for over twenty years and didn’t seem like a threat. That is until he showed up to settle his aunt’s estate. One of the calls on his phone, when he arrived, had been to Anne. Ian would have been in a position to question what had happened to his aunt’s paintings.”
Mrs. Webster walked up to the painting and studied the price tag on it. “If what you say is true and Anne has been selling Doris’s paintings as her own, she’s made a tidy sum from her ill-gotten gains.”
I nodded. “And we don’t know how many more paintings she smuggled out of Doris’s house and may still have. She couldn’t afford to have Ian raise the alarm about them.”
“So she stabbed poor Ian to keep him quiet?” Nita asked.
“I think that’s the only explanation.” I hoped I was right.
“How is this linked to Damian?” Nita asked. “He didn’t know Doris and hadn’t lived in Louiston for very long. He wouldn’t have known anything about Doris’s paintings.” Nita, trying to take it all in, looked puzzled.
I looked at the painting as though trying to absorb its role in two murders. “The night of the awards ceremony, I was standing next to Anne and we both watched Damian studying her painting. He stood there for some time and even got up close to it as though studying the brushstrokes. I think Anne wondered about his scrutiny of the painting and was worried he was suspicious of her. I’m guessing she couldn’t take a chance and decided to get rid of him just in case. She killed once to cover her trail, so it probably didn’t take much for her to kill again.”
Nita looked somber. “Anne must have seen Damian and Ian as threats to her reputation and income flow.”
I peered up at the large painting and shook my head, remembering Damian’s close examination of the painting that night. “After Anne saw him inspecting her painting, or I should say Doris’s painting, she must have gone home and decided she needed to act right away—before Damian had a chance to say something to anyone else about the painting. If Monica hadn’t been arrested, Anne might have gone after her too, guessing that Damian had said something to her on the way home.”
“Being in jail could have saved her life,” Mrs. Webster said.
“If nothing else, Anne needed to go home to grab a knife. After she stabbed Damian, she got away just before Monica arrived.” I shook my head. “She cut it pretty close.”
“Wicked woman,” Mrs. Webster said. “The world gets worse every day.”
“How do we prove any of it?” Nita asked.
“I don’t know. We need to give this some thought. If we rush into it, we could blow the whole thing.”
Chapter 44
Make sure all locks and doorbells work.
Nita drove Mrs. Webster home and planned to join me at my house so we could grab something to eat quickly and plan our next steps. It was never good to make important decisions when starving.
Entering the house, I called out to Aunt Kit but didn’t get an answer. Instead, Inky came running to greet me. After the shock I’d received that morning, it was comforting to have his affectionate greeting.
I made a pot of tea and quickly pulled leftover Chinese from the refrigerator to heat in the microwave. What did we ever do before microwaves were invented?
While waiting for Nita, I opened the notebook I’d left on the kitchen table and recorded our recent findings with a notation to possibly scout out Anne’s house.
I had just finished recording my notes when Nita tapped on the door and I let her in.
“That smells wonderful. I thought we’d be having something fast like cheese sandwiches. What is that?”
“Leftover Chinese. Even faster than making sandwiches.”
We dug into the selection of dishes from the night before, both of us deep in thought about what we could do next.
I reached down and fed Inky a piece of chicken, something I didn’t usually do from the table. “If we could find some of Doris’s paintings at Anne’s house, it would be evidence pointing to a motive for the murders.”
“What if all the paintings have Anne’s signature
on them?” Nita dug into the bag of chocolate chip cookies I set on the table.
“Anne probably painted over Doris’s signature and signed her own name. If so, I’m sure there’s a way an art expert could get below Anne’s signature to find Doris’s signature. That is if Doris wasn’t too modest to sign her paintings. If that’s the case, I don’t know if there is any way to prove Doris painted them.”
“With any luck, some are still there with Doris’s signature. Then we’d have something concrete to report to the police.” Nita took our dishes over to the sink. “All we have now are guesses. We need to find some of those paintings.”
“What excuse can we use to get into Anne’s house?” I asked.
“Bring your vacuum cleaner and we can offer to clean her house.” From the twinkle in her eye, I knew Nita was kidding.
“Whatever we do, we need to get there soon. If Anne is leaving on vacation, we just may catch her. I wish Aunt Kit were here. She and Anne have become chummy, and if she were with us, it wouldn’t look as strange as our showing up on her doorstep alone.”
Why don’t you call Aunt Kit and suggest she meet us there?” Nita picked up her purse, ready to leave.
“It wouldn’t do any good trying to call her. She never turns her phone on except to make a call. Says it saves the battery.” It annoyed me to no end and made me wonder how I would get in touch with her in an emergency—like now.
“Why are we always plagued with cell phone problems?” Nita asked, reminding me of the problems I’d had in the past with an old phone and poor connectivity.
“Come on, let’s think of an excuse to visit Anne on our way there.” We stepped outside to discover that it had started raining, and the temperature had dropped considerably. I grabbed a jacket hanging on a peg near the back door and offered one to Nita. She declined, saying she had one in the car.
When we pulled up in front of Anne’s house, we saw her car was gone. “Don’t tell me we missed her!” Nita groaned.
“Let’s knock. She may be parked out back somewhere.” We ran to the house to avoid getting wet in the drizzly rain. Stepping onto the porch, I twisted the old-fashioned door ringer built into the middle of the door. When we didn’t get a response, I tried again. The ringer’s grinding noise would have woken anyone sleeping in the house.
“Nita, look at this.” We peered through the window in the upper half of the door and I pointed to the two large suitcases sitting just inside.
Nita grinned. “Good. She hasn’t left yet. Maybe she went for gas or something. Do you think she’s going on vacation or escaping before things get too hot for her to stay here? Maybe she’s going on the lam.”
“I don’t know. If she’s going on the lam, as you say, the police might never find her. This could be our only opportunity to gather the evidence and catch her before she leaves.”
Nita tried the doorknob. It turned easily. “Since Anne didn’t answer, do you think she could be inside sick or injured? Maybe she hurt her back lifting those suitcases and is lying upstairs helpless? We should go inside and check on her.”
“Wouldn’t that be unlawful entry?” I asked. Between the two of us, I was the one who adhered to the rules more often.
“She could be dying in there. Do we quibble about it being unlawful to go in and check on her when she might need help?”
The thought of Anne getting away was more than I could bear, especially if she had packed any of Doris’s remaining artwork in her car. “Okay, but only to check to make sure Anne is okay.”
Nita pushed open the door and went in first, with me following. “What do you notice?” I whispered.
“Spicy cologne. Was that what you smelled before?” Nita asked.
“I could never forget it. Now I know we’re on the right path.”
Nita tiptoed further inside. “Anne, are you here? It’s Laura and Nita. We didn’t get an answer to our ring, and we want to make sure you’re okay.”
We got no response. “It doesn’t appear she’s here. Why don’t you check upstairs to see if she is lying on the floor up there, and I’ll search around down here? Oh, and check the closets and under the beds.”
“Closets and under the bed?” Nita asked, looking perplexed.
“For any artwork,” I whispered.
“Oh, right.” With that, she tiptoed up the stairs. “Anne, are you up there?”
After searching the living room, peering behind and under the sofa and chairs and not finding anything except dust bunnies, I quickly searched the dining room and kitchen. No signs of any paintings. I peered out the back window. No garage out back, so there wouldn’t be any paintings stored there. That left the dreaded basement. I doubted she stored them in a damp, cold place, but I couldn’t risk missing them if they were there in a humidity-controlled storage cupboard.
I pushed open the door and peered down into the basement. The musty odor from stale air and dampness hit me. I hated basements—especially basements in old houses. It brought back the memory of my experience staging the Denton mansion. My first instinct was to close the door and run, but I couldn’t leave without making sure we’d checked the whole house. We needed those paintings to prove Anne Williamson had been stealing them from Doris.
Anne could say Doris had given them to her, but that would be hard to prove, especially since Anne had signed her name to them and been passing them off as her own. If we could prove that, we might be able to prove she had a motive to murder both Ian and Damian to keep her secret.
From the top of the stairs, I looked around for a light switch. When I didn’t see one, I looked on the wall outside the basement door and found a switch on the kitchen wall. I flipped the switch and saw a single bare light bulb illuminate. It hung from the ceiling at the bottom of the stairs, spilling a weak circle of light that was just enough illumination for me to find my way down to the cement floor. The homes in this area of Louiston were about a hundred and fifty years old, and electricity had been added to them well after they had been built. It wasn’t unusual to find very little lighting in the basements.
As I started down the stairs, the sudden drop in temperature sent shivers over me. I wrapped the front of my jacket across my chest, thankful I’d grabbed something warm to wear earlier when we’d dashed from my house.
As I slowly made my way down the stairs, I reached out to steady myself and felt the cold foundation that consisted of stacked rocks. The rocks in this house had been whitewashed, which helped make the basement feel less like a dungeon—but not by much.
At the bottom of the stairs, I scanned the area looking for places Anne could have stored any of the paintings—if she still had some in her possession. The basement felt cold and damp, even in summer. The rain earlier hadn’t helped.
I couldn’t imagine Anne would store the paintings down here given the damp conditions, but she could have if she were desperate enough to ensure no one saw them.
From where I stood, I could see a wide-open area filled with a haphazard collection of things that must have been stored there for years. It was covered not in dust but grimy soot. Two old-fashioned wooden highchairs stood in a corner, surrounded by galvanized buckets, wooden crates filled with colored soda bottles, and a wooden ice cream churn. Various pieces of lawn and gardening equipment filled one end of the basement, which meant there must be an exit to the backyard. But I didn’t see one.
I looked around for more light switches to help me find the outside door, or perhaps some ceiling lights with pull chains or cords. Not finding any, I opened a wood-paneled door, and from the dim light near the stairwell, saw a furnace and water heater. There must be lights around here, but not knowing where they were, I couldn’t find them to turn them on. The grimy walls in one corner showed that coal had once been stored there. That meant this area faced the street, where the coal would have been unloaded.
Finding nothing stored there, I tu
rned to leave and ran into long cobwebs hanging from the wood beams overhead. They stuck to my face and hair. I hated cobwebs. And even though I knew they were harmless, it was all I could do not to screech.
Nita called from the doorway. “You okay down there?” She started down the steps. Perhaps she didn’t have the aversion to basements I had.
“Yeah. I just ran into some cobwebs. This place is pretty well locked up. I don’t see any windows or doors to the outside.”
Nita joined me in the furnace room. “The windows were probably covered over to keep people from breaking in through the basement.”
“Could be. I also didn’t see any exits to outside,” I said. “But it’s so dark a door to the outside could be here, but I just don’t see one.”
“Did you find any paintings? There weren’t any upstairs. Maybe we are on a wild goose chase.”
“So far, no paintings down here either.”
We left the furnace room and started to the other end of the basement, where I could see a large metal cabinet.
Just then I heard footsteps overhead. My heart skipped a beat. Before I could react, the basement door slammed closed, and the light went out. Weak as the light had been, it had still been better than nothing. We found ourselves enveloped in total darkness. My pulse quickened, reminding me of the growing panic attacks I’d experienced when facing unreasonable deadlines in the corporate world, and I reminded myself to stay calm.
“Beatrix Potter!” Nita gasped and reached out and grabbed me. It wasn’t only the blackness around us that frightened me. An unnatural stillness filled the house. If we couldn’t hear much from outside, would anyone outside be able to hear us if we shouted for help?
My first instinct was to remain silent. Perhaps Anne shut the door and turned off the light thinking that she’d left them that way earlier. If so, she might not realize we were down there.
“Nita, are you okay?”
Laura Bishop Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 42
