The Deadly Art of Love and Murder

by Linda Crowder

  “Or they’d been depressed before, but for the last few days of their lives, they seemed happy again.” I shivered. “Like they’d made up their mind to go and they were saying goodbye.”

  “Leaving people with good memories.”

  “Maybe. I guess we’ll never really know. Certainly isn’t ever going to be a reason that satisfies the people they leave behind.”

  We sat there in silence, both lost in our thoughts until I lost track of time. “Help me to know her, Cara. What kind of person was she?”

  I pushed away from the desk and started to pace. “I told you before. She was sweet. She’d come by the gallery to pay her rent and see the new paintings I’d put out since the last time. We’d chat, sometimes. If the gallery wasn’t too busy. She never imposed if I had customers. She liked watercolors.”

  “Did she ever buy anything?”

  I shook my head. “She was almost apologetic about it, but she told me she had a house full of pretty things back home.” I perched on the arm of the couch. “I’ve been trying to think of things that would help you, to call up memories of things she’s said to me and there’s so much less there than I thought there would be. I feel like someone important to me is gone and it hurts my heart to think of her, but when I reach out to touch her,” I stretched out my hand as if I were grabbing something in the air, “she fades away like a mirage.”

  “Do I have an emergency contact in there?”

  Dan stared at the paper in front of him, then held it up to me. “It’s in code.”

  I sat down next to him and took the folder. “Sorry. I’m the only one who ever looks at these and I’m always in a hurry. This page shows her rent payments. See, I’ve noted when she came, when she left and when she’d told me she’d be back the next year.”

  “Is that what those scribbles mean?”

  I ignored him, leaning back on the couch. “She had been coming only for the summer but when the cruise ships started, she extended her stay for the entire season. She liked to people watch.”

  Dan sat back on the couch and I was uncomfortably aware of the heat from his arm pressed against mine. I was debating whether I could move over without him noticing so I almost missed what he said next. “I’m surprised you still have time to manage property.”

  I got up to put the folder back in the file cabinet. “I don’t, but I can’t find anyone crazy enough to take over the business.”

  “What about your dad? Didn’t he start the business?”

  “Yes, but when I got my real estate license, he handed it over to me. I asked him last year if he’d take it back, but he said he’s too old to study for the test to renew his.”

  Dan laughed, “Bob King is one of those people who’ll never be old. He’s too smart to take it back. How are you going to make time for your artist in residency project?”

  “Who told you about that?” I leaned on my desk, happy to have a little distance between us.

  “Jack. He’s thrilled that you’re turning Johnny’s island into a retreat.”

  I sighed. “Mrs. Nash gave me the idea. She came into the gallery, a couple of weeks before the season ended and we got to talking about a program down in Flagstaff. Of course, it was only a pipe dream then. I didn’t think I’d ever have enough money to make it happen.”

  “Was that the last time you saw her?”

  “I’ve been trying to remember. I think it may have been.”

  “How did she seem?”

  “Not like someone who was planning to kill herself, if that’s what you mean. Or someone afraid for her life, for that matter. She was normal, like she always was. We talked about how hard it is to make a living as an artist and she mentioned a program in Arizona that subsidizes artists to spend three months at a retreat doing nothing but making art––painting, sculpture, weaving––whatever medium they work in.”

  “The way he talks, I thought the whole thing was Jack’s idea.”

  I smiled. “Johnny and I used to talk about how hard it is to paint when you’ve got to have a day job. He travelled all over the state looking for inspiration. Whenever he stumbled across an artist he thought had promise, he’d refer them to me. When I was first starting out, it was hard to get established artists to exhibit with me so these newbies were my bread and butter. I pretty much have my pick now, but I set aside space every year for emerging artists.”

  “Were these artists he sent you any good?”

  “Johnny had a great eye for talent. When Jack offered me the island, I told him it would make a perfect artist’s retreat.” I snapped my fingers. “Just like that, he set up a fund to support it and named me the administrator.”

  “Property manager, business owner and now patron of the arts. You’re a regular little tycoon.”

  “I’m crazy, that’s what I am. I don’t know how I’m going to get everything done. Cloning. That’s what I need. I can go through my emails and see if she mentioned having children.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll contact the police down there. They’ll track down her next of kin and let me know where to ship the body.”

  “I hate referring to Mrs. Nash as ‘the body’.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “Have you investigated a lot of murders?”

  “Much more likely to be a suicide.”

  “Fine, have you investigated a lot of suicides?”

  “Is this a job interview?”

  “It’s a conversation. Social skills, Dan.” I moved toward the door, suddenly embarrassed.

  He caught my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not much good at conversations.” He pulled me down beside him on the couch. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t investigated much of anything. I was a beat cop, not a detective. I got called out to a few murders and way too many suicides, but I was strictly a grunt, never the man in charge.”

  “Is that why you insisted on calling the state even though you think she killed herself?”

  “A man doesn’t want to make a mistake with something like that.”

  “Do you miss Fairbanks? Coho Bay must seem awfully slow to you.”

  “I miss the people I worked with, but I don’t miss the cold or the darkness. Climate here is way better than Fairbanks too.”

  “I know what you mean. I was surprised how much colder it got in Anchorage when I lived there.”

  “Lot more drugs too.” His phone beeped and he glanced at the screen. “State’s here.”

  I walked with him to the marina, watching the police boat cutting toward us over the choppy water. “The whole town will be at Mel’s dishing dirt. I’ll ask around. See if I can find out anything about Mrs. Nash that could help you.”

  “Don’t.” He spit out the word, then ran his finger along my cheek to soften his tone. “Don’t go asking questions. If it’s suicide, whatever you find out won’t matter. If it’s murder, I don’t want you putting yourself in danger.”

  “Dan, it’s been weeks since she died. If it was murder, the killer’s long gone.”

  “I’m not taking any chances.” He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. Light and soft, surprisingly appealing and over way too soon. He pulled away and before I could take another breath, was down the steps and heading for where the police boat was pulling up to the dock. I wondered if my face looked as stunned as I felt.

  “I guess you’re okay then.”

  I spun around to see Frank Baker leaning on a lamppost, poorly veiled hostility in his eyes as he watched Dan. Tall and lean, he had what I’d told my sister were romance-novel good looks. In spite of Mom’s assumptions, he never seemed to do much more than flirt with me. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be working on my dad’s lumber order.”

  “I brought him what we had on hand so he and Bent can get started. Walk you home?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’m headed back to my place to take a nap. Mom told me she promised you my apartment this winter.”

  “If it’s okay with you. I told her I could stay with Jack.”

  “She say
s he’s drinking again.”

  “Jack’s always drinking.” We crossed the empty street back to the gallery and went around the building.

  “Since I’m never going to convince Mom we don’t all need to live together this winter, you may as well take the place. It’ll be another month though before I can move out.”

  He took my hand. His was warm but rough from working at the mill. “There’s room for two.”

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  A lopsided grin spread across his face. “I could sleep on the couch.”

  An image of Frank, shirtless and clothed only in flannel pajama bottoms, standing at my kitchen counter pouring coffee on a cold winter morning flashed into my head. Despite the cold, it was suddenly uncomfortably warm. I picked up speed, reaching the door to the apartment in record time. “Did you know Mrs. Nash?”

  Frank easily kept pace with me. “I heard about you finding her.” He caught my hand again and pulled me to a stop. “I’m sorry you had to see a thing like that, Cara.”

  I looked up at him. His eyes were the color of the bay when it glistens in the summer sunshine. There was worry in the rugged lines of his face. He tugged me closer and I moved into his arms. Somewhere in my brain, alarm bells clanged as I sensed a kiss wasn’t all he was looking for. I pulled away and slipped into my apartment, shutting the door and leaning against it, willing my pulse to return to normal. This business of having two men interested in me was tougher than it looked.

  Chapter 2

  As I’d predicted, the next few days brought locals streaming into Mel’s, desperate for a hot meal with a side of gossip. It was a boon for her and Bent, who normally didn’t open during the winter except for Sundays after church. I listened intently as I circulated among the tables, refilling cups, taking orders and delivering plates of food, but none of the gossip was worth passing onto Dan. In fact, it seemed our family knew more about Mrs. Nash than anybody in town. Not surprising, but it was disappointing.

  It disturbed me to think anyone sitting at Mel’s tables could be the cold-blooded killer, so I told myself it was a good thing I had nothing to report when Dan took his usual seat by the window. “You look tired,” I said, putting a red and white mug stamped Coho Bay: a little bit north of normal on the table.

  “Keep me company,” he said, casting a glance around the dining room. It was late in the day so there were only a few tables taken.

  “Let me put your order in and I’ll have lunch with you.” I went through the swinging doors into the kitchen where my brother-in-law was scraping the grill. “Dan’s here. I need two burgers.”

  “He must be hungry.”

  “Very funny. Chips too, if you have any left.”

  “I could be persuaded to make a fresh batch. I assume you want turkey on yours.”

  I kissed his cheek. “Much obliged. Where’s Mel?”

  “Upstairs.”

  The word was ordinary, but there was worry in his voice. I ran up the steps and pulled up short at the door to Mel’s bedroom. It was open and Mom was sitting on the bed, looking as worried as Bent had sounded.

  “She’s still throwing up?” I asked and Mom made a face. “Holy cow. I am never having a baby.”

  “You forget all of this when they lay your child in your arms.”

  “How can anybody forget that?”

  “Forget what?” Mel’s voice was shaky and her face pale. She stood in the doorway in her pajamas, swaying a bit.

  I put my arm around her and helped her to the bed. “Are you sure you’re okay, Melly?” I hadn’t called her that since she was eight and I was four.

  She waved me away and buried her head in the pillow. “If the world would stop spinning that’d be swell.”

  “Can’t help you there.” I directed a panicked look at my mother.

  She was stroking Mel’s hair. “Shoo, Caribou. I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

  I trooped back down the steps and found Bent staring at me when I hit the kitchen. I put my hands up in defeat. “They both swear she’s fine.”

  “That’s what they told me before your mother banished me from my own bedroom.” He nodded toward two plates, piled high with home-made chips and moose burgers, fresh from the hunt I’d missed while I was sick. Hunting regulations won’t let Bent serve wild game, but I wasn’t a paying customer and during the off season, nobody cared. “I called Gabby.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “That some women have a harder time than others but she didn’t think it was anything to worry about.”

  “Seems like false advertising to call it morning sickness if you’re gonna be sick all day.”

  Bent laughed. “Well if you find out who to sue, let me know.”

  I picked up the plates. “You haven’t eaten yet. Come join us.”

  “Need a chaperone?”

  “Of course not. It’s just Dan.”

  “Ouch! Don’t let him hear you say that, poor guy.”

  I could feel my face turning red. I flipped my hair, which since I was wearing it in a ponytail just missed putting my eye out. “We’re only friends.”

  “Uh huh. Flip the sign when you get out there, will ya?”

  “Sure thing.” I pushed into the dining room and dropped the plates off before scooting to the front door. I locked it and turned the sign to Closed.

  “Well, well, well,” said Dan as I sat across from him. “You could have just said you wanted to be alone with me. You didn’t have to close the place down.”

  “Such a funny guy. What have you learned about Mrs. Nash?”

  “What should I have learned?”

  “Who killed her, for one.”

  “It was the butler in the lobby with the revolver,” he said, picking up his burger.

  “There’s no lobby in that game, smarty-pants.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s a house, not a hotel. Houses don’t have lobbies.”

  “I don’t have the autopsy or the lab report yet. Since it’s only a possible suicide, it’s on the back burner. Could be weeks before they make a determination.”

  I frowned. “The lab techs thought it was suicide then?”

  “Not necessarily. There were a few things they didn’t like about the scene either, but not enough to get worked up about.”

  “You can’t hold off that long to investigate, Dan. The trail’s already getting cold.”

  “You were the one who said if it was murder, the killer was long gone. A few more weeks won’t matter.”

  “Did you find her next of kin?”

  “Local police are tracking down the family. They didn’t find anything in her house so they’re putting a notice in the paper.”

  “That’s so sad. What must it be like to be alone in the world? Nobody to love you or miss you when you’ve gone?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “You’re not alone, Dan. You have family.”

  “My parents are gone. I have no brothers or sisters. My uncle was the only family I had.”

  I put my burger down and stared at him. “Crazy ex-wife? Murderous second cousin?”

  Dan coughed, half choking. “What makes you say that?”

  “If you really would like to go out with me, I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into.” I could not believe I said that.

  “You must have had some interesting relationships.”

  I hadn’t had much of anything in the way of relationships, but I wasn’t admitting it. “You didn’t answer.”

  “What?”

  “Ex-wives?”

  “I have one. She’s not crazy, but not somebody I’d want to invite to a picnic.”

  “I didn’t know you’d been married before.”

  “Hard to have an ex-wife any other way.”

  “Such a comedian. How long?”

  “Eight years.”

  “You were married for eight years before you moved here? How old are you, anyway?”

  “Why do I
not like the sound of that?”

  I popped a chip into my mouth before answering. “Sorry. That did sound bad. I mean, I’m not saying you’re old or anything.”

  “Yeah, that’s much better.”

  I started to giggle. “I’m sorry. I’m twenty-six, if you want to know.”

  “I’m thirty-nine.”

  I couldn’t giggle about that. Thirteen years. When I was born, Dan was a teenager. There was almost a whole generation between us. What would we have in common? Did we listen to the same music? Had we read the same books? My parents were always talking about watching Neil Armstrong walk on the moon when they were kids. Could Dan trade stories with them about it? No, wait. Calm down. Dan was old, but he wasn’t that old.

  I looked up to find him watching me and I wondered if he could read my thoughts on my face. Time to change the subject. “I have no idea how to choose the artists for my residency program. I was thinking about going to Anchorage or Juneau and talking with art instructors at the university.”

  “What’s a professor gonna tell you that you don’t already know? You sell art every day.”

  “I know what sells. That doesn’t mean I know great art from a hole in the ground.”

  “Who says? I’ve seen what museums call art. If I’d found painting like that on the side of a building, I’d be busting somebody for vandalism.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not a fan of modern art either. I like landscapes and wildlife studies and fortunately for me, that’s what tourists want to buy.”

  “So it’s not art because it’s commercially viable?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. The goal of this program is to help artists generate enough work so they will be able to make a living with their art. Commercial viability will be one consideration, but I need to be taken seriously for Johnny’s sake. That means I have to attract serious talent and I’m not sure I’m the best judge.”

  “I thought the point was for them to be able to make a living as an artist. Maybe knowing what sells does make you the best judge.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  I ate my chips in silence, not tasting them, which was a disservice to Bent because they were usually really good. Today, they were bland and I had to wash them down with pop. “Maybe that’s self-serving. Will people think I’m trying to profit off the residency if I feature these artists in the gallery?”