Artistic License to Kill

by Paula Darnell

  I walked to the back, picked up the small statue, and restored it to its place atop a wooden pedestal.

  “What in the world?” Susan said from her vantage point behind me.

  We both looked around the room, but nothing else appeared to be out of place.

  “I wonder how that happened,” I said.

  Susan frowned. “Janice isn't going to be happy when we tell her we found her bear on the floor.”

  “I didn't realize she was a sculptor.”

  “Yes, I know she takes a dim view of my papier-mâché animals, but since they always sell, she hasn't complained to me lately.”

  “But she has to someone else?” I guessed.

  Susan nodded. “She told Pamela that they didn't belong in the same gallery with her bronzes. She said you can't really call yourself a sculptor unless you work in stone or have your art pieces cast in metal.”

  “I'd have to disagree with her.”

  “Me, too!” Susan said vehemently. “Well, I guess we'd better set up. Customers could show up any minute. We need to sign in and get the cash for the register from the office. I'll show you where we keep everything.”

  Just off the main gallery a hallway led to a classroom that doubled as a meeting room for the members, the same room where I'd had my interview a week earlier. An office, restroom, kitchenette, and supply closet were on the right side of the hallway, and the large classroom was on the left. My knowledge of the layout came from a floor plan that had been included in my membership packet. The day I'd had my interview, I hadn't had the time or inclination to explore the members' area of the gallery.

  We rounded the corner to the little alcove where the arched entry to the hallway was.

  That's when we saw her—her feet, that is.

  Janice was lying face down in the hallway, her feet extending into the alcove. Her head was at an odd angle, and her hair was matted with blood. A little puddle of it had dripped onto the hardwood floor beneath her.

  “Oh, no!” Susan shrieked. For a moment, I thought she'd turn and run, but she hurried to Janice's side and knelt next to her, She grabbed Janice's wrist, than dropped it and pressed her fingers to Janice's neck.

  In the meantime, I speed dialed 9-1-1 to call for help.

  “What's your emergency?” the operator asked calmly.

  “Please send an ambulance. A woman has been seriously injured.” I explained that we'd just come into the gallery and found Janice lying on the floor with a head wound.

  Susan looked at me and shook her head.

  “We think she may be dead,” I added.

  Susan stood up and motioned for me to give her the phone. In a daze, I listened as she told the dispatcher that Janice wasn't breathing and had no pulse.

  Just a moment later, we heard a siren, and we went to the front of the gallery and saw a police car, lights flashing, pulling up to the curb. A brief whoop sounded as the siren stopped abruptly.

  I recognized the young officer as the same man who'd stopped me for speeding right after my interview. When he saw me, I could tell that he recognized me, too, but neither of us said anything about our previous encounter. We quickly led him to Janice, and he performed some of the same maneuvers that Susan had used before he stood and asked us to wait for him in the front of the gallery. We could hear him calling in a report, requesting back-up.

  Within minutes, the place swarmed with police, and a coroner's van had parked in back of the young officer's patrol car. The ambulance that had been dispatched was sent on its way, and we were told to wait outside the gallery for Lieutenant Belmont, the detective who'd been assigned to investigate. There were wooden benches on the sidewalks up and down Main Street, courtesy of the Lonesome Valley Downtown Merchants' Association, so we sat, stunned, on the bench outside the Roadrunner while we waited for the lieutenant.

  Susan dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  “I didn't always see eye to eye with Janice. In fact, I'll even admit she was one of my least favorite people, but no one deserves being bashed over the head the way she was.”

  “It's truly awful,” I agreed My hand trembled as I gently touched her arm. Although I'd met Janice only twice and had found her somewhat intimidating, the horror of her untimely death would stay with me forever.

  With the arrival of the police and ambulance, a crowd of spectators had gathered, but since the area in front of the gallery had been cordoned off, they weren't near us.

  “I need to call Pamela and Tiffany to let them know what happened. They're scheduled to work from one to five this afternoon.”

  Susan fumbled for her cell phone and was about to make a call when the young officer who had first responded to our emergency call came over.

  “Ma'am,” he began, but this time he was addressing Susan. I wondered whether he called all women of a certain age “ma'am.” “Please don't contact anyone until after you've spoken to Lieutenant Belmont.”

  “But I need to alert the members who are supposed to work in the gallery this afternoon not to come in today. I assume we're closed for the day, aren't we?”

  “Yes. Probably longer, but you'll have to speak with the lieutenant about that.”

  Just then my own cell phone rang. When I saw that Belle was calling, I automatically started to answer.

  “Please don't answer that,” the young cop said.

  “But . . . ,” I protested, reluctantly returning my phone to my pocket.

  “Look, ladies, I'm sure the lieutenant will be here soon. While you're waiting, I'm going to go next door and get you coffee. You both look as though you could use some. Any preferences—latte, mocha?”

  “I'll have a latte with soy milk. Thank you, officer,” Susan said.

  I opted for a mocha minus the whipped cream. He returned a few minutes later and handed us the steaming brew.

  “Thank you,” I said, accepting the drink. “Let me pay you for these.” I grabbed my purse. I figured a small town patrol officer probably had to struggle just like I did to make ends meet.

  “It's on the house. The Coffee Klatsch always gives anyone on the force a freebie. The brass told us not to take too much advantage, though.”

  “Mike, front and center,” one of the other officers called. “Belmont's here.” He pointed to a portly man wearing a rumpled jacket. I guessed he was probably my age or maybe a little older. The young policeman and Lieutenant Belmont disappeared into the gallery, but it wasn't long before both emerged, and the detective motioned for us to join him.

  “I understand you gals found the body.”

  Gals? Where had he been for the last hundred years?

  “Yes,” Susan answered.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said to Susan. “And don't you interrupt,” he said to me. “I'll get to you later.”

  Susan obliged him while I seethed at his rude manner.

  “Anything else you can think of?” This question was directed at me, rather than Susan, so I added that I'd found the bronze bear on the floor when we arrived and that I'd put it back on its pedestal.

  “Why didn't you tell me about that?” he snapped at Susan, who immediately burst into tears.

  “I forgot,” she stammered between sobs.

  My turn was next.

  “Why did you touch the evidence?” he demanded.

  “I had no way of knowing the bear was evidence. We hadn't found Janice yet at that point.”

  He didn't look particularly mollified by my explanation, and he directed me to go to the police station immediately to have my fingerprints taken.

  “Dyson, get over here!” the lieutenant bellowed, motioning impatiently to the officer who'd brought us coffee.

  “Make sure Dyson has your contact information,” he told us before stalking off. Officer Dyson had been lingering close by, and he'd evidently heard everything Lieutenant Belmont had said to us.

  “Sorry about that,” the young cop said sheepishly. “He's not the most diplomatic person on the force.”

  Susa
n was still dabbing her eyes as we handed over our licenses, and he took a picture of them with his cell phone.

  “New license I see, Mrs. Trent.”

  I didn't feel up to telling him I wasn't a Mrs. anymore.

  “Yes, I'm officially an Arizonan now, I guess.” I was glad I'd followed through on my promise to him to change my license and auto registration to my new state.

  He nodded. “Well, I guess that's it, except for your phone numbers. See Sergeant Martinez at the station for your fingerprints.” He held up his phone. “I'll give him a heads-up, so he'll be expecting you.”

  We thanked him and threaded our way through the crowd that was still milling around, outside the barriers the police had set up.

  Once we reached Susan's car, we sat there for a few minutes, sipping our coffee.

  “I just can't believe Janice is dead—murdered!” Susan wailed. When she'd calmed down a little, she said, “I'd better call Pamela and Tiffany first, since they were scheduled to work this afternoon. I can ask Pamela to let the other members know.”

  “And I should give my neighbor a call. She's probably wondering why I didn't pick up when she called a few minutes ago.”

  Before either of us had the chance to make our calls, my phone rang. I answered immediately when I saw it was Belle.

  “Thank goodness! I was so worried about you. Dennis went into work late today, and he called to tell me he saw a bunch of police cars and the coroner's van parked right outside the gallery. He didn't realize you were going to be working there this morning, or he would have stopped to make sure you were all right.”

  “We found Janice, the gallery director, lying on the floor, but it was too late. There was nothing we could do for her.”

  “How terrible! I suppose she must have had a heart attack or a stroke.”

  “I'm afraid not. She was murdered.”

  Chapter 6

  “Murder here in Lonesome Valley? I can't believe it! You're lucky you didn't get there earlier. The killer might have still been lurking around the gallery.”

  “You're right,” I said with a shudder. That scary thought hadn't even occurred to me yet, but if Belle hadn't brought it up, I probably would have thought of it myself eventually.

  “Are you on your way home now?”

  “After a stop at the police station.” I explained about the fingerprints.

  “Why don't you come over when you get home and bring Laddie with you. He can play with Mr. Big while we have lunch.”

  “I don't want you to go to any trouble. You still need to take it easy.”

  “It's no trouble. I'm managing fairly well with my crutches. Dennis made us a nice artichoke-potato frittata for breakfast. We can have the rest of it for lunch. I'll make a salad.”

  “Well, all right, if you're sure.”

  “I'm sure. You shouldn't be alone at a time like this.”

  Fortunately, the fingerprinting didn't take long, thanks to Sergeant Martinez's efficiency, and I was soon sitting at the picnic table on Belle's patio with a plate of artichoke-potato frittata and salad in front of me while Laddie and Mr. Big romped in the backyard.

  Of course, I had to tell Belle all about what happened from the moment Susan and I had arrived at the gallery. Belle listened without interrupting.

  “I guess I still feel shaky,” I admitted when I'd finished my narrative.

  “No wonder. Lonesome Valley's hardly a crime center. We've lived here for ten years, and I can't remember there ever being a murder in town. It's just terrible. And in a shop right on Main Street. Whoever did it must be quite bold. I wonder why someone would want to kill the director of the Roadrunner. Do you think it could have been a robbery?”

  “I don't think so. Susan told me that they make a bank deposit at the end of each day, and they keep just enough cash on hand to make change the following morning. Except for the bronze bear, none of the artwork had been disturbed. I don't know about Janice's apartment upstairs, though. It's possible she may have had some valuable jewelry there or maybe even cash, but I really have no idea.”

  I felt restless and unsettled after the terrible events of the morning, so when we finished lunch, I volunteered to take the dogs for a walk. I knew there was no way I'd be able to do any painting today, as distracted as I felt.

  As soon as Laddie and Mr. Big saw me grab their leashes, they came running, eager for their next adventure.

  Belle waved as we departed, saying she was going to take a power nap while we were gone. Since the dogs had expended a considerable amount of energy playing already, they didn't strain at their leashes. Laddie kept pace with me nicely, while Mr. Big made sure that Laddie never put a step ahead of him.

  Soon, we arrived at the park. Although Laddie and I had taken walks in the last few days, this was the first time we'd come back to the park since Belle's unfortunate accident. I felt a twinge of nostalgia as we passed the playground where a couple of young mothers were supervising their toddlers. Those days were gone for me.

  Now, here I was in a new town with none of my family living nearby. I didn't really feel lonely, but I was keenly aware that, except for Laddie and Mona Lisa, I was alone. Janice had died alone. I couldn't get the image of her lying dead in the hallway at the gallery out of my head, and I knew that image would stay with me forever.

  Suddenly, Laddie yelped and held up his right front paw. “Sit, Laddie,” I told him, and he complied. I tried to get Mr. Big to do the same, but he didn't cooperate. He wiggled so much that it was difficult to control him and examine Laddie's paw at the same time. I sat on the grass next to the sidewalk and plunked Mr. Big in my lap.

  “Let's see your paw, boy,” I said, reaching for it. Laddie seemed to understand, and he didn't move while I gingerly raised his paw. I could see the cause of his distress immediately. There was a thin, spiky thorn in the pad of his foot. Luckily, it wasn't embedded too deeply, and I was able to yank it out.

  “It's OK now, Laddie,” I assured him. He jumped up and pranced around me, seemingly no worse for wear. Mr. Big jumped out of my lap to join him and began emitting joyful little yelps. I heard other dogs barking, too, and when I turned to see where the racket was coming from, I spotted Rebecca and Greg Winter approaching us with their two terriers.

  “We meet again,” Greg said. “Everything OK? We saw you sitting on the ground.”

  “It is now. Laddie had a thorn in his paw, but I pulled it out, and he seems fine now.”

  “How's your friend getting along?” Rebecca asked. “Is her ankle broken?”

  “Not broken, but she has a bad sprain. Her doctor said a full recovery will take several weeks. She's managing with crutches.”

  “You know we saw that same jogger who knocked her down again. She came awfully close to ramming into a baby stroller yesterday. I wish I knew where she lived. Her parents need to take her in hand. That girl is a menace,” Greg declared.

  I had to agree with him. If the careless teenager had been paying attention, she could have easily avoided running into Belle.

  After a frenzy of sniffing and scrambling around each other, the dogs settled down. Laddie rolled in the grass while the terriers and Mr. Big stood next to each other, wagging their tails.

  “Just look at them. Not a care in the world,” Rebecca said, smiling at the cute canines.

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  “What is it, Amanda? Is something wrong?”

  “There's been a murder here in town, and I discovered the victim,” I blurted out. “I joined the Roadrunner Gallery a few days ago, and when I went there to work this morning, there she was.”

  “That's terrible! A murder in Lonesome Valley! I've always thought our community was safe. Say, you weren't all alone, were you?” Greg asked.

  “No, I was with another member. The woman who was killed was the gallery director.”

  “Not Janice Trent,” Rebecca said.

  “Yes, it was Janice. Do you know her?”

  “I sure do . .
. er, did. We went to high school together here in Lonesome Valley. Her sister used to be a good friend of mine. She moved to Texas after high school, but whenever she came back to town to visit Janice, she'd call me and we'd get together. Somewhere along the line, we lost touch, though. I haven't seen Judith for about seven or eight years now, ever since she had a big blow-up with Janice. They stopped speaking, and Judith stopped visiting. I wonder if she'll come back here for the funeral. I always regretted losing track of her. Of course, that was my fault as much as hers.”

  “I think we should get going, honey,” Greg told his wife. “I need to alert the neighborhood watch members. We don't want to be snoozing while a murderer's on the loose. Amanda, you should be extra careful, too. Make sure you're never alone in that gallery, and lock all your doors and windows at home.”

  I didn't really think I was in danger, but I certainly couldn't blame Greg for his caution. I assured him that I'd take care before we went our separate ways. On our walk home from the park, I thought about the murder, and it seemed to me that the killer either must have targeted Janice deliberately or argued with her and struck her a heavy blow in anger. Most likely, either Janice had admitted the assailant to the gallery herself, or a key holder had unlocked the door and come in without Janice's knowledge. As much as I hated to believe it, I thought it likely that the killer was a member of the gallery cooperative. Susan had already told Pamela and Tiffany that she and I were the ones who'd discovered Janice's body, so soon all the members would know. Even so, unless we had actually seen the killer, he or she had no reason to come after Susan or me.

  Despite my rationalizations, I would definitely be locking all the doors and windows in my house and the studio from now on.

  Chapter 7

  We didn't linger at Belle's after dropping off Mr. Big. Mona Lisa was waiting for us at home, and as soon as I removed Laddie's leash, she began meowing piteously. I picked her up and cradled her in my arms, and she began to purr. I never knew how Mona Lisa would react to my absence. Sometimes she wanted nothing to do with me after I returned, and the length of time I left her didn't seem to make much difference, nor did Laddie's presence or lack thereof.