Artistic License to Kill

by Paula Darnell

  Dennis frowned.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “The detective—is he about fifty-five or so? Looks like an unmade bed?

  “Right. Do you know him?”

  “Unfortunately, I do. He used to be a customer at the feed store, and we were in the same photography club for a while. The man was so unpleasant that we asked him to resign. He never came into the feed store after that. Guess he took his business elsewhere, but what I wanted to tell you was that he got his licks in by retaliating against everyone in the club. We all ended up with traffic tickets for minor infractions, and some of the members who owned businesses received code violation notices citing insignificant issues. Even though I don't own the feed store, we got a couple infraction notices, too, one for parking our truck twenty inches from the curb, instead of eighteen or less. Even though every citation was technically correct, they were all matters that any other cop would have ignored. One guy got a ticket for jaywalking when he crossed the street in front of his house to return a hand saw he'd borrowed from his neighbor, and the street's a dead end with hardly any traffic on it.”

  I groaned. “And I just walked out on him when he was questioning me. He was so unreasonable.”

  Dennis's frown deepened. “He's one man you don't want to get on the wrong side of, that's for sure.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Probably best to steer clear of him, if it's possible.”

  “He may try to call me in again. Maybe I should think about consulting a lawyer.”

  “I sure hope you don't need one. Too bad he's in charge of the investigation.”

  I realized that I might have made an enemy when I walked out on Lieutenant Belmont, and now that I'd learned about Dennis's experience with him, I feared the detective might find some way to harass me, since he was inclined to carry a grudge, the very thing he'd accused me of not an hour earlier.

  Declining Dennis's invitation to join Belle and him for dinner, I thanked him again for the ride and headed across the front yard to my house.

  I felt like getting in bed and pulling a blanket over my head to shut out the world, but, of course, that wouldn't work; besides, my pets would be eagerly awaiting my arrival and their dinners. As soon as I entered my house, I plopped down on a low footstool and embraced my pets. The three of us snuggled for a few minutes before Mona Lisa began meowing loudly and Laddie started prancing in circles, a sure sign that he expected me to take action. I obliged them both, and soon they were gobbling the food I'd dished out in their bowls, while I ate some leftovers for my own dinner. I was still so keyed up, I barely tasted it.

  When my phone rang, I braced for the worst, fearing the detective might be calling, but I was relieved to see Susan's picture pop up.

  “I have good news and bad news,” she informed me without preamble.

  I braced for the bad news, but it turned out not to be so bad, after all.

  “Evidently, we're not the only people that horrible detective has been talking to. I've already heard from several gallery members he questioned today, and he treated them all just as rudely as he treated us.”

  “Hmm. That must mean that he wasn't necessarily singling us out. Maybe he doesn't suspect us at all.”

  “That's kind of what I thought, too,” Susan said. “The other thing is that the police won't tell us when we can re-open the gallery. One of our longtime members knows the chief of police, so he's volunteered to talk to him to explain how important it is for us to be up and running again soon. We're on the schedule for tours both Friday and Saturday this week. The buses come up from Phoenix with loads of tourists, and their first stop is always right in front of our gallery. We'll miss a lot of business if we can't open, and I know that's what Janice would have wanted. She certainly had a head for business, even though it was a hard one. She didn't deserve to be murdered for it, though.”

  “You think someone killed her just because they didn't like her? That seems awfully extreme.”

  “I don't know, but she did have a way of getting under your skin. Maybe she pushed the wrong person too far. She could be relentless, and many of the members were frenemies, rather than friends.”

  “Why didn't the members vote her out, if she was so unpopular? Surely, there are plenty of other people who could take on the job of gallery director.”

  “Like I said, she knows business, but, more important, she owns our building. We get the gallery space rent free.”

  Chapter 10

  “No wonder she acted like she owned the place,” I said. “She really did own the place.”

  “Not only that, but she donated her services as director,” Susan added. “The co-op never paid her a penny.”

  “Is that the reason the gallery takes no commission on sales? When I first found out about the no-commission policy, I thought it was unusual, but a great perk.”

  “That's right. We're the only co-op gallery I know of that operates without taking a percentage of sales. The wall space rental and our annual dues cover all our expenses. But, I'm getting off track. One of the reasons I called you was to let you know about our members meeting tomorrow night. We need to make some decisions fast. We'll hold the meeting at the gallery if the police let us back in by then. If not, Pamela's arranged for us to use the library's meeting room. I'll let you know which place tomorrow as soon as we find out for sure. Can you attend?”

  “Yes. I'll be there. How often do you usually have meetings?”

  “Normally, only twice a year. I wish your first meeting could be under better circumstances. We usually ask new members to stand and give a little talk about their artwork, but it will have to wait until the next meeting.”

  “No problem,” I said, with relief. Public speaking has never been my forté.

  “Well, I'd better go. I have a few more calls to make, but let me know if Lieutenant Belmont tries to ask you any more questions.”

  “I will,” I assured her. Despite what she'd told me earlier, I could tell that Susan was still concerned that we might be more than minor blips on the detective's radar.

  I spent the rest of the evening calling Emma, Dustin, and my parents to let them know about the day's tragedy. Although it seemed unlikely they'd hear the news elsewhere, since it wasn't a national story, I didn't want to take the slightest chance that they might hear about it from anybody but me. Predictably, my family was shocked and worried about me. Emma and Dustin both offered to rush to Lonesome Valley to lend me moral support, and my parents pleaded with me to visit them in Florida until the murderer was arrested. It took me a while to convince Emma and Dustin that their moral support could be given via phone. It was more difficult to persuade my parents, probably because I'll always be the baby of the family from their point of view.

  I'd hoped telling the story again and again would help me come to terms with discovering Janice's body, but it had the opposite effect. I spent the night tossing and turning so much that my affable golden boy moved from the bed, where he normally warmed my feet, to a nearby chair, and Mona Lisa, who usually curled up on a pillow beside me, deserted me, too.

  When I dragged out of bed in the morning, I felt as though I hadn't slept at all, but I must have because I woke up when Laddie nudged my arm with his nose. At first, I resisted, but I finally gave in to his doggie persistence. After our usual flurry of routine early morning activity, I forced myself to stop procrastinating, which was my very worst habit as an artist, and get some painting done. I usually had two or three projects in the works, but since I'd just finished the commissioned landscape for the judge and his wife and had only one other canvas I was currently working on, it was time to start some new paintings.

  I'd gessoed several canvases a week earlier so that the prep work would already be done when I was ready to start my next new paintings. I set two of the canvases on easels, selected the colors for my underpainting and thinned the paints so that the bottom layer would dry more quickly. My underpainting completely cover
ed each canvas, establishing the preliminary balance and mood of the work. I often concentrated on shaping three main areas—earth, sky, and trees, but those would come to life later. Subsequent layers obliterated the underpainting, but I always found that it helped me establish the mood I wanted to evoke when prospective customers looked at the finished painting.

  When I'd finished underpainting both canvases, I went on to my partially finished canvas, where I worked with thicker paint, combining and blending the colors I applied right to the canvas, rather than on my palette. I stepped back and looked at the ethereal scene with a critical eye and decided it was shaping up nicely.

  By the time Susan's text came through, notifying me that our meeting would be held at seven in the library meeting room, I'd painted for several hours, walked Laddie and Mr. Big, exchanged casseroles with Belle, and mopped the floor.

  I was feeling rather pleased with myself for my productive day as I dressed for the meeting in tan linen pants and a fuchsia knit top and draped a colorful silk scarf I'd tie dyed around my neck. I checked my hair and make-up with a hand mirror, twirling around so that I could see the sides and back of my hair in another mirror. That's when I saw the long gray hair curling around the back of my ear.

  Immediately, I pulled it out with a sharp tug. I'd been finding more and more of those pesky gray hairs lately, just another reminder that I'd soon be reaching the half century mark, even though I felt considerably younger. People used to tell me how young I looked, but I hadn't heard any such comments for several months now. I thought the upheaval of my divorce had probably taken its toll.

  I left some lights on in both the studio and my little home, assured my pets that I'd be back later, and gave the side door to the carport a tug on my way out, just to make sure it was properly locked.

  When I arrived at the library, I found its small parking lot packed. I parked on the street about a block away and hurried to arrive at the meeting on time. I rushed into the room where the gallery members had gathered at exactly six fifty-nine, but I wasn't the last to arrive. A young couple with a baby in tow came in after me and sat in the back row. I guessed they'd chosen the spot so that, if the baby started to fuss or cry, they could make a quick exit.

  I took a seat close to the front so that I'd be able to see what was going on there. As I sandwiched myself between a young woman with black curly hair who looked as though she were still in high school and an elderly man whose blue eyes were still bright behind the thick lenses of his eyeglasses, I spotted Susan sitting a couple rows in front of me on the aisle. At the same time, she turned to look around, saw me, and waved.

  My neighbors and I hardly had a chance to introduce ourselves to each other before Pamela called the meeting to order. She began by telling us that she didn't yet have any information about funeral arrangements for Janice, but she'd notify all the members as soon as she found out. Before she continued the meeting, she called for a moment of silence to remember Janice. She cut the moment short after about fifteen seconds, and it was clear she wanted to get down to business.

  “We've just received word that we'll be able to open the gallery Friday morning as usual.” Scattered clapping erupted at the announcement, perhaps unseemly under the circumstances, I thought, although I could understand the members wanting to resume business as usual.

  “We have Ralph Anderson to thank for pleading our case with the chief of police and explaining how important it is for us to be open on the weekend,” Pamela continued. She scanned the crowd, “Ralph, where are you?”

  The old man sitting next to me rose, nodded to the other members, and quickly sat down again.

  “Our original work schedule for the gallery will be in effect, so if you're supposed to work Friday, just come in as usual. I'll be there to open,” Pamela announced.

  A heavyset woman with long red hair interrupted. “Shouldn't we get the locks changed? Who knows how many keys are floating around? We haven't installed new locks since I've been a member.”

  “That's a good point, Carrie,” Chip said. “I'll take care of it.”

  “Thank you, Ch—Travis,” Pamela said. “Now for the next item on the agenda: we need a new gallery director. Nobody can really fill Janice's shoes, but I'm willing to step in.”

  “Wait a minute,” the man in the back row who'd come in after me with his wife and baby said, standing. “I think we should hear from some other people before we just coronate you.”

  Whoa! There must be some history between those two, I thought.

  “What about the rest of you board members?” he continued.

  “Personally, I think we should be grateful to Pamela for volunteering,” Chip said. “I certainly don't have time to do it.”

  “Too busy delivering pizzas,” someone in back of me whispered, and a few people nearby snickered, but the rest of the group didn't hear the mean-spirited jibe.

  “Well, what about Valerie or Frank?” the man pressed.

  “Oh, come on, Lonnie. You know we both teach full-time at the high school.”

  “Janice's replacement wouldn't have to be a board member. What about some of the rest of you members?” Lonnie looked around the room for some back-up. “Ralph, you could do it. You're one of the gallery's founders.”

  “Well,” Ralph hesitated. “I don't know.”

  “Excuse me. Excuse me.” The loud voice came from the back of the meeting room. As the woman who'd spoken bustled to the front, the crowd emitted a universal gasp. Her entrance would have been even more dramatic if she hadn't stumbled on her way to the podium.

  She looked very much like Janice, although her hair was blond, and, unlike Janice, she wore heavy make-up. I realized she must be Judith, Janice's sister. Rebecca hadn't mentioned that they were identical, but the family resemblance was so striking, despite their different hair styles, hair color, and make-up, that I thought they must be twins.

  “I'm Judith Warren, Janice's sister and sole heir,” she declared, quickly recovering her footing.

  Her announcement didn't take long to sink in.

  “You own the gallery building,” Frank stated flatly.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you planning to sell it?” Valerie asked.

  “I have no plans at present to sell. I'll be moving into Janice's apartment on the second floor in a few days. For now, I'm staying at the Lonesome Valley Resort. Like my sister, I've been involved in the art gallery business for years. I owned the Texican Gallery in Austin, which I recently sold, so I have no current business obligations. I'd like to volunteer my services as gallery director, at least temporarily.”

  “What about long term?” Valerie asked.

  “We'll see how it goes,” she said. “I might be persuaded to make the arrangement permanent.”

  “Janice never charged us rent for the gallery space,” Pamela said. “Are you going to honor her memory and do the same?”

  Judith turned to Pamela with a lopsided smile on her face. “I think I'm in the best position to decide how to honor my sister's memory, but, no. For now, everything will remain as Janice left it. I suggest that the membership discuss my proposal and take a vote. If you have any doubts about my credentials, you can Google my name or the Texican Gallery in Austin to confirm my expertise. You know where to reach me.”

  After Judith left, a stunned silence fell for a few seconds before the members all started talking at once.

  “She has us over a barrel,” Ralph said. “Just like her sister did.”

  Valerie opened her laptop and began typing furiously. “She is who she says she is.”

  “As if there were any doubt,” Susan commented. “She looks just like Janice.”

  “I mean the business angle. She owned the Texican Gallery in Austin for the last twenty years.”

  “So why did she sell it?” Lonnie asked. “How do we know the gallery was run well?”

  “According to this article in Austin Business Monthly, the gallery sold for a record price. Nobody's going to pay
that kind of money for a gallery if there's something wrong with it.”

  “Anyway, you wanted someone else to be gallery director,” Pamela said pointedly to Lonnie. “Here she is on a silver platter, and if we don't take her up on her offer, we could be out on the street.”

  Chip reached out and put his hand on Pamela's. “I know we all appreciate Pamela's offer to serve as director, and I know she'd make a great one.” As he spoke, Pamela slowly withdrew her hand from under his. “But, she's right. We're under the gun here. I think we should accept Judith's offer for now. We can always rescind it later. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to a busy weekend at the gallery.”

  “I agree,” Frank said. “With all the tourists due in over the weekend, we might as well strike while the iron's hot. I move that we appoint Judith Warren temporary gallery director.”

  And that was that.

  The motion was quickly seconded, the members voted in favor by a wide majority, and the meeting was adjourned.

  Susan caught up with me as I was making my way through the crowd, toward the door.

  “I almost passed out when Janice's sister showed up,” Susan said. “For a minute, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

  “I was surprised, too. She looks just like her. They must be twins. Did you get the feeling Judith was enjoying our reaction to her? Like maybe she wanted to shock us?”

  “Could be, but why would she want to do that?” Susan asked.

  “Because she thinks one of us killed her sister.”

  Chapter 11

  It was well past dark by the time we left the library. Several other gallery members had parked on the street, too, so I joined the group headed west, down the street toward my SUV. Listening to their remarks about the meeting, I gleaned that they were glad the Roadrunner could re-open Friday, and they hoped for a busy weekend. Nobody mentioned Janice or her sister.

  Mindful of what Dennis had told me about his experiences with Lieutenant Belmont, I slowly drove home, keeping my speed well under the posted limit. I didn't want to give the detective any reason to issue me a citation.