Artistic License to Kill

by Paula Darnell

  “Don't be so hard on yourself, Pamela. She was using the members, too. She got something out of it, probably the opportunity to play queen bee.”

  “Oh, brother. Too true. Here comes Judith with the coffee. Do you think I should ask her about the sale?”

  “Maybe play it by ear. I have a feeling she might bring it up again to some of the other members, just to test the waters and see what kind of reaction she can provoke.”

  “I guess I'll hold off for now. I should talk to my husband about it, anyway.”

  That probably wasn't the only thing Pamela should talk to her husband about, I thought, but I didn't say anything. Judith was headed towards us, carrying a cardboard container with our drinks, and, besides, I had a mental vision of a huge neon sign flashing at me: MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!

  “Here we are, ladies,” Judith said, setting the container on the counter. “One mocha with whipped cream and one salted caramel macchiato.” She handed me a long-handled plastic spoon. “For the mocha.”

  We thanked Judith and offered to pay for our drinks, but she wouldn't hear of it. She didn't tarry, but returned to her office, leaving us to speculate about her mercurial moods.

  “Amanda, I want to apologize for speaking to you so sharply earlier. It isn't your fault you saw Chip and me kissing. After all, I asked you to come over to look at the proof for the Friday night studio tour. I really like Chip. He's a lot of fun, but I'm not sure how seriously he takes our relationship. I've heard some disturbing rumors. Supposedly, he asked Janice out several times. I just can't believe that, can you?”

  I definitely could believe it, but I was spared from answering Pamela's question when Judith called Pamela to the phone in the office.

  “It's a Mrs. Bramble,” Judith said. “She says it's an emergency.”

  “My housekeeper,” Pamela said, hurrying to the office.

  “I have to leave,” Pamela told us when she emerged. “A pipe burst, and Mrs. Bramble didn't notice it until our downstairs bathroom and family room were flooded. Will you be all right here by yourself, Amanda?”

  “She won't be alone. I'll be here,” Judith reminded Pamela, as we wished her good luck.

  It was around noon when Pamela left, and although Judith and I greeted several visitors during the next hour, nobody bought anything. I recognized a couple of the women who came in because I'd seen them working in one of the boutiques down the block. I guessed that some of the other lookers were people who worked downtown and spent part of their lunch hour browsing.

  Shortly before one o'clock, a couple of women I'd never seen before arrived for the afternoon shift. Dawn Martinez, the younger woman, appeared to be around my age and bore a resemblance to Dorothy Weber, the older lady, who I guessed was probably in her mid-seventies. I surmised they were mother and daughter, and when we introduced ourselves, they confirmed my suspicion. They told me they'd just returned from visiting relatives in California, which explained the reason we hadn't met before. Dorothy Weber and her daughter Dawn Martinez both worked in clay, and their distinctive ceramic pieces went far beyond the run-of-the-mill bowls, platters, and vases that many potters made. Their pieces featured intricate applied decorations, glazed with their own special techniques. We chatted for a few minutes, and they invited me to tour their studio Friday night. I asked for a rain check since my own studio was now part of the Friday night tour lineup.

  After Dorothy and Dawn signed in, I signed out. I lifted my purse from the deep drawer beneath the counter where we stowed our personal belongings while we were working, bade the mother-and-daughter duo good-bye, and headed for the door. Originally, I'd planned to go straight home after my shift at the gallery, but I didn't really need to. Laddie was enjoying Mr. Big's company, and Belle had encouraged me to take my time when I'd dropped Laddie off at her house that morning. Remembering Pamela's recommendation to the tourists who'd asked about a good place to eat, I decided to stop by the Valley Bread Bowl and treat myself to lunch there.

  The payment from the judge and his wife had fattened my checking account, so I figured I didn't need to pinch pennies this week, although next week might be a different story. I might not have any more income for the rest of the month, and my rent would come due on the first. I'd already sold one of my paintings at the Roadrunner and I'd be paid for all my artwork that sold during April, but not until the tenth of May. Whether I'd sell any paintings during the Friday night studio tours remained to be seen, but I knew I couldn't count on it.

  A year ago, I wouldn't have given a second thought to having a lunch out. Ned had taken care of our finances, and we'd never wanted for anything. I couldn't remember a time when he'd said we couldn't afford something, yet when it came time for our divorce settlement, there hadn't been any money. He must not have been as good a money manager as I'd thought. I supposed we must have spent the profits from the insurance agency as fast as we made them, and he'd borrowed what we needed to maintain our lifestyle. Money management had never really interested me, and I'd been happy enough to leave it to Ned, but now I regretted that decision because I wasn't very well prepared to deal with my own finances, and I feared I wasn't very good at it, either.

  Judith was re-arranging a window display as I pushed the door open to leave.

  “Think about framing your paintings, Amanda,” she said. “It'll boost your sales.”

  I looked at her in surprise.

  “Just a suggestion,” she hastened to add. “Take it or leave it.”

  Smiling at her, I waved good-bye. I didn't want to be drawn into a discussion about framing or my finances, as had happened with her sister.

  Outside the gallery, I put on my sunglasses. It was a gorgeous, warm, sunny day. Main Street looked festive with giant pots of flowers decorating the sidewalks, freshly painted benches where weary shoppers could rest, and hanging planters festooning the street lamps. I decided to walk the few blocks to the Valley Bread Bowl, even though I'd have to walk back later to retrieve my car.

  I enjoyed window shopping as I passed by the stores on Main Street. Several of them had changed their displays since Dustin and I had browsed downtown just last week. I missed him, but I knew he had his own life to lead, and I wasn't as big a part of it as I had been when he was a child.

  I missed Emma, too. It had been tough to adjust to her absence when she'd left for college her freshman year and even tougher last fall when she started her sophomore year, but since she planned to spend the summer with me, I could at least look forward to a long visit.

  The wonderful aroma of baking bread wafted my way before I reached the restaurant. I thought it unusual because most eateries limit their baking to early morning hours, but the Valley Bread Bowl obviously didn't do that. No doubt the delicious smell of fresh-baked bread helped draw tourists and locals alike to the place.

  When I entered, a large sign propped up on a tall easel invited me to seat myself. I went past a glass counter where loaves of bread were displayed and found a small booth away from the bright Arizona sunlight streaming through the plate glass windows in the front. I sat down facing the windows, but instantly realized my mistake and moved to the opposite side of the booth. The minute I removed my sunglasses, a server appeared. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she wore a spotless white apron and a pleasant smile as she handed me a menu and took my drink order for a large iced tea.

  I scanned the menu that featured soup served in bread bowls and salads and sandwiches made from the restaurant's specialty breads. Although the hearty potato cheddar soup sounded good, it would have appealed to me more on a blustery winter day. I ordered an avocado and cheese sandwich, opting for plain whole wheat bread. The specialty breads appealed to me too, so I decided to buy a couple loaves to take home, one for me and another for Belle. As I ate my sandwich, I looked over the list of the restaurant's available breads.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Since my back was turned to the restaurant's entrance, I hadn't seen Chip come in. Without waitin
g for my response, he slid into the booth, across from me. Luckily, I'd selected a small booth with room for only one person on each side. Otherwise, he might have decided to sit next to me.

  My server materialized as soon as Chip sat down, and he ordered a large Pepsi.

  “Amanda, I want to apologize for not meeting you at the courthouse yesterday. Everything was happening so fast. We wanted to take Aunt Susan home right away when we found out she was going to be released from jail, and I forgot to let you know. She told me you brought her dinner last night. That was thoughtful. You're a nice lady.”

  He flashed his boyish grin at me, but I didn't smile back because I didn't want to encourage him. So far, he'd done all the talking, but it was time for me to speak up and set him straight.

  “Chip, don't try to butter me up.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but I continued before he had a chance to interrupt me. “We're colleagues at the Roadrunner, but that's all. I'm not interested in going out with you, and I don't want you to show up at my house out of the blue again.”

  “But I thought . . . why did you agree to meet me at the courthouse?”

  “To give Susan moral support, like you said.”

  “Uh, huh.” His tone indicated he didn't believe me, or maybe he just didn't want to believe me. “If our age difference bothers you, don't let it. I prefer older women. They're so much more interesting than girls my age.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. He didn't seem to be getting the message.

  “OK, I get it. If that's not what's bothering you, I think I know what the problem is. You saw me with Pamela yesterday; I can explain.”

  “There's no need to explain,” I said.

  “I want to. Pamela's a wonderful woman, but she's gotten kind of clingy lately. I'll let her down gently if you'll agree to go out with me.”

  Chapter 22

  “Chip, no!” I said in exasperation. “Don't you dare use me as an excuse to break up with Pamela or for any other reason. Once and for all, I'm not attracted to you, and I don't want to date you. Case closed.”

  Chip pulled a mock pouty face. “Your dog likes me.”

  “My dog would lead a burglar to my diamond jewelry collection, if I had one. He's very friendly.”

  “More than I can say for you,”

  I couldn't help noticing that Chip didn't exactly seem devastated.

  “Chip, I hope you realize your flirting could lead to big trouble.”

  “That's what Aunt Susan says. I don't see the harm in having fun myself.”

  “Having fun's one thing; hurting people is another.”

  “Oh, so you're looking for a serious relationship? OK, scout's honor, I can do that.”

  Even though I could tell that he was teasing now, I couldn't let his declaration go. “No! Honestly, Chip, you're incorrigible. I know you're not serious, so knock it off.”

  “Oh, but I can be very serious.”

  “I doubt that,” I replied, signaling to the server for my check. When she delivered it, along with the two loaves of bread I'd ordered, I noticed that Chip's Pepsi was included on the bill. It was only a minor annoyance, but Mr. Charm hadn't offered to pay for it, and I had no intention of asking him for the few dollars it cost.

  After I slid my credit card into the folder with the bill, I turned it sideways and put it on the edge of the table so that she'd notice it was ready. She soon spotted it and whisked it away.

  While we waited for her to come back so that I could sign my receipt, I decided to change the subject. “By the way, Chip, does anyone ever call you Travis? You were introduced to me as Travis at my membership interview, and I noticed that you sign your paintings Travis Baxter.”

  “Just my mom when she's mad at me and Janice. She always used to call me Travis. I guess she thought Chip didn't sound dignified enough for an artist of my elevated status.” He dropped his jokester persona for a minute. “She was like a mentor to me. I'll miss her.”

  “You may be the only one from what her sister said this morning. Judith was complaining that the Roadrunner members don't feel sorry to have lost Janice. Pamela tried to tell her otherwise, but I don't know whether she believed her. Judith's had an offer to purchase the building. It almost seemed like a threat when she talked about the possibility of selling it.”

  “I don't like the sound of that,” Chip said. “Janice never would agree to selling the building. She had several offers from Brooks Miller, but I know she didn't ever consider selling because the Roadrunner was her life. Do you know if this offer came from Brooks?”

  “Yes, she said it did.”

  “That guy just won't quit. I wonder if Judith's seen his so-called artwork. If she has, I don't understand how she could possibly think about selling the building. It's bad enough that he has a gallery on First Street. It would be a travesty to move it to Main Street.”

  Even though I couldn't help smiling at his feeble pun, I had to agree. Having the Brooks Miller Gallery in a prime location on Main Street wouldn't enhance the reputation of Lonesome Valley's downtown district.

  Suddenly Chip jumped up. “Gotta go. Dad will be on my case if I'm late for work again. See you later, Amanda, and thanks for the Pepsi.”

  He'd expected me to pay for it, I realized, just as he assumed any older woman he liked would cater to him. I suspected that's exactly what his mother did, but his little-boy charm tactics evidently didn't work on his father.

  Before I left the restaurant, I texted Belle to let her know I'd be home soon. On my way out, I stopped at the bread case in front and picked out a couple of appealing loaves. As I walked back to my car, I didn't linger to look in the shop windows. Back at home, I checked on Mona Lisa, but she refused to come down from her kitty perch even though I put a snack in her bowl. I knew she'd eat it the minute I left, so I went next door, taking both loaves of bread with me.

  Laddie and Mr Big ran to greet me at Belle's front door.

  “They just woke up from a long nap,” Belle told me. “What do you have there?”

  “Bread from the Valley Bread Bowl. Which one would you like? I have sweet, the cinnamon raisin bread, or savory, the olive-cheddar bread.”

  “I'll go with the olive-cheddar loaf. Thanks, Amanda. You'll have to try some later. It's really good. I haven't been to the Bowl lately, but I do love their bread.”

  Laddie and Mr. Big followed Belle to the kitchen as she took the olive-cheddar loaf and put it in the pantry. They knew she kept a stash of dog biscuits in there, too. Belle didn't disappoint them, handing each dog a bone-shaped biscuit, a tiny one for Mr. Big and a large one for Laddie.

  “I was thinking maybe we could take the dogs to the park, but only if you feel like it,” Belle suggested. “You've probably been on your feet all morning.”

  “Actually we probably sat behind the counter about half the time I was there, and I could use some exercise.” My six-block walk downtown hadn't really been very strenuous, and I didn't feel the least bit tired. “But are you sure you're up to it? What about your ankle?”

  “I'm doing better. Dennis and I took Mr. Big for a short walk last night, and it didn't bother me.”

  “OK. Well, if it starts to hurt, I can always come back to get the car and pick you up.”

  “Right. I think I can make it to the park and back. Knock on wood.” Belle tapped her knuckles on her oak dining table.

  Laddie and Mr. Big wriggled with anticipation as we clipped their leashes to their collars and set out for the park. I hoped Belle wasn't being too ambitious, but I noticed her limp wasn't as pronounced as it had been a few days before.

  “Belle, I want to ask your opinion about something,” A crazy idea had occurred to me, and I couldn't stop thinking about it, but maybe when I said it out loud, I could make some sense of it. I wanted to hear Belle's reaction.

  “Sure, what is it, Amanda?”

  “This is going to sound totally weird, but hear me out.”

  “OK,” she said slowly, drawing the wor
d out.

  “I don't think Janice was murdered.”

  “You mean you think her death was an accident?”

  “No, I mean maybe it wasn't Janice who died. Remember I told you Janice's twin sister has taken over as gallery director?”

  “Right.”

  “I think maybe Judith was the one who was killed, and Janice is pretending to be her own twin.”

  Belle looked at me in astonishment.

  “I know it sounds far-fetched, but I've noticed some things. Maybe they don't mean anything, but let me tell you and see what you think.”

  “I'm all ears.”

  “First of all, there's the matter of her shoes. Janice always wore comfortable shoes with crepe soles. I never saw her wear anything else. When Judith made her first appearance here at our members' meeting at the library last week, she wore high heels, and I remember that she stumbled on her way to the podium. Then, at the gallery the other day, she wore stilettos at first, but later she changed into Janice's shoes. She claimed she was concerned about her heels marring the wooden floor in the gallery, but we have customers who wear all sorts of footwear, so that didn't seem completely plausible to me.

  “This morning, she started out wearing Janice's shoes again, but when she went to the meeting room to speak to a high school art class that was visiting the gallery, she wore high heels, and she was struggling in them. She did not look like a woman who was used to wearing them, but I guess she thought she should try because that's what Judith always wore.”

  “I grant you, that's a little odd, but how do you know what Judith wore?”

  “After the meeting at the library, I looked her up online, out of curiosity. There are dozens of pictures of her on the web, and she's wearing heels in every one of them.”

  “Hmm. Could be she's nervous and wobbly, on edge because of her sister's murder.”

  “That's true, but there's more. This morning she made the comment that I'd been at the gallery for 'about a minute,' as she put it.”