Artistic License to Kill

by Paula Darnell

  He sounded frazzled when I called, but only because he was busy.

  “I haven't been able to reach Belle by phone all afternoon, either, but don't worry. She's fine. Her cousin from Prescott came into town unexpectedly. Belle told me she was waiting for her when Belle got home from her doctor's appointment.

  “They're out and about, and they took Mr. Big with them. I think Belle probably forgot her phone, and I don't have her cousin's number in mine, but it's at home. If they're not back by the time I get off work, I can give her a call.”

  “OK, thanks, Dennis. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No bother, Amanda. By the way, I've already polished off more than my fair share of your pie, and it was great.”

  “About time for another one, then.”

  “I can't wait.”

  As I assembled the ingredients for a pecan pie, I thought about Lieutenant Belmont's brush-off. I'd vowed never to speak to the man again, but I'd felt compelled to tell him that the murder victim hadn't been identified correctly. I might as well have saved my breath, but I knew the truth would come out eventually, and then he'd feel like a fool for ignoring me.

  I didn't know whether to try to pursue the matter by informing the police chief or to let matters take their course and wait for Janice to confess her deception to Belmont in a couple of days.

  After I slid the pie into the oven to bake, I decided to inform the police chief. If he reacted the same way Belmont had, I'd hit a wall, but I figured I should try. He might react differently; he might listen to me.

  “Here goes,” I said to myself as I called the non-emergency number for Lonesome Valley's police department. When I asked to speak to the chief, I was told he was out of town. After I declined to leave a message, I remembered that Ralph knew the chief. He'd lobbied him to re-open the Roadrunner as soon as possible after it had been designated a crime scene.

  I looked up Ralph's number in the gallery's members' directory and called him. It was after five by this time, so I knew Ralph had left the gallery, and Janice wouldn't be able to overhear any of our conversation. She'd been livid when I hadn't agreed to keep her secret, and I didn't particularly want to have another encounter with her anytime soon.

  Ralph picked up my call on the first ring. He didn't even ask why I wanted the police chief's cell phone number.

  “I have it written down somewhere, Amanda. Hold on.”

  I could hear papers rustling in the backround before he picked up the phone again.

  “Here it is.” He read me the number and then repeated it.

  “Got it. Thank you, Ralph.”

  “You probably won't be able to reach him until Sunday night or Monday,” he told me. “He's gone fishing with his brother. If they went to their usual spot, it's remote. He'd have to drive into the closest town to get cell phone reception. He might do that to check in with the station, but he left Lieutenant Belmont in charge, so he may not.”

  Although I didn't have much hope of reaching the chief, I called him anyway. He didn't answer, so I left a message that I needed to speak to him about an urgent matter.

  Mr. Big's singular yipping brought me back to the moment. I glanced outside and saw Belle waving good-bye to her cousin as she pulled away from the curb in a classic red Thunderbird. A few minutes later, Belle called, apologizing for missing my earlier text message. She confirmed that she'd forgotten her cell phone when she'd gone out with her cousin. She sounded tired, so I kept my story short as I filled her in on Janice's deception.

  When I dropped the pecan pie off later, I stayed long enough to satisfy her curiosity about the twins, but I didn't linger. I could see that Belle was tired after her busy day.

  By the time I got home, switched on the television, and watched a Victorian costume drama on Netflix, I began to wish I'd made a second pie for myself. I headed to the kitchen in search of dessert, but frozen pie crusts didn't exactly fill the bill. I had to be satisfied with cinnamon toast. Belle and Dennis weren't the only ones with a sweet tooth.

  Chapter 27

  Although the conundrum of Janice's impersonation continued to bother me, the day of my first studio tour had come, and I needed to concentrate on preparing for it, but before I could think about getting organized, I wanted to take Laddie for a walk. I felt a bit nervous about taking part in the tour because I'd never done it before, and the experience would be a lot different from talking to potential customers in the gallery. In my own studio, every painting would be one of my precious babies. I loved them all.

  If my work wasn't to my visitors' taste, I hoped they'd leave quickly, without making any negative comments. I'd learned that many people didn't hesitate to state their blunt opinions about artwork that didn't appeal to them, and I'd never developed a thick skin when it came to criticism of my paintings. Whenever customers made negative comments about one of them, I couldn't help feeling hurt. Luckily, it didn't happen too often, or I'd be a bundle of nerves, rather than slightly uneasy at the prospect of my first open studio tour.

  Since it was only six o'clock, and I knew Belle wouldn't be awake yet, Laddie and I were on our own. He'd be disappointed if we didn't go to the park, so we headed that direction, Laddie prancing energetically beside me. We saw lots of other dog walkers already in the park when we arrived. Since we didn't normally come so early, I'd had no idea it would be so busy. Every time we encountered a walker with a dog, my retriever wanted to make friends, so I stopped to chat with other pet parents several times as we circled the park.

  I was on the lookout for Rebecca, but it was Greg who was walking their terriers alone.

  “Rebecca's still asleep,” Greg told me as the terriers and Laddie playfully jumped at each other. “She's not what you'd call a morning person. I like to get out and about early myself. How was your coffee break yesterday?”

  For a minute, I drew a blank. Then I remembered Rebecca had told Greg we were meeting for coffee.

  “Oh, fine. The Coffee Klatsch has great lattes,” I said noncommittally. I was sure Rebecca still hadn't told Greg the real reason for our meeting.

  “That's good.” The little terriers had started barking, and he paused to shush them. When he told them to sit, Laddie obediently joined them in doing the same. “By the way, Amanda, I hope you're taking precautions. I heard the police released their murder suspect.”

  “They did, and I know Susan. She didn't do it. They really don't have any evidence against her.”

  “If that's the case, then the real killer's still on the loose. Just be careful, Amanda. You could be in danger. You found the body, and the killer might think you saw something, even it you don't realize it.”

  “I'm keeping my doors and windows locked,” I assured him, “but tonight I'm on the art studio tour, so, of course, the studio door will be open for any visitors who might want to drop by.”

  Greg frowned. “Maybe you should cancel it.”

  “No way. I went through a lot just to get on the tour, and this will be my first one. It's part of my business, Greg. I can't just arbitrarily cancel.”

  Greg didn't look convinced.

  “Anyway, I can always call my next-door neighbors for help if I need it. They're on the alert.”

  I didn't tell Greg that it was Chip they were on the alert for, not a murderer.

  “Well, OK. You better have the police on speed dial, too.”

  “I'm sure everything will be fine. Maybe I'll even sell a painting.”

  Although I appreciated Greg's concern, I didn't think I was in any danger, but I could understand why Rebecca hadn't told him about Janice. The murder had definitely set him on edge, and it was obvious that his concern was real.

  As Laddie and I walked home, my golden boy's tail never stopped wagging. He was a happy camper without a care in the world. I wished I could say the same.

  After Laddie cooled down and stopped panting, I fed him and Mona Lisa and brewed a pot of Earl Grey for myself. While I sipped my tea, I made myself a to-do list for the studio tour
. I wondered whether I should serve food or perhaps wine and hors d'oeuvres, as was traditional at gallery show openings.

  Tour hours were scheduled for six to nine. Dennis brought his spotlight over and trained it on the sidewalk leading to the studio, even though it wasn't yet dark. A few minutes before six, he rolled the sign he'd made for me out to the curb and set it up while I assembled cheese cubes on a silver tray I'd borrowed from Belle and decanted a bottle of wine. I had another bottle chilling in the refrigerator in case I needed to replace the first bottle. I arranged some frosted sugar cookies I'd made for the occasion on a plate for folks who preferred a sweet snack.

  I set out the wine, cheese, and cookies on a small table in the studio and turned on the overhead lights as well as the track lighting that illuminated the paintings displayed on the walls. I'd added a label beside each painting, like the ones we used in the gallery, with the title of the work, its dimensions, and its price. I left the easels with my works in progress in place, but I didn't plan on working on them during the tour. I was far too nervous to attempt a live demonstration of my technique.

  “All set,” Dennis reported. “I'm going to put the trolley in your carport until the tour ends, so it won't be in your way.”

  “Dennis, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

  “Glad to do it, Amanda. Just call if you need anything. Belle will be over later to keep you company,” he said before he left.

  Laddie gazed at me forlornly. I'd barred him from coming into the studio by putting a baby gate in the doorway. He was taller than the gate, and he could easily look over it. He whimpered softly as he watched me. I'd have preferred to have him with me in the studio, but my visitors might not appreciate being greeted by a dog, even a friendly one, and some people were simply scared by a big dog. I went to Laddie and petted him as he crowded the gate, but he settled down after I consoled him.

  He perked up when he heard voices outside, but he didn't try to jump over the gate. A young couple entered, helped themselves to the wine and cheese, and looked around. Although I greeted them and asked them if they were looking for anything in particular, they said they were just looking and rebuffed all my attempts to engage them in conversation. They didn't seem to be in any particular hurry as they each downed their first glass of wine and poured themselves a second. I didn't offer to supply another bottle, so when the wine ran out, they left.

  I stepped over the baby gate, and Laddie followed me while I went to the refrigerator for the second bottle of wine and more cheese. I gave Laddie a dog biscuit for being a good boy. My visitors had completely ignored poor Laddie while he'd watched them, wagging his tail the whole time.

  The tour hadn't gotten off to the best start, but as I set out the cheese cubes and another bottle of wine, I told myself that the rude young couple hadn't behaved in a typical manner. I could only hope that the next visitors would be an improvement.

  About half an hour later the next group, a woman with three young children, showed up. As soon as the kids saw the cookies, they made a beeline for them. There were two girls, about six and three I guessed, and a boy, maybe four or five. When the older girl saw Laddie, she picked up a second cookie and gave it to him. Needless to say, he enjoyed his unexpected snack, but one was more than enough for him, so when she grabbed another cookie and started for Laddie, I asked her not to. After I gently explained that too many cookies weren't good for dogs, she pouted and clung to her mother.

  In the meantime, her sister had stuffed a whole cookie into her mouth and she began to choke. Her mother patted her on the back until she coughed.

  “Could we have a glass of milk, please?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, leaving them alone in the studio. I poured a small glass of milk for the little girl, returned as quickly as I could, and gave it to the child. She drank about half of it before exclaiming “all done!”

  “Give it to Mommy,” her mother said, holding her hand out for the glass, but instead of handing it over, the little girl tossed the glass toward her mother's outstretched hand. The glass shattered on the floor, leaving a nasty puddle of milk and jagged shards.

  “Be careful,” I warned, with visions of a liability suit if one of the kids slipped on the spilled milk or cut themselves on the broken glass. I pulled a broom and some old towels out of the studio's supply closet and began to clean up the mess while the mother apologized.

  As I checked to make sure I'd removed all the broken glass, the boy, who'd been very quiet during all the commotion took a cookie from the platter, walked over to one of my unfinished canvases, and held the cookie up to it, frosting side facing the picture.

  I ran to the child, grabbed my canvas, snatching it out of his reach, and told him to stop, but I wasn't quick enough. He'd succeeded in rubbing a wide streak of frosting across the entire painting before I could reach him.

  At least his mother had the grace to look embarrassed as she hustled her brood toward the door. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she grabbed her son's hand and pulled him along.

  “Unbelievable,” I said as I stared at my injured landscape.

  “What's unbelievable?”

  “Belle! A friendly face at last!”

  “I take it things haven't been going too well,” she said looking at my painting that the little boy had attacked with his cookie.

  “That would be an understatement,” I said, proceeding to recount what had happened so far. “I think maybe it was a mistake to offer food and wine. It might be too much of a distraction. If I didn't have it available, people could concentrate on the artwork.”

  “Can you salvage your painting?”

  “I'm not sure. I hope so. I should put it in the other room, out of sight, before anyone else comes.”

  “Don't give up yet, Amanda. It's only seven o'clock.” Belle glanced around the studio. “Everything looks wonderful. Serious buyers and sincere lookers will appreciate it. It must have taken you all afternoon to arrange and label all your paintings.”

  “It did, but now I'm not sure it's going to be worth it,” I sighed.

  “Have a cookie, Amanda,” Belle said, offering me the platter and helping herself to one. It'll make you feel better. Mmm, this is delicious.”

  I took a large bite, and my mouth was full of cookie when my next visitor arrived. Belle caught my pleading look and greeted him with a hearty “hello,” giving me enough time to swallow before I said anything.

  “Good evening, Mr. Miller,” I said, wondering why he would attend a studio tour. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been hightailing out the front door of the Roadrunner after Ralph called the police.

  “Good evening, uh . . . .” He stopped mid-sentence to consult the flyer. “Amanda. So we meet again.”

  I introduced Belle, but he barely took notice. He sauntered over to the table where the untouched second bottle of wine sat, picked it up, and poured himself a glass after examining the label.

  “Not bad for a cheap wine,” he commented after taking a sip.

  “Really, Mr. Miller,” Belle said, her disapproving tone unmistakable.

  “Oh, don't get me wrong,” he said. “I'm not objecting. It wouldn't make good business sense to serve a better wine. I serve Michelle Brut at my gallery openings, not Dom Pérignon.”

  Belle looked somewhat mollified while I stood there waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't take long.

  Brooks circled the studio peering intently at each painting that hung on the walls while Belle stood next to the baby gate and petted Laddie, who regarded the newcomer with curiosity. Brooks didn't acknowledge my perky pet at all. I could picture Brooks getting out his notebook and writing a critique as he'd done in the Roadrunner.

  After he'd viewed every painting on display, he turned to me and smiled.

  “I wouldn't make this offer to everyone, but I'd like to invite you to exhibit your artwork in my gallery.”

  Horrified at the thought of displaying my paintings alongside his, I had to control
myself not to make a face. “But I'm already in the Roadrunner.”

  “I'm aware of that, Amanda. I'm not asking you to change locations.”

  An uneasy feeling came over me. “What do you mean?”

  “I'll be taking over the Roadrunner's location and expanding my offerings beyond my own work. I want only the best in the new gallery.”

  That let his own artwork out, but since he evidently had no idea how bad his paintings were, the irony escaped him.

  “I thought Judith decided not to sell the building.”

  “She'll come around.”

  “She seemed quite adamant about it after you left the other day.”

  “Tempers flare, but good business sense will out in the end. It was a mistake to try to speak with her in person. My lawyers and real estate agent can handle the details from now on. When the Roadrunner's members learn about the scandal Judith was involved in, they won't want to have anything to do with her.”

  “What scandal?” Belle asked.

  “Maybe I've said too much already, but I have it on good authority that the media will be breaking the story in the next few days. You'll hear about it soon enough. Trust me: when the news comes out, Judith won't want to show her face in any art gallery in the country.”

  He set his wine glass down.

  “You really should consider my offer, Amanda. You'll be in a real gallery, not a cooperative, with professional representation. My wife will take over as gallery director, and she'll personally train the sales staff, so there'll be no amateur hour.”

  If I hadn't known how bad Brooks's own artwork was and the high-pressure sales tactics his wife used, I'd almost have been tempted.

  “Think about it, Amanda,” he urged before he left.