Murder at the Art Class

by Nic Saint

  Murder at the Art Class

  Emily Stone 1

  Nic Saint

  Puss in Print Publications

  Contents

  Murder at the Art Class

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Excerpt from Murder Motel (The Kellys Book 1)

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  Murder at the Art Class

  A life drawing class at the Brooklyn Community Arts School ends in tragedy when John Sunderland, the handsome male model, doesn’t get up from his position on stage. He’s been shot through the head with a bolt from a crossbow. An impossible shot through an unbroken window. And why didn’t any of the attending would-be artists see a thing?

  Emily Stone, who was assisting the drawing class, and feels responsible for what happened to John, is soon asked by the young man’s sister to solve what appears to be the perfect crime. The only problem is: Emily is a budding artist herself, and a temp. Solving crime is not what she does. When the police prove baffled, though, she reluctantly accepts to take on this mysterious case, and soon discovers that John Sunderland was not who he said he was…

  Chapter 1

  “Did you see the new guy?”

  Clara’s voice was barely above a whisper, clearly awed to be sharing the same space with this ‘new guy’.

  “Yes, I’ve seen him,” said Emily. “In fact I was the one who suggested this position.”

  Clara’s eyes turned to her friend and colleague. “You know him?”

  Em shrugged while she turned off the heaving and coughing coffee machine and placed two cups of espresso macchiato on a tray and added spoons and spiced gingerbread muffins with salted caramel frosting. “He’s in my life drawing class.”

  “No way!” said Clara, a robust ginger-haired young woman. “Don’t tell me this is one of those nude life drawing classes?”

  Emily nodded, suppressing a tiny smile as she watched Clara’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Yup. Buck-nekkid.”

  “Oh. My. God! Where is this class? I totally have to sign up!”

  “I told you about my class before, remember? And you told me you didn’t have a single artistic bone in your body and therefore weren’t eligible.”

  “That was before I knew there were nekkid men prancing about.”

  “They don’t prance about. They just… lie there.”

  “I’ll bet there’s lots and lots of women in your class,” said Clara, dreamily following the new guy’s every movement as he wended his way through the room, serving customers of the Roast Bean with a deft flourish.

  “Lots and lots,” Emily confirmed dryly. In fact this season they’d seen record attendance at the Community Arts School where she’d been a volunteer for the past two years. The school offered adult classes in dance, music, theater and drawing, apart from its daytime high school curriculum. It wasn’t the school she’d attended, being a transplant from Pennsylvania, but it was the school located just around the corner from where she lived in Bushwick, Brooklyn and the school where her roommate Ansel spent his formative years.

  “He’s coming,” said Clara in urgent tones. She pushed at her ginger curls. “How do I look?”

  Emily gave her friend a once-over. “You look fine, Clara. Though I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I have a feeling John’s roving eye has already landed elsewhere.”

  Clara’s own eye flicked back to the new barista and her face crumpled. “Who?!”

  It didn’t take her long to figure it out for herself, though. John Sunderland, the young man who’d recently joined the Roast Bean’s employ, was chatting up a young waitress who’d also just joined their ranks. The young woman in question was stunning, no doubt about it, and seemed to enjoy the attention John was lavishing on her with visible relish.

  “Of course,” grunted Clara. “Ken would fall for Barbie’s charm, wouldn’t he?” She threw up her hands. “It’s just not fair! Why can’t us mere mortals ever catch a break?”

  “I wouldn’t be too disappointed if I were you,” said Emily.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Young John Sunderland is a heartbreaker, honey.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Clara, her gaze landing on yet another new addition to the personnel roster. “Look at that Anton Crotch.”

  “I think his name is Tanton Skroch.”

  “Whatever. That guy gives new meaning to the word mooning.”

  They both studied Tanton for a moment. He was a couple of years older than the rest of the Roast Bean’s young staff, built like a brick wall, with black hair slicked back from a pale and receding brow, and never let John Sunderland out of his sight for even a single second.

  “Puppy love,” said Emily with a smile. “So cute.”

  “Not so cute to me,” spoke a voice behind them.

  Both Clara and Emily looked up. They’d been joined by Teddy Lynett, the coffee shop’s manager. Teddy was a weaselly little man with a distinct overbite and a spotty complexion. And if that wasn’t bad enough, at thirty-four he was fast becoming bald.

  “Don’t you like it when young people are in love, Teddy?” asked Clara.

  “Not when they’re on my payroll I don’t,” Teddy said, darting annoyed glances at both Tanton and John. “I pay those morons to serve the customers, not to act out some hormonal fantasy.” And with these words, he stalked over to John and Justyna, clearly with the intention of breaking up the budding lovefest.

  “Teddy’s right,” said Clara. “We’re here to work, not flirt.”

  Emily laughed. “You mean, Justyna is here to work, not flirt with your crush.”

  “I don’t have a crush,” said Clara. “I just think Justyna is very unprofessional, that’s all.” And with these words, she deftly picked up a tray she’d prepared, and sashayed away.

  John and Justyna, their little tryst rudely interrupted by Teddy, moved in opposite directions. John joined Emily behind the counter, while Justyna took a customer’s order.

  “That Teddy is such a bore,” said John with an eyeroll. “Doesn’t he realize there are more important things in the world than work, work, work all the time?”

  Emily studied her young colleague for a moment. With his strong jawline, clear blue eyes and perfectly coiffed dark hair with fashionable highlights, he could have been a male model. She didn’t know a whole lot about him, except that he was studying at Columbia, and that he’d suddenly turned up at the Community Arts School out of the blue.

  “You don’t like Teddy?” Emily asked now.

  John shrugged, picked up a brownie, and took a bite. “I do not like bullies.”

  John had a strong accent, possibly Eastern European. It was different from Ansel’s, though, who was Ukrainian. “Teddy is not a bully,” said Emily. “He’s just trying to make this place work.”

  “I still say he is a bully,” said John with an intent look at the manager. “Anyone who comes in the way of true love is a bully in m
y opinion.”

  From the corner of her eye, Emily saw that Tanton Skroch was still observing John intently. John, for his part, ignored the other man blithely. “Are you in love with Justyna?”

  John arched a nicely shaped eyebrow. “Of course I’m in love. Isn’t she the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen? That girl is an absolute grade-A stunner, is she not?”

  “She is pretty,” Emily conceded.

  “Pretty?” John laughed. “That is an understatement, Emily Stone.”

  Emily was surprised John was aware of her surname. Then again, if there was any truth to his reputation as a ladies’ man, he would pay attention to small details like that. “Where are you from, John?” she asked now.

  He gave her an amused glance. “If I tell you I was American born and bred, you wouldn’t believe me?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Your accent… are you Russian?”

  “Silvistanian. It is a small country located in the heart of the Caucasus.” He turned to face her. “Now tell me about you, Emily Stone. Do you have a boyfriend? A lover? Husband perhaps?”

  She laughed. “Not exactly.”

  “But you do have a roommate. Is he not your lover also?”

  “Ansel? No way.” She could have told John that Ansel played for the other team but that wasn’t her story to tell.

  John’s attention didn’t waver and she felt her cheeks redden under the scrutiny. “I don’t understand. A beautiful young woman such as yourself. Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Don’t you like to love and be loved?” Then he snapped his fingers. “You and… Clara. You are girlfriends, yes? You are lovers?”

  “No,” she said with a frown. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her love life with a guy who’d just professed his undying love for one of her colleagues. “Let’s just say I haven’t found the right one yet.”

  John smiled a knowing smile. “Go out with me tonight, Emily Stone. I have lots and lots of friends. I’m very certain you will find the right one amongst them. They are all very handsome and very rich.”

  “I’m volunteering at the school tonight, remember? And you’re modeling.”

  “Afterwards. We will paint this town blue and you will fall in love and be happy!”

  “Paint the town red, you mean.”

  He did the jazz hands thing. “All the colors of the rainbow for you!”

  She had to smile at his enthusiasm. “Won’t Justyna be jealous if you ask me out?”

  “Oh, but Justyna is coming, too.”

  “What about your admirer?” she said, indicating Tanton Skroch.

  John made a throwaway gesture with his hand. “Oh, don’t mind him.”

  Clara had joined them and Emily thought there were actual stars in her friend’s eyes as she stood staring at John.

  “Can I come, too?” Clara asked, a little piteously.

  “Of course! The more the better,” said John. He tapped Clara on the nose. “You will find love tonight, Clara Collett. We will all drink and be merry and live happily ever after.”

  “I would like that,” said Clara, gushing.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” said Teddy. “When are you people going to understand that you’re here to work and not pretend you’re the cast from Mamma Mia?”

  John gave Emily a wink. “What did I tell you? Work, work, work!”

  “Chop, chop, chop,” said Teddy. “Or else you’ll all live without a job ever after.” He directed a scathing look at John. “And who’s going to pay for your highlights then, sunshine?”

  Chapter 2

  That night, Emily saw a lot of familiar faces at the art school. John was there, of course, and so was Justyna, whom apparently he’d invited to join the class. Tanton Skroch was there, clearly as fixated on his male crush as he’d been at the coffee shop, and Emily even though she recognized a Roast Bean customer in a young and stern-faced young man with a hooknose and eyes so dark they almost appeared black.

  Possibly another one of John Sunderland’s many admirers, be they male or female.

  The place where the life drawing class took place on a weekly basis was a large, airy and cozily cluttered room on the ground floor of the Community Arts School, tucked away near the back, with a view of a small inner-city garden, and the red-brick back walls of neighboring houses. Easels had been placed in a semi-circle around a dais where a table had been placed for the model to relax for the two hours that the class usually ran.

  The walls were covered with artwork from current and previous students, some accurately depicting the human form, others… not so much. There were a few drawings of John’s backside, according to some his most fetching feature, and a lot of other models. The school’s janitor Adelric Lidd, a bushy-browed rail-thin septuagenarian, shuffled in and out of the room, helping Emily and Judyta Kenworthy, the art teacher, to organize the class.

  Judyta was a striking woman of middle age, with remarkable green eyes, sharp-cut features, and invariably dressed in brightly colored kaftans. Today she was resplendent in turquoise, accessorizing her garb with a string of pearls and a burgundy headdress. Emily, dressed as usual in jeans and a shapeless but comfy sweater, felt positively underdressed.

  “I thought we were going out?” asked John when he caught sight of her.

  “I live just around the corner,” she explained. “I’ll just pop home and change.”

  “Of course you could always go out in that,” he said, casting a critical eye at her orange Brooklyn College sweater. “I’m sure it’s very… American.”

  And with these words, he turned away from her and joined Justyna, who was looking more like Barbie than ever, with her platinum hair and her immaculately made-up face.

  “Are you and John going out tonight, dear?” asked old Sylvia Koss, who was the class’s most loyal pupil. She’d been coming to class for many many years, and was one of its most gifted students, her artistic talent unrivaled after so much practice.

  “Yeah. He wants to introduce me to some of his friends,” said Emily, setting up the extra easels Adelric had just hoisted in. John’s popularity had created a unique problem: not enough easels for all the new signups. So Adelric had raided one of the daytime art classes for extra easels and chairs.

  “Oh, lucky you,” said Sylvia with a twinkle in her eye. She was a kindly old lady with cotton candy white hair, a cheerful pink face and a perpetual smile.

  Emily smiled. “I’m not so sure. If all of John’s friends are like him, I’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”

  “Yes, he is very affectionate, isn’t he?”

  “That’s one word for it,” she said as she watched John turn up the flirtatious energy full-tilt, Justyna simpering under the onslaught.

  “I used to know a young man just like him,” said Sylvia. “I used to be a shopkeeper’s assistant, you know, before my retirement. We had temps coming in all the time—many eager to learn the trade, but also many just so they could be near the other, female temps.” She nodded knowingly. “And of course girls just so they could catch the eye of the boys.”

  “It drives my manager crazy,” said Emily.

  “Oh, well, what can you do,” said Sylvia philosophically. “Love turns us all into fools.”

  Just then, Judyta came waltzing up, her kaftan rustling. “Please take your positions,” she said, clapping her hands sharply. “We’re about to begin. You, too, John, dear, please.”

  John seemed reluctant to part with his conquest, but he did as he was told, and moved towards the partition placed in a corner of the room where he could undress.

  Sylvia brought out a small thermos of herbal tea and poured out a cup.

  People had been chatting and moving about the room, most of the activity centered around the rickety plastic folding table that the janitor had set up near the door and that carried large push button thermoses filled with coffee and tea. Plates with cookies and even a chocolate cake accompanied them, all home-baked and provided by the attendants.

  Usually by the
time the class was over only dregs and crumbs remained. One of the reasons people loved Judyta’s art classes was that she provided a fun, relaxed atmosphere. No pressure to be perfect. Even people without an ounce of talent were most welcome.

  John emerged from behind the partition, not wearing a stitch, and Sylvia hurried towards him, carrying the cup of tea. He took it gratefully, gulped it down, and handed back the cup. It was a ritual Sylvia had perfected: a cup of herbal tea to relax the ‘talent,’ so they could last the long session on the podium.

  All eyes had turned to John as he mounted the stage, hopped onto the table and stretched himself out, buttocks to the audience, front to the high windows, and adjusted his position until he was perfectly comfortable.

  He then shot a quick look over his shoulder. “Ready when you are, Mrs. Kenworthy.”

  A collective sigh went through the room at the sight of all of this male perfection, and people were quick to take their position behind their easels.

  “Best buns in the business,” one of the attendants whispered to her neighbor.

  “I heard that,” said John with a grin. “And you’re right, of course, Mrs. Franklin.”

  Mrs. Franklin, an elderly lady with four grandchildren, blushed appropriately.

  “Shush, John,” said Judyta Kenworthy sternly, adjusting her kaftan. “Class, begin.”

  John flexed his buttocks good-naturedly, drawing gasps from his captive audience, and then he relaxed into his pose, and only the scratching of pencil on paper was heard.