The Skeleton Paints a Picture: A Family Skeleton Mystery (#4)

by Leigh Perry

  “I didn’t tell anyone. And won’t.”

  “Your discretion is sincerely appreciated.”

  “There is one thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “I downloaded your albums from iTunes, and it seems to me that while ‘Glitter Games’ is great, I actually think ‘Man-child Mania’ is even better.”

  He actually smiled.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Once a doctor came by and said it was okay for me to leave, Mr. Perkins helped me navigate the paperwork for being released from the hospital and drove me home. My minivan was already there, which he’d arranged somehow, and I think he’d have spent the rest of the weekend with me if I hadn’t insisted I would be fine. I finally had to tell him that I was going to invite my mysterious companion over once he was gone to get him to leave. Even then, he checked the refrigerator and pantry first to make sure I had plenty to eat. Maybe he really was the best departmental secretary in the country.

  As soon as the door was shut behind Mr. Perkins, I called out, “Sid? Are you here?” I’d texted him several times since Officer Buchanan’s visit, but there’d been no response.

  There was no response to my calling out, either. I knew he wouldn’t have stayed quiet if he’d heard me and I know his hearing is excellent even without ears, but I still went running through the house, looking under every bed and inside every closet, hoping to find him. I was peering into the washing machine when I heard a light tap at the door.

  I didn’t even stop to look through the peephole, just threw open the door.

  He was still in the clothes from the night before and was covered in snow, but I didn’t let that stop me from dragging him inside and hugging him as tightly as I could.

  “Georgia, stop! You’re getting yourself wet!”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’re going to catch cold.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’re going to break my ribs!”

  That I cared about, so I let him go and helped him out of his ensemble, which I now realized was a complete mishmash of garments: a Deadpool hoodie, a pair of tie-dyed pajama pants, a Pikachu Laplander hat, and pink rain boots decorated with ducks.

  “Where did you get this stuff?”

  “I raided the lost-and-found box in Mr. Perkins’s office,” he said as he pulled off the hoodie, which was tight even on someone with his BMI. “And is that really your first question?”

  “Sorry. I’m not thinking straight. I have much better questions.” I pulled him over to the couch. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

  “I tried to text you after you’d left, just to let you know I was okay and to tell you I really like that Squirrel Girl graphic novel. When you didn’t text me back, I tried again, but you still didn’t reply. I knew something had to be wrong.

  “How did you find me?”

  “It’s a long story, and it would have been a lot shorter if we had one of those phone locator apps.”

  “We’ll download one later.”

  “Good. Anyway, by that time the building was empty, so I got to a window and saw the minivan was still in the parking lot. I figured that maybe that meant you were, too. I searched everywhere in the English wing before deciding you must be outside or in another building and went to get something to wear in case somebody saw me.”

  “You’re a genius, even if your mittens don’t match.”

  He grinned. “I knew Kelly’s killer—Wait, was it Dahna?”

  “Nope. Renee.”

  “So much for my hunch.”

  “They were working together, so you were half right.”

  “Huh. Another team supreme.”

  “More like a match made in hell. I’ll explain later. You go on.”

  “Since I knew the killer—who I now know was Renee—had used Kelly’s own car to stage an accident, I was afraid she’d do the same with yours. I was thinking about slashing the tires and was looking in the tool shed for something to use when I found the snowblower. It was all gassed up, so it was easy to make sure your minivan couldn’t leave. I didn’t know who those other cars belonged to, but they were the only ones left in the lot, so I buried them, too. I was riding around looking for you when I saw the path in the snow, and you know the rest.”

  “Not quite. How did you get home and why didn’t you text me that you were okay?”

  “The answer to the first part is that I walked. My sense of direction sucks, so I had to follow the roads to get here, and of course I had to hide a lot. Still, I beat you home so you shouldn’t be all superior. I’ve been hiding out back, waiting for you to show up. And I didn’t text you for the same reason I didn’t break into the bungalow. I left my stuff in your office at FAD. I was kind of distracted.”

  “I don’t blame you. And one last question. Did you know that you are the best friend anybody ever had?”

  “They must have hit your head harder than I thought. I nearly got you killed!”

  “Coccyx, Sid. You saved me!”

  “You wouldn’t have been in danger if—”

  I put my hand over his moving jaw. “You saved me, Sid. This investigation was as much me as you, and if I can’t order you around, then you can’t keep taking the blame for my decisions. Partners, right?”

  He mumbled something, so I removed my hand.

  “Partners,” he said. “Fist bump?”

  “Fist bump!” That was followed by another hug, and then my explanation of what had happened to me and what I’d found out along the way. I tried to fuzz over the worried-about-freezing-to-death and barely-able-to-walk parts, but Sid wasn’t fooled. I was pretty sure that if either Renee or Dahna ever made it out of jail, they’d be getting a pretty horrific visit from Sid. Personally, I never wanted to see that terrifying expression on his face again.

  “Dahna and Renee should be going away,” I concluded, “but it looks as if Jeremy is mostly in the clear, which hardly seems fair. Okay, he’ll lose his job at FAD and probably won’t ever get another teaching job, and he might be sued for plagiarism, but he’s still an artist. He can keep painting. The notoriety might even help him sell paintings.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Sid said. “When I spent that first night on campus, I flipped through some of Jeremy’s sketchbooks. You know how Indigo dates every sketch? Jeremy does that, too.”

  “So?”

  “So even with my untrained eye sockets, I could tell his most recent sketches weren’t any good. Jeremy must have thought so, too, because he’d drawn X’s over them. He’d done the same thing to nearly every sketch for the past six months.”

  “Ouch.”

  “This is my guess. He was happy to take the money from modifying T-shirt designs, especially when he got engaged to Renee, who wanted a big wedding. But he was humiliated, too, because they were other people’s ideas, and even worse, they weren’t what he considered real art. It all combined to give him a massive case of artist’s block. Which I hope is permanent.”

  “I almost feel sorry for him. Except for the part about him stealing Indigo’s artwork, making Marissa nearly starve, and possibly being an accessory to killing Kelly.”

  “Not to mention nearly killing you.”

  “Yeah, let’s not mention that. Especially not to my family.”

  “You know they’re going to find out.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. Let me get the phone—I may as well get it over with.” By the time I was done with that, e-mails had started coming in from Caroline and Lucas, and I had to respond promptly to stop her from coming over with a pizza and beer and him from bringing lasagna, wine, and tiramisu. I appreciated them thinking of me, but by that point, all I wanted was some soup, an old movie, and an early trip to bed, secure in the knowledge that Sid was watching over me.

  The next morning, I got a call from Mr. Perkins to arrange another meeting with Professor Waldron and the dean, this time at the bungalow. Though the lawyer wasn’t mentioned specifically, I wasn’t at all su
rprised when he showed up, staggering under the weight of an enormous fruit basket.

  In a bizarre rerun, the dean wanted to know what happened, Professor Waldron wanted to make sure that I was okay, and the lawyer wanted to make sure I still wasn’t planning to sue FAD. And again I explained and reassured, though I wouldn’t sign the lawyer’s newly expanded agreement any more than I would the last one. This time, however, Professor Waldron chased the lawyer off by asking if he and the dean would wait in the car while she took care of another matter.

  Apparently they’d been warned, but I was confused when she sat back down on the couch.

  “Doctor Thackery,” she began, “I realize that this may not be the best time to tell you, but the decision about tenure has been made. Even before last night’s events, the choice was down to you and Dr. Craig.”

  Obviously Renee and Dahna were off the list now, I thought, and nodded.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that I’ve decided that Dr. Craig is the better candidate.”

  I had only the briefest flash of disappointment, followed by an almost shocking rush of relief. “Caroline is a great choice,” I said sincerely. “Her work with graphic novels fits perfectly with FAD’s sequential arts curriculum.”

  “That’s true, but in all honesty, that wasn’t the primary reason for my decision.”

  I hated to ask the next question, but I needed to know the answer. “Was it my reputation? For becoming involved in crimes and so forth?”

  “No, not at all. I quite admire your adventurous spirit.” She gave a brief smile. “Not to mention your unwillingness to be bullied by our college lawyer.”

  “Can I ask what the reason was?”

  “It seems to me, Dr. Thackery—May I call you Georgia?”

  “By all means,” I said, though I didn’t think I’d be asking if I could call her Martha anytime soon.

  “Your understanding of literature is both broad and deep, and you are an excellent instructor, Georgia. In fact, in discussions with Mr. Perkins, he pointed out that you are much like a younger version of me. But while I’m in the waning years of my career and content with my position at FAD, the best of your academic achievements are yet to come. You should certainly not settle for a position in a small art school.”

  “That may be the nicest rejection I’ve ever received.”

  “Consider it not so much a rejection as a challenge. I expect great things from you, Georgia. Do not disappoint me.” Then she swept out my door.

  A moment later, Sid came in.

  “Did you hear?”

  He nodded.

  “So no tenure for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Georgia.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I’m really not. I mean, I do want tenure some day, but not at FAD. It’s a great art school, and if my specialty were sequential art like Caroline’s, I’d be as happy as a clam there. But if I were stuck in Falstone long-term, I’d end up just as bitter as Kelly was. Not to mention the weather! I’ll finish up the semester and maybe stay through the summer session—I’m not going to leave them with only two English instructors—but I’m going to start looking for someplace else for the fall. Are you disappointed? I know you like being able to go out in the snow.”

  “Meh. It’s been fun, but after that walk home, I’ve decided that the outdoors is overrated. And shoveling is getting boring.”

  “Using the snowblower, too?”

  “No, that’ll never get old. But when the time comes, I’ll be ready to move on. Wherever you want to go.”

  “Wherever we want to go. I meant it when I said we’re partners, Sid.”

  “What if you and some guy get together? You and Mr. Perkins made a darling couple.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “What about Lucas?” he said delicately. “You like him and he did find me worth painting, which is a point in his favor.”

  “Closer, and he is pretty cute, but I don’t think so. You know that when I told him about our investigation, he wasn’t interested in helping.”

  “Really?”

  “Not at all. How would somebody like that fit into my life?” Despite what my sister said on the phone the day before, I did not go out looking for murders, but when chance brought one my way, I wasn’t going to ignore it. “Besides, he flunked my litmus test.”

  “Which is?”

  “Okay, this is going to sound silly.”

  “Not to me. I have no romantic experience of my own to judge you against.”

  “What about that online flirting you haven’t told me about?”

  “I’m still not telling you about it.”

  “Fair enough. So whenever I date a guy and think maybe he could be ‘the one,’ I try to picture him doing nothing with us.”

  “Doing nothing?”

  “Hanging out at the house, doing laundry, reading, watching TV, grocery shopping. I mean, that’s real life—not the dates and nice dinners and all that. I just can’t see Lucas sitting around with us.”

  “You don’t think he’d like Madison?”

  “Of course he’d like Madison—everybody likes Madison. I mean I can’t imagine telling him about you.”

  “Me?” His jaw fell open.

  “Of course you. How could I make a commitment that doesn’t include you?”

  “Georgia, you can’t reject a relationship because of me.”

  “Yes, I can.” I held up one fist. “Team supreme!”

  “Team supreme,” he said in choked voice as he returned the bump.

  “Sid, you can’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying. I’m just… Hey, let’s crank up the Pteriwinkle Gleam and celebrate!”

  Maybe Sid can’t cry, but he sure can dance.

  Acknowledgments

  My daughter Maggie, for explaining the workings of art school.

  My daughter Valerie, for helping to make sure my younger characters don’t sound like they’re my age.

  My ever-patient husband, Steve, for acting as alpha reader.

  My BFFs Charlaine Harris and Dana Cameron, for beta reading under ludicrous time constraints.

  Sara Weiss and Art Taylor, for making sure I didn’t mess up every detail about the adjunct lifestyle. (Any mistakes I did make are mine alone.)

  Robin Burcell, for doing the same when it comes to police procedure. (Again, the mistakes are all mine.)

  The Facebook hive mind, for answering the most random questions with accuracy and speed.

  About the Author

  LEIGH PERRY takes the adage “Write what you know” to its illogical extreme. Having been born with a skeleton, and with most of her bones still intact, she was inspired to create Sid and write the Family Skeleton Mysteries. The Skeleton Paints a Picture is the fourth in the series. As Toni L.P. Kelner, she’s published eleven novels and a number of short stories and has coedited seven anthologies with New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris. She’s won an Agatha Award and an RT Booklovers Career Achievement Award and has been nominated for the Anthony, the Macavity, and the Derringer awards. Leigh lives north of Boston with her husband, two daughters, a guinea pig, and an ever-increasing number of books. You can visit her online at LeighPerryAuthor.com.

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