Paint Me Gone (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 3)

by Molly Greene

  Her goal was to talk with Gregory Prentiss, live and in person. She didn’t need the canvas for that.

  Liv pulled in automatically when the black-topped viewpoint opened up on the right. They climbed out and stood in the breeze, watching the surfers bob on the swell and the gulls swoop above the sea.

  A page had turned on the calendar, and it felt like summer now. According to an online weather report, Carmel’s average high temp in July was only 66 degrees, although it often reached 80 or more at this time of year. Gen felt as though she was on a working vacation this time, though she couldn’t express what was different from the last trip.

  Other than the heat.

  Even Mack, she noticed, had replaced his standard plaid shirt with a polo and his uniform jeans with khaki chinos. The sight made her eyes widen just a touch, although she’d kept mum about it. She was trying to stay quiet about a lot of things where Mack was concerned. The whole convo about Caroline had touched a nerve.

  Oliver beckoned, and she followed him along the cliff path to the spot where they first encountered Laura Ingburg. The painter wasn’t there today.

  They sat on a rock and breathed in the heavy salt air. It wasn’t as if they didn’t get to smell the ocean in the city, but something about the pureness of the atmosphere and the beauty of the coastline made it all the more delicious. When they’d had enough, they got back in the Rover and split for town.

  The Carmel Village Inn was located on Ocean at Junipero. A typical two-story motel, it was laid out in two long wings that formed an L. Parking slots were canted along the length of the buildings.

  Gen liked this plebian type of accommodation. When you had a room on the bottom floor, you could park right in front and avoid the hauling of luggage in and out of elevators or up and down the stairs. So that’s what she’d asked for, and that’s what they got. They crossed their fingers the neighbors above wouldn’t be partiers and moved in.

  They walked down to the beach just before six o’clock. She carried an aluminum water bottle filled with chilled vino, and two Dixie cups were tucked into her bag. A perfect vacation day must be topped off with wine beside the ocean.

  So that’s what they did.

  * * *

  Gen was sitting alone on a bench in the village at nine-thirty the next morning. She’d picked up a free newspaper in the motel lobby and was reading about this week’s local events.

  It was no accident that the seat she chose happened to be across the street from the Jacovich Gallery. When she saw the proprietor enter, she hung out five minutes longer, then rose and followed him in.

  She didn’t have a photographic memory, but Gen swore that much of the art displayed in the cubicles had changed. If she was right, they either sold a lot of product or rotated their stock regularly to make it look like they did.

  She was on her way to the Prentiss room when Justin Allenby approached. The big sunglasses threw him off until Gen removed them. His eyes lit up.

  She knew it wasn’t about her.

  “Hey, Justin.”

  “It’s awesome to see you back in Carmel,” he said. “Did you come alone?”

  “Oliver drove me. He’s out shopping today.”

  He brightened at the news. “How nice. I hope I have the chance to see him while you’re in town.”

  “I’m sure he’d like that, too.”

  Justin’s smile morphed into a downright grin. “Tell him to call.” He took out a business card and wrote a number on the back, then handed it over. “My cell is on the back. How can I help you today?”

  “I was hoping to catch Mr. Jacovich.”

  “He’s in his office. I’ll tell him you’re here. It’s Delacourt, isn’t it? Miss Delacourt?”

  “That’s right, but I just need a second of his time. I don’t want to take you away from what you were doing, so I’ll just run back myself.”

  She brushed by and strode toward the rear, flashing a smile. He started to protest, but in one beat she was out of reach and halfway to Jacovich’s office.

  The door was ajar. She gave it a soft knock, then drew it open and went in without waiting for an invitation.

  Jacovich wore reading glasses and was concentrating on a letter on the desk. From the looks of it, he’d been going through the mail and was wearing the sour countenance that too many bills brought to Gen’s own expression when she had to tackle the task.

  He glanced up. Like his salesman, it took a beat or two for recognition to register. Unlike Allenby, however, her presence did not illicit pleasure. She caught a flare of anger before he was back behind his unpleasant mask.

  The tart look deepened into distaste. His eyelids lowered. What was it about Genevieve Delacourt that held the power to piss off a Carmel gallery owner? She would surely love to know.

  “Hi Jack,” she said.

  He grimaced. “I’ve forgotten your name.”

  Sure you did.

  “Genevieve Delacourt,” she replied. “I’m so glad I caught you in.”

  Jacovich pushed away from the desk, distancing himself from Gen’s buoyant façade. “What do you want?”

  “I want to speak with Gregory Prentiss. In person.”

  He allowed a shred of disbelief to animate his face, then tried to look sorry. It was a feeble attempt. “Gregory Prentiss does not meet his fan base,” he replied.

  “I think he’ll make an exception in my case.”

  Jack bit off a laugh. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because an art authenticator in the city told me Prentiss used an underling to do much of the work on a painting purchased here by a friend of mine.”

  Jacovich had not seen that coming, and he didn’t know where to go with it. He tried skepticism, then anger, then irritation, then crossed his arms and settled on bluster. “Of all the bull. Who told you that? I’ll have their license, if they have one.”

  “Oh, come on, Jack. If he doesn’t want me to raise the question in town or with the press in San Francisco, all he needs to do is answer a few questions. That’s it. Just a handful of questions and I’ll go away.”

  “This amounts to libel. Prentiss will sue.”

  “But the whispers will be out there in the ether. People will wonder.” Gen decided to push it and tell a little white lie. “And I have an expert witness who will testify that there appear to be two unique styles of brush strokes in a Prentiss canvas I possess. And I have another painting that matches its underlying style. That makes me wonder if much of his work is executed by someone else.”

  Jacovich’s eyes narrowed again. “That is outrageous.”

  “I don’t hear a denial in there anywhere. Aren’t you going to renounce the possibility?”

  He shot out of his chair and pointed at the door. “Get out.”

  Gen pulled a sealed envelope from the back pocket of her jeans and placed it on his desk, then topped it with her business card. “You or Mr. Prentiss can reach me on my cell. The number is on my card. I’ll make myself available at whatever time is convenient for him.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “I think we should leave that decision to Mr. Prentiss. Tell him what I’m really interested in is the image of the girl in the painting he did not paint. The one I showed you on my last visit.”

  She gestured toward the envelope. “I’ve included a photograph of her with my letter in case anyone needs to be reminded.”

  “Why do you want to know about an unknown girl in an old canvas? It was just a face he borrowed from an old photograph, or saw online, or someone who passed on the street while he was working outside.”

  “I have my reasons.” Gen pivoted toward the door. When she moved forward, she saw a flicker of movement through the crack on the hinge side.

  Justin Allenby was listening.

  She stopped to give him time to get away, then turned back to Jacovich with an insincere smile. “I’m distressed that you’ve made such a big deal about a simple request for a fan to meet an artist. I’ve re
ad news accounts that say Gregory Prentiss spent lots of time among his admirers in the past.”

  “That was then. Things have changed. And you’ll come to regret this threat, Miss Delacourt.”

  Gen swung back to face the door and walked through. “I’ll have to live with that, Jack.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gen put on her sunglasses when she hit the street and noticed her hands were trembling. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deal with confrontation, it was the accompanying adrenaline rush that left its mark. Conversations like that didn’t happen very often, but when they occurred she almost felt high afterwards.

  She wondered if something major was wrong with her. The truth was, being nasty to someone was kind of a kick. She didn’t know anybody else who’d admit they got a rush out of a mouth-off skirmish.

  The war of words thing amped her up, but only with people she didn’t like in the first place. There was no pleasure in a spat like that when you cared about the person you were toe-to-toe with.

  She dragged in about an acre of air and headed for the park above the ocean. A walk would help release the energy that was coming off her like radio waves. When her phone rang, she wondered if it was Jacovich about their unfinished business, but the display revealed it was exactly who she wanted to talk to: Oliver.

  “Slow down, will you?” he said straight away.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a block behind you carrying iced coffees and bear claws and I can only walk so fast or everything will end up on the sidewalk.”

  She chuckled and thumbed off the phone and rolled to a stop, then stepped out of the way of the pedestrian traffic drifting up and down the main drag.

  Oliver was at her side in about a minute, huffing with the exertion and ready to hand off the white bakery bag clutched between his arm and side. He was trying not to crush it, and the effort had taken a toll on his cool.

  “Why didn’t you just call and tell me to meet you at the bakery?”

  “Oh, I had good intentions. I wanted it to be a surprise. Surprise.”

  “This was generous of you, Liv.”

  “Why were you galloping along like that? You acted like your shoes were on fire.”

  “I had a bitch fight with Jacovich and I was trying to siphon off residual nerves.”

  “That explains why you look like a lit match. What happened?”

  “His reaction was possible scenario number three.”

  “Which was that? Oh, wait, I think it was deny everything and threaten to sue.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What now?”

  “Wait and see if Prentiss decides to give me an audience.”

  “And meanwhile?”

  “Meanwhile, we drink these delicious coffees and gnosh on bear claws and look at the bay.”

  “Okay,” Oliver said. They’d arrived at the park and found a bench facing the water. “That’ll eat up about fifteen minutes,” he added. “Then?”

  “Then we hunt down Miss Ingburg and give her the third degree.”

  “In a nice way.”

  “Exactly. This morning’s hostilities will last me for a while.”

  “I hope it was enough for Jacovich, too.”

  “Yeah,” Gen said. “By the way, that cute little Justin Allenby asked me to give you his cell number.”

  She pulled out the card and handed it over. “It worked out perfectly. I raised my voice just high enough that Justin would be curious about what was going on. He was forced to eavesdrop outside Jacovich’s office.”

  “You clever witch.”

  “Yeah, I saw him there so I gave him a minute to slip away. When I left, he was making busy at the sales counter. His eyes were enormous. I gave him a thumbs up and big wink and went out the front door.”

  Livvie waved the card in the air. “Somebody’s going to get an earful.”

  “You mean somebody else,” Gen replied. “I had my turn today.” She leaned back against the bench and sighed. “Will you look at that view. How could anybody live beside that and have a crabby bone in their body?”

  * * *

  “This isn’t just any old place in town.” Oliver was excited about their sightseeing jaunt. “It’s a famous house, and Laura Ingburg owns it. When you gave me the address I Mapquested it to plot the route. It’s one of the Comstock cottages.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Gen hadn’t done much investigating about the charms of Carmel. Oliver had seemed eager enough to act as docent, so she’d let him. She liked having a guide. It was akin to being chauffeured around, and she was more than willing to allow someone else to direct her.

  In some ways.

  “Comstock was a guy who married a doll maker. His wife wanted a showroom that would get the dolls out from underfoot. So Hugh built her a darling little cottage called ‘Hansel.’ After that he built another called ‘Gretel.’ I think that was in about 1925.

  “After the second one, everybody in town wanted him to build them a house. They’re marvelous, Genny. They look like they should be in an enchanted forest. I’ll show you the pictures when we get back to the motel.”

  “Are they all in the area where we’re going?”

  “I think there are eleven up here. It’s called the Comstock Historical Hill District. They’re all privately owned.”

  “Really? It must be a drag to live in a tourist attraction.”

  “It’d be worth it, wait till you see. I’d kill to live in one.”

  Gen heard longing in his voice. She shaded her eyes to get a good look at him. “Can you see yourself in Carmel, Livvie?”

  He glanced aside with a thoughtful expression. “I could live here, yeah.”

  “I’d miss the city,” Gen said. “I’d miss the busy.” She looked at him again. “What would you do if you lived down here without me?”

  That made him laugh, but he answered right away. Clearly he’d considered it. “Just live. Maybe open a little bauble shop. High end re-sales. Beauteous things from thrift shops bought for nothing and marked up. I’d donate a portion of sales to charity.”

  “Wow.” Gen was surprised. “You’ve given it a lot of thought.”

  “I have. The idea occurred to me while I was shopping with Sophie. And I like it here a lot.”

  Their attention was diverted as the first of the Comstock properties came into view. Oliver was right, they were magical, whimsical delights. As they made their way from house to house, she could see what he meant about coveting every one. It was a fairytale world. Gen wondered how Laura had come to own hers.

  She was thinking that when they saw her.

  Laura was wielding a hose in the garden. Her back was to them. They stood at the gate admiring the house and its riot of flowering perennials. Neither one wanted to open their mouths and break the spell, so they lingered in silence, hoping to make it last.

  It was Laura herself who finally spied them standing there.

  She’d swung around toward the street and bent to turn off the spigot when she caught a glimpse of their feet through the pickets. She’d smiled immediately, probably thinking it was a group of normal tourists; a million must pass by in any given year.

  Gen was saddened, though, as Laura’s eyes traveled up their bodies. When her gaze landed on their faces, the artist stiffened, straightened, then radiated sorrow, all in the blink of an eye.

  “It must be a good-bad thing, living in this house.” Gen’s tone was almost apologetic.

  Laura nodded. “A gift and a burden.”

  She walked to the gate and unlatched it, then pulled it inward and waved them through. It felt like a funeral procession as they followed her around to the back. The gardens at the rear of the house were even more remarkable, as if Laura kept the best for herself and didn’t care to share her pleasure.

  “It’s spectacular,” Oliver said. “I envy you.”

  Laura smiled and sat in one of a quartet of wicker chairs. Gen and Oliver did the same.

 
“You’re not surprised to see us,” Gen said.

  Laura shook her head. She’d apparently misplaced the gift for gab she’d demonstrated the first time they met.

  “You knew the picture would bring us back.”

  Laura fingered the leaf of a nearby plant, then pulled off two dead flower heads. “I can’t help you,” she finally said. “You’re looking for the artist. I can’t help.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Laura offered Gen a melancholy smile. “Can’t.”

  “But you know who it is.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then what was it about the painting that made you react that way?”

  “I can’t help you,” Laura repeated.

  “Please,” Gen said. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing that matters. It was seeing the cliff that set me off, the setting in the painting. It was a place I used to visit when I was young. A special spot for me. Very special.”

  “Used to, but not anymore.”

  Laura nodded.

  “Where is that spot located?”

  She waved toward the south. “Down the coast.”

  Gen tried for shock value. “Is that where you went missing all those years ago?”

  Laura’s eyes widened just enough to tell Gen she’d hit some kind of mark. She slid her eyes covertly to Gen, then to Oliver, then away. She was trying to assess what they knew.

  Which wasn’t much.

  “That’s nobody’s business but mine.” Laura’s tone was not unkind. She tried to rally by perking up her expression and barely managed to pull it off. “I’d like to buy that painting. Call it a sentimental gesture.”

  The offer threw her off balance, and Gen ended up the one who was taken aback. “It’s not for sale,” she managed to reply. “Do you know the girl on the cliff?”

  Laura shook her head. “It’s a place that reminds me of a chapter in my life I like to remember.”

  “We’re looking for the girl in the picture, Laura. She went missing, too, a long time ago.” Gen waited for five beats, then added, “My gut tells me you might know something that could shed some light on that.”