The day before, Emma and I had approached the gallery from the opposite direction, but we'd never made it to the block where I was now parked. I looked around for a restaurant so that I could get a cup of coffee and maybe a croissant before driving back to Lonesome Valley. I could see a menu board on the sidewalk a few doors down, so I walked on past my car, but, before I reached the cafe, something else caught my eye.
I'd been idly gazing in the windows as I walked by the galleries, and I spotted a painting on an easel in the window of the auction house I was passing. I stopped for a closer look because the painting was of a desert scene with mountains in the background, just as Rebecca had described the picture she was looking for at Eric's house.
Of course, there were probably thousands of paintings in existence that could fit her description, but, out of curiosity, I decided to go inside and inquire about it. I didn't get very far, though. Evidently, the auction house was open to the public only for previews and live auctions. A sign on the door referred prospective customers to the auction's website, where they could view images of the artworks for sale and download auction catalogs.
On a whim, I took a few pictures of the painting with my cell phone camera, although taking them through the window wasn't ideal. I changed angles several times to avoid the glare off the plate glass window, before going on to the cafe, which didn't have any croissants but did have tempting apple strudel displayed in a glass case next to the front door.
I took a seat at one of the tables scattered around the small room and ordered a strudel and coffee when a server came to take my order. The strudel was so delicious I was tempted to order a second piece, but I restrained myself. There would be plenty more holiday goodies in the next week.
While I sipped my coffee, I looked at the pictures I'd taken. Only a couple of them had turned out fairly well. Even so, although the artist's signature appeared at the bottom right of the desert-and-mountains painting, I couldn't make it out.
After that, I searched the auction house's website to see if I could find the painting listed there. The house had several auctions scheduled, and, if I'd had to search all the catalogs for the painting, it would have taken forever, but I lucked out, since I found it displayed as a featured image on the homepage. I clicked a link and was taken to a page with a description of the painting, which was simply titled “Desert at Dawn,” and a short biography of the artist, Miles Milford.
The name sounded vaguely familiar. I'd probably heard of him in one of my art history classes in college, although, admittedly, I'd paid far more attention to what my professors said in my studio art classes than in art history.
I scanned the bio, and I knew I'd made a connection when I read that Miles Milford had lived in Lonesome Valley, Arizona, in the years following World War II, before moving to Southern California, where he lived the rest of his life.
“Desert at Dawn,” painted by an artist who'd lived in Lonesome Valley decades ago: this painting had to be the one Rebecca had wanted, the same painting that had disappeared from Eric's house. With all the people who had access to the house because they knew where Eric had kept his key, it was impossible to guess who had taken it. Only the auction house staff knew who was offering the painting for sale. Somehow, I had to find out, but I doubted very much that the auction house's management would be willing to share that information. Perhaps a police inquiry would persuade them. As I put a tip on the table for my server, I decided it just might be time to give Lieutenant Belmont a call.
Chapter 39
Before I called the lieutenant, I decided I should confirm that “Desert at Dawn” was indeed the painting Rebecca had told me about. Once I got back to my car, I texted her the photo I'd taken of the Miles Milford work, along with a brief note asking whether she recognized it. When she didn't answer right away, I decided to get on the road, but, before I started the car, I made a last-ditch effort to contact someone at the auction house. It wasn't much of a surprise that nobody answered; after all, the place was closed. When I was prompted to leave a message, I decided against it. Perhaps the auction house was closed for the holidays. I hadn't really paid attention to the dates of scheduled auctions, so I brought up their website on my phone again and learned that no auctions were scheduled until after New Year's. For all I knew, the owners could be in Hawaii right now, and I surmised it would prove difficult, even for the police, to ferret out more information in the next ten days, at least, when many small businesses took an annual holiday break.
I still hadn't heard from Rebecca, so I began to drive back to Lonesome Valley. I was so preoccupied with trying to figure out the various ways the painting could have ended up at the auction house in Scottsdale that I didn't listen to my audiobook on the way home.
Just as I reached the outskirts of Lonesome Valley, my phone beeped. I pulled over to the side of the road, anticipating a response from Rebecca, and I had one. The message, punctuated by lots of exclamation marks, confirmed my suspicion that the painting was the very same one that used to hang in Eric's house.
I decided to call her before I mentioned it to Lieutenant Belmont, but, first, I wanted to pick up Laddie from Belle's. She'd need some time to finish packing for herself and Dennis before they left on their trip tomorrow, and watching two active dogs might delay her progress.
Belle was doing laundry when I arrived, and she took me up on my offer to watch Mr. Big for a couple of hours so that she could pack without having to deal with doggy bids for attention.
No kitty bid for attention greeted us as Laddie, Mr. Big, and I went home and entered the kitchen. Instead, Mona Lisa leaped to the top of her kitty tree and regarded me with disdain. The dogs paid no attention. Despite having had plenty of playtime while they were together at Belle's, both canines were peppy, so I took them out to the backyard for a romp, which didn't dissipate their energy in the slightest, so I decided to take them for a walk. The minute I reached for their leashes, they ran to me. Mr. Big wiggled as I snapped his leash on his collar, and Laddie pranced with anticipation. I grabbed my cell phone and keys, and we were out the door and on our way to the park. I wound both leashes around my wrist before I called Rebecca and told her we were headed her way. She said she'd meet me at the park.
“Where are Skippy and Tucker?” I asked when she showed up alone.
“Taking a nap, and so is Greg. I didn't want to wake them up.”
“How is Greg?”
“Still acting kind of weird. I brought the subject of his strange behavior up to him again, but he refused to admit that anything's wrong, so I dropped it. If he won't tell me what's bothering him, I can't force it.”
“Well, maybe he'll come around soon.”
“I certainly hope so. By the way, I told Josh that you found the painting I'd mentioned to him and, now that it's clear that someone stole it from the house, he was very concerned. He's going to report it to the police.”
“That's good.” I had to admit I was glad Josh was taking the case of the missing painting seriously now that it had mysteriously turned up at an auctioneer's shop in Scottsdale. I wouldn't have to contact Lieutenant Belmont, after all, a fact that didn't displease me, since the grumpy lieutenant always managed to get under my skin with his abrasive manner. I'd hoped his brush with death a few months earlier would have made some impact on him and his gruff manner, but no such luck.
Rebecca walked around the park with us. She said she'd keep me posted about the painting, although neither of us thought it likely that we'd learn much until after the holidays.
On the way home from the park, Laddie and Mr. Big began showing signs of finally tiring, and, when we arrived, they both flopped down on the floor in the living room and fell fast asleep while I went to the studio to make sure everything was in order for the evening's tour. Laddie and Mr. Big didn't wake up until Emma came home, with Dennis right behind her.
“Belle called to ask me to pick up Mr. Big,” he explained.
The little white dog ran in circles ar
ound Dennis's legs until Dennis scooped him up and held him in his arms.
“I guess I'll be carrying him home,” Dennis said with a grin, as I handed him Mr. Big's leash. “We'll drop him off in the morning. See you then.”
“I forgot to check with Belle. What time?”
“Better make it seven. That'll give us plenty of time to drive to the airport and find a long-term parking spot.”
“All right. Sounds good. We'll be waiting for him.”
Laddie might have been sad at his little buddy's departure, but his thoughts had clearly turned to dinner. As soon as I fed him and Mona Lisa, I realized there wasn't much time before tour hours started.
“I'm going to put the sign out and turn on the Christmas lights,” I told Emma. “We can go ahead and have dinner—I'm warming up a casserole—but I'll need to keep an eye out for customers.”
“No problem. Why don't I make a salad?”
“Good. I'll be back in a minute.”
After I wheeled my sign out to the curb and checked to make sure all the Christmas lights were working, I came back into the studio and put the baby gate up in the doorway between the studio and my living room.
Emma and I were able to enjoy a leisurely dinner since not a single visitor showed up in the first half hour. We made quick work of clearing the table and putting our few dishes into the dishwasher before Emma told me that one of her friends had posted some make-up tutorials online and she wanted to watch them.
“But don't worry, Mom. You won't hear a thing. I'll use my earbuds.”
After waiting for visitors for about an hour, without any arrivals, my concern about noise coming from my living room and disturbing potential customers seemed to have been unwarranted.
I went into the studio, anyway, to wait, and sat at my desk, where I powered up my laptop. Maybe I could find Eric's painting in one of the auction house's catalogs. Unfortunately, the featured photo of “Desert at Dawn” didn't link to its place in any of the catalogs.
I downloaded the first catalog and looked all the way through it, but the painting wasn't there. In the second catalog, a tagline on the first page stated that this particular auction featured “major mid-century works.” As I viewed the listings, I could see that, based on the expected prices of the artworks, the tagline was accurate. I began scrolling through the listings, and it wasn't long before I found “Desert at Dawn.”
I almost fell off my chair when I read the auction estimate of five to ten million dollars. Eric's painting was worth a fortune!
Chapter 40
Immediately, it dawned on me that the object Eric had wanted to show Susan must have been the painting and not his copy of the lawsuit against the helicopter company.
At the same time, I realized who had poisoned the carrot bars at the fair and killed Eric. It occurred to me that he had been the target all along and that the other poisoning victims were collateral damage, people a ruthless killer had used in a scheme to confuse the police.
I called the station right away and asked for Lieutenant Belmont. I wasn't too surprised when the duty officer told me he wasn't in, but I begged him to convey a message that it was urgent that I speak to the lieutenant. He hesitated, so I asked for the chief. Of course, he wasn't there, either, but, finally, the officer agreed to call Lieutenant Belmont and give him my message.
I was pacing back and forth while waiting for him to call when the first customers of the evening, a family of four with two teenagers, arrived. Although it was difficult to switch gears, I forced myself to concentrate on them and answer their questions. The girls seemed especially interested in my paintings.
“We're taking art this year,” one of them volunteered. “I wish I could paint as well as you do,” she said, studying my portraits of Laddie and Mona Lisa.
“You'll get there,” I assured her. “It takes a lot of practice and time to develop your own style.”
After they browsed for some time, the parents told their daughters they could each pick out one print as an early Christmas present. The teenagers took their time going through the boxes of prints I had available. The girl who'd spoken to me earlier selected a cute portrait of two pugs, and her sister picked out a landscape. Their father paid with cash, a rare occurrence. Most people charged their purchases.
We all wished each other a Merry Christmas as they left the studio.
I checked the time and realized it had been forty-five minutes since I'd talked to the police officer on duty, and Lieutenant Belmont still hadn't returned my call. I called the station again and learned that the officer hadn't been able to contact Lieutenant Belmont, although he promised he'd keep trying. Frustrated, I thanked him for continuing to try, emphasizing how important it was that I speak to the lieutenant.
After I disconnected, I called Dawn, knowing Dave would understand the significance of my information, but my call went to her voicemail. I left a message before searching the Roadrunner's directory of members. Some members had listed both landlines and their mobile phone numbers. I confirmed that both Dawn and her mother Dorothy had home phones, and I felt sure I'd be able to reach Dave as I called Dawn’s house phone. Nobody answered, so I left an urgent message before taking my last shot by calling Dorothy. Perhaps Dawn and Dave were at her house right now. If not, she might know where they were. Not only didn't Dorothy pick up, but she obviously didn't have a message machine, either, because the phone just kept ringing and I was never prompted to leave a message.
Reluctantly, I realized I'd have to wait for a call back.
Studio tour hours would end in a few minutes. I went to the door leading to the living room to tell Emma I was about to shut it down for the night. She was looking at her laptop while Laddie lay at her feet and Mona Lisa slept on her perch atop her kitty tree.
Glued to her laptop screen and wearing earbuds, Emma didn't notice me, but Laddie jumped up. Just as he ran to the baby gate and I reached out to pet him, I heard the studio door open.
I whirled around, and my heart sank when I saw who it was.
Chapter 41
Struggling to maintain my composure, I greeted my visitor. He looked like a lumberjack in a quilted, red-and-black buffalo plaid shirt jacket, jeans, and work boots. That he carried an aluminum baking tray seemed incongruous, to say the least.
Laddie began wagging his tail in anticipation of meeting a new friend.
“He looks like a golden retriever.”
“That's right.”
“What's his name?”
“Laddie.”
“Well, I bet Laddie would like a treat, wouldn't you, boy?”
At the mention of a “treat,” Laddie began panting and whipping his tail back and forth even faster.
My visitor approached him, removed the aluminum foil from the top of the crinkled tray he carried, and took out a brownie, which he offered Laddie.
“No!” I yelled, startling him so much that he dropped the brownie. “Chocolate can poison dogs. It can be toxic if they eat it,” I said, as I grabbed some paper towels from my supply table, picked up the offending snack from the floor, discarded it in the trash can, and wiped the floor clean.
Downcast, Laddie watched in disappointment as I got rid of the brownie.
“Really? I didn't know that. Chocolate's not poisonous to people, though. I brought you these as a thank-you for letting Rebecca know you found Eric's picture.” Josh set the tray down on top of my desk.
“Oh, OK, thanks,” I said hesitantly. “I was just about to close for the evening. If you don't mind . . . .”
I tried to sound matter-of-fact, even nonchalant, but I didn't succeed in pulling it off. Josh studied me closely, and, from the expression on his face, I knew he could tell I suspected him of killing his uncle.
“I'm afraid I do mind,” he said, and there was no mistaking the menace in his voice.
I wanted to call out to Emma to warn her, but she hadn't appeared at the door when I'd raised my voice to stop Josh from feeding Laddie a brownie, so I kn
ew she was still watching videos and couldn't hear me.
“I need to buy a Christmas present for Kayla,” he said abruptly, grabbing the first print in the box closest to him. Without bothering to glance at it, he tossed the picture, a colorful abstract landscape, on my desk, along with his credit card, and waited while I processed the sale. I didn't know how far he intended to take the charade, but I played along with him, although I couldn't keep my hands from shaking as I slipped the print into a bag. He headed for the outside door, and I was hoping against hope that he'd leave, but he set the print next to the door and came back toward me.
He picked up the tray of brownies and held it out to me. “Have one.” It sounded more like a command than an invitation.
“I don't think so.”
“I said have one!” he snarled. He'd dropped all pretense now.
With only my desk between us, I looked around, trying to figure out how to escape. On the other side of the baby gate, Laddie, his tail no longer wagging, looked at us in confusion.
I didn't want Josh to realize Emma was in the other room, and I didn't want him to hurt Laddie, either. Josh watched me as I looked at my golden boy, but I took him by surprise when I ran toward the outside door.
He was quicker than I was, and he blocked my path. “Eat one, or I'm going to give them all to your dog.”
“No, please,” I begged. “He hasn't done anything to hurt you.”
“We can't say the same for you, can we?”
“I haven't done anything to hurt you, either. You're the one who's hurting people.”
Josh shrugged. “They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And your uncle? What did he ever do to you?”
“I liked Uncle Eric. He was a good guy. Too bad he had to go, but he probably would have lived another thirty, maybe forty, years. Too long to wait for my inheritance.”
Hemlock for the Holidays Page 18
