Shelved Under Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  But Hugh’s expression brightened, as if this information confirmed his dearest hopes. “If her other meals are anything like this one, I believe you.”

  “The authorities,” Aunt Lydia said, lifting her chin, “believe a young man named Caden Kroft murdered Rachel LeBlanc. I suppose that’s likely, but it is strange that those odd paintings turned up at the same time. I just don’t see Caden being involved in some art theft or forgery ring. He’s not that clever, for one thing.”

  “It could merely be a coincidence, and”—Hugh, having eaten all his pancakes, dabbed at his lips with his napkin—“I wouldn’t rule out some other suspect at this point. Perhaps the young man was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “You think it could’ve been someone connected to the forgeries?” I propped my elbows on the table, resting my chin in my cupped hands.

  Aunt Lydia cast me a disapproving look. Right. Elbows never belong on the table. I sat back without taking my eyes off Hugh.

  “Possibly. Something this elaborate indicates the involvement of a well-run organization.”

  “A well-run criminal organization,” I said.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Hugh took a sip of coffee before speaking again. “I probably shouldn’t go into too many details until I know more, but this type of activity is undoubtedly backed by international criminals working at the high end of the forgery game.”

  I tapped my teaspoon against my coffee cup. “Who could and might put a hit on someone?”

  “If necessary, yes.”

  Aunt Lydia coughed. “Please forgive us, Hugh. We don’t usually discuss such things at breakfast.”

  He cradled his coffee cup between his slender hands. “Nothing to apologize for. It’s sometimes the sad reality of my job, and I assure you, Lydia, nothing you or Amy could say would ever shock me.”

  She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I suppose you have experienced quite a few disturbing things connected to your line of work. So what’s your hypothesis? That this shadowy criminal cabal had Rachel LeBlanc killed? But why?”

  Hugh shrugged. “That’s something I can’t answer. Although…” He set down his cup and leaned back in the wooden kitchen chair. “It is possible that one or both of the LeBlancs were involved in the forgeries. They were trained artists.”

  “Yes, but Rachel was already so well-known and respected. Why would she need to get involved in such a scheme?” I thought about what Kurt Kendrick had said and frowned. “Of course, there is Reese LeBlanc.”

  Hugh nodded. “The husband.”

  “Not so famous,” Aunt Lydia observed, narrowing her blue eyes.

  “If Reese was the forger, and Rachel didn’t know…”

  Aunt Lydia completed my thought. “She could’ve recently found out and threatened to turn him in to the authorities.” She pressed her hand to her temple. “Yet my friend Zelda swears they were a loving couple. Would a devoted husband kill his wife over such a thing?”

  “I can’t say what a husband might do, never having been married,” Hugh said. “But in my experience, love doesn’t always trump self-preservation.”

  “Well, I have been married, and I can’t imagine it.” Aunt Lydia rubbed the spot between her eyebrows as if trying to banish a headache.

  “Your husband was Andrew Talbot?” Hugh asked.

  Aunt Lydia lowered her hand and looked up, her face brightening. “Yes. You’ve heard of him?”

  “No, but I noticed the paintings in the hall.”

  “He was a great artist. Never really made the name for himself that he should have.”

  Hugh inclined his head in acknowledgment. “He was obviously very talented. But fame, you know, comes to so few.”

  “True.”

  I could tell by Aunt Lydia’s pensive expression that Hugh’s statement had hit a nerve. I tapped my fork against the edge of my plate. “Of course, we can’t rule out the possibility that Caden Kroft killed Rachel because he wanted money for drugs and she refused. He was there at the house with the daughter.”

  Hugh didn’t look surprised. He’d obviously done his homework. “Delilah LeBlanc.”

  “Yeah, although she goes by Lila. And honestly”—I cast a swift glance at my aunt—“I’ve heard the girl’s had problems with drugs too. And her parents weren’t too happy about her relationship with Caden. So there’s the slightest chance that Lila and Caden were in on it together.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Aunt Lydia said, sharing a glance with me.

  I was certain she was thinking of her second cousin Sylvia, who’d killed three people over nothing more than family secrets and some business deals. The memory of the past summer’s events reminded me of the other person who might have a hand in dubious art transactions. “Yeah, they have. But just so you know, Hugh, there is another person in Taylorsford with a connection to the art world, strange as that may seem.”

  Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, Hugh laced his fingers together and studied me with interest. “Oh? Who’s that?”

  “Kurt Kendrick,” I said, while Aunt Lydia sniffed loudly.

  Hugh dropped his arms to the table and leaned forward. “Kendrick lives here? I thought his main gallery was in Georgetown.”

  “It is, and he doesn’t live here full-time. But he does have a home here. It’s not far from the LeBlanc farm, too.”

  “Really?” Hugh’s thin eyebrows arched higher over his dark eyes. “That is interesting.”

  “You know him?” Aunt Lydia leaned into the table as well, all pretense of disinterest gone.

  “Not personally. I’ve seen him around—at auctions and the occasional art show. And I am well aware of his reputation.”

  “Good or bad?”

  Hugh took a moment to reflect on this question. “I’m not sure I can answer that properly,” he said at last, his gaze fixed on my aunt’s eager face. “A mix of both, from what I’ve heard. To be honest, he’s a bit of a mysterious character in the art world, for all his wealth and influence.”

  “Slippery and cagey,” I said. “I mean, that’s my impression, anyway.”

  “And not a bad one.” Hugh glanced from Aunt Lydia to me and back again. “You have both met him, I take it.”

  “Oh, I know him from way back,” Aunt Lydia said. “I’ll have to fill you in when you have time.”

  “And I would be happy to hear it. I have long wanted…” Hugh snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat before casting a smile at me and my aunt. “Well, that’s just a little personal interest of mine. Certainly nothing I need to bore you with. Now—thanks again for breakfast, but I must leave. Duty calls.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “More of my lab equipment is scheduled to be delivered this morning, and I want to be there when it arrives.”

  “Understandable,” Aunt Lydia said, also rising to her feet. “Will you be back for dinner?”

  “If you’re cooking, I’ll certainly try to make it. But don’t make anything special. I never know my schedule on these jobs. I may or may not be able to return in time for dinner. I’ll call later this afternoon and let you know more, if that’s okay.”

  “Perfectly fine.” Aunt Lydia reached for the platter, which now held one lone pancake. “I wish you a successful day, Hugh.”

  “Thank you,” he said, bobbing his head. “Amy, would you like a lift? I have to take the main street to head out of town, so I’ll pass right by the library.”

  “That would be great,” I said. “Just let me run upstairs and brush my teeth and I’ll be good to go.”

  “I must do the same,” Hugh said with a smile. “So no hurry. I’ll just meet you outside.” He glanced at Aunt Lydia. “Sorry to leave you with the cleanup.”

  She waved him off with one hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I don’t have any big plans for the day. I can take my time.”

  Hugh cast her another warm smile before leaving the room.

  “He’s nice,” I observed as I carried my pl
ate and silverware to the sink.

  “Yes, very polite.” Aunt Lydia rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and placed the stopper in the sink drain. “Seems quite intelligent too.”

  “I should think so, given his degrees and reputation.” I side-eyed my aunt as she turned on the faucet. “He’s certainly quite impressed with you.”

  Aunt Lydia made a tutting noise and squirted some dish soap into the rising water in the sink. “Don’t be silly. The man just met me.”

  “Sometimes that’s all it takes, or so you’ve always told me.”

  Aunt Lydia vigorously stirred her hand through the water, creating a tower of soap bubbles. “You’re going to be late for work if you don’t get a move on.”

  I grinned and left the room humming Some Enchanted Evening while my aunt tried to drown out the song by tossing a fistful of clattering silverware into the soap-filled sink.

  Chapter Eleven

  Although Aunt Lydia offered her car, I didn’t bother driving to work after Wednesday. The Heritage Festival officially opened on Friday, and I knew from experience that it would be impossible to find a parking space anywhere in town later in the week. Even the lot behind the library, which was supposed to be reserved for library staff and patrons, had begun to fill up with vehicles with out-of-state plates by Wednesday afternoon.

  “Couldn’t you request that the sheriff’s office ticket or tow?” Richard asked when we spoke on the phone on Wednesday night.

  Stretched across the width of my double bed, I gazed longingly at my pile of unread books before eyeing the dust bunnies congregating in one corner of my bedroom. “Yeah, but Sunny told me that Brad and his team are already overwhelmed with traffic enforcement and other stuff. So I hate to bother them. I’ll just walk. The weather is supposed to be clear, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Sounds reasonable. How goes the setup for the library sale?”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if those dust bunnies bred like actual rabbits. I’d just cleaned everything on Sunday, but there they were again, in all their fluffy glory. “Okay. Finally got everything priced and ready to go. Aunt Lydia even donated two of Uncle Andrew’s paintings to replace Rachel LeBlanc’s, which mollified Mel a bit. Although she’s still pissed that Aunt Lydia wouldn’t allow her to pick out the paintings herself. I don’t know why she was so determined to be the one to choose, but she sure as hell was. She even showed up at the house yesterday asking if she could look at all of Andrew’s works, but Aunt Lydia put the kibosh on that.”

  “As only she can do.” There was a smile evident in Richard’s voice.

  “Yeah.” I rolled over on my back and stared at the cracks in the plaster ceiling, which, if I squinted, looked like a leafless tree. “How are things going with the show?”

  “Fine.” The brightness in his tone had vanished. “I mean, the rehearsals have been great, and I think the performances will be top-notch, but…”

  “You’re having difficulties with your costar?”

  “Hmmm…” I heard the clink of ice cubes in a drink. “Not difficulties exactly. As I mentioned last night, our first meeting was a little tense, but once we started dancing, everything was fine. Only … well, she told me today that she left her husband.”

  “What?” I sat up so fast the mattress bounced. “But didn’t they just get married?”

  “Yeah, less than a year ago. But apparently it was one of those ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure’ situations.”

  “Well, not too much leisure, it seems.”

  Richard chuckled. “True enough. Anyway, I was a little surprised, so I just mumbled ‘Sorry’ and left it at that.”

  “She was probably hoping you’d fall to your knees and beg her to resume your relationship.”

  “If she was, she hadn’t heard a single thing I’d said before her announcement, since I did talk about you incessantly.”

  “Did you now?” I flopped back against the bed.

  “I did.” More ice cubes clinked. When Richard spoke again, it was in a very different tone. “I miss you.”

  “You’ll see me Sunday.”

  “That doesn’t solve the problem of me missing you now.”

  “Just put all that energy into your performances and you’ll be fine.”

  “Dearest, dancing is wonderful, but it isn’t the solution to everything.”

  “So you’ll just have to fantasize like I do,” I said, then slapped my hand over my mouth. I hadn’t intended to let that slip, no matter how true it was.

  There was a pause, filled with Richard obviously taking a long swallow of his drink. “Well now, there’s an idea. Perhaps you can talk me through some scenarios?”

  Heat sailed up my neck and spread over my face. “Um … I’ve never…”

  “Always a first time.” Amusement colored Richard’s voice.

  I cleared my throat. “I think maybe we should call it a night.”

  Richard laughed. “Okay, but you’re going to make me regret not taking Meredith’s suggestion that we go barhopping. You know, for old time’s sake.”

  “What?” I sat up and took a breath before speaking again. “You really thought that might be a good idea?”

  “Sorry.” Richard did sound abashed. “I shouldn’t say stuff like that over the phone, when you can’t see my face to know I’m just teasing you. Meredith did invite me out for a drink, but I made it very clear that I was retiring to my room to chat with you right after the dress rehearsal.”

  “A drink, huh?”

  “Yep, but I just ordered room service, so not to worry. Now, good night. I’m sure you could use some sleep, and I certainly can. But if you want to send some of those fantasy thoughts my way, maybe I can employ a little telepathy and dream about you.” The ice clinked again. “God, I must be tired—not making much sense, am I? Just keep me in your thoughts, okay?”

  “I always do,” I replied without hesitation. Because it was true.

  * * *

  We made a pact not to call each other before Saturday so that, as Richard put it, he wouldn’t be quite so distracted during actual performance days. Which meant that Thursday evening after dinner I caught myself roaming aimlessly around the house.

  I wandered to the door of the sitting room and found Aunt Lydia and Hugh deep in conversation about the contemporary art scene. I didn’t want to intrude on them, especially not when Hugh was gazing at my oblivious aunt with a look that spoke volumes about his interest in her. Turning on my heel before they even noticed me, I decided I should take a walk.

  It was a gorgeous autumn evening. There was a fresh bite to the air, and the sky over the blue mountains was threaded with coral and rust ribbons of sunset. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hooded Clarion University sweatshirt and strolled to where the sidewalk ended, just past Richard’s house. The fields beyond his yard were now brown with the stubble of the orchard grass someone had baled into hay.

  I continued hiking down the gravel road to the woods that separated the old Cooper farm acreage from the working farm owned by Brad Tucker’s family. I knew there was a path through the woods—an unofficial trail created over time by townsfolk stalking game with either guns or cameras.

  Fortunately for Richard, my aunt, and the Tuckers, the Cooper land—once slated for a housing development—would soon be converted into a park. It was all part of Mayor Bob Blackstone’s efforts to make amends for keeping silent over Sylvia Baker’s crimes. I tugged my hood over my loose, shoulder-length hair as I crossed the edge of the field to reach the woods. The loss of the money on the sale to developers must’ve seriously damaged the mayor financially. Although, as Kurt Kendrick had said, it was little enough for him to do. Blackstone’s refusal to expose Sylvia Baker when she’d first blackmailed him had cost three people their lives.

  Vibrant red and gold leaves still clung to some of the branches overhead, although there were sections where the trees had already shed their foliage, creating natural skylights. A carpet of brown leaves
crackled under the soles of my sneakers.

  Leaves rustled up ahead of me. I paused and peered into the undergrowth, now mostly a tangle of bare vines and shrubs.

  “Hello. Anyone there?”

  A tall, thin figure slipped out from behind the thick trunk of an oak tree. Dressed in tattered jeans and a quilted flannel shirt over a black T-shirt, the stranger had a slender face surrounded by a halo of curly black hair.

  “Lila,” I said, recognizing the girl from the times I’d assisted her at the library as well as her resemblance to her late mother. “Are you all right? What are you doing out here at this hour?”

  “Could ask you the same thing,” the girl replied. She was very still, except for her dark eyes, which kept darting from side to side as if she were looking for something.

  Or someone. I clutched my upper arms with my hands. What if she’s meeting Caden out here? You should turn around and walk away.

  But Lila appeared so distressed I couldn’t leave. Not without seeing if there was anything I could do to help.

  “I’m taking a walk. I live close by, you know. But you … how did you get here? I didn’t see any cars.” I took a few cautious steps closer.

  “I parked behind the woods, on the Tuckers’ farm road.” Lila cast a glance over her shoulder. “You really should go, Ms. Webber.”

  “Are you expecting anyone? I mean, is someone meeting you here?” I pushed back my hood and moved close enough to see the sweat beading on Lila’s upper lip and brow.

  “Yeah, my dad.” Lila held up her hand, palm out. “No, don’t you go grabbing for your phone. I’ll be gone before any cops get here, and if I run, so will my dad.” She looked me over, her mouth curling into a sneer. “Doubt you could catch me. I used to run track, and I don’t think you’re in any shape to chase me down.”

  My lips twitched at this jibe, but I kept my voice calm. “So you’re meeting your father in secret? But why?”

  “Because the authorities are searching for him, of course.” Lila’s ringlets bounced as she tossed her head. “Or had you forgotten he’s a wanted man?”