Shelved Under Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “But if he’s innocent…”

  Lila made a disparaging noise. “Sure, like those deputies will care. He’s been missing since the crime and he’s the husband, so of course he’s guilty.”

  I opened my arms in a conciliatory gesture. “He just needs to tell his side of the story. The evidence will back him up if he had nothing to do with your mom’s murder.” If what he told his daughter was the truth, I thought, my concern for Lila rising. There was the insurance policy, and Reese LeBlanc’s debts …

  Lila’s gaze shifted again. She stared over my shoulder and narrowed her eyes. “Right, ’cause innocent people never get railroaded into confessions and stuff.” She waved her hand, as if pushing something back.

  I spun around in time to see another figure disappear into a thick stand of scrub pines. “Is he here, then?”

  “Not for long.” Lila yanked her cell phone from her pocket and tapped in a quick message. “Just told him to get the hell out of here and lose the phone he used to text me. So I don’t think your deputy pal will be able to track him down so easily.”

  “But if he didn’t kill your mom, which you obviously believe, wouldn’t it be better for him to turn himself in and get cleared by the evidence?”

  “Like I said, we don’t trust the system.” Lila rubbed her hand under nose and lowered her eyes. “Besides, who says the sheriff’s department is our biggest problem?”

  “What do you mean?” I took two steps forward. “Come on, Lila. Head back with me and let’s clear up this mess.”

  As I spoke these words, Lila lifted her head and widened her eyes. “Someone’s coming. What’d you do? Walk out here to trap us?”

  That was so irrational, I just shook my head. “I didn’t even know you were here…”

  But Lila shot me a furious glance and swore at me, using words that turned my face red. As I stood there, open-mouthed, she ran off, disappearing around a bend in the narrow path.

  Shoes crunched leaves behind me. Reese LeBlanc, ready to make sure I would tell no tales? I turned around, my hands raised and fingers curled into fists. But that was ridiculous—I couldn’t fight anyone. I opened my hands, hoping I could at least do some damage with my nails.

  “Hey!” Trey Riley jumped back as I came at him, fingers extended like claws.

  I dropped my hands to my sides. “Trey! What are you doing out here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” He looked me up and down. “Expecting an attack or something?”

  “I was taking a walk and, yes, I thought…” Clamping my lips, I shuffled my feet through the dusty leaves. I had no reason to protect Lila or Reese LeBlanc, but I also didn’t think my encounter was any of Trey’s business. Or, more importantly, any of his mother’s business. Not knowing what he shared with her, I thought it best not to provide her with more gossip about the LeBlanc family. The authorities should be the first to know that Reese was still in the area, not Mel Riley.

  “You thought I was some vagrant wandering through the woods, looking to rob any unsuspecting hiker?” Trey tipped his head to one side and examined me for a moment before flashing a bright smile. “But as you see, it’s just me, also out for a walk.”

  “A little far from your usual haunts, isn’t it?” I met Trey’s amused glance and lifted my chin. “Or are you scouting more property? Although, just so you know, this is going to be a town park. It’s not for sale.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Trey brushed a twig from his chocolate-brown suede jacket. “Just thought I should check out the area.” He grinned, displaying a glimpse of his brilliant teeth. “Eventually someone will have to be hired to build the facilities for this future park, you know.”

  “Looking for development contracts, then?”

  “Maybe. Now”—Trey held out his arm—“may I escort you back to your aunt’s house? You look a bit shaken up, to be honest.”

  I patted down the flyaway strands of my hair. “All right, but you don’t need to hold my arm. I’m not that feeble.”

  “Never thought you were. The opposite, I expect.” He flashed me a warm smile before he turned and strode toward the head of the path, slowing his pace at one point so I could walk alongside him.

  “You’re dressed a bit elegantly for a hike in the woods,” I observed.

  Trey glanced down at his light-brown wool slacks and leather loafers. “I just came from a business meeting.” He unbuttoned his jacket, exposing a tan cashmere sweater layered over a crisp white shirt. “One of those meetings where you hear news that isn’t quite what you want to hear. So I thought—time for a walk.”

  “To plot future development ventures?” I was genuinely curious. It seemed an odd thing to do, especially since the Riley home was on the other side of town. I also knew from Zelda that it was a large estate, boasting plenty of wooded land of its own. I frowned and quickened my pace to keep up with his longer strides.

  “Okay, you caught me,” Trey said after a moment of silence. “I also wanted to take a look at your aunt’s house. I thought I’d grab a walk to clear my head, then see if maybe she’d give me a tour. I’m very interested in restoration projects, and her house is so well preserved…”

  “Really?” As we left the woods, I slid my hands back into my sweatshirt pockets. “It actually needs a lot of work. We try to keep it up as best we can, but it’s a pretty overwhelming task.”

  Trey gazed down at me, his brown eyes gleaming with interest. “I mean preserved because not much has been done to alter the original design and decorations. These days, so many of the old Victorians and Queen Annes have been made over drastically inside. You know, following the trend of the whole open-concept thing, and great rooms, and so on.”

  “Yeah, we haven’t done anything like that.”

  “That’s why I’d love to see the interior. Get some ideas for the local renovation projects I hope to take on once my winery is up and running. I’ll probably have to start a new company to handle that, of course.”

  I paused on the sidewalk in front of my house and glanced up at Trey’s face, which seemed alight with some secret passion. “Well, as I said the other evening—very ambitious.” I smiled at him, admitting to myself that his enthusiasm was infectious.

  In fact, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he dated Sunny. I knew that she was a bit ambivalent about her relationship with Brad. Perhaps a charming businessman would prove a more compatible companion in the long run. Undoubtedly, Trey, unlike Brad, was interested in literature and other cultural pursuits. He might be a better match for my well-read friend.

  “I’m a go-getter.” Trey looked down at me with an answering smile before raising his eyes to study my family home’s impressive facade.

  “I’m sure. But I’m afraid I can’t invite you in this evening. My aunt isn’t much for people just dropping by uninvited, and we do have that art expert, Hugh Chen, staying with us at the moment. I’m not sure a tour right now would be appropriate.”

  “Of course.” Trey spoke cheerfully, but I noticed the tightening of his jaw. “Another day then.”

  “Sure. Just let me arrange it ahead of time.”

  “That does remind me, though, of the other reason I’d like to see inside.” Trey turned to face me. “Mom claims that Lydia has kept most of her late husband’s paintings. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I had this idea…” Trey traced a circle on the sidewalk with the toe of his loafer. “Once I get my tasting room up and running, I thought it would add a nice touch to include some paintings by local artists. Purchased, or even on loan if that’s all your aunt would be willing to do. My first thought was of your uncle because I know my mom admires his work. It seemed like a win-win for both families. It could generate more interest in Andrew Talbot’s paintings as well as providing some upscale decorations for the winery.”

  “So you want to check out Uncle Andrew’s paintings as well as the house?”

  “Basically, yes.” His jaw was set and
his eyes focused on me like a laser. He appeared as determined to see Andrew’s paintings as his mother. Although it seemed that Trey was more interested in promoting my late uncle’s work than Mel had ever been.

  As I pushed open the front gate, something washed over me. It was a warning, like the tingling I sometimes felt at an intersection when I just knew that a vehicle was going to run the light. A voice in my head told me to be careful. I shivered as I experienced a sensation as definite as a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back from the brink.

  I rested my fingers on the gate latch and examined Trey. He was a good-looking guy, with an expensive wardrobe, and an easy manner. Yet something made me hesitate to allow him to set foot through the gate, much less the front door. I shrugged my shoulders to shake off this feeling. My encounter with Lila had unnerved me, but I shouldn’t take that out on Trey. Although I’d felt he seemed a little pushy about examining the house and Uncle Andrew’s paintings, I could easily chalk that up to a sincere interest in art in architecture. No doubt my passions had made me come across the same way to others sometimes.

  “I’ll have to see what I can arrange with Aunt Lydia,” I said, closing the gate behind me. “But it won’t be possible until Dr. Chen wraps up his investigation and leaves us, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course,” Trey replied in a cheerful tone.

  “And in the meantime, I guess I’ll see you at the festival?”

  “For sure. I’m helping Mom with the library sale for an hour or two, so we’re bound to cross paths.”

  “But not in the woods,” I said, giving him what I hoped was a charming smile.

  “No. Good night, then, Amy.” Trey raised one hand to the left side of his chest, as if pressing his fingers to his heart. “I’m glad I ran into you. See you again soon.”

  As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but notice that he’d parked his car just beyond the entrance to our driveway.

  So had he come to walk in the woods, or to examine my aunt’s house? As I climbed the steps to the front porch, I considered this possibility. He could’ve been lurking in the area and watched me head out for my walk and followed me. Perhaps his chatter about contracts for the park development was just a way to work around to talking about Aunt Lydia’s house.

  Maybe that was the property he really desired.

  Aunt Lydia had always suspected that her cousin Sylvia had wanted to buy the house to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. Perhaps, with a town park soon to be built so close by, Trey Riley also considered it a worthy investment. Upscale lodging within a block of a town park might prove quite desirable.

  Aunt Lydia and I had no plans to sell the family home, but Trey Riley didn’t know that. He might think he could acquire it, along with some of my uncle’s paintings, if he waved around enough cash. It wouldn’t be the first time a Riley had assumed their wealth could get them anything they wanted. Mel had probably raised her son to think that way.

  Which only means, I resolved, as I shoved my key into the lock on the front door, that, nice guy or not, he has another thought coming.

  Chapter Twelve

  I waited until Trey drove off before I pulled out my cell phone and debated how to inform the sheriff’s department about my encounter with Lila LeBlanc. On the one hand, I knew the authorities had to be told that Reese was still in the area and might have even been in the woods to meet Lila. But I hated the thought of being questioned again. It was selfish, but I just couldn’t face any more interrogations. So I searched for the number for the anonymous tip line and sent a text instead. It would alert the sheriff’s office without involving me any deeper in the case.

  With that duty out of the way, I walked inside, careful to lock the door behind me. I called out, “Good night, heading up to my room,” to Aunt Lydia and Hugh as I crossed the hall and clattered up the stairs to the second floor.

  But Hugh wasn’t in the sitting room. On my way to my bedroom, I noticed light spilling from the door to one of the spare bedrooms.

  It was the bedroom Aunt Lydia had given to Hugh, but it also included the closet where she stored all of Uncle Andrew’s paintings not displayed throughout the rest of the house. Since the door stood ajar, I didn’t hesitate to peer into the brightly lit room.

  Hugh sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor in front of the open door to the storage closet. Several of Uncle Andrew’s canvases were spread out around him.

  “Hello,” I said, pulling the door open wider and stepping over the threshold.

  “Oh, hi, Amy.” Hugh waved me into the room. “Lydia said I could look at the paintings that were stored in here. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not,” I said, crossing to him. “That’s totally Aunt Lydia’s call anyway.”

  “It’s fascinating to examine someone’s output like this.” Hugh gestured to the paintings. “You can trace the evolution of their style and see what inspired them.” He looked up at me. “By the way, I must thank you for your insights about those LeBlanc forgeries. It was a clever deduction to consider that the forgers focused on studies or lost works.”

  “Oh, I just like to puzzle out mysteries,” I replied, fanning the sudden heat in my face.

  “Well, I was impressed. Which makes me wonder if you would be willing to help with the investigation a bit more?”

  “Sure, but what else can I do?”

  “Research letters and other documents related to the artists represented. I mean, assuming they are fakes, which I think likely, it would be helpful if we could discover some information linking the paintings to known descriptions of any lost or unfinished works. If an artist mentioned working on a piece but that painting either never materialized or has been lost or stolen, it could solidify your theory and give the investigators new avenues to explore. Assuming that this forgery ring is still active, which I suspect it is.”

  “I’ll do what I can, although all I can access is stuff on the Internet. Or maybe the collected letters of various artists in some of the books in the library.” I rubbed the tense muscles of my neck with one hand. “I can request other materials through interlibrary loan, but that will take some time.”

  “Whatever you can do will be helpful.” Hugh gave me a smile before turning his attention back to Uncle Andrew’s paintings. He lifted one of the smaller canvases. “He was a great technician.”

  “Yeah, but at the time he was painting, realistic art wasn’t so popular.” I sat on the floor in front of Hugh, paintings fanned out on the floor between us. “So he never sold much.”

  “Shame.” Hugh turned around the canvas he was holding. It was a still life of oranges in a blue-and-white bowl decorated in the style of Chinese Ming porcelain. “I would’ve thought he could have made good money selling to interior design firms. This style is still popular with a lot of people who own hotels and office buildings. But Lydia told me he refused to turn his art into ‘decoration.’”

  “He was a bit of a snob about that sort of thing, from what I hear.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Hugh flipped the painting over and studied it for a moment. “There is more here than just a pretty picture. Something in the brushstrokes, and the use of light. He was definitely striving for something more.”

  I examined another one of the paintings—a landscape capturing the fields and woods of the old Cooper farm at dusk. Strangely, although I’d never felt such a thing when I’d glanced at Andrew’s paintings that hung in our front hall, the sensation of my uncle being right at my elbow washed over me.

  But that was the thing—I’d never really studied those paintings, simply accepted their existence. I’d looked past them, really. Sorry, I told my dead uncle as I touched the surface of one of the unframed canvases. “You should tell Aunt Lydia that. She’ll appreciate it.”

  “I did. And she did.” Hugh carefully placed the small still life on the floor and picked up an unframed canvas and unrolled it. “Now this one is interesting. Looks unfinished, almost a sketch, and it’s in a ver
y different style—like Andrew was copying the work of Monet in his later years. The water lily period, I mean.” He stretched the canvas between his hands and turned the painting around so I could view it. “See what I mean? Much more Impressionist than most of his other work.”

  “Yes, that is different.” I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t recall ever seeing that particular piece before. It looked nothing like my uncle’s typical style.

  But what do I really know of you? I asked the imaginary spirit of my uncle. Only what Aunt Lydia and others have told me. Perhaps I should’ve studied your paintings a bit more if I wanted to know you better. Maybe you would’ve spoken to me more clearly through your art.

  Hugh allowed the canvas to roll back up and tapped the loose cylinder against his palm, his eyes shadowed under his lowered eyelids. “It’s probably just a study. You know how artists often copy the masters for practice.” He rose to his feet, still holding the painting. “But I think I’m going to lay this on the dresser rather than putting it back in the closet, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Sure.” I studied his profile, my curiosity piqued by his apparent interest in a simple study.

  “I just thought that it should be stored properly. I have a few leather map and print cases I carry around in the trunk of my car in case I need to transport unframed pieces. I don’t mind donating one to Lydia.” He glanced over at me. “It would protect the work.”

  “I’m sure my aunt would appreciate that.”

  “Good. I’ll do that later,” Hugh said, not meeting my gaze. He laid the rolled canvas on the dresser and rested his hand on it for a moment before turning to me. His sober expression brightened. “May I ask you a somewhat personal question, Amy?”

  “I suppose so.” Examining his earnest face, I could guess what it might be. “You like my aunt.”

  “I do. I know we just met, but she is so…” Hugh threw out his hands. “So unique. Intelligent and beautiful and deeply interested in so many things. I have not met many women like her.”

  “Few have, I think,” I replied with a smile. “So what do you want to know? Why she’s never remarried?”