Shelved Under Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “Nope. Aunt Lydia is not happy about that, as you can imagine.”

  “Yeah, I can.” Richard tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. “Glad I wasn’t there when you told her, to be honest.”

  “She took it well, all things considered. But Brad said she’s not thrilled with the lack of investigation into the theft. Although, with a murder and two suspects on the run, you can’t really blame the sheriff’s department for not focusing on a missing still life.”

  “True.” Richard lifted one hand off the steering wheel and rubbed at his jaw.

  I laid my left hand on his knee. “What is it? You look concerned.”

  He lowered his hand over mine. “Just thinking about what you told me this morning about Kurt Kendrick hosting the reception. I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Adele said.”

  “Honestly, I’m not thrilled with the idea that he’s been following my career for years when he’s never approached me until this past summer. And asking Adele to stay quiet about it…” Richard’s fingers tightened around my hand. “That’s a little disturbing.”

  “I thought so too.” I gave his fingers a squeeze. “But you know how I distrust the man.”

  “Good call, I think.” Richard slid his hand away and gripped the wheel again. He glanced over at me before focusing back on the road. “So do you actually believe he’s entangled in this forgery business?”

  “I think it’s possible. He has the necessary connections in the art world—and the black market, I suspect—to move paintings like that. With no one the wiser.”

  “Then there’s your suspicion about your uncle, and their close friendship. It seems like they stayed in touch after high school too, although your aunt was kept in the dark. So perhaps…”

  “Kendrick encouraged Uncle Andrew to dabble in forgery? Yeah, I’ve had that same thought. If that’s true…” I stared out the car window as other vehicles zipped past us. Although Richard was driving over the speed limit, apparently it wasn’t fast enough for most of the drivers on Highway 81. “That would set Aunt Lydia off like a grenade.”

  “Yep. So perhaps discretion is the better part of valor.”

  “Probably the best choice. There’s really no reason to tell her. Uncle Andrew’s been dead for over thirty-seven years, so I can’t see how he would be connected with the current investigation.”

  Richard looked thoughtful. “Although, as we discovered this summer, sometimes things from the distant past can affect current events.”

  I gnawed on my pinkie fingernail. Richard had a point. Events from 1925 and 1958 had definitely tied into the murderous mayhem we’d experienced just a few months before. “But even if Uncle Andrew forged a few paintings, nothing he painted could be in the collection found at the LeBlancs’, could it? They didn’t move here until about ten years ago, and at that point the farm was in really bad shape. If those paintings were already stored in their barn, Reese or Rachel would’ve discovered them during their renovations, wouldn’t they?” I dropped my hand into my lap and drummed my fingers against the worn knee of my jeans. “Unless one or both of them were in on the whole deal from the beginning and the canvases were moved from some other hiding place.”

  “That seems unlikely to me. I personally doubt the LeBlanc forgeries are connected to your uncle.” Richard pointed at a highway sign. “Ah, getting closer. We should be home by four o’clock.”

  “I know we told Aunt Lydia around two, but we left a little later than you originally planned. I mean, you even had to pay a surcharge at the hotel.” I fiddled with a button on my jacket as I remembered why.

  Richard grinned. “Worth every penny.”

  “Well anyway, I was thinking we should stop and pick up something for dinner. Aunt Lydia covered for me at the festival today, so I know she must be dead tired. I don’t want her to feel compelled to cook.”

  “How about trying that new gourmet kitchen outside of town? The one that caters but also sells premade casseroles and stuff.”

  “That sounds good. We can grab a variety of things so everyone can choose what they want.” My lips twitched as an errant thought flashed through my mind. “Hugh Chen might not be thrilled with our plan. He loves my aunt’s cooking.”

  “She is a fabulous cook. But I bet he’ll understand. Dealing with the festival crowds all day would tire anyone out.”

  “Yeah.” I gazed appreciatively at his handsome profile. “It was so good of her, and Sunny and the others, to arrange this trip. Not to mention taking over for me at the festival, the plane ticket, and all that. Not sure I can ever repay them.”

  “I must thank them profusely as well. Not just for your company, which is much appreciated, but also for making it possible for you to see the show. I’ve always wanted you to actually see me perform. I mean, in a live production, not just on video.”

  “It was amazing.” I placed my hand back on his right knee. “I know I’ve told you that a couple of times, but it can’t be said often enough.”

  He cast me a warm smile. “Thank you. I’m glad I got to share it with you.”

  “That piece”—I twirled a lock of hair around one of the fingers of my free hand—“excuse me if I’m being intrusive, but it was really about Karla, wasn’t it? I mean, in part.”

  Another quick glance, but this one was sharper, and lacking the smile. “So you figured that out, did you?”

  “Not so difficult, when you know the story. You told me most people don’t, so I doubt many would make the connection.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Richard sighed. “It’s in the past, and I should get over it. Or at least that’s what Meredith always told me.”

  I bit back a swear word as I contemplated how satisfying it would be to slap Meredith’s pretty face. “That’s nonsense. If a person means the world to you, how can you just forget?”

  Richard’s hand landed on mine. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for being a decent human being.”

  His fingers caressed the back of my hand. “Then thank you for being you. And for coming into my life.”

  A very lonely boy … I stroked his thigh absently. “That wasn’t exactly under my control.”

  “Just my good luck.” He lifted our joined hands and placed my hand back in my lap. “Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s too distracting while I’m driving. I want to get us home in one piece.”

  “Didn’t know my mere touch held such power.”

  Richard shot me a look that made my stomach turn a flip. “Oh trust me, it does. Now, how about we discuss what we are and aren’t going to tell Lydia? I mean, about Kurt Kendrick’s gallery hosting the reception and”—he winked at me—“that extra hotel room.”

  “Nothing and nothing,” I said firmly.

  “Okay, that was a short discussion. Next topic?”

  “You inviting Kurt Kendrick to your house for dinner.”

  Richard glanced over at me, eyebrows raised. “Am I doing that?”

  “Yes, because I certainly can’t. Not with Aunt Lydia refusing to even talk to him, except when it’s unavoidable.” I clasped my hands demurely in my lap. “I just have this feeling he’s mixed up in this forgery scheme somehow. And maybe even the murder. It’s time for some answers, and I want to be the one to grill him.”

  Lifting one hand off the steering wheel, Richard tapped his temple with one finger. “I don’t know. Considering his size and all, maybe we should just grill some salmon instead.”

  I would’ve thrown something at him, but I had nothing at hand, and he was driving. “Wait until we get out of this car, mister. You’re going to pay for that remark.”

  Richard just grinned. “I’ll take my punishment. As long as it’s at your hands.”

  * * *

  When we pulled into Richard’s driveway, I noticed that my aunt’s front door was standing ajar, yet no one was on the porch or in the front yard.

  I was instantly on alert. Someone probably just opened
the door for whatever reason and forgot to close it tightly and the wind caught it …

  But there was still the matter of an unsolved murder, as well as two fugitives unaccounted for, and an art forgery ring. I turned to Richard. “I think I’d better run over and check on Aunt Lydia. The door…”

  “I saw.” Richard jumped out and jogged around to meet me at the passenger side. “I’m coming with you,” he said as I climbed out of the car.

  “Not about to disagree.” I followed him across his lawn to my aunt’s front gate.

  We climbed the steps and quietly crossed the porch. Approaching the open front door with caution, Richard peered inside before he allowed me to accompany him into the hall.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said. “But voices are coming from the back.”

  Loud voices. I identified my aunt’s and one other—Hugh Chen. It sounded as if they were arguing.

  Richard motioned for me to head on down the hall while he closed and locked the front door.

  “I don’t know why you’ve concocted this preposterous theory, but I can assure you that you are mistaken.” Aunt Lydia’s normally clear voice was as gravelly as a backcountry road.

  I blinked rapidly and took a deep breath before stepping onto the enclosed back porch. I’d never heard my aunt speak in such a tone before. “Hello, sorry to interrupt, but Richard and I just got back, and when we saw the door ajar…”

  Aunt Lydia stood ramrod straight, her hands clenched at her sides and her blue eyes blazing. “I was headed outside, but then Dr. Chen stopped me with some unwelcome news and I suppose I forgot to close it.”

  “Okay, we wanted to let you know that we picked up some stuff for dinner. It’s in the trunk…”

  “Dr. Chen will not be staying,” my aunt said.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I’ve been asked to leave.” Hugh’s posture was just as stiff as my aunt’s, but his hands were held before him, clasped at his chest.

  Richard stepped up beside me. “What’s going on here?” He eyed Hugh with narrowed eyes. “Do you need help, Lydia?”

  I realized that Richard had never met the art expert and probably assumed the fault lay with him. “Hugh,” I said, pressing my hand against Richard’s forearm to prevent him from moving forward, “can you explain what’s happened?”

  Hugh opened his hands and held them out, as if in supplication. “I merely shared some information with Lydia. What I believe to be the truth.” His dark eyes sought mine. Reading the pain in them, I knew what he must’ve said.

  “You told her.”

  Beside me, Richard gulped. “Andrew’s paintings,” he said under his breath.

  “He spewed a lot of nonsense is what he did.” Aunt Lydia gave a defiant toss of her head. “Just lies and more damn lies.”

  Hugh glanced in my direction. “Trust me, Amy, it was not my intention to offend your aunt. But I’ve uncovered some information on one of the paintings we were looking at the other night. The Monet study, remember? I simply felt Lydia should hear the truth from me, before the authorities get involved.”

  Aunt Lydia turned on me. “You knew something of this?”

  I couldn’t meet her furious gaze. Looking down, I scuffed my sneaker sole against the wooden plank floor. “I saw the study that Hugh mentioned, yes.” I swallowed back any additional words. No use bringing up the canvas hidden behind that seascape. Not when my aunt was already armed for bear.

  “What are you saying?” Richard asked. “How does some study prove that Amy’s uncle was a forger?”

  “It doesn’t, by itself.” Hugh’s words, punctuated by a surprising swear word from my aunt, made me look up.

  I examined the art expert, noting the sharp lines bracketing his thinned lips. “So what’s the connection, then?”

  “A painting that shouldn’t exist.” Hugh took a deep breath as Aunt Lydia turned away to stare out the sunroom windows. “When I spied that Monet study, I immediately noticed its resemblance to a forgery case I’d worked on a few years ago. That case involved several pieces owned by a young man who’d inherited them from his parents. He wanted them appraised, and while most were originals, I had the unpleasant task of informing him that one painting attributed to Monet was a forgery. He didn’t know where his parents had acquired the work, and at the time I had no idea who the forger might have been. I had my lab run some tests, and the fake Monet was dated to about forty years ago, give or take ten years.” He fixed his dark gaze on Richard and me. “The sketch I found among Andrew Talbot’s paintings was a match to the forged Monet I uncovered in that previous case. Right down to the unique element that we discovered through x-ray analysis. The element was painted over in the finished piece but visible in the sketch. It’s not something I’ve seen in other Monets from the period.” Hugh cleared his throat before continuing. “A rosebush at the water’s edge, reflected in the pond.”

  As my aunt sucked in an audible breath, I recalled the rose finial that topped the weather vane on our house. So my uncle had added a symbol that referenced my aunt’s family, although he’d obviously thought better of allowing that indulgence to remain in the completed painting.

  “You believe Uncle Andrew painted that piece and it somehow ended up in the young man’s collection?” I asked.

  “Yes, judging by the correlation with the sketch. The lab dated the sketch to the same time period as the forgery, and there is that hidden element. Given those facts. I have to conclude that Andrew Talbot painted the fake Monet I discovered a few years ago. A work that I’ve been trying to match to a forger for a long time, with no success. Until now.”

  I slid my hand down Richard’s arm and gripped his fingers as I gazed over at my aunt’s rigid back. “I’m sorry, Aunt Lydia. Hugh showed me the water lily sketch the other night, but at the time I assumed it was just some type of practice work. I know a lot of artists do that—copy old masters to learn their techniques. So I really didn’t give it much thought.” I squeezed Richard’s hand hard as he looked down at me with widened eyes.

  Unlike my aunt, or even Hugh, he knew this was a lie, since I’d told him about the copy of a Van Gogh and those practice signatures I’d discovered stashed behind an innocuous seascape.

  But I didn’t want to bring that canvas to light. Not now. Not when my aunt’s heart had been shattered by the revelation that her beloved husband—a man she’d always idolized—had been a forger. Besides, what harm could that painting do, buried in a closet? It wasn’t as if Aunt Lydia or I would try to pass it off as an original to a buyer.

  No one even needs to know it exists, I thought, and immediately resolved to drag it out of that closet and hide it in my room at the earliest opportunity. I could figure out what to do with it sometime later, after the LeBlanc forgery case was resolved.

  “I find this all impossible to believe.” Aunt Lydia leaned forward, pressing her palms against the wooden windowsill and her forehead against the glass.

  “Perhaps there is a reasonable explanation,” Hugh said. “It could be that your husband was forced into this situation somehow. Against his will.”

  While Hugh continued to focus on my aunt, Richard leaned down to whisper in my ear, “What about the other one?”

  I touched my forefinger to my lips and shook my head just as Hugh turned back to us.

  “As I mentioned earlier, Lydia has asked me to leave the house, which I totally understand. I’ve turned out to be a rather unfortunate messenger. But I wondered if you could suggest another place for me to stay? Now that the Heritage Festival has concluded, I thought perhaps there might be openings at some of the local motels or inns.”

  “Sure, we can help you find something.” Richard released my hand and stepped forward. “By the way, we were never actually introduced. I’m Richard Muir.”

  “I assumed as much.” Hugh moved closer and gave Richard’s hand a firm shake. “Dr. Hugh Chen.”

  “How about we head upstairs and grab your suitcase and whatever else while we discuss option
s?” Richard motioned with his head toward Aunt Lydia, who still had her back to us.

  Hugh nodded. “A good plan. Thank you.” He turned toward the windows. “I will go collect my things, Lydia, but I do wish to thank you again for your wonderful hospitality. I’m sorry our acquaintance has ended on such a sad note, but perhaps someday…”

  “Just go,” my aunt said, her tone now resigned rather than angry. When she glanced back over her shoulder, I spied the tension lining her forehead. “In fact, Amy, why don’t you also help Hugh collect his things. I would like to be alone for a bit.”

  “Sure, okay,” I said, sharing a concerned look with Richard.

  Yes, I’d leave her to her thoughts, for a short time. But as soon as we grabbed Hugh’s suitcase and Richard left to drive him to his new lodgings, I’d come back and we would talk, whether Aunt Lydia liked it or not. No way was I leaving her alone for long.

  Casting one last glance at my aunt’s hunched shoulders, I followed Hugh and Richard out of the sunroom. As we headed upstairs, Hugh asked Richard about his recent performances.

  “Lydia was so excited to have sent Amy on that trip,” he said, then tightened his lips. Obviously the new reality of their blasted relationship had hit him.

  “It was a wonderful surprise.” I paused at the door to Hugh’s room and laid my fingers on his arm. “She’ll come around, I think. It’s just the shock.”

  Hugh shook his head as he pushed open the bedroom door. “I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. But I had to tell her. I couldn’t bear her hearing about it from someone else. Which was bound to happen. Professionally, I have to reveal the truth about that forged Monet.”

  “A kind gesture, definitely,” Richard said, following Hugh and me into the room. “Especially considering you had to know you’d bear the brunt of her anger.”

  “Better me than a stranger.” Hugh crossed to the dresser. “Richard, if you’d retrieve the suitcase over there by the closet and put it on the bed, I’ll grab my things and pack as quickly as possible.”

  I volunteered to pull Hugh’s suits from the closet, not inclined to give either Richard or Hugh any opportunity to stumble over that other, hidden, canvas. After I tossed all the items on hangers onto the bed, I folded them while Hugh packed and Richard diverted our thoughts by bombarding the art expert with questions about his work.