by Amy M. Reade
Interested enough to kill Florian for the painting?
“Do you think a lot of people know about it?” I asked.
“Probably not. Otherwise you would have been getting far more people in the shop.”
“True.” I thought for a moment. Something didn’t seem right. “Does Seamus know about this?” I asked her.
“I haven’t told him, if that’s what you mean. Hagen just told me about it this morning, and you’re the first person I’ve told since. Do you want me to tell Seamus?”
“No. I can tell him. So what now? Is Hagen looking for the painting?”
“I doubt it. He’s busy editing an anthology.” I couldn’t wait to tell Seamus what I had learned.
* * *
That evening, he and I were walking back to the hotel when I told him about Hagen’s story. Seamus had been spending more evenings with me since the opening. Every couple days he would stay late at the gallery to meet collectors, but most of the time we met for dinner and then went back to the hotel to relax and watch television.
“You’re kidding,” he said, coming to a stop on the pavement. A couple walking behind us had to quickly skirt around to avoid a collision.
“Chloe seemed to think it was true.”
“Can you believe it? If I had only known, we could have made a fortune off that painting!”
I slapped his shoulder. “That’s not the point. The point is that the painting went missing after Florian’s accident, and whoever took it probably knows its true value.”
We resumed walking. Seamus asked the question I had wanted to ask Chloe, but was afraid to: “Do you think Hagen had anything to do with Florian’s accident?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t say anything to Chloe because I don’t know how friendly she is with Hagen, but the thought certainly crossed my mind.”
“He came to the shop after Florian left with the painting, but he didn’t seem at all upset about missing his chance to buy it. Did he say he was heading right back to London?”
“I don’t remember,” I said.
“What if he was already in Cauld Loch? What if he tinkered with Florian’s car whilst he was in the shop? He could have followed him up the road until the accident occurred, then stolen the painting before the police even had a chance to get there. Or maybe he followed Florian from the shop and ran him off the road.”
“So you think he wasn’t upset about missing his chance to buy the painting because he already had it in possession by the time he came in the next morning?” I asked.
“Aye.”
“But why would he bother visiting the shop?”
“Maybe he wanted to see if we had anything else of value. I didn’t know the value of the Leitch painting, maybe he thought I was stupid enough to be selling off other national treasures, too.”
“I don’t know, Seamus. There must have been other people who knew how much the painting was worth.”
“What about Alice?” he asked.
“What about her?”
“Do you think she knew?”
“I doubt it. Florian said he was looking for a painting that reminded him of his childhood, remember? We don’t know if he knew the real value of it. And if his story was true, that he wanted the painting for sentimental reasons, there’s no reason Alice should know about it.”
“But he wanted it badly enough to come to the shop late at night because he knew there was someone else interested.”
“You, of all people, ought to know that a person can feel a sense of connection with a particular piece of art. He wanted something that connected him to his childhood, and when he found it, he would do anything to keep it.”
“Then why didn’t he buy the painting when he was in the shop the first time?”
“Sometimes a painting’s value increases because there are lots of people who are interested in it. You know that. So when Florian heard that there was someone else who wanted it, that spurred him to action.”
“Aye. Maybe he thought he could get me to lower the price, but he knew I wouldn’t once there was another potential buyer.” Seamus didn’t often show his cynical side, but it was laid bare now.
“I suppose that’s a possibility, too. The point is that Florian may have known absolutely nothing about the painting except that he liked it,” I said.
Seamus ran his hand down his beard. “What do you suppose Scotland Yard is doing about all of this? Do you think they know about the map?”
“I don’t know. How could they? Chloe indicated not too many people knew of the map’s existence. I’m sure Scotland Yard is just investigating Florian’s death.”
“I wonder if there’s another reason someone would have wanted him dead.”
“Surely the detectives have asked Alice about that.”
“Aye, but I wonder what she told them.”
“I could just ask her,” I suggested, forgetting Seamus didn’t know I had met Alice for lunch.
“What’re ye talking about?” he asked.
“I met Alice one day for lunch. You know, just to talk. I thought she might like some company after her husband’s death.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Seamus asked.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t have wanted me to go. If I didn’t tell you, you couldn’t demand that I stay away from her. Not that I would have,” I added.
He sighed. “I don’t think we should have anything to do with her. The less contact we have with the wife of a man who was murdered, the better.”
“But she’s lonely. I wasn’t about to leave her alone in her grief if I could help her. I think you’re being very unkind.”
“How did you know she was lonely? She could have had a dozen kids at home to boost her spirits.”
“She and Florian didn’t have any kids, remember? I just assumed she was lonely. I would be, if you were killed, God forbid. I reached out to her because I kept thinking about how sad she must be. I would want someone to do the same for me. I would hope you’d want that, too.”
“Why are you even bringing that up?” Seamus roared. “Why do we have to talk about what you would do if I was killed?”
“All right, all right. I’m sorry I mentioned it. Now please just leave me alone about Alice. I intend to visit her again before we leave, and I don’t care if you try to lock me in the hotel room. I’m going.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence. I could practically feel the angry heat rising from him. I had known he would be mad if he found out I visited Alice, but I didn’t think he would be that mad.
We were almost to the hotel when he turned to me on the pavement. “Do you understand why I’m upset?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“I just don’t want us to be in the sight lines of the police. I would think you’d realize that. The last thing I need is to be involved in a murder investigation. I’m sorry Alice is lonely, and I’m verra sorry she’s lost her husband, but I have to think about us and our future—which doesn’t include me going to prison again.”
I squeezed his hand. “You’re right. It was thoughtless of me to visit her when I knew Scotland Yard was investigating Florian’s death. Am I forgiven?”
He put his arm around my shoulder. “Of course.”
CHAPTER 9
The next time Alice and I met for lunch it was completely by accident. I just happened to be visiting the shops in Highgate when I decided to have lunch in the delightful garden of the restaurant where she and I had met previously.
She was sitting alone at the same table as before. A large straw hat covered her eyes, and she was looking down at a book in her lap. I walked up and bent down so I could see her face.
“Alice? How funny that we should meet here! I was just doing some shopping and I thought I would stop in for some of those wonderful finger sandwiches. May I join you?”
She nodded and closed her book, indicating the other chair with her hand.
“How have you been, Alice? I’ve been thinking abou
t you.”
“Getting along, I suppose.”
“Have you been staying busy?”
“I’ve been trying. Rearranging the furniture and household decor, you know. Changing it up a bit.”
It sounded like she was grasping at anything to stay busy. “Do you have a job?” I asked.
She looked at me as if horns were growing from my head. “No,” she answered. Her tone suggested I should have known better than to ask such a silly question.
“Oh.”
“My family has always been involved in philanthropy,” she explained. “I suppose I help by choosing charities to receive various gifts throughout the year, but other than that I have no interest in attempting to earn a paycheck.” She shuddered, as if the thought was repugnant.
I was surprised. Alice hadn’t struck me as the snooty type, or as someone whose days were spent counting the family money. Her choice in clothing and hairstyle indicated a person unconcerned with worldly things. She didn’t seem to be the type who would disparage the idea of working for a living. I wondered if Florian had been employed before his death.
I changed the subject quickly. “Have you eaten yet?” I asked brightly.
“I’ve ordered, but only just a moment ago.” She signaled to the server, who came over to our table right away.
“What can I get for you, Mrs. McDermott?” she asked. So Alice was a regular. I hadn’t gotten that sense the first time.
“Please bring my friend a menu, Susan,” Alice replied.
“Actually, Susan, could you just bring me an order of the finger sandwiches? They’re wonderful. And a lemonade, please.”
Susan nodded and disappeared. I looked around the garden while Alice put her book in a cloth bag that lay on the ground beside her chair.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“A book about investing. It was written by a friend, and she asked me to read it and review it.”
“What do you think of it?”
“I’m not sure I like it. I’m not learning anything I didn’t already know.”
“Is that what you’re going to put in the review?”
“Naturally not. I’ll write a glowing review.”
Alice seemed to be a different person from the woman I had met before. She seemed stronger, more forthright, more sure of herself. I wasn’t so sure I liked the new Alice.
“So what have you been up to since we last spoke?” I asked her.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Sylvie, but I can’t keep up this charade any longer.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in surprise.
“I mean I can’t go on pretending like I am a grieving widow. The truth is that I am glad the bastard’s dead. I would have killed him myself if someone hadn’t done it for me.”
My mouth gaped. I could do nothing but stare at her.
“You’re surprised?” she asked with a sneer. “Are you learning something new about the dearly departed Mr. McDermott?”
“I am surprised, yes,” I said, swallowing hard. “I just assumed…” My voice trailed off.
She finished my sentence for me. “You just assumed I had lost the love of my life. If you were in the same position, you would feel devastated. Am I right?”
I nodded mutely.
“Well, don’t think we’re in the same position. Does your husband cheat on you? Does he tell people he married you for money? That it was all for business?”
I could feel my eyes getting wider and wider. Finally I blinked in amazement. “Alice, I’m so sorry to hear it. I had no idea.” Uncomfortable memories of the movie I watched the night I found the receipt in our house back in Scotland came rushing to my mind, but I pushed them away.
“Of course you didn’t. Why should you? He kept it all very discreet.”
“How did you find out?” It was a nosy question, but she seemed to be in the mood for disclosures.
“The other woman confronted me. In my own home, if you can believe it. It happened about a week before Florian died.”
I shook my head. “You must have been devastated.”
“Well, I admit it took me by surprise,” she answered.
“Did Florian know that you knew?”
“Yes. He was there when she told me. They told me together, but she did the talking. Cozy, huh?”
“It must have been horrible.”
“You’ve no idea.” She lit a cigarette and took a long drag, closing her eyes. “I took up smoking again. I had given that up years ago.”
“I think you’re entitled to a vice now and then.”
“You’re right—I am. You know what’s amazing, though? I was embarrassed—not hurt or sad. Florian and I were more like roommates than spouses. Our relationship was really quite business-like.”
I didn’t know what to do with that information. She didn’t seem the sort who wanted people to feel sorry for her. And there was no way I could really put myself in her shoes. Maybe I didn’t need to offer anything except an ear.
She continued. “We were married because my mother wanted the ‘union,’ as she would always say. I’m old money, he was new money. The family name needed contemporary marketing. Florian lent his name to many of my family’s investments, and people started to notice. Before long those investments were worth more than ever.”
“Florian didn’t strike me as the high-power financial type,” I told her.
“Well, he made mistakes, too. He lost a lot of money right before he died,” she said with a harsh laugh. “Investments went bad.”
Alice had given me much to ponder.
* * *
Throughout the rest of the afternoon I wondered how I was going to break the news to Seamus. When he and I had dinner in our favorite pub after he was done for the day, I decided to tell him the truth—most of it.
“I was shopping today, and you’ll never guess who I ran into,” I began.
“Hmm?” He was studying the menu as if he had never seen it before, barely listening as I spoke. I put my hand on top of it and pulled it down so he could see me.
“Who was it you saw?” he asked.
“Alice.”
“Alice, as in Florian’s wife?” His eyes narrowed in a skeptical look. “And what did dear Alice have to say?”
“You won’t believe it. She told me that Florian was having an affair before he died. Alice knew about it—the other woman told her.”
“You’re kiddin’ me.”
“It’s true. She’s not the person we thought she was. She’s much more posh than we imagined. She doesn’t have a job except for helping distribute her family’s money—can you believe that?”
“She certainly doesn’t look the part.”
“No, but neither did Florian and apparently he had oodles of money, too. Alice said their marriage was a ‘union’ and that her mother wanted it to happen because Alice’s family needed some fresh blood….” Seamus raised one eyebrow pointedly.
“So to speak. You know what I mean. Anyway, when he added his name and his money, the value of Alice’s family’s investments went way up. Apparently, though, he lost a lot of money right before he died in investments that went bad. He told his girlfriend he married Alice for business reasons. Unbelievable.” I shook my head.
“Alice must be furious,” Seamus said.
“She seems more angry than sad, that’s for sure. She said she’d have killed Florian herself if someone didn’t do it for her.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I guess so. I’d want to kill you if you were having an affair.” We were approaching a topic I didn’t want to discuss.
“No—you missed my meaning. Do you think it’s possible Alice killed him?”
I hadn’t thought about that. “You mean because he was having an affair?”
Seamus nodded.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But she called looking for him.”
“If she called from a mobile phone, she could have been calling from anywhere, incl
uding the pub right down the street. Or the scene of the accident.”
I didn’t know what to think. Alice didn’t seem the type to kill, but would I really recognize a killer if I saw one? I had misjudged her once—she wasn’t the person I thought she was. I had taken her for a grieving widow, but she had fooled me. Was she fooling me about Florian’s death, too?
“I suppose you’re right. Should we tell Scotland Yard?”
“Absolutely not,” Seamus answered, jabbing a finger in my direction. “We leave the whole thing well enough alone. Didn’t we talk about this? I don’t want to be involved with Scotland Yard again for any reason, at any time.”
“First of all, never point at me like that. And second, there’s no need to get huffy. I was merely asking.”
“All right then. Please, no more talk about Scotland Yard.”
We ordered our food, then sat in silence waiting for our meals. Seamus read something on his phone, I texted Greer. I hated to see us fall into the same trap that so many other people had—texting and scrolling instead of talking face-to-face, but we both knew we needed to wait for the tension to dissipate before we could carry on a conversation.
When the food came it was time to talk again. I avoided any touchy subject.
“How were things at the gallery today?”
“Braw. I met some collectors who want to visit the studio at home. Not too many people have been interested in making the trip to the Highlands, but these two seemed verra keen on the idea.”
“Why do they want to go all the way up there?”
He shrugged. “They want to see me work in my natural environment. Makes me sound like an otter. But that probably sells well—you know, portrait of an artist at work in his humble studio. That sort of thing.”
“Has Felix talked to you about sales since the opening?”
Seamus grinned. “We went to lunch today, as a matter of fact. He told me the opening and the exhibit have done incredibly well. I don’t know exact numbers, but I think they’ll be verra high.”
