by Sparkle Abby
This room didn’t contain seascapes which, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy. But unlike the first area, this section was populated with various groupings of paintings. There were several I liked, several I didn’t, some I didn’t get at all, and still others where I could appreciate the technique but found disturbing. But then art, especially abstract art, is very subjective. Which is actually what I find fascinating about it.
I was drawn to a painting by an artist, Thea Hurd. I wasn’t terribly educated about art, but I found the stories told by the various pieces interesting.
“This is pretty.” April pointed to a swirling pastel. “But I don’t know if it will go with my couch.”
I believe old Philippe actually shuddered at the statement.
April had broken the cardinal rule in the art world. Art is not an accessory for your home. It’s art.
But before he could give April the dressing down reserved for blatant violators, a little fur ball made a preemptive strike. A small dog bed was nestled in one corner, and a handsome little Shih Tzu jumped from the bed and scampered toward April Mae.
In typical April Mae style, she leaned down with a friendly hand and the two became instant pals. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed. “Is he yours?”
She smiled up at Philippe, and I swear all the air went out of his bluster right then and there.
“Yes, his name is Simba, and we’ve been together for ten years.” His voice lost all of its highfalutin style, and he suddenly became down-to-earth pet daddy.
“Awww. Hi, Simba.” April stroked the dog’s silky fur.
“He needs to be brushed.” The last was said apologetically as if the poor dog were neglected, and I assure you he did not seem to be. Quite the contrary. Simba seemed very well cared for and well-groomed.
The Shih Tzu name comes from a Chinese word which means lion, and the dogs were originally bred to resemble the Chinese lions depicted in traditional Oriental art. In the 1930s they were introduced in England and were nicknamed the Chrysanthemum Dog.
Simba was a classic Shih Tzu with the long coat, adorable face, and dark inquisitive eyes, and from all appearances, Simba was in love. He’d accepted a few pets from April Mae, then had trotted back to his doggie bed, unearthed what must have been a favorite toy and carried it to her.
“Well, will you look at him.” April Mae laughed. “Thank you, you handsome guy.”
Simba was a delightful dog. I’d had a few clients with Shih Tzus, but as a rule they’re amiable canines. First and foremost they’re a companion, and the only issue I’ve seen much is separation anxiety. They don’t like to be separated from their humans. Which could be why Philippe brought Simba to the gallery with him.
While April Mae continued to talk to Philippe and Simba, I continued to walk the gallery. I noticed a grouping of paintings by Clive, the one-named artist, who’d been at Kitty’s funeral.
The grouping was called “Survival” and there were several abstracts all created in sort of jungle colors. They were good, but in a disturbing sort of way.
Philippe appeared at my side. “He’s a local artist.”
“He does well?”
He hesitated and then finally said, “An inconsistent talent, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean by that?” I wasn’t sure artistic talent was supposed to be a churn-out-the-next-one kind of thing. Painting wasn’t the same as making a widget. Creativity flows. Sometimes it ebbs and flows.
“Well, for instance,” Philippe clarified, “these are very good, but then he had a dry spell where he could produce nothing at all.”
“Really?” I wondered at Philippe’s sharing of this insider-type intel. I didn’t think his information was a very good sales technique unless he was trying to convince me the paintings were rare.
“Now, it seems Clive is painting again.” Philippe waved his hand dismissively and turned from the collection to look at me. “I understand from April Mae you believe I had a disagreement with Kitty Bardot the day before she died.”
I guess April had decided I was to be the “bad cop.” I glared at her, but she was so absorbed playing with Simba that my disapproval was wasted.
“We,” I emphasized the “we” part, “had been told you and Kitty had an argument.”
“That’s true.”
“So, you admit you had harsh words.”
“I don’t know about harsh, but we yelled at each other.” He shrugged. “Something we did frequently, I’m afraid.”
I waited for him to explain.
“Ms. Bardot was fierce about her clients. A good thing for them, I think. But not always good for the person on the other end of things. Like me. We didn’t always see eye to eye on what I, as the gallery owner, thought was appropriate and what she as the publicist wanted.”
“I see.”
“It doesn’t mean I didn’t respect her. She was top-notch. If I needed PR, she was who I would hire.”
I sighed. He sure didn’t sound like he’d been so mad at her that he’d kill her. But Philippe was the first real lead we’d had.
Not that we had leads or were investigating or anything. Just in case Malone asks.
April Mae reluctantly left Simba and joined us. “If you hear anything, will you let us know?” She fished a piece of paper from her purse and wrote down a number. “Here’s my phone number.”
The gallery owner took the paper.
“And if you ever need a dog-sitter, I’m your girl.”
Philippe pocketed the note with a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
April Mae smiled back.
“I have a couple of Tobey and Minou’s paintings. Did you see them?”
“No, but I’d love to.” She took his arm, and they headed over to another showroom. “Come on, Caro.”
Just then my cell phone rang, so I begged off following them. It was a prospective client with a little Papillon rescue who was chewing everything in sight. I made arrangements to meet the family and the culprit the following day.
I finished my call as Philippe and April Mae returned.
“Well, once you’ve experimented a little with the cats and their painting, and you’re ready for an evaluation, give me a call. I can stop by the house.” Philippe handed April Mae his business card.
“I’ll do that.” She waved the card at him and then opened her purse and dropped it in. “Ready, Caro?”
As we walked back to the car, we discussed Philippe and the gallery. We were in agreement about the slim chance he could be involved in Kitty’s death.
Also, for the record, I want it noted I mentioned again the need to follow-up with Detective Malone.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day was another busy one with appointments throughout the morning. I’d left the afternoon free to help with an ARL donation pick up. April Mae had offered the loan of her pickup so we could haul the large pet food contribution.
As I turned into my drive and hit the remote to put my car in the garage, I noted April Mae’s truck was gone. Hopefully she wasn’t out asking questions. She’d been tickled with the idea our undercover experience with Philippe Arman the day before had gone well. Although the pretense had lasted all of maybe five minutes. I hoped she’d passed the information on to Detective Malone and let it go. I knew from experience the problems created from sticking your nose in other people’s murder investigations.
I also hoped she’d remembered I was borrowing her truck and she would be back soon.
Don Furry and I were to pick up the donated pet food from a pet store that was about to close. It was a great deal for the Laguna Beach animal shelter. In an affluent community like ours, you’d think the shelter wouldn’t struggle, and we’d have great support. And we did have a ton of donor support, but every dollar we didn’t have to spend, meant we
could stretch those donations further.
I went inside to change, and when I checked again, the truck was back.
I’d worn my Protecting Unwanted Pets T-shirt, this time with cargo shorts. I’d brought home a PUP T-shirt for April Mae. I’d planned to give it to her to thank her for the use of her truck, but now that I looked at it I thought it was way too big. The shop had children’s sizes; I would have to try one of those.
I walked across the front lawn and rang the doorbell.
April Mae answered clad in an over-sized T-shirt. Sounds pretty tame, right.
But this shirt had a cartoon graphic of a shapely woman in a bikini top and a grass skirt. April Mae’s curly blonde head looked unnaturally small atop Hula Girl’s . . . ah, assets. Yeah, I needed to work on getting that PUP T-shirt in her size.
“You won’t believe what I found out today.” The pitch of her voice was even higher than usual with excitement.
“What?”
“Well, I went down the police station to talk to your detective, and I told him what we’d found out from that Philippe guy, but he was not at all forthcoming with any information of his own.”
“Hmmm.” I’d been through that conversation.
“Then I went to the gas station to gas up my truck so you and your friend from the animal shelter wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“That was nice, April Mae, sugar, but you didn’t need to do that.”
“Well, Tom is kinda leaking oil.”
“Tom?”
“Yeah, Tom, that’s what I call my truck. He works better if you talk nice to him. I don’t know if you noticed the spots on the driveway. Tom’s drooling a bit more than normal. I’m afraid he’s on his last legs. I hope he’ll last until I can get him fixed or maybe replaced if my inheritance is enough.”
I had noticed the large dark spots on the driveway but hadn’t really thought much about what was causing them. As for her inheritance, I was pretty sure it was enough.
“Anyway, I asked the cute guy inside the gas station for a rag, so I could check the oil and see if it was low, and he came out to do it for me. Wasn’t that sweet of him? Anyway, he noticed my out-of-state license plates and asked what I was doing in town. I told him about me and my sister. And he said, ‘Is that the rich lady who got shot?’ and I said, ‘I didn’t know that Sissy was all that rich but she was the one that got shot.’ And then he said, ‘I guess they think it was the Russian mob what shot her.’”
She took a breath. I was glad because I was getting dizzy from trying to follow her gestures, let alone her logic.
“The Russian mob? Why would the Russian mob shoot Kitty?”
“Caro, honey, that’s what I said too. But he’d heard it from this other guy what works there, and he heard it from his cousin who works at the police department.” Her blue eyes were as big as beach balls. “Can you believe the Russian mob? Russia’s a long ways away. What the heck are they even doing in California?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anyway, hon, here’s the keys, and it’s got gas. And I topped off the oil, and he let me keep the oil rag. It’s under the seat in case you need it.”
Tobey and Minou appeared behind April.
“Hi there, you gorgeous and talented kitties.” She reached down and scratched behind Minou’s ears which brought an immediate purr. “We are going to try some painting this afternoon. I found all the supplies, and I think it might be soothing for them.”
“I won’t be long.”
“No hurry. Take your time. We’ll be busy.”
I jingled the keys in my hand as I walked to the truck. Who knew if the cats would find painting soothing, but it would keep them busy. And it would be something for April Mae to do other than refine her detecting skills and get me in trouble with Malone. It wasn’t me doing the investigating, but somehow I knew he’d think I had encouraged her. And then I’d be in trouble.
Putting the key in the ignition, I turned it, and the pickup started. It chugged a little to begin with and then the engine seemed to even out. April had suggested talking to it would help, but I wasn’t sure I spoke Ford.
I patted the dashboard. “Tom, don’t you give me any trouble, buddy.” I hoped Tom held out for April Mae until the estate was settled. I had no idea how long something like that took, and I didn’t know what kind of money Kitty’d had, but her house alone was worth quite a bit. It was clear April Mae had no idea what kind of money she was about to come into.
I picked up Don Furry at the ARL, and we headed out of town. This store was just outside of Irvine and not too far. Stam and Camille Kabal, the couple who’d owned it, were pet lovers and had been foster parents to some of our more difficult rescues. The shop wasn’t closing because of lack of business. They’d made a good go of it, but were retiring to move back east to be closer to their children and grandchildren. When they’d called to offer the pet food donation, we were thrilled. We knew it was good nutritional food, but the challenge had been a way to get it picked up. April’s offer of her pickup had been a godsend.
I backed the truck up to the rear of the building. The store was no longer open, but they’d said they would meet us.
When I turned the pickup off, a dark puff of smoke erupted from the exhaust.
“Come on, Tom,” I said. “Really?”
Don looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“April Mae named her truck Tom. She says it helps to talk to him.”
“I hope Tom is feeling cooperative today.” Don didn’t seem convinced conversation was the key.
“April says it uses oil.”
“Hello, Caro. Hello, Don.” Stam had come outside. “Come in. I’m real sorry I’m not able to help you load, but my back is iffy at best.”
“No problem,” Don said. “We can handle the loading.”
It took some muscle, but we got the big bags of dog food into the truck. One of the bags broke open in the process, and I cleaned up the spillage while Don went to let Stam and Camille know we were done. I hoped when we got to the animal shelter there’d be a few more helping hands to assist with the unload. I’d finished my clean up when Don came back outside.
“Maybe we should check the oil just to be sure,” he suggested. “I’d hate to cause further problems than this guy already has.” He patted the hood of the truck. “Right, Tom?”
“Okay. April checked it earlier and said she left a rag inside the cab. We can stop and get some oil if we need to.”
Don opened the passenger door and rooted around the seat to find the rag. I made sure the tailgate was closed tightly.
“Caro,” Don’s voice was muffled with his head inside the cab.
“Yes?”
“I think you need to come here.”
“Coming.” I’d made sure everything was secure in the back and nothing would blow out.
“What?”
Don stepped back from the side of the truck and motioned to me. “I think you’d better see this.” He pulled the passenger seat forward.
Nestled behind it was a rifle.
It was a quiet drive back to Laguna Beach. Don and I were both so rattled we hadn’t bothered to check the oil after all.
I headed straight to the shelter, and once we’d unloaded the bags of dog food, I debated whether I should simply drive to the police station and show Malone or go home and call him.
Neither Don nor I had touched the gun.
There could be a good reason April had a rifle. I couldn’t think of a good reason, but there had to be one.
Still a rifle. A dead woman. A big inheritance. It wasn’t going to look good.
I tried Malone on my cell phone before I left the shelter and got his voicemail. I left an urgent message with a heavy heart. I’d gotten attached to the little sprite, and I reall
y wanted to just ask her about the gun. But if I did that and then the gun was gone before Malone could check it out, that could be a problem. A big problem.
I decided I would go directly to the Laguna Beach police station. It’s downtown, not far off Laguna Canyon Road. In fact, very near my office.
I parked out front and walked into the building.
“Lorraine, is Detective Malone in?” I asked the woman at the desk.
“No, Caro. He’s out doing his detecting thing.” Now you might ask how I was on a first name basis with the clerk at the Laguna Beach PD. And it would be a good question. Suffice to say, we’d spent some time together when my friend, Diana, had been wrongly accused of a crime.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“I’m not sure. Do you want me to give him a message?”
“I left a message on his cell phone but yes, if he shows up, tell him I need to see him, and it’s urgent.”
“Will do, hon.” She went back to her paperwork.
“Thanks.” I went back outside to the truck. I needed to plug the parking meter again. I searched through my purse for change. Dang, the coins I’d used before must have been it.
My cell phone rang, and I could see it was April Mae’s number. I didn’t answer.
I climbed back in the truck and started it. There was a puff of dark smoke as the engine turned over, and I remember Don and I had never checked the oil.
I popped the hood open and retrieved the oily rag from the passenger side. The rag that’d started this whole mess.
Sure enough, Tom was already a quart low. That must be some oil leak. Maybe April Mae was right, and he was on his last legs . . . er . . . tires. Poor Tom.
I closed the hood. Shoot, I’d gotten oil all over my hands. I wiped them on the rag but it was so dirty it was a lost cause. I finally just wiped them on my shorts.
I thought about going back into the police station. But knew I’d get a parking ticket for sure if I left the truck parked at an expired meter. Well, while I was waiting for Malone to call back I could stop by the service station and put in some oil. It would give me something to do other than wait for the busy detective and avoid April Mae’s calls. Maybe I could wash my hands while I was there.
