A Fit of Tempera

by Mary Daheim

  Renie, holding her tumbler of bourbon in both hands, stepped down to the ground. “I don’t know—is someone calling us?”

  Setting her drink on the porch, Judith also got up. Iris Takisaki plunged through the woods, waving her arms and calling to the cousins. Her grace and composure were shaken.

  “There’s a prowler next door,” she announced, her almond-shaped eyes wide. “Do you think I should call the sheriff?”

  Judith glanced at Renie. “Well—maybe. What does Riley think?”

  Iris gave an impatient shake of her head. “He’s working. I didn’t want to disturb him. And I could be wrong. Maybe it’s just a hiker.” She hesitated, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms. “Would you mind coming over and taking a look with me? If we see anybody suspicious, we can call from the Woodchuck Auto Court.”

  Although Riley Tobias used electricity, he had never installed a phone. Like Gertrude Grover, Riley considered the telephone an intrusion. On the rare occasions when he needed to make a call, the artist would go next door to the home of Nella Lablatt, who had been the local postmistress until President Dwight D. Eisenhower had closed many of the rural offices in the 1950s. Nella was reportedly still pouting about Ike’s decision.

  “Nella’s out of town,” Iris explained as the cousins joined her in heading for the trail. “Riley’s been watching the house for her, but he’s never mentioned seeing anybody suspicious around. I was about to put a note under the studio door and let him know I was going back to check on my car when I heard a noise over at Nella’s icehouse. I went to the fence and thought I saw somebody slip between the bushes and the house.”

  “It’s broad daylight,” Renie pointed out. “Who’d be dumb enough to break in now?”

  In the lead, Iris had entered Riley’s property. “I agree, except with all these crazy people on drugs, there’s no accounting for what criminals do. Nella’s been gone for over two weeks, so word may have gotten out that the house is empty.”

  They were passing the studio. Judith glanced through the big window and saw Riley Tobias poised in front of his canvas. The garish colors of “The Nerd” looked even more jarring in the waning sunlight.

  Iris stopped at the corner of the house. “Maybe I should tell Riley,” she said in an uncertain voice. “He might get angry when he finds out we tackled this character alone.”

  “Don’t bother,” Renie said, moving right along. “We’re not exactly The Wimp Triplets. Besides, we outnumber the bozo.”

  With a little shrug, Iris continued across the grass to Nella’s property. The flagpole where Nella still dutifully ran up the Stars and Stripes every morning was bare. Her bungalow with its stained cedar shakes and dark green trim was locked up tight. Above the door, Judith could just make out the faded letters that said, “U.S. Post Office—Mount Woodchuck Station.”

  The cousins took a quick look around the garden. Nella had a knack for raising herbs and domesticating wildflowers. Despite her great age, she still managed to tend her flowers and shrubs. The small rockery that stood between the road and the front porch sported a profusion of spring color: pink gloxinias, purple anemones, scarlet freesias, golden tigridias, sprung among the boulders Nella had personally carried up from the riverbank. All around the house, new growth was ready to burst into bud. Out back, Nella’s gnarled old fruit trees were heavy with white-and-pink blossoms. The little stone path that led to the icehouse was bordered with sweet alyssum and primroses. Judith had a sudden urge to head back for Hillside Manor and start working on her yard. So far this season, she hadn’t done much more than prune the rose bushes and put in some new dahlia tubers.

  Iris was cautiously circling the icehouse. Judith checked out the shrubbery. Renie tried both front and back doors, then looked in the windows. There was no sign of disturbance.

  “Curious,” murmured Iris, standing with her fists on her hips. “Maybe it was one of the kids from across the road. But I could have sworn it was an adult.”

  “Male or female?” Judith asked, her gaze lingering on the stone walkway where blooms from a bronze cushion chrysanthemum had fallen. Scanning the border next to the walk, she saw bleeding heart, creeping phlox, and crown vetch. Judith frowned.

  Iris was taking one last look around the icehouse. “I couldn’t say for certain,” she answered. “It was just a figure. These days, people dress so strangely that it’s sometimes hard to tell a man from a woman.”

  “That’s for sure,” Renie replied on a disparaging note, despite her own shapeless Zion National Park T-shirt, baggy cotton pants, and nondescript shoes that could have been worn by anybody but a penguin. As ever, Renie’s casual wardrobe looked more like a casualty, and was a far cry from the expensive designer pieces she trotted out for professional duties.

  The three women headed away from Nella Lablatt’s cozy cottage. Iris thanked the cousins for accompanying her. “Why not have that drink now?” she offered.

  But Judith replied that they still had to finish their own, left back on the cabin porch. “Later,” Judith said. “After dinner, okay?”

  “That sounds fine.” Iris smiled. “Riley will be finished up by then and he’ll have time to unwind.” She walked between the house and the studio with the cousins. “Now I feel silly,” she murmured. “I brought you all the way over here for nothing.”

  “Oh, no,” Renie countered. “There’ve been a lot of prowlers and robbers around. We’ve had stuff taken over the years, too.”

  Judith nodded in acknowledgment of the rural crime wave. The Grover cabin had indeed suffered, having been broken into at least four times in the past decade. Except for an antique Victrola record player, little of value had been taken, mainly because the family had furnished the place with so many castoffs.

  “Riley’s been lucky,” Iris replied, gazing over Judith’s shoulder toward the studio. “Oh—he’s quit for the day. Which reminds me,” she added, setting her jaw. “I’d better see if he locked up. He’s pretty careless about security.” She went to the studio door and flung it open. “You see? He just—” Iris stiffened, then threw up her hands and screamed.

  Judith started for Iris, then froze, as if by reflex. Renie didn’t move at all, but clamped a hand over her mouth. Iris screamed again, then rushed inside the studio. Unable to contain herself, Judith followed her.

  Riley Tobias lay facedown on the floor, one hand flung out, the other at an awkward angle by his side. A bright orange stain spread out on the floor under his body. Judith’s first reaction was that it was blood, but of course she was mistaken: It was merely oil paint, used to add brighter nuances to “The Nerd.”

  Nonetheless, Riley Tobias was dead.

  Iris Takisaki crouched on the studio floor, rocking back and forth, her hands covering her face. A very pale Renie had now joined the other two women.

  “What happened?” she asked in a hoarse voice. “His heart?”

  Judith was trying to examine Riley without touching him. He was facedown, but she could tell his color was an ugly bluish gray. With unsteady fingers, she flicked at the thick hair that grew down over his collar. A little groan surged up from her throat. Iris didn’t seem to notice, but Renie caught her cousin’s reaction.

  “What is it?” Renie demanded.

  Judith swallowed hard. “It’s picture-hanging wire, I’d guess.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s been strangled.”

  Iris’s head jerked up. She stared at Judith. “What are you talking about?” Her words were thick, almost incoherent.

  Judith closed her eyes for just an instant. “There’s some kind of wire around Riley’s neck, Iris. He’s been strangled.”

  Iris shook her head, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until Judith thought her neck would snap. A high-pitched cry tore from her throat and seemed to ricochet off the big panes of glass that illuminated the studio with the light of the dying day.

  “Crazy!” Iris shrieked. “That’s crazy! You’re crazy!”

  Renie had a hand on
Judith’s arm, as if to assure her not only that she wasn’t crazy, but that, as always, she—Renie—was there to support her cousin in an hour of need. Judith silently acknowledged Renie, but her first concern was for Iris, who was bordering on hysterics.

  Then Iris stopped shrieking and grew very still. She turned a drawn, horrified face to the cousins. “But that is crazy,” she said in a not-quite-normal tone. “It has to be. You mean we’re talking about murder?”

  It was always murder. Or so it seemed to Judith. It was a violent world, it always had been, yet unnatural death seemed to dog Judith’s footsteps. The B&B brought her into close contact with hundreds of strangers every year, most of them decent, kind, gentle people. But occasionally there was the volatile guest capable of smashing up the furniture, jumping out of a window, or committing murder. To make matters worse, some of Judith’s travels had brought her face-to-face with malicious mayhem. Now the rustic tranquility of her longtime sanctuary at the cabin had also been invaded. It was no wonder that her husband rarely confided in her about his routine homicide investigations. He knew she was already too well acquainted with violence.

  Judith’s feet felt like lead as she held a hand under Iris Takisaki’s elbow to guide her along the gravel drive that led to the highway. They could see for a half mile in each direction, from the easterly curve in the road where the Green Mountain Inn and Grocery was located, to the west where the highway followed the Big Bend in the river.

  The Woodchuck Auto Court was situated across the road from Nella Lablatt’s little house. Indeed, Nella and her fifth—and final—husband had once owned the auto court, back in the thirties. Then Franklin Delano Roosevelt had nominated Nella for government service, and the Lablatts had forsaken their commercial enterprise for the federal pork barrel.

  It seemed to Judith that subsequent owners hadn’t done much to bring the original complex out of the Depression era. The half-dozen cabins that formed a U-shape around the small parking lot were all one-room affairs with small, square windows and weathered shake roofs. They were clean, they were neat, they were old. The office was housed in the filling station; the front desk also served customers who wanted gas, oil, soda pop, cigarettes, and bait. Just outside the door stood an old-fashioned wooden phone booth, blistered by sun, wind, and rain.

  A pickup truck with a golden retriever in the back was just pulling out from the gas station as the three women set foot on the tarmac. A tall, thin man of about forty was leaning against the ancient glass-topped pump, counting money. Judith tried to remember who owned the Woodchuck now. There had been several changes over the years, and she didn’t recognize the man in the dirty denim coveralls.

  “There’s been an accident,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder in the direction of Riley Tobias’s cabin and studio. Only the rooftops could be seen beyond the thick stand of trees. “We need to call the sheriff.”

  The tall, thin man’s gray eyes snapped to attention. He pocketed the money and regarded all three women with suspicion. “What kind of accident?” His voice had a nasal quality.

  Renie, who wasn’t encumbered by Iris’s flagging figure, marched briskly to the phone booth. “A bad one,” she replied. “As in dead.”

  The man in the coveralls swore under his breath and spat on the tarmac. “That does it! I’m sellin’ this place! I told Carrie Mae we’d have to put up with a lot of guff, like customers and such.” He stomped off into the tiny office and banged the door behind him.

  Judith rolled her eyes, while Iris chewed on her lower lip. “That’s Kennedy Morton. He and his wife have been here only a few months. Oh, my! I didn’t mean to upset him! And I don’t even have money for the pay phone! I left my purse at the house! Oh!” She began to weep anew.

  “Don’t worry about it,” soothed Judith, watching Renie cope with the antiquated telephone. “We’ll handle the phone. As for Mr. Morton, I gather he isn’t the sensitive type.”

  Renie was giving the interior of the phone booth a swift kick. Obviously, things weren’t going well. Judith’s gaze roamed around the little parking lot. There were three vehicles pulled up in front of the cabins, which wasn’t as amazing as it might seem: The Woodchuck Auto Court and the Green Mountain Inn were the only hostelries on the ten-mile stretch of highway between Glacier Falls and the entrance to the national forest. What did amaze Judith was that one of the three vehicles was a handsome new white Mercedes-Benz sedan. It looked as out of place as a Ming vase at a Tupperware party.

  The phone booth was shaking. Renie appeared to be hopping up and down inside, screaming into the receiver. Judith grimaced, then glanced at Iris. She was regaining her composure, smoothing her black hair, wiping her eyes, pressing the swan pendant against her breast.

  At last Renie emerged from the phone booth. “What century is this?” she shrieked. “That damned phone must have been the first model after the crank!”

  Judith bit back the urge to tell Renie she was the crank. Instead, she inquired as to what would happen next, as far as the county law-enforcement officials were concerned.

  “They’re sending somebody,” Renie replied, simmering down and brushing bugs off her T-shirt. “It’ll take a while, though. After all, the county seat is thirty miles away, and they don’t have anybody in the Glacier Falls area at the moment.”

  Judith was about to suggest that they go back to wait at Riley’s cabin when a chubby redheaded woman bounded out of the house behind the gas station. “Yoo-hoo! Wait! Stop! Hoo!” She bounced down the gravel path, waving a dish towel. “Mort says somebody died. Who? Nella? She must be a hundred and ten!”

  Before the cousins could respond, Iris finally relinquished Judith’s arm. “It’s not Nella, Mrs. Morton. She’s still away. It’s Riley Tobias. The sheriff is coming.” Iris’s voice was very thin.

  Mrs. Morton moved closer, bosom straining at her coral polyester blouse. “Riley? Riley!” She put her hands to her head and let out a little squeal. As if responding to the sound, three small children came tumbling around the corner of the filling station. Judith thought they were all boys, but couldn’t be sure: Their curly red hair, smudged round faces, and rumpled playclothes could have belonged to either sex.

  “Now why,” demanded Mrs. Morton, batting ineffectually at the children, who were hanging onto her tight green polyester pants, “would the Lord take somebody so young? Riley Tobias couldn’ta been more than fifty.”

  “Fifty next month,” murmured Iris, apparently equally dazed at the thought.

  The youngsters were neither dazed nor distressed. “Sweet-Stix! Sweet-Stix! We want Sweet-Stix now!” They spoke in unison, hopping up and down on the tarmac, tugging at their mother, and waving their arms.

  She ignored them and reached out to Iris, enveloping the taller but much slimmer woman in her arms. “There there, you poor thing! Why, you must feel just like a widow!” Mrs. Morton crushed Iris to her coral bosom. The children kept on hopping and shouting.

  Judith and Renie eyed each other with pained expressions. Iris allowed herself to be comforted for a minimal moment, then drew somewhat awkwardly away from her benefactress.

  “I feel numb just now,” Iris said in a hollow tone. “Maybe I should sit down.”

  “Sweet-Stix! Sweet-Stix!” The children were still jumping, though the oldest, who appeared to be about five, turned to glare at Iris. Obviously, Judith thought, he—or she—recognized Iris and her sad news only as a deterrent to childish pleasures.

  At last Mrs. Morton made a serious attempt to shush her offspring: She planted both feet firmly on the ground, gave a tremendous heave of her chubby body, and shook off all but the oldest child. “That’s it! You behave now! You, too, Velvet,” she said to the five-year-old.

  Velvet let go, though her face had turned sulky. She immediately led her two younger siblings out toward the edge of the road, as if organizing a mutiny. Mrs. Morton watched the trio with narrowed eyes. “Not another step, Velvet. You hear? Rafe! Giles! Don’t you dare cross that road aga
in! You’ll get killed.” Her gaze was now ferocious, and her voice could have been heard not only on the other side of the highway, but across the river as well. The children seemed unaffected, but they stayed put. Their mother turned back to Iris and the cousins. “Now, as I was saying—or about to, before those little imps tried to get the better of me—why don’t you come inside and take it easy on our couch? I’ll clear off the laundry and the diaper pail and the dog and the baby and we’…”

  But Iris had raised a slim hand in protest. “You’re so kind, Mrs. Morton, but no, thank you. We should go back over to Riley’s.”

  Mrs. Morton looked disappointed but undaunted. “Well—if you say so. But come along later, and I’ll fix you a nice wine cooler. Bring your friends, too.” She nodded at Judith and Renie. “Peach, mango, grape—what’s your favorite wine, Iris?”

  Iris almost succeeded in hiding her look of dismay. “Uh—I—er, a cup of tea would be fine.” She forced a smile. “Thank you.” Practically backpedaling straight into Renie, Iris fled in the direction of the road.

  Half a dozen cars, a flatbed truck, an RV, and three motorcycles passed before the women could get to the other side of the road. A few yards away, they could hear the chant resumed:

  “Sweet-Stix, Sweet-Stix, Sweet-Stix…please!”

  Iris Takisaki had steered the cousins into Riley Tobias’s living room. Judith was seated in an uncomfortable teak chair from Denmark; Renie had commandeered a soft leather armchair that practically swallowed her up. Iris, who had insisted on pouring the brandy despite her trembling hands, was perched at the far end of a colorful futon sofa.

  “If only I’d gotten a better look at whoever was at Nella’s.” Still berating herself for not being more observant, Iris paused to take a sip of brandy.

  Judith tried to console her. “You can’t be certain that whoever you saw was the killer. And you certainly can’t beat yourself over the head, because you had no way of knowing that it was important at the time.”