A Fit of Tempera

by Mary Daheim

  Renie complied. Judith returned within three minutes. “Well?” asked Renie.

  “I was right.” Judith scuffed at the gravel along the roadside. Before she could say more, a car coming from the direction of Glacier Falls slowed to make a turn. But instead of taking a right to Riley Tobias’s house, it pulled left into the Woodchuck’s drive. The cousins drew back into the shadow of the phone booth.

  Dewitt and Erica Dixon emerged from a small sedan. Erica’s tone was waspish as she spoke to her husband. “Go ahead, take credit for it! If your reputation as a shrewd collector means more to you than I do, maybe you’d just as soon go it alone. I may love you, but I’m not sure I trust you!” She stomped off toward their motel unit.

  Dewitt doggedly followed her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Erica! Would I try to hoodwink my own wife? I’m glad you bought Lark’s painting. Maybe it means you’re finally over Riley…”

  The door closed behind them. The cousins stared at each other; then Judith said in a whisper, “Dewitt did hoodwink his own wife. He knew all along that Lark painted that picture. He saw her working on it. And I’ll bet he and Clive were trying to pull a fast one, but maybe Dewitt chickened out after Riley was murdered and put a stop payment on the check. Erica’s check. I’ll be darned.” Judith chuckled to herself.

  Overhead, a sprinkling of stars dotted the sky. The moon was rising over Mount Woodchuck. In the distance, the river was only a faint murmur. Now that they were no longer headed home, nervousness again attacked Judith and Renie. Their eyes grew wary; their feet were restless; tension settled over them, heavy as the spring dew.

  More cars, RVs, trucks, and vans cruised the highway. Fifteen minutes passed before another vehicle slowed down. It was a false alarm. The Buick from Oregon pulled into the auto court to discharge two cheerful seventy-year-olds whose goal was no more nefarious than finding a comfortable bed for the night. Judith and Renie resumed their watch.

  Five minutes later, the headlights of a larger conveyance shone, then turned into Nella’s driveway across the road. Renie gave Judith a curious look.

  “Ward?” she whispered, though her voice couldn’t have been heard over the sound of a passing mini-van.

  Judith peered into the darkness. “Ward. And Lark.” She stood motionless as Ward Kimball assisted his daughter from the Volkswagen bus.

  “What do we do?” asked Renie, still speaking softly.

  “Nothing.” But the pair didn’t go into Nella’s; instead, the Kimballs circled around to Riley’s Tobias’s drive. Cautiously, they went along the side of the house, apparently heading for the studio. “We wait for Costello.”

  “But…” Renie’s face puckered in confusion. “Shouldn’t we stall them?”

  “No.” The firmness of Judith’s tone was not arguable, even for Renie.

  Another five minutes passed. Judith’s watch told her it was after eight o’clock. Restless, Renie paced the tarmac. “I wonder if Fabio would give me some strained peas,” she mused.

  “You’re allergic to peas,” Judith remarked a bit testily.

  “Who cares? At this rate, I’ll die of starvation before a reaction can set in.” Renie seemed oblivious to logic.

  Another car slowed, then turned into Riley’s drive. Judith recognized Clive’s Infiniti. The minutes passed like dead weight. Finally Clive, ever the Southern gentleman, got out and rushed around to open the door for Iris. He walked her to the door. They chatted; then Iris went inside. Clive returned to his car.

  Renie grabbed Judith’s arm. “Coz!” she cried, heedless of anyone hearing her. “We’ve got to stop him!”

  “It’s okay,” Judith said, fobbing off Renie’s clutching hand. “Let’s go.”

  Renie was clearly all at sea. “This is crazy,” she muttered. “What about Costello?”

  “He’ll be along shortly,” Judith replied, then added under her breath, “I hope.”

  Iris was surprised to see her guests. “What happened? I just found your note. But my car is outside. Did it stall again? You were welcome to it, really. I plan to spend tomorrow doing the rest of Riley’s paperwork.”

  Judith and Renie were in the little entry hall off the kitchen. “It’s a long story,” Judith said. “Why don’t we take you up on that drink offer?”

  Iris led them into the living room. It appeared that she was already making order out of chaos. Much of the clutter had been cleared away, file folders rested in cardboard boxes, and two packing crates stood ready for whatever contents awaited them.

  “Clive is going to help me with some of this tomorrow,” Iris said, mixing martinis, two gin and one vodka. “He’s really quite helpful.”

  Judith was standing by the window that looked out onto the studio. The edifice was dark, but she had a feeling it wasn’t empty. Lark wouldn’t need light to find what she was looking for.

  “Clive’s a hard worker,” Judith remarked. “I mean, I assume he is, since he did so well by Riley.”

  Iris presented the cousins with their drinks. “His manner is deceptive,” she said, sitting down in a zebra-striped chair. “If there was some way I could keep him on, I would. But that’s pointless. The works that Riley kept for himself should go to the foundation.”

  “Of course.” Judith raised her glass. “To Riley.”

  Iris and Renie followed suit. “I miss him,” Iris said. Her dark eyes wandered around the living room, coming to rest on one of his early works, a view of morning mist rising from a stand of evergreens. “As maudlin as it sounds, he was the only man I ever loved.”

  Judith inclined her head. “Is that right, Iris?” She heard a noise outside. Neither Iris nor Renie seemed to notice. “In that case,” Judith asked, keeping her voice even, “why did you kill him?”

  Iris didn’t move. She sat in the zebra-striped chair with the martini glass clutched in her long, slim fingers. Judith also remained motionless. Only Renie turned on the sofa, then twisted around as if watching for someone to come in through the back door.

  “I understand you married a policeman the second time,” Iris said in a conversational tone. “Is that what gives you such peculiar ideas, Judith?”

  “Oh, maybe.” Judith started to sip at her martini, thought better of it, and sat up straight in the cane-backed chair. “I used to be a librarian, as you may recall. The job gives you an inquiring mind.”

  Iris stood up, cradling the drink against her breast. “Inquiring, but not necessarily imaginative.” She moved slowly to the armoire which housed the liquor. “I’m surprised that you’d come up with such fantasies. You saw Riley working in the studio. You were with me when I found the body. And why on earth would I kill him?”

  Judith kept her voice as casual as Iris’s. “For a lot of reasons. He may not have been in love with Lark, but he probably did intend to marry her. That in itself could have driven you to murder.”

  Iris laughed, a not-quite-musical sound. “How absurd! I told you, Riley was Lark’s father.” She opened the door of the armoire. “Are you accusing him of incest?”

  “No.” Judith’s voice had taken on a sad note. “Riley wasn’t Lark’s father. You made that up, to mislead us. It was a stupid mistake, Iris. Maybe your only real mistake. Lark is thirty-two years old. Riley didn’t come up to this part of the world until six or seven years after Lark was born. You were so anxious to debunk an affair between Riley and Lark as a motive that you invented an outrageous—and impossible—lie. All things considered, it wasn’t worthy of you.”

  Looking relaxed as well as amused, Iris smiled at the cousins. “In groping for a motive, you haven’t done badly. But you realize it’s utterly impossible for me to have killed Riley. The undersheriff knows that—you’re my witnesses.”

  “Not witnesses,” Judith said firmly. “Dupes. We just happened to be there. Otherwise, it might have been Dewitt or Clive. You sneaked back here from the Green Mountain Inn, got Riley to have another beer or two, coaxed him into standing in front of his easel—and strangled him.” Judith i
gnored the scornful look on Iris’s face. “That easel was very sturdy because it held large paintings, though you made sure it would support his weight by propping the heavy box of paints behind it. Then you spilled tempera paint all over the floor. It’s not as slippery as oil or acrylic, but it did the job. Riley’s body couldn’t fight gravity. While we were over at Nella’s, looking for your nonexistent prowler, Riley was slowly sliding to the floor. That’s how you found him, and I’ve got to admit, it sure fooled me. We were a perfect pair of saps to make a perfect alibi. It’s a terrible shame, Iris. I always liked you a lot.”

  Iris had put her martini glass down on a shelf in the armoire. She was reaching for a jar of olives with her left hand when Judith realized she had opened a small drawer with her right. The gun appeared before either of the cousins could move to stop Iris.

  “I’m all alone here now,” Iris said calmly, pointing the gun first at Judith and then at Renie. “Someone is bound to break into this place and try to steal some of the art objects. Who could blame me for shooting a couple of intruders, especially when they stole my car?” She smiled blandly at the cousins. “Having the phone installed proves I was frightened. In the wake of Riley’s tragic death, I might also be hysterical.”

  It occurred to Judith that there never was a woman less inclined to hysterics than Iris Takisaki. The calm she exhibited was far more terrifying than any emotional outburst. Judith tried to think and listen at the same time. There was another noise outside. Judith caught her breath; then her heart sank. She heard Ward Kimball’s Volkswagen van drive off down the road.

  “It wasn’t just jealousy that made you kill Riley,” Judith said, aware that the only hope was to stall for time. “With Riley dead, you have control of his foundation. Are you accountable to anyone?” There was no response from Iris. She merely moved two steps closer to Judith and Renie. “You could do as you pleased with his fortune and his works of art. Oh, you might go through the motions of an office and an exhibit and maybe even a few crumbs to starving minority students now and then. But Riley had accumulated considerable wealth. You’d be a rich, independent woman, Iris.”

  Iris gave a toss of her carefully coiffed head. “I’m already well off. And extremely independent.” Her voice was tinged with scorn.

  “Like hell,” Renie said. “You may lead a comfy lifestyle, Iris, but you’re not really independent. You doted on Riley, and felt he should reciprocate. Maybe he only wanted Lark because, as his wife, she could go on painting pictures under his name. But keeping up his artistic reputation was more important to him than you were. He intended to ditch you as soon as Lark said, ‘I do, I paint.’ Riley used both of you. Lark might never believe that, but you knew it, and that’s why you killed him.”

  Iris glared at Renie, but she also kept Judith within full view. “And how could I overcome a man as big and strong as Riley?”

  Judith tried to eye her watch. Over half an hour had gone by since she’d called the sheriff’s office. “I already said it—you got him drunk,” Judith replied. “It wouldn’t take much, given his lack of capacity for liquor. You drank right along with him, but you hid your beer can under the floorboard. You couldn’t risk fingerprints being found. Of course, you’re used to drinking, aren’t you, Iris? You’ve got quite a collection out there under the studio floorboards.”

  Iris’s nostrils flared. Her fine features took on a grotesque aspect as she raised the gun. “You’re a pair of meddlers! All your nice manners and neighborly ways are just a sham! You’re really a couple of nasty bitches!”

  Renie glowered right back at Iris. “And you’re a Camp Fire Girl? At least we haven’t murdered anybody. Give it up, Iris. The sheriff’s on his way.”

  To the cousins’ dismay, Iris laughed. “The sheriff! You mean that dunce Costello? He’s probably lost in the wrong county. Come on, let’s go out to the studio. I don’t want to make a mess in the living room now that I’m getting it straightened up.”

  Trying to stand, Judith realized her knees were weak. She held onto the back of the chair to steady herself. Renie went first, out the front door. The meadow was shrouded in mist. Fleetingly, Judith wondered if they dared make a run for it. But Iris was too close behind them. She might miss one of them, but she’d get the other.

  The studio seemed very cold. Iris ordered Renie to turn on one of the lights, then told Judith to start the CD player. “Turn it up,” she commanded as Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries poured from the speakers. Judith winced at the volume.

  “No one will hear anything over that,” Iris shouted as she held the gun in both hands. Judith was no expert on firearms, but Joe had taught her enough to recognize a Smith & Wesson .36 Chief Special. “Now I shoot you,” Iris announced in a loud but controlled voice. “Then I switch off the music and toss a match onto those old paint rags in the corner.” She gave a slight lift of her shoulders. “By the time the volunteer firemen get here, there won’t be much left of you or the studio.”

  Horrified, Judith backed away from Iris and bumped into Renie, who was standing next to the new window. “You wouldn’t do that! Nella and the Mortons will see the fire right away! And what about your cock-and-bull robber story?”

  Iris appeared unconcerned, though her voice was showing signs of strain as she continued to yell above the Valkyries’ wild cries. “Thieves fall out. A couple of days ago, didn’t Clive and Dewitt think you were hiding a seventy-thousand-dollar painting? Let Costello try to unravel it. It won’t matter to me. I’ll be halfway to Glacier Falls, going to see the undertaker.” She aimed the gun at Renie. “You’ve got an awfully big mouth, Mrs. Jones.”

  “And about now, it could eat an elephant.” Renie appeared unnaturally composed. Judith’s heart was pounding too hard to let her brain figure out why.

  It was the brilliant light flooding the room that distracted Iris just as she was about to pull the trigger. Her attention shifted a fraction too long; Renie came down hard on the floorboard that covered the empty liquor bottles. The two-foot plank flew up, knocking Iris off-balance. Judith fell on top of her, trying to grab the gun. A shot went off, lodging somewhere in the rafters. Renie had scurried around to help Judith, getting an armlock around Iris’s neck. She squeezed, hard. Iris screamed, turned purple, and slumped onto the floor. Wagner’s Valkyries raged on.

  The gun fell from Iris’s hand. Judith pushed it aside. “Thank God for the sheriff,” she murmured, going limp.

  “The sheriff?” gasped Renie as bodies hurtled into the studio. “It’s not the sheriff, coz. It’s the TV reporters. I think we just made the eleven o’clock news.”

  Undersheriff Abbott N. Costello arrived two minutes later with Dabney Plummer and three other deputies. So did the entire Morton clan, the Dixons, and Nella Lablatt. The television crew had been so busy setting up equipment and giving orders to one another that Judith and Renie were able to escape in the confusion. Had Iris not been half-conscious, she, too, might have gotten away. Through the studio windows, the cousins saw an aggressive female reporter trying to interview her.

  “Clearly,” the reporter was saying, more into her microphone than to Iris, “the studio of the internationally acclaimed artist Riley Tobias has once again been a scene of wanton violence. What is your reaction to this latest outrage?”

  “My attorney!” croaked Iris, struggling to sit up. “I want my attorney!”

  “An understandable reaction, given the social ills that beset contemporary society,” the reporter said smoothly, if loudly, over the music. “Would you care to comment on how it feels to…”

  Judith turned away, almost colliding with a young man uncoiling a length of orange cable. Costello and his men had rushed past the cousins, either not recognizing them or not caring. Somebody turned off the CD player, but the night was still filled with unnatural sounds.

  Nella, wearing a voluminous pink bathrobe and gold lamé bedroom slippers, stood on tiptoes to get a better look. “What’s happening? Is somebody else dead?”


  The four oldest Morton children shrieked with delight and charged toward the studio. Kennedy Morton darted after them, shouting.

  Judith tried to steer Nella out of harm’s way. “There’s really nothing to see. I’m afraid Iris killed Riley.” She spoke very quietly, lest Nella succumb to shock.

  But Nella merely snorted. “Iris! Can’t say as I blame her, in a way. Riley gave her a bad time. A woman should take only so much. Then she’s got to draw the line.”

  Dumbfounded, Judith said nothing. Costello came back out of the studio, with Dabney Plummer at his heels. This time, the undersheriff noticed the cousins.

  “You two again! You put in the call? What for?” He was scowling under his hat. “You had the gall to use the word ‘emergency,’ and all these dumbbell reporters hear it on the radio band and come a-running! Sheesh!”

  Judith explained, aware that some of the TV personnel had formed a circle around them. “It appears that Iris Takisaki murdered Riley Tobias. When my cousin and I confronted her with the accusation, she pulled a gun on us and threatened to kill us. Luckily, we disarmed and subdued her before she could carry out her intentions. We’d like to file a complaint.”

  Costello looked skeptical. “This sounds screwy to me. You two gave her an alibi. Got any proof?”

  “We can make a statement,” Judith said calmly. “The important thing is that Ms. Takisaki is placed under arrest.”

  “I don’t have a warrant.” Costello made as if to walk away.

  Judith grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket. “Now just a minute.” She stood close to him, almost treading on his shoes. “You’ve got a murderer in there,” she said between clenched teeth. “You’ve got the press all over the place. You’ve got two people who will testify that the suspect was about to assault them with a deadly weapon. You’ve got a chance to be a real hero. And if you don’t act fast, you’re going to get egg all over your face, and the next thing you know, you’ll be sitting outside the Tin Hat Cafe with a tin cup.” Judith gave Costello a little shake. “Get it?”