The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  “I’m aware of the tradeoff,” Ryan said brusquely, frowning at him. “Question for you—how much of this stuff was already here, and how much did your guys move in when construction started?”

  Ernesto scratched his head. “I dunno. Might have been some garden furniture out here. Most everything came out of the basement, though, least as far as I can remember.”

  Ryan lowered his voice so the rest of the workers wouldn’t overhear. “So you don’t think the mummy was here before?”

  Ernesto shook his head. “Nothing was tarped until we moved the basement stuff out here. I would have noticed a dang mummy.”

  Ryan nodded. “But you didn’t notice any of your guys hauling it out here.” Bethany thought the way he said it was less of a question and more of a criticism, and from the look on Ernesto’s face, it was clear he felt the same way.

  “I would have noticed.” He stuck his chin out stubbornly. “My guys didn’t manhandle your precious artifact, if that’s what you’re saying. Somebody else put it out here. Maybe one of your people.”

  Ryan nodded, clearly still skeptical of Ernesto’s powers of observation. “Well, when they finish getting this stuff out of here, you can get started on cleaning the glass.”

  Ernesto nodded and sucked his cheeks sourly, watching his crew at work. One of the men stumbled and dropped a box that jangled like it was full of metal pieces.

  “Hey! Watch it—they don’t make those anymore!” Ernesto yelled across the room and then headed off to scold the guy further, muttering under his breath.

  “You don’t believe him.” Bethany was watching Ryan’s face.

  “I believe him that he didn’t see it. I just think he might have missed it among all the other stuff.” Ryan waved his hand at the remaining piles. “It’s not his stuff, you know? It’s reasonable that he might have just covered up a bunch of storage items with tarps without even thinking about what it was.”

  Bethany tilted her head to the side. “I don’t know. He seems to know what’s inside every box. And he said he’s been working here for his whole life, basically. It kind of is his stuff.”

  “Well, he’s not the only one with a key, either,” Ryan said. “I think we should pay a visit to Lucien’s studio. He is dying to show it to you.”

  Bethany sagged against him. “He’s not going to kiss my hand again, is he?”

  He propped her up. “I’ll try to prevent it.”

  “Thanks.” She took his arm and they walked leisurely back through the house to the grand marble staircase in the foyer. “Wow, getting around in here is a hike. I’d be in a lot better shape if I lived in a house this big. Is that why you’re so...?” She trailed off, blushing.

  “I live in a boat, remember? It takes about thirty seconds to do a full lap in there.” He chuckled. “There’s actually a way to get upstairs from the kitchen, but it’s the old servants’ staircase, so it’s really narrow. I wanted to show you the pretty way since you haven’t had the full tour yet.”

  She ran her hands admiringly along the banister. “It’s spectacular. I can’t wait to see the museum all finished if it’s going to look as nice as this.”

  Their voices echoed up the stone stairwell as they walked up. Lucien leaned out over the railing of the second-floor landing as they neared the top.

  He beamed when he saw Bethany accompanying Ryan. “It’s my beautiful friend! Back so soon!”

  She nodded, stepping a little behind Ryan when they reached the landing to avoid any enthusiastic embraces. Lucien put out his hand to take hers, but Ryan swiftly grabbed it and gave him a handshake.

  “Good to see you. We’re just here following up on the artifact we found yesterday?” Ryan’s gentle question seemed to distract Lucien.

  He nodded gravely and adjusted his round glasses. “Ah, yes, I heard from Ernesto that you’d located an Egyptian! How unusual.”

  Bethany nodded in agreement. Well, not exactly an Egyptian—but definitely unusual.

  “Did you ever see a mummy in the LaFontaine collections?” Ryan asked. “I know you two traveled the world to find pieces. Maybe it’s something he picked up somewhere?”

  Lucien frowned, shaking his head. “Bernard didn’t collect anything ancient. His interests were very specific. If it wasn’t Jasper James Peregrine or one of his students, he didn’t want it.”

  “Maybe Bernard’s parents or grandparents collected Egyptian artifacts?” Ryan asked. “Could the mummy have been stashed away somewhere in the house?”

  Lucien blinked rapidly. “I have no idea. I’ve certainly never seen it before. It’s a big house, though.”

  Something’s making him nervous. But what?

  “You manage all the LaFontaine collections, though, right?” Bethany asked. “Not just the Peregrine paintings?”

  He nodded. “I’m something of a Peregrine expert. All right, the Peregrine expert. That’s why Bernard employed me. But I do care for the other, lesser works that the family collected, as well. It’s a shame that Simon has no interest in art,” he added absentmindedly. “It’s such a waste of an inheritance.”

  “Well, the museum is lucky to have you on staff now,” Ryan said. “You don’t have to worry about the whims of the younger generation.”

  Bethany had a sneaking suspicion Ryan was talking about his family more than the LaFontaines. He was the whimsical younger Lazam generation.

  She smiled at Lucien. “I’m sure you keep a record of all the pieces. Like an art register or something? They must have given your father a list when he purchased the collection,” she added, turning to Ryan.

  “Not just a pretty face, I see,” Lucien murmured. “Of course, I put together a complete inventory for the sale. Simon didn’t want to keep anything, so if the mummy was part of the collection, it would be on the list. Come, I have a copy somewhere in my studio. I’ll unearth it for you. I can tell you now, it doesn’t include anything Egyptian, though.” He motioned for them to follow and walked at a surprisingly brisk pace down a wide hall.

  “He’s right about you,” Ryan said quietly as they trotted after him. “That was quick thinking.”

  She smiled at him and fluttered her eyelashes. “Why, thank you. I told you I was going to figure this out today. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  And by rodeo, I mean dead body.

  At the end of the hall, the sharp smell of turpentine and paint met Bethany’s nostrils. Lucien pushed open the door to his studio, revealing an airy, spacious room with two walls of windows that looked down on the gardens.

  “You have a wonderful view of the conservatory from here,” Bethany said.

  Lucien nodded. “Not that I have time to look at it. We’re on a tight timeline getting the paintings ready for the museum opening.”

  He began rummaging in the deep drawers of a desk while Bethany surveyed the room. It was scattered with the detritus of an artist at work—tables littered with tubes of paint, jars holding paintbrushes of every size and shape, paint-smeared rags, and colorful palettes. Plates of half-eaten food dotted every flat surface. An easel in the center of the room displayed a stunning landscape painting of a sailboat on a sapphire lake. Two tiny figures were on the boat.

  Bethany leaned closer to see them better. One wore a wide skirt and held a parasol and the other was offering her a hand as she stepped from one part of the boat to another. The figures were incredibly detailed—she could even make out the curls in the woman’s hair.

  “Do you like it?” Lucien spoke close to her ear, which made her jump.

  She nodded mutely and stepped back from the painting, bumping into Ryan, who grasped her shoulders reassuringly.

  “Here’s the list.” Lucien handed a sheaf of papers to Ryan, his eyes still trained on Bethany. “It’s one of Peregrine’s later works. Let me show you its companion.”

  He moved quickly to the back of the room and opened a large cabinet there. Inside were many sliding racks, each of which held a painting. He located the one he wanted and bro
ught it back, dragging an empty easel with him to display it.

  While Lucien set up the easel, Ryan scanned the list. “Hm. You were telling the truth. I don’t see anything even remotely Egyptian. Not so much as a postcard. It seems none of the LaFontaines ever even visited the region.”

  “Why would I lie?” Lucien asked. Then he motioned to the painting. “Voila. The companion.”

  The second painting was very similar to the first. Both were clearly of the same lake and sailboat. But the second one didn’t include the two figures on the boat—instead, they were in the foreground, on the shore. The man and woman stood far apart, both gazing out at the water. Rather than the intimate moment captured in the first painting, there was no indication the figures even knew each other.

  “Peregrine is known for his paired paintings,” Ryan explained. “He often painted the same scene twice, and together the paintings tell a story.”

  “He rarely sold them to the same person, though. It wasn’t until I—I mean, Bernard and I—had amassed a large collection of his work that we started noticing the companions. I’ve written articles about it for several large art history publications.” Lucien smiled beatifically.

  “How interesting,” Bethany said politely. “So the story here is that the two people met and went sailing?”

  “Or perhaps the opposite. Perhaps they went sailing and then decided they weren’t a match.” Lucien eyed her and Ryan, as though he was hoping they, too, would realize their incompatibility. He flashed Bethany a smile. “One can never tell which painting was made first. That is part of their charm.”

  Bethany rolled her eyes. “Or maybe Jasper James Peregrine thought the lake was pretty and made two paintings he thought he could sell. He did make his living that way, didn’t he?”

  Lucien’s smile faded. “Great artists never paint purely for profit. They paint from a place of passion. Of meaning!”

  Oops, touched a nerve. Guess I won’t have to worry about any more hand-kissing from him.

  Ryan handed the inventory back to Lucien. “Thanks, you’ve been very helpful. If you find any mention of a mummy in the old records—”

  “I’ll alert you at once,” Lucien said shortly. He seemed eager to see them go, quite a change from his supposed desire to show Bethany around the studio.

  Was it my comment that bothered him so much, or was it something else?

  “Just curious,” Bethany began, but stopped, unsure whether Ryan would approve of her line of questioning. Lucien raised an eyebrow, waiting, and she plunged ahead. “Where do you think the mummy came from?”

  Lucien shrugged. “How would I know?”

  “I was just wondering. You know the ins and outs of this place. You know the staff. You even have a birds-eye view of the conservatory. And you seem very smart. You must have a theory about how it got out there.”

  “A theory, sure—but no proof. I don’t want to cast blame.” Lucien smiled smugly. Playing coy didn’t suit him at all. He was clearly eager to tell them his idea. It would only take a nudge.

  Bethany opened her mouth to ask him about his theory, but before she could speak, Ryan cleared his throat. “If you tell me, it won’t come back to you, I promise. I’m just looking for ideas at this phase. If you have any suspicions, I’d love to hear them.”

  “Well—so few of us have keys. The family, of course, and then you and I have them.”

  “Don’t forget Ernesto,” Ryan added.

  Lucien nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “My thoughts exactly. Ernesto has supplies stored in there, so he goes in and out of there regularly. Nobody else does.”

  Supplies like the road salt. Salt that could have been used to mummify the body.

  Ryan nodded. “Fair point.”

  “He may know something about it. I’ll inquire,” Lucien said.

  “No. I’ll handle it. Don’t say anything.” Ryan’s face was so stern that it gave Bethany a glimpse of what his father must be like. It was the opposite of Ryan’s usual open, warm vibe.

  No wonder he doesn’t want to break the news to his dad about the construction delays, if that was the kind of look he’d get.

  Lucien seemed unperturbed, though. Maybe he was used to authoritative rich guys bossing him around after so many years working for the LaFontaines. He arched an eyebrow and gave a small shrug. “Fine. I have plenty of Peregrines to keep me busy in here. Small blessing that the construction has paused—maybe I can actually do some restoration work, for once!”

  Ryan nodded and clapped Lucien on the shoulder. “Merci. I wouldn’t be able to get the museum open without you.”

  They left the studio and Bethany could hardly wait until they were out of Lucien’s earshot before her buzzing brain overflowed her theory. “Did you hear what he said about Ernesto’s supplies in the conservatory?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, it made me think...remember all the road salt that was piled up in there? Didn’t Charley say the mummy was made with road salt?”

  Ryan nodded slowly. “Are you thinking maybe the mummy wasn’t moved to the conservatory—it was made there?”

  “Or at least that Ernesto had the supplies to do it. I mean—it’s not everyone who has a huge pile of salt at their disposal.”

  “Maybe we should have another chat with him.” Ryan looked grim.

  Back in the conservatory, the workers had finished clearing out the boxes and furniture and were busy sweeping the floors. Ernesto was nowhere to be seen.

  “Another coffee break?” Bethany suggested.

  “I guess we’ll take a little stroll to the cottage,” Ryan said, offering her his arm. “I think the wind has died down a bit since we got here.”

  It hadn’t, not really. It still whipped around their faces and made Bethany’s cheeks burn. She turned up the collar of her coat as they walked around the back of the building toward the cottage. Ryan noticed and looped his burgundy cashmere scarf around her neck. She snuggled into it, catching the faint scent of him—cloves, cassia, and something else that she couldn’t put her finger on but was definitely edible. This would be an excellent date if they weren’t on such a spooky errand.

  “The thing I don’t understand is why Ernesto—or why anyone—would want to make a mummy.” She shivered even though Ryan’s scarf and her trusty wool peacoat were keeping her perfectly warm.

  “Because they love them and want to keep them forever?” Ryan’s voice was teasing and his smile impish.

  There’s the Ryan I know. She’d been beginning to worry that he had changed since he took on the museum project, that maybe he was morphing into a hard businessman instead of the compassionate artist she knew. She was more than a little relieved to see that wasn’t the case at all.

  She giggled. “I don’t know. Sounds like a horror movie to me. Why do these creepy things always happen at rich people’s houses?”

  Ryan opened his mouth in mock protest. “What are you saying?! You think I’m creepy?”

  Ugh, foot in mouth.

  She rolled her eyes to cover her embarrassment. “No, of course not. I just forgot for a second that you’re unimaginably wealthy, that’s all.”

  He smiled halfheartedly. He was hurt—or maybe fed up with her constantly pointing out their class differences. She tried to make it up by chatting about the pretty fall leaves, and by the time they got to the door of Ernesto’s cottage, he was smiling and laughing again.

  Ryan raised his hand to knock, but before he could, Ernesto jerked open the door.

  “What do you want?” he snapped. “Is this about the window washing? I told my guys it’d have to wait until tomorrow. I have to go pick up some supplies before they can get started. You know the rain is just going to spot up the glass again, right? It’s not window season for good reason. Otherwise I’d have supplies on hand.”

  Bethany frowned. That wasn’t the way an employee usually talked to a boss. Maybe his decades of life at this estate made him less tolerant of a new supervisor, but i
t still seemed like he was treading on thin ice.

  Ryan seemed unruffled, though. “No, it’s about the road salt. Can we come in for a minute?” He rubbed his arms, trying to warm up.

  “No need for a long conversation. We moved it to the stables.” Ernesto moved to shut the door, but Ryan put out his hand on it to stop him.

  “Is it road salt season, or is it something you keep on hand year-round?” Ryan’s voice was sweet, but it was clearly a dig.

  Ernesto shook his head, looked appropriately chagrined. “It absorbs moisture, so it doesn’t keep year-to-year. I just got in a new batch a couple weeks back. I try to plan ahead—sometimes our first hard freeze comes this early. I didn’t want anyone breaking their neck on the front steps while we waited for the order to come in, so I got it a little early.”

  “Good thinking.” Ryan looked a little chagrined himself.

  “So you put all those bags of salt out there two weeks ago?” Bethany raised an eyebrow.

  Ernesto nodded. “Two, three weeks. I don’t remember exactly.”

  “And the mummy definitely wasn’t there?”

  The irritation returned to his face and his cheeks reddened. “I already told you it wasn’t! Are you calling me a damn liar?”

  “Hey, chill out,” Ryan said reprovingly. Ernesto gave a curt nod, but glared at Bethany.

  “Well, you seem to be the only one who stores things there,” she said defensively. “For an estate manager, you don’t really know what’s going on.”

  Ryan put a hand on her arm as if to say you chill out, too. He was right—judging by the colors Ernesto’s face was turning, she was about to provoke an eruption of volcanic proportions.

  “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” Ryan said soothingly. “Any ideas about who put it there?”

  Ernesto seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “All I know is that it wasn’t one of my guys. They wouldn’t dare—and anyway, they don’t have the key.”

  “But if you had to make a bet?”

  “Young Mr. LaFontaine.” Ernesto crossed his arms as though he expected pushback from Ryan.