Murder Paints a Picture

by Thea Cambert

  Owen took a step closer. “It does!” he said. “That’s amazing!”

  “For all of its other qualities—all those things Bernard listed . . . I just love it because it’s beautiful. Because I want to walk into it and be in that place.” Alice sighed with a smile. “Thank you, Owen, for inviting me to come here today.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. Then he looked around, and with a grin, took out his camera and snapped a picture of Alice standing next to the painting.

  “Owen!”

  “What? I’m allowed to take a picture of my best friend, aren’t I?”

  Alice laughed and they rejoined the rest of the group to say goodbye and thank you to the Astors. Owen also made a point of thanking Elsa again for the recipe, and invited her to stop by Sourdough sometime soon.

  “At least we won’t get lost on the way back to town,” said Owen as they turned from the Hemlock House lane onto the road.

  “And Franny will get to see the beautiful views on the drive back,” added Alice.

  “Too late,” whispered Martin.

  Soft snoring could already be heard coming from the backseat.

  Chapter 4

  “Town’s already getting busy with the festival,” said Owen the next morning as he stood looking down over Main Street. “It goes on through Tuesday evening, right?”

  “Yep,” said Alice, talking softly so as not to wake Theo, who was finally asleep in her arms after numerous early-morning circles around the rooftop garden. “Which is perfect, because that means Wednesday will be free to do Thanksgiving preparations.”

  “Hey, here’s your favorite painting, Alice,” said Luke, who’d just unfolded the Sunday morning edition of the Blue Valley Post.

  “That’s right!” said Alice, peeking over his shoulder to get a better look. “And Jane even did the front page in full color. It still doesn’t do the painting justice, of course.”

  “Here’s a good shot of Talbot taking pictures,” said Luke. “And one of the Astors. And who are these people . . .” He squinted at a smaller photo near the bottom of the page.

  “The one on the left is Bernard Astor,” said Alice. “But it must be from a long time ago.”

  “Apparently this is a photo of him the day he bought the painting you love so much,” said Luke, reading the caption. “And the woman next to him is his wife.”

  Alice took a closer look at the photo. “That’s not Seraphina, his current wife. Must be his first wife.”

  “Ainsley Lansford-Astor,” Luke read.

  “Yep. That’s his first wife,” said Owen, walking over to look at the photo. “The not-nice one.” He paused. “Where have I seen her before?”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” said Alice. “She looks vaguely familiar.”

  “This was taken thirty years ago,” said Luke. “Maybe the first Mrs. Astor just has one of those faces.”

  “That must’ve been shortly before they got divorced,” said Alice. “Because I know he had all of his children with Seraphina—and she told me their oldest is twenty-five.”

  “Wow, the article says Talbot White has multiple art degrees,” said Luke. “Apparently he studied both fine art and photography, and has travelled all over the world.”

  “He’s brilliant,” said Owen, nodding. “We learned so much about photographing art yesterday. You’d be amazed how tricky it can be to really capture a painting. Martin and I enjoyed the class—even though we’re more interested in taking pictures of birds.”

  “Will we get to see the photos Talbot took yesterday?” asked Franny, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Yep. He’s in the darkroom this morning,” said Owen. “He said he’ll shoot us a text when the photos are ready.”

  “Will he be in town for Thanksgiving?” asked Ben, trying to shift in his seat without waking Alice’s cat, Poppy, who was asleep on his lap.

  “Nope,” said Owen. “He’s off to New York City on Tuesday. He’s delivering the photos from the shoot to the Good Impressions magazine office in person and spending the holiday in the city with friends and family. I guess Jean-Paul will go with him.”

  “Jean-Paul?” asked Luke.

  “He’s that gallery owner I was telling you about,” said Alice. “Jean-Paul Margot. He’s also a big fan of Toussaint’s work.”

  “He owns a few of his paintings, in fact,” said Franny. “When you two went inside to take a last look at the painting yesterday, he invited the whole class to come and visit his gallery if we ever get up to New York.”

  “We should take a whirlwind trip there sometime,” said Owen, clapping. “See a show, have a nice dinner, go to the museum . . .”

  “Maybe do a little shopping,” said Franny.

  “And eat as many black and white cookies as possible,” added Alice. “I love those, and you can’t get them around here.” She eyed Owen. “Wish I knew a brilliant baker.”

  “We’d better be getting over to the Hound,” said Ben, gingerly setting Poppy on the ground. “Their Sunday brunch won’t last all morning.”

  “I’m so glad we’ve all got help downstairs in our shops this week,” said Franny. “We’ll be able to spend lots of time at the art festival and get ready for a wonderful Thanksgiving at the lake.”

  “It’ll be strange, celebrating without our parents and Granny,” said Alice.

  “I’m going to miss them, too. When do they leave?” asked Owen.

  “Early Thursday morning,” said Alice. “Apparently that’s why they got such a good deal on the cruise. Not that many people want to power down the Mississippi River on Thanksgiving day.”

  “We can drown our sorrows in hash browns,” said Owen, putting one arm around Alice and the other around Franny. Just then his phone pinged and he took it out of his pocket and read the text message. “Oh! It’s Talbot. He messaged the class saying we need to get down to the studio.” His smile faded as he read on.

  “Owen? What is it?” asked Alice.

  “Talbot says ‘Come to the studio right away—I’ll show you how photography can be useful in uncovering a forgery.’”

  “A forgery? What does he—I mean, is he saying the Toussaint isn’t authentic?” asked Alice, shocked.

  “I don’t know. We’d better get over there.” Owen’s phone dinged again. “Wait. Now he says to hold off and come in an hour.”

  “Perfect,” said Franny. “We can have brunch and then go see the photos.”

  “What could he have meant about the forgery, though?” asked Alice.

  “Who knows?” said Owen, linking arms with Alice. “Hash browns first. Art espionage second.”

  Chapter 5

  Shutter Bug’s, Blue Valley’s only dedicated photography studio, was owned by Nick Lopez, and located on South Main Street, just past Blue Valley Fit’s new Zen yoga garden. Nick had gladly agreed to share the studio with the famous Talbot White while he was in town, and since Shutter Bug’s was closed on Sundays, Talbot would have had the darkroom all to himself that morning.

  “Not that Nick uses the darkroom all that much anyway,” said Owen, as he, Alice, and Franny walked down Main from the Smiling Hound in the direction of the studio. “Most photography is done digitally these days. But that Talbot has his own way of doing things.”

  “His work is amazing, so he must be doing something right,” said Alice. “I ordered a few copies of his book, Picture This, for the shop. I want to ask him to autograph them while he’s here.”

  “I wonder what he was talking about in that text message,” said Franny.

  “Very mysterious,” said Owen. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  When they made it to the corner of Main and Trillium Street, they spotted Martin walking across Town Park from the Maguires’ house a block away.

  “Martin! Over here!” shouted Owen.

  Martin waved and jogged over to meet them.

  “Hi, Dad,” said Alice.

  “Hello, pumpkin,” Martin said, giving Alice a peck on
the cheek. “Wasn’t that text message from Talbot intriguing? Are we all ready to see what he found?”

  “Can’t wait,” said Owen, holding the door to Shutter Bug’s studio open.

  When they got inside, Mia was the only other class member who’d already arrived. She was examining the impressive wall of photos Nick had created. Alice walked over and stood next to her.

  “Wow. Everyone in town’s up here,” she said.

  “It’s wonderful,” said Mia. “I need to do a wall like this in my studio back home in Memphis. I could even juxtapose paintings and photographs.”

  “Where’s the rest of the class?” Owen asked.

  “I think we’re the first ones here,” said Mia. “And Talbot must still be in the darkroom, because I haven’t heard a sound. I didn’t want to risk walking in and ruining his work.”

  “Good thinking,” said Owen. Then he gave Mia a nudge with his elbow and lowered his voice. “We’ve been guessing for the past hour what Talbot could’ve meant with that message about spotting a forgery. What do you think?”

  Mia’s eyes didn’t stray from the photographs. “No idea what he meant,” she said.

  The front door opened and Norman and Ethel walked in, followed by Jane.

  “Hey, Jane, good work on the front page of the Post today,” said Alice. “I bet the whole town read your article about Talbot and the painting.”

  “Thank you,” said Jane. “It was really fun to write. I hope Talbot’s pleased with it.” She looked down the hallway that led out of the front room. “Is he here?”

  “We haven’t seen him,” said Alice. “Maybe we got our wires crossed? Or were we supposed to go to his hotel?”

  “No, he said the studio,” said Owen, double-checking his phone. He wandered to the hallway, and everyone else followed. When he got to a door labeled Darkroom, he knocked softly. When there was no answer, he said, “Hello? Talbot?”

  Martin called out a little louder, and when there was still no answer, Owen opened the door and peered inside.

  “Looks like no one’s here,” he said, pushing the door the rest of the way open.

  An eerie red light flooded the darkened room. There was a long work table with trays of various developing chemicals, and a sort of clothesline for pictures to hang dry above the table. But there were no photos hanging there.

  “He must’ve had to leave or something,” said Alice. “Strange he didn’t message you all again, though.” She walked around the dim room. “I wonder why he left the red lights on.”

  “Maybe he left and forgot to tell us,” said Mia. “We should go look for him at the festival.”

  “Good idea,” said Martin. “By the looks of this place, no one’s been here for a while.”

  “No—someone’s been here recently,” said Franny. “I can smell fresh coffee.”

  Everyone except Mia looked at Franny knowingly. Franny was famous in Blue Valley for her heightened sense of smell.

  “Where’s the coffee smell coming from, Franny?” Alice asked.

  Franny sniffed the air and followed the scent out of the darkroom, further down the hall to the last doorway at the end—which turned out to be a small kitchen. Franny went straight to the sink. “Right here.” She pointed and everyone moved forward. Sure enough, two coffee cups were sitting there. Franny reached in and touched one of them. “Still warm,” she said with a satisfied nod.

  “Maybe he went out the back door,” said Norman, pointing at the windowed door that led outside. “Looks like the door’s slightly ajar.”

  Owen walked over to the back door and, after looking around outside, pulled it closed. “I’ll text him. Let him know we’re here,” he said.

  They all slowly filtered back down the hallway toward the front room. Alice paused at the darkroom and stuck her head in, thinking she should flip off the red lights before they left. But when she flipped both switches downward, the red lights went off, and the overhead lights came on, momentarily blinding her with their brightness.

  “What the—oh no.”

  Owen and Franny, who were just ahead of Alice in the hallway stopped and slowly turned around.

  “Why did I just feel a chill down my spine?” asked Franny.

  “Because Alice said, ‘oh no’ in her ominous voice,” said Owen.

  “What’s happened?” asked Franny.

  Alice swallowed and looked at her friends. “I just found Talbot.”

  “Heart attack?” Owen wondered aloud as they stood outside, watching the paramedics running in and out of the building.

  When Alice had turned on the overhead florescent lights in the darkroom, she’d caught sight of Talbot’s foot, barely sticking out from behind the worktable. She’d hurried over to him, the rest of the group coming along behind, and found that it was too late. Talbot was already dead. They’d called 9-1-1, and within moments, the ambulance had arrived.

  A police cruiser pulled up and Ben, Luke, and Officer Dewey got out.

  “What are you doing here?” Franny asked, hurrying over to Ben. “Where’s Theo?”

  “He’s right over there. With Mom,” said Ben, pointing across the park toward the Maguires’ house. Truth be told, Franny and Ben were never in want of babysitters between the Maguires and Franny’s parents, the Browns, who lived a block in the other direction, on the corner of Trillium and Azalea.

  “The station got a call from the hospital,” said Luke. “The paramedics asked that we come and check things out before they move Talbot’s body.” He looked from Owen to Martin to Franny, and finally at Alice. “I’m sorry. What a shock you’ve all had.”

  “We’d better get in there,” said Ben.

  Luke nodded, and the two of them caught up with Dewey, who was already walking into Shutter Bug’s.

  “If Talbot just had a heart attack or something like that, why would the police—including their detective—be called in?” asked Alice.

  “No idea,” said Owen. “Poor Talbot.”

  They walked across the street and sat down on a park bench. Within a few minutes, Dewey had come back out to the cruiser, and then run back inside with a roll of crime scene tape and a zippered case Alice recognized as the bag they carried investigative essentials in. Then a few minutes after that, Luke, Ben, and Dewey came out together, stood a moment talking in low voices to the paramedic in charge, and then jogged back to the cruiser.

  “Where are you going now?” Franny called.

  Spotting them on the bench, Ben hurried over. “We just got another call. We have to get over to Hemlock House.”

  “What? Why?” asked Alice.

  “That painting you love? It’s been stolen.”

  Ben started toward the cruiser, but Alice ran after him.

  “And Talbot? Is there something suspicious about his death?” she asked.

  “We’re going to be looking into it,” said Ben. He opened the passenger-side door and hopped in.

  Alice walked around to the driver’s side, where Luke was already at the wheel.

  “Be careful,” she said, bending in to give him a kiss through the window.

  “We will. Love you,” said Luke.

  And with that, they were gone. And Shutter Bug’s now looked like a crime scene. The paramedics had to lift the yellow tape to wheel Talbot’s body to the ambulance.

  Chapter 6

  “So, nobody was home at Hemlock House yesterday morning?” asked Franny the next day as they walked down Main Street, where the art festival was in full swing. “Not even any staff members?”

  “That’s what Luke said,” said Alice, putting Theo’s little pumpkin cap back onto his head after he’d managed to pull it off and toss it onto the street for the third time. “The family had come down to town for breakfast, and the staff always gets Sunday mornings off to relax or go to church or run personal errands.”

  “I have a hunch someone saw Jane’s article in the Post and decided to swipe the painting,” said Owen. “I mean, she did mention it’s worth over a
million dollars. And there’s a whole heap of art lovers in town right now.”

  “Art lovers who are also willing drive up a mountain, trespass on someone else’s property, disable an alarm system, and commit a felony?” wondered Franny.

  “The alarm system may or may not have been a factor,” said Alice. “Luke said that it was definitely turned off when the Astors returned home, but they’re not sure whether or not they’d remembered to set it when they left.”

  “Seriously?” asked Owen. “With all the valuables in that house?”

  “Apparently they’re really careful about security when they leave town to take up residence in one of their other houses. But Sunday mornings? Not so much. They were just running into town for a short time, and they’ve gotten a bit complacent about it through the years,” said Alice.

  “Was anything else stolen?” asked Owen.

  “Nope,” said Alice. “Just the one painting. I’m so curious about who took it.”

  “And I know we’ll never know for sure what Talbot meant by that text he sent out, but if he meant that the Toussaint was a forgery . . .”

  “Then someone stole a fake . . .” said Alice.

  “And so, where is the original?” wondered Franny.

  “And who killed poor Talbot?” said Owen.

  “We still don’t know that someone killed him,” Franny reminded them. “And remember, we said we’d stay out of the investigation this time.”

  Alice, Franny, and Owen had always found it nearly impossible to stay out of the police’s business, and in fact, had helped solve a handful of crimes over the past few years. But, as Ben and Luke were quick to remind them, they’d also found themselves in grave danger as a result of their sleuthing ways on more than one occasion.

  “I just have a bad feeling about Talbot’s death,” said Owen.