by Ellery Adams
“I keep going back to the fact that only one painting was taken,” Trish said. “Cooper, you don’t want to hear this, but I’m convinced that when you stepped into that great room and closed those French doors, you were in the middle of a burglary.”
“I think so too, and my insomnia would agree. What I can’t resolve is why they didn’t go through the front door.”
“Way ahead of you on that,” Quinton said. “It turns out that Mindy has cameras on all first-floor doors. The front door, the first-floor patio doors, and the delivery door. They connect to an app on her phone. There are no cameras on balcony French doors.”
“How do you know this, Quinton?” Cooper asked.
“Jake looked into it. He reviewed footage of all the door alerts from the week of the theft. The only bit of footage that was at all interesting was one of Dax having the audacity to stand in the doorway of the kitchen, a no-smoking zone, puffing on a cigarette while he talked on his phone. The man sure has testicular fortitude.”
Both Cooper and Trish blinked at the statement, then turned to each other and laughed. “That’s a new one on me,” Cooper said.
“Why didn’t Mindy fire him?” Trish asked. “That might have been the only thing that Loretta and Mindy agreed on.”
Quinton shrugged. “According to their applications, both Helen and Dax used Loretta as their references. Loretta wanted them there. Maybe to push forward her agenda to create chaos, and nudge Mindy closer to selling to a developer.”
“That, my friends, reminds me,” Trish said. “Jake and Savannah stopped by Helen’s old apartment and talked to her roommate.”
“They did?” Cooper was encouraged by this news.
“Yes, they told her they were old family friends of Helen’s. The roomie practically shoved a box of things that Helen left behind at Jake. He assured her that he’d get the box to Helen. I have it now.”
“How did you end up with it?” Cooper asked.
“Savannah called me about something else and mentioned the box. I told her about our stakeout, and she thought we might have time to examine the contents. I couldn’t wait until today.” Trish held up a high school yearbook triumphantly. “Ta-da.”
“A yearbook. Did you look inside?” Cooper asked.
She handed the book to Cooper. “Of course I did. It turns out that Helen and Alice graduated together. The note Alice wrote in the front of Helen’s book indicated that they’ve been friends since they were kids.”
Cooper thumbed through the yearbook, contemplating friendship. She didn’t have a friend like that, and she envied them. Helen and Alice had each other. Lifelong friendships were very valuable.
“You know,” she said, “Angela at my office mentioned something today, and I wonder if it applies to Helen and Alice. Maybe Alice has been looking out for Helen all these years. Helen is sort of a timid little thing.”
“It could be. That would create loyalty. The question is, how far would Alice or Helen go to protect a friend guilty of murder or theft?”
“Look at this,” Cooper said. “The drama club. Helen was the president of the drama club. That’s odd.”
“Lots of people join clubs and organizations to give them self-confidence,” Quinton said. “I joined the French club at school for that very reason. Maybe Helen had the same idea.”
“Hey, look,” Trish said. “Isn’t that Alice getting into that Honda Accord?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Cooper said.
“We are rolling, Starsky.”
Quinton followed the Honda at a discreet distance to a seedy part of town. When the driver signaled left, he pulled off the road, engine idling. “She’s turned into that same pawnshop where Dax used to work.”
“What would she be doing there?” Trish asked as she locked the back doors of the sedan.
“Looking for Dax?” After a few minutes, Quinton turned into the pawnshop parking lot. “That’s her car. She must have gone inside.”
“How long do we wait out here?” Trish asked after a while. “I may have finished off my coffee too quickly. Right now, a nice clean restroom sounds inviting.”
Cooper checked her phone. “It’s been twenty minutes. Quinton, I vote you go inside.”
Minutes later, Quinton returned. “According to the guy at the counter, she walked through the shop, called an Uber, and left.”
“She made us,” Cooper said.
“No, she made a dark sedan with three people in goofy hats. There’s no way she actually knows who was following her. Let’s go back to her apartment building and sit for a little while and maybe Helen or Dax will show,” Quinton said.
“First, a nice clean restroom,” Trish said.
After two hours of surveillance passed, Cooper changed positions and glanced over at the apartment complex. “I think we should abort. My legs are twitching, and I’ve definitely had too much caffeine.”
Quinton closed the notebook he’d been studying. “You’re right. I’m not making any sense of the information the group has collected so far.”
As he pulled on his seat belt, a tap on the window had everyone jumping.
A baby-faced police officer gestured for Quinton to roll down the window.
“Uh-oh, I think our cover has been blown. Again,” Cooper said.
“Where did he come from?” Quinton asked. “I didn’t see any lights or sirens or anything.” Quinton turned the key in the ignition enough to roll down the electric windows. “Yes, Officer?” he asked.
“License and registration, please?”
Quinton’s chubby fingers fumbled nervously, scattering the papers. “Sorry,” he mumbled, once he finally passed the paperwork through the window.
“Sir, this car is registered to Marty Silvester,” the policeman said.
“That’s my uncle.” Quinton wiped his forehead with a napkin.
“Folks, I’ve had a complaint that a vehicle matching your description has been loitering in this neighborhood all morning. A neighbor says you look like someone who broke into one of the apartments last week.”
“Officer, could you call Detective Olson, he’ll vouch for us,” Cooper said.
“Yes, ma’am. Let’s take a little ride down to the station to do that.”
“Are we going to need a lawyer?” Trish asked the policeman.
“Do you think you’re going to need a lawyer?” the policeman responded. As he spoke, another police car pulled up, lights flashing.
“Phil is not going to be happy,” Trish murmured.
“I’d like you all to step out of the vehicle,” the officer said. “One at a time. Slowly. Hands on top of your head.”
As they complied, a vehicle drove slowly past. The driver stared at them, grinning. It was Dax Wilson.
“Well, we did find out that Dax Wilson hasn’t left town,” Quinton said once they were settled in the backseat of the patrol car. “Do you think he recognized us?”
Trish laughed. “Not in these get-ups. We look ridiculous.”
“I sure hope we don’t need bail money,” Cooper murmured.
“We’re voluntarily going downtown for questioning,” he reminded her.
“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better,” she said.
• • •
“We’re finally caught up,” Savannah said as they closed their workbooks. She glanced at the oversized watch on her wrist. “We have about fifteen minutes before church. Anyone have any news on the Atwood case?”
“You mean aside from getting our first ride in the back of a patrol car?” Trish asked.
“Those officers were very apologetic,” Quinton said.
“As they should be. I was never so humiliated. I threw my clothes in the trash. They reeked of whatever scent was in the back of the patrol car.”
Quinton chuckled. “Eau de criminal. It was rank.”
“I still can’t get over the fact that you three were arrested,” Bryant said.
“We weren’t arrested,” Quinton said. “We volun
tarily went down to the station, and they gave us a ride back to our vehicle. I even gave Officer Mason muffins as a gesture of goodwill. I thought they were very nice about the whole incident.”
“Leave it to our Quinton to make friends when he’s being interrogated,” Bryant said with a laugh.
“I can tell you this,” Trish said. “Try to avoid being arrested. The back of that patrol car was nothing but hard plastic.”
“That’s so they can hose them down after a messy criminal,” Jake said. “Not that I have any firsthand experience.”
“Ugh.” Trish shuddered.
“Thankfully, Detective Olson vouched for us,” Cooper said.
“Did you talk to him?” Jake asked.
“No, they called him at home while we waited in an interview room. As soon as they reached him, they released us.”
“There is some good news that came out of our stakeout,” Quinton said. “We found out that Dax has not left town, though we lost track of Helen.”
“Oh, and Mindy called me this morning,” Cooper said. “The painting in the library was authenticated. It’s definitely a Deveraux.”
“That’s a relief,” Bryant said. “Though that doesn’t put us any closer to figuring out what happened to Loretta.”
“I think we’re somehow looking at all of this wrong,” Cooper said. “We have two crimes. Are they related? should be our first question. I think that if we answer that, we’ll have the key to the entire situation.”
“What is the root of all evil?” Quinton asked.
“You mean the seven deadly sins?” Savannah paused. “A side note. Those are not in the Bible.”
“They aren’t?” His brows rose in surprise.
“No. But the seven deadly sins are worth examining. Who knows, it might help us with this case.” Savannah reached for her white cane and went up to the chalkboard and wrote in big block letters.
“Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride,” she said. Then she glanced at the list and chuckled. “Why, there’s at least one Proverbs verse for all of those.”
“Wrath. That implies not only anger but vengeance and retribution.” Quinton shook his head. “Cooper, you said that Alice might be a sort of bodyguard, protecting her little friend, Helen. Maybe the lipstick filled with ground nuts was an act of retribution.”
“What about pride?” Bryant asked. “Tony Mancuso might be under that category. His pride in a flower garden that Loretta dismissed. Then there’s her desire to fire him and steal his pension.”
“I’d be plenty mad if I were Tony,” Trish agreed. “Mad enough to harm Loretta? I don’t think so. The man doesn’t even have it in him to harm the wild rabbits in the inn’s garden.”
“Let’s go back to Alice,” Cooper said. “Is she a victim of her mother’s mean, vindictive character?”
“Probably,” Bryant said. “Though more and more, I’m going with the greed angle. I’m convinced that Loretta planned that painting heist.”
“Quinton found out Loretta is broke,” Trish said. “That supports Bryant’s theory too.”
“I think I know someone who might be able to help with this case,” Cooper said. “Mona Lister. You’ve heard me talk about Angela at Make It Work! Well, her friend flew in for the wedding. I’m meeting her and Angela today for lunch at Casa Grande. She’s an art curator.”
“That could be very helpful,” Trish said.
“Anyone want to come along?” Cooper asked.
“I’m there,” said Trish. “This is very interesting.”
“Count me in,” Savannah said. “Of course, I’ll need a ride home afterward.”
“No problem, we can go together,” Trish said.
“So it’s a girls’ event?” Cooper asked.
“Sorry,” Jake said as he closed his workbook. “A plumber’s work is never done. I’ve got a job this afternoon.”
“I’d love nothing more than Mexican for lunch. However, I’m committed to nine holes of golf with my boss. And I hate golf,” Quinton said.
“Sorry, ladies,” Bryant said. “I’ve got a birthday party at Jane’s house for her daughter.”
• • •
After the church service, Cooper bypassed the donut table in the church lobby and fast-walked to the parking lot and her Jeep. She pulled up short when she saw who was leaning against the front of her car with a Bible in his hand.
Jon Eason.
“You’re at my church,” Cooper sputtered.
“I attended today, hoping to run into you.” He met her gaze. “Have you been avoiding me?”
“I’ve been unbelievably busy.”
“You know what they say about busy people, don’t you?”
Cooper held up a hand. “No, and I don’t want to know.” She could be honest and tell him that she had been avoiding him, but she wasn’t ready for that discussion. Nor was she ready to explain to Jon why he terrified her.
“Do you have time for lunch?” he asked.
“I’m on my way to lunch. Savannah and Trish and I are meeting with an art curator to discuss the Deveraux painting.”
“May I join you?”
She hesitated just long enough to make Jon frown.
“I don’t want to put you on the spot.”
“No, Jon, it’s not that. I’d like your thoughts on the Atwood Inn situation.”
“But?”
“If we show up together, you may be in for speculation.” Cooper’s face and neck warmed as she made the admission.
“Speculation?” Jon looked at her for a moment, and then his eyes widened as understanding dawned. He laughed. “Ah, speculation. I can handle it if you can.”
“We’re headed to Casa Grande.” There was no need for further comment, though she suspected she was going to regret the decision. Give Angela an inch, and she’d have Cooper walking down the aisle like her.
“Great. I’ll meet you there, Cooper. But before we leave, I need to tell you something,” Jon said. “I’ve talked to a friend of mine who owns a gift shop in downtown Richmond. She raises funds all year round for the Audubon Society, and she’d like to consign your birdhouses. She keeps a small percentage, which would go to the birds.”
“Yes.”
Jon laughed. “I only wanted you to think about it.”
“I don’t have to. My birdhouses would be happy to support the Audubon Society.”
“You and I need to discuss your price point.”
“What price point? I don’t care what we tag the birdhouses. I’ve always given them away.”
“Customers who frequent my friend’s shop can afford the markup, and it’s for a good cause. Birds and Cooper Lee.”
She laughed. “I’m open to discussion, but let’s get going. I don’t want to be late. I’ve been thinking about chile relleno smothered in cheese all morning.”
Savannah and Trish waited for them outside Casa Grande. When Jon walked up to the restaurant with Cooper, Trish elbowed Savannah and whispered something to her.
“Cooper, I was going to ask if you got lost,” Trish murmured. She grinned. “Hello, Chef Eason.”
“Ladies. Good to see you both.” Jon held the door as they entered the air-conditioned restaurant, where the strains of a mariachi band greeted them from the sound system.
“Yoo-hoo. Here we are,” Angela trilled. Cooper followed the sound of Angela’s voice to a corner table where she sat with a tall, statuesque woman. Mona Lister looked exactly as Angela had described her. Tall, slim, with flawless dark skin, she looked like a consummate professional in a very classy and demure navy dress. Mona was a contrast to Angela’s platinum hair, white frilly peasant blouse, and colorful broom skirt.
“Cooper, this is my bestie, Mona.” Angela hugged her friend, and when she did, the colorful bangles at her wrist jangled.
“Mona, I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Cooper said. “These are my friends from the Sunrise Bible Study, Savannah Knapp and Trish Tyler. And this is Chef Jon Eason from Atwood Inn.�
��
Cooper turned to her friends. “I work with Angela and this is Mona.”
“You’re the bride,” Jon said. “Congratulations.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” Angela said. She patted the empty chair next to her. “You sit right here. I want to know more about the man who helped Cooper with my wedding.”
“Angela, I hope you don’t mind if we pick Mona’s brain during lunch,” Cooper said. “We have quite a few questions.”
“Not at all. If it will help truth and justice, then I’m all for it. Just keep those chips and salsa coming.” Angela picked up the menu and whispered something to Jon. He grinned, glanced at Cooper and whispered back.
Cooper regretted sitting on the other side of the table. She returned her attention to her menu and reminded herself that she was here for the investigation. No doubt, Angela would give her an earful about what she and Jon were talking about on Monday.
As soon as they’d ordered, Cooper wasted no time. She turned to Mona and told her about the paintings at Atwood Inn. “Are you familiar with Austin Deveraux’s work?”
“Very much so. The museum has a few Deveraux in our collection.” She smiled. “Can you tell me about these particular paintings?”
Savannah and Trish described the paintings for Mona, who nodded as they spoke.
“Oh, yes. That was called his Somerset period. He was living in New York City and painted several in a series. They aren’t as valuable as his later works. Not quite the threshold to be in the FBI Database of Stolen Artwork. That’s good for the thieves. Not so good for Mindy Atwood.”
“There’s a database?” Cooper asked.
“Yes. If the value of one of the paintings is fifty thousand dollars or more, the Federal Bureau of Investigation is always notified.”
“I didn’t know that,” Cooper said. “What do you think they’re worth?”
“I’d say those paintings are probably worth about thirty to forty apiece, depending on the condition.”
“That’s enough to make them worth stealing,” Cooper said.
“Yes,” Mona said. “The problem with stealing a high-profile painting is you have to find a buyer, and no one with any experience is going to touch a hot painting.”
