by Sonia Parin
“We need to think about the reasons why Brandon would be doing the painting instead of Reggie.” Eve tapped her chin. “When Brandon discovered the body—”
“Did he?”
“I’m assuming he did. The detective wasn’t very helpful.”
Jill chuckled. “You need to hone your interrogation skills.”
“When Brandon discovered the body,” Eve continued, “Reggie had been... do I still have an embargo on any words related to—”
“Yes, but you’ve slipped up quite a few times, so I’ve already ordered my sable brushes.”
Eve sighed. “Okay. Reggie had been gone for a couple of days. Did the kil—person who did away with him want him discovered straight away or did they want to buy more time? And why did they want more time?”
“Maybe there’s a deadline for the show.”
“And the pictures weren’t ready?”
Jill nodded.
“So can we assume Brandon had been doing the painting?”
“I’m getting hungry,” Jill said, “Can we head back now?”
“I don’t have any food in the house. We’ll have to drive to town and grab a bite at The Chin Wag Café. They’ve got the outdoor tables so Mischief and Mr. Magoo can come with us.”
Along the way, Eve couldn’t stop thinking about Brandon. He’d looked flustered the night he’d landed on her doorstep. What did he have to lose by Reggie’s death? What did he have to gain? And who’d put him up to it?
“You’re going to have dog hair in the back seats,” Jill warned.
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
As they approached the café, Eve slowed down. “Look, the wives are all there. Let’s grab the table next to them. We might be able to hear something.”
They made their way to the café, all the while scanning the main street to see if they could spot any of the other house guests.
Seeing a couple edging toward the table next to Reggie’s ex-wives, Eve hurried Jill along. “Come on. We need to sit at that table.” She dove for the chair and, looking up, she smiled at the couple and offered an apology. “Sorry, do you mind. It’s the last outdoor table and we have the dogs with us.”
Eve placed her chair so she’d have her back to the group while Jill sat facing them. “You be my eyes,” Eve told Jill. “I’m going to try and listen to what they say.”
Two of the women were dressed in black and they all had sunglasses on. Playing the mourning card to the hilt?
“I told Mel to be here in time for lunch,” one of the women said. “Stevie’s probably making them run late.”
“Why do you always blame Stevie? Mel’s the one who’s never satisfied with what she’s wearing. I swear, she goes through three wardrobe changes before she steps out of the house.”
Eve waited for the third woman to pipe in with something. When she did, she instantly recognized the voice. It belonged to the gallery owner she’d heard talking that night at Shelby’s Table.
“If you two had better control of your children, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Jill grabbed Eve’s hand.
“The show must go on.”
“How can you possibly think about that? Reggie is gone.”
“And he would have wanted us to make the best of the situation. So what’s the plan, Alexia?”
So, one of the two wives was as firm and determined as Mel. While the other one... was more sensitive, like Stevie.
“I’ve decided to do a memorial show.”
Alexia, Eve decided, was the gallery owner and the main decision maker.
“I’ll get my pictures out of storage,” Mel’s mother said.
“Me too.”
“No. We’ll go ahead with his most recent work. Buyers won’t question the price tags because they know there will never be another Reginald Bryant Burns picture on the market.”
“Except the ones we have in storage.”
“We’ll have to plan the release of those. All in good time. And we have plenty of that now.”
Chapter Eleven
“Mel said she wasn’t leaving empty-handed. Wake up, Jill. I remembered the conversation I overheard at The Mad Hatter’s Tea Shop between Mel and her stepbrother, Stevie. Although, at the time I had no idea who they were.”
Jill grumbled and burrowed deeper under the covers. “And you couldn’t wait until morning to tell me?”
“It is morning,” Eve said.
“Where’s the sun?”
“It’s coming. Come on. Get up. We have much work to do.”
“Right, because something’s afoot? I want breakfast in bed,” Jill demanded.
“And I want...” Eve frowned. What did she want? She had her health. A few friends. Jill. Mira. Jack. Well, she hoped she still had Jack. “I want a new aim in life.”
“I thought you’d already found one. Torturing me with sleep deprivation.”
“You’re young. You don’t need sleep. At your age, I used to work double shifts and... Actually, I never really had much of a social life, but if I’d had one, I would have had the energy to party until all hours.”
“Could have, should have. Would have. But you didn’t.”
“You should learn from my mistakes,” Eve said, “No regrets. So get up. We need to do some Carpe Diem.”
“Can I at least hope to get blueberry pancakes? And coffee, lots of it.”
A short while later they were both seated at the kitchen table. Jill refused to talk until she’d eaten her way through one stack of pancakes. Eve used the time to catch up with her newspaper reading.
“We’re missing an ex-wife. Two of them were at the café yesterday. But there’s a third. And the men. We know Stevie was with Mel.” Although, even after they’d finished their lunch the day before, they still hadn’t turned up. They had, however, caught sight of Brandon going into Shelby’s Table, presumably for lunch. Eve wondered if Brandon was deliberately steering clear of the group. Trying to distance himself from any sort of association with them because... he knew one of them had been up no good. “We should have been more thorough. There are eight men not accounted for. We can place Stevie and Brandon, but where were the others?”
“We’re not traipsing through town looking for them because we don’t even know what they look like,” Jill said.
“Hang on. I think I’ve found something.” Eve pointed at her laptop. “I’ve been scouring the online newspapers. The art critic wrote a piece.”
“How do you know he’s the art critic?”
“It’s on the byline.” Eve tapped the screen. “The last days with Reginald Bryant Burns. Not very original. I’m guessing he’s going to write some sort of memoir or one of those unauthorized biographies that exposes all the unsavory details of a person’s private life.”
“Some art critics do that,” Jill said around a mouthful of pancake. “They follow an artist around and then call themselves the expert on that artist.”
“I suppose there’s some money to be made on the talk show circuit.”
“Are you suggesting that’s a motive for, cue suspense music, murder?” Jill asked.
“I doubt the art critic would have gone to the trouble of... I’m running out of euphemisms here... do away with Reggie just for the sake of picking up a pay check.” Eve narrowed her gaze. “Here’s something. There’s already a release date for a book which will include stacks of never before seen photographs.” Eve cringed as her mind strayed to the photographs she’d seen of Reggie hanging from the lighthouse. “I wonder what Barnaby Reid will say.”
“Who’s he?”
“The art critic.” She refilled her mug and stirred in some sugar. “And here’s a stray thought. Will Reggie’s tombstone be shaped like a donut?” She looked up and caught Jill staring at her. “What?”
“I didn’t realize until now. You’re a morning person. Talking a mile a minute.”
Eve grinned. “For as long as I remember. I used to visit the markets before the crack of dawn to ge
t the best produce for my restaurant. There was a lot of haggling involved.”
“So what were you saying earlier about Mel?”
“Oh, you reminded me. Yes, the conversation I overheard at The Mad Hatter’s Tea Shop. Mel is after something. She didn’t want to leave the island empty-handed. She means business. I remember she gave Stevie a poke with her finger. Do you think she might be after the Picasso drawing? Reggie made a killing with the first one and rumors are usually based on some sort of fact. There must be another one, stashed away somewhere.” She looked up and saw Jill grinning. “What?”
“You said killing. Cha-ching. This is all turning into quite a windfall for me.”
“So how much do I owe you so far?”
“I’ll give you an itemized invoice.”
“I’m going to have to take your word for it. And, we’ll have to have a cut-off date. I can’t honestly go through life excluding all those words.”
“How about when the police solve the crime?”
“Agreed. Otherwise, you’ll send me broke.” Eve resumed her reading. “Huzzah. There’s mention of the people present during his last days.”
“Huzzah? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use that expression outside of a TV show.”
“You have now.” Eve scrolled down the page. “Pay attention. Robert Pierce, lawyer. Adam Cartwright, old school friend. Alex Green, drinking buddy. The others are collectors. This is interesting. There’s no mention of Brandon. Why do you think that is?”
“Maybe they didn’t want the name associated with Reggie,” Jill suggested.
“Precisely. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am about him actually painting Reggie’s pictures. He’s like a ghost-writer. It’s not something they... the person or persons involved in Reggie’s... demise would want to have bandied about. They’d want to throw people off the scent. Imagine if word got out that Brandon was the one wielding the paintbrushes. It would devalue the pictures and throw suspicion over everything Reggie ever painted. This would cause a scandal in the art world.”
Jill nodded. “You know, once upon a time, artists used to have apprentices who used to do most of the painting for them. I’m talking big names like Raphael. They could get away with it because the job of an apprentice was to learn to imitate their master.”
“Didn’t you say you felt there was something not quite right with the painting?” Eve asked.
Jill nodded. “I guess Brandon is still trying to perfect the style. Like you said, everyone has their own set of fingerprints. That unique touch that sets them apart.”
Eve drained her coffee and poured herself another one.
“Do you think Mel is involved?” Jill asked. “Remember Brandon appeared to be afraid of her. He said not to trust her.”
“She comes across as a willful person,” Eve agreed. “And now I’m thinking we’re dealing with two parallels. The faking of Reggie’s paintings and the Picasso drawing. And, somehow, Alexis, the gallery owner, is involved in all this. Remember what she said yesterday about Mel and Stevie being out of control.”
If you two had better control of your children, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
“Is this were you go off on a tangent and imagine the worst about her and everyone else involved?” Jill asked.
“I doubt I’ll have any difficulty thinking the worst of that lot. Especially Mel. That girl is trouble. Brandon said so. As for the others... We all know lawyers are underhanded at best. If art critics are anything like restaurant critics, then Barnaby Reid has a godlike complex. One fell swoop of his pen can make or break a person’s career.” She tapped her chin and tried to imagine what would drive an art critic into committing... Eve slanted her gaze toward Jill.
Murder.
“Did you say something?” Jill asked.
“I’m thinking.”
“As your friend, I feel it’s my duty to now warn you to be careful. Don’t start pointing fingers. There’s a killer on the loose. Remember what happened last time.”
She’d barely scraped through with her life.
If Jack hadn’t come to her rescue...
Jack!
They had a date.
Eve threw her hands up in the air. “This had better not interfere with my love life. I haven’t been alone with Jack in over two weeks. He’s been that busy with paperwork. Now this... The timing is dreadful.”
Her phone beeped a message.
“It’s Jack.”
“He must have picked up your desperate vibes,” Jill said and poured herself another coffee.
Eve read the message. “He wanted to make sure I’m home. He’s coming over.”
Jill laughed. “He knows you so well. How nice of him to give you a warning.”
“I’m going to change,” Eve said.
“There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing.”
“There’s nothing right about it either. Scruffy jeans. I don’t want to give him reasons to change his mind about me. We’re still at the early stages. You know, dressing up for dates the way you wear your best clothes for an interview.”
Half an hour later, she answered the door.
“Hello, Jack... or is it detective?” Was he here on business or pleasure?
Her shoulders dropped. He hadn’t come alone.
Detective Mason Lars stood on her front veranda talking on the cell phone.
“Would you like a coffee while we wait?”
“That’d be great, thanks,” Jack said.
He stepped inside only to then step back outside. “There’s something different here. What am I missing?”
“Oh, you probably haven’t noticed my new piece of driftwood. You know, the one I hauled over from the beach the other night.” The one the detective suspected she’d used as a practice run for hanging Reggie from the rafter. How could he imagine she’d have the strength to shift such a massive weight? The thought alone was enough to make her arms ache.
One person couldn’t do it.
It would take two, at least...
Mel and Stevie?
Mel, Stevie and Brandon?
Maybe Mel had tried to coerce Brandon into doing the dirty work for them, or at least, helping them.
She had the feeling Brandon would have backed away from anything that involved death.
He said he’d been working toward his first exhibition. Being mentored by Reggie probably entailed accepting other duties such as...
Fetching and carrying.
Procuring donuts.
But not helping to kill and hang Reggie...
“Eve?”
She snapped out of her reverie and looked at the display of paraphernalia on the veranda.
Eve frowned.
She went to stand at the furthest corner of the veranda as if trying to gain a clearer perspective.
“There’s something missing,” she said.
“What?” Jack came to stand next to her.
“Hang on. Give me a minute.” She moved closer. “You know that memory game where you show someone a set of objects and then cover them and ask them to name the objects?”
He nodded.
“Close your eyes and see if you can picture what you’ve become accustomed to seeing here.” He was a regular visitor. So he must have collected information, at least subliminally.
“The life buoy,” they chorused.
It should have been hanging by the window.
“Please tell me it’s not the one used to—” She clamped her hand over her mouth. The only reason she knew about the life buoy was because she’d seen photos of the crime scene. Photos that had been stored inside the squad car. Photos she should never have seen, unless they’d been shown to her. Or...
Unless she’d seen the body herself.
“Eve.”
“Yes?”
“You were about to say something.”
She rocked on the heels of her feet. Coy worked for some women. The cutie act did too. “Someone’s stolen my life
buoy. Vandals. Is nothing safe and sacred? I’m not pointing the finger at any of the locals. There are always so many people coming here for the weekend. They let their children run free with no adult supervision whatsoever...”
“Coffee.” Jack guided her inside the house.
“Coffee. Yes. I can do that.”
In the kitchen, she made more noise than necessary. Opening and closing cupboards. Setting mugs down on the counter. Jack’s gaze never left her.
“Do you know what the penalty is for breaking into a squad car?” he eventually asked.
She swung around and gave him a brisk smile. Going by his stern expression, she realized her cutie act needed fine-tuning.
She was about to answer him, when another thought struck her. He hadn’t placed her at the scene of the crime. The other detective would have jumped instantly to that conclusion, but not Jack.
Not her Jack.
He trusted her.
He believed her.
“Is it breaking and entry if the door is unlocked?” Eve asked.
He held her gaze in that steady way of his that actually spoke volumes. Eve smiled. While Jack’s warnings came through loud and clear, she couldn’t help feeling warm inside. Almost as if he’d drawn her against him and gathered her in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I put you in an awkward position.” She wouldn’t feel comfortable forcing him to choose sides. Jack had a job to do... and she couldn’t stand in his way.
“And you won’t do it again?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know what possessed me.”
“Neither do I.”
They both knew she was skating around, and avoiding any firm promise to steer clear of trouble.
“Eve, I don’t want you to feel I abandoned you. I hope you realize I had to pull some strings to remain involved in this case. I had no choice in the matter. I’m involved with you, so I had to hand the case over to Mason Lars.”
Eve nodded. “I understand.” In fact, the thought of being abandoned hadn’t even crossed her mind. “So, about this life buoy...” He’d have to show her the photograph and even then, she couldn’t be sure if she’d be able to identify it. “Just in case it is ours, I’m... we’re not in any hurry to have it returned to us. In fact... you should go ahead and keep it... and then dispose of it.” She had no desire whatsoever to live with the murder weapon.