Artistic License to Kill

by Paula Darnell

  “He's made up his mind, and he's not an easy man to talk to.”

  Chip frowned. “I remember. When he questioned me, he implied that I'd killed Janice, and I wasn't even in town that day.”

  “She'll need a lawyer,” I suggested. “I don't see how the police can have any hard evidence against her. I think their case is entirely circumstantial supposition.”

  “Right. She needs a lawyer,” he repeated. “I'd better give Dad the bad news that the cops think his baby sister's a killer. This is crazy! See you later, Amanda. I'll keep you posted,” he promised as he jumped into his car.

  Although telling Chip about Susan's arrest made me feel unsettled, it had certainly put an end to his flirtatious behavior. With my mind on Susan's plight, rather than on trying to discourage him, I feared I'd left the door open to another advance. Right now, he was focused on his aunt, but he'd promised to keep me posted, and, curious as I was to find out what was going on, I hadn't told him not to. I knew I'd have to deal with him later, but I would have preferred to avoid it. When I'd told Dustin that I wasn't interested in dating, I'd meant it.

  When I arrived home with the groceries, Laddie ran to me and stayed by my side while I put them away, but Mona Lisa, displaying her enigmatic look, played coy and watched us from the top of her kitty perch. She didn't move when Laddie and I went to the backyard to play fetch, and she remained in the same position until we came back inside. When she saw us, she leaped down and scooted off to the bedroom where she hid under the bed. I often wondered what went on in her kitty mind and what caused her to be loving or playful one moment and aloof or withdrawn the next. Unlike Laddie, whose moves and temperament were reliably golden, Mona Lisa remained a bit of a mystery, and I suspected she liked it that way.

  I skipped lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon in the studio, painting, while Laddie kept me company. I played some soothing music, and he curled up and took a long nap. It was beginning to get dark when I called a halt for the day. I wiped my brushes to remove as much paint as possible and then dipped their tips in safflower oil before putting them on a drying rack. I had quite a bit of paint left on my palette, so I set it, paint and all, into the freezer to keep since I loved the colors I'd mixed and planned to use them again in the morning.

  I didn't often miss a meal, so I was too hungry to spend a lot of time preparing dinner. I dished out a large helping of leftover taco casserole and put it in the microwave to heat. While I waited, I filled my pets' bowls. I didn't need to call them to dinner. They were both at my heels as I set their bowls on their personalized placemats on opposite sides of the kitchen. Although Laddie had never bothered Mona Lisa while she was eating, I couldn't say the same for the finicky feline. She'd been known to take a swipe at Laddie if he so much as ventured too close to her bowl, so I'd learned to keep them separated to maintain peace.

  I added a generous dollop of my homemade guacamole to my plate, along with some shredded lettuce, grape tomatoes, and corn chips before putting my dinner on a tray. I plunked down in my recliner, pointed my remote at the television, and found a new movie I wanted to watch. After standing all day, it felt good to put my feet up. Laddie lay quietly beside me, but I had to fend off Mona Lisa temporarily so that I could eat. As soon as I finished my dinner, I put my tray aside and invited Mona Lisa to join me. She curled up on my lap, purring loudly, and I stroked her soft fur while I watched the movie.

  An hour and a half later when the movie ended, Mona Lisa was still on my lap. When I got up to take my dishes to the kitchen, I gently settled her on the wide arm of the chair, but she leaped down as Laddie jumped up, and they both followed me to the kitchen.

  After I loaded my few dishes into the dishwasher, I gave Mona Lisa a kitty treat and Laddie a chewy. I munched on the last peanut butter cookie left from the plateful that Belle had given Dustin. Somehow, Dustin had forgotten the lone cookie left from the batch, or perhaps he'd saved it for me since he'd eaten most of the others.

  A light, rhythmic tap sounded on the side door to the carport. I recognized it immediately as Belle's signal. Laddie knew her unique knock, too, and he beat me to the door. Both Belle and Dennis stood outside, in my carport.

  Chapter 17

  “I have something to show you,” Dennis said.

  “Come in,” I invited them.

  “Why don't you come out here? It's kind of bulky,” Belle giggled.

  I switched on the light in the carport and stepped out, Laddie at my heels. Belle and Dennis moved aside, revealing what they'd been hiding. It was a sign for my art studio.

  “Oh, that's perfect!” I exclaimed, examining it closely. The sturdy wooden sign, hinged at the top, had a chain attached at the bottom connecting the two boards so that the sign would stand up. What really caught my eye, though, were the graphics. Emblazoned on each side were the words, “Amanda Trent Art Studio,” in a calligraphy-like script over a printed background of one of my landscapes.

  Dennis surprised me by sliding out one of the signs from its wooden frame. “You can change these any time. See,” he said pointing to grooves in the wood. “You can remove your graphic from either side and replace it with a different one. You just slide it in, and these slats will hold it in place. Oh, also, I had them laminated. That'll give them some protection in case it's raining on a studio tour day.”

  “Awesome! I'm overwhelmed. It looks so beautiful. Where did you find the picture?”

  “Remember when you couldn't find your digital camera right after you moved in, and I took some pictures with mine so you could update your website? I still have them on my camera, too,” Belle said.

  “Of course. That seems like ages ago, but it's only been a few months. I can't thank you both enough. When I mentioned it to you, I thought you were going to help me figure out how to make it. I didn't realize you were going to do all the work yourselves.”

  “We figured you had enough on your plate, and, besides, when it comes to building anything, Dennis is a master. When we moved here, he tore out all the old kitchen cabinets and built new ones.”

  “I didn't know that. You're very talented,” I told him.

  “Thanks, Amanda.” He smiled. “Now there's one more thing. This sign is kind of heavy, so I rigged up a little trolley that you can use when you set it out for your studio tours. This way, you can wheel it out to the curb, rather than carrying it. You'll have to lift it on and off the trolley, but I made it as low as I could.”

  “Another genius idea! You've thought of everything.”

  “Don't forget the arrows, Dennis,” Belle reminded him.

  “Oh, right. To make the directions crystal clear for your customers, I made a couple of arrow signs. They each fit into a metal rod I've already installed next to your sidewalk. Don't worry, the rods are flush with the ground, so nobody will trip over them. I installed some solar lights along the sidewalk, too.”

  “I never noticed. When did you have time to do all this?”

  “I took the morning off, so I could get everything done while you worked at the gallery.”

  “We wanted to surprise you,” Belle said.

  “You certainly did. Let me pay you for the supplies. I know all this couldn't have been cheap.”

  “Well, you're right about that. It's going to cost you.”

  “Dennis!” Belle sounded exasperated as she poked him in the arm. “Don't give Amanda a hard time.”

  “It's going to cost you one of those chocolate meringue pies you make—or three,” Dennis chuckled.

  “Done!” I agreed. “I'll throw in a couple of my apricot cream pies, too.”

  “It's a deal,” Dennis said. “Do you want to store the sign in your studio? It'll make your trip to the curb a lot shorter.”

  I nodded. “Good idea.”

  “We'll go through the house so Amanda can unlock the studio door and meet you there,” Belle told Dennis. “I don't want to stumble around in the dark. One sprained ankle's about all I can handle.”

  Laddi
e trotted along with us as we went through my small abode and into the studio. When I opened the outside door for Dennis, we could hear him coming before we saw him since the rollers on the trolley sounded a bit like a skateboard on the cement sidewalk. I hastily cleared a spot in the corner next to the door.

  “Right here would be good,” I said, and Dennis parked the trolley with my new sign atop it.

  “Amanda, it's still fairly dark out there, even with the solar lights I installed. I think motion lights would help quite a bit. It wouldn't hurt to have three others, too. Cover the carport and the front and backyard.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “It could be, what with an electrician's charge for labor. I have a battery-operated spotlight you could use, instead. I can adjust it to throw more light on the sidewalk to the studio, at least. Of course, it won't do anything for the rest of the yard, but your customers only need to locate the studio anyway, and your sign will be right under the street light, so they shouldn't have a bit of trouble finding you.”

  “That would be great, Dennis. I may have to throw in a few of my pecan pies, too.”

  “I love those!” Belle said enthusiastically. “They're so sweet it's just like eating candy, and you know what a sweet tooth Dennis and I both have.”

  Laddie's ears perked up, but it wasn't because Belle mentioned pie. He'd heard a noise, and he ran to the outside studio door, which we'd left ajar.

  “Knock. Knock. I saw the lights were on,” Chip said, rapping on the door frame. “How are you doing, fella?” He stooped to pat Laddie on the head.

  Belle must have recognized Chip as the pizza delivery man who'd brought us our lunch the day she'd sprained her ankle because she turned to me and asked me whether I'd ordered a pizza.

  “No. Chip's a board member of the gallery.”

  “And I deliver pizza, too. My dad owns a pizza parlor,” he explained, shaking hands with Belle and Dennis as I made the introductions.

  “Well, we'd best be on our way,” Dennis said. He probably thought Chip and I had gallery business to take care of.

  “Don't go. Belle and I were about to set up her new website, and we need your feedback,” I fibbed, desperately hoping that Belle would play along. I shot her a pleading look. Although I hadn't mentioned Chip and his previous flirtatious behavior to Belle, she picked up on what I was trying to tell her right away: I did not want to be left alone with Chip.

  At first Dennis looked confused when Belle confirmed that we did indeed want him to give us his opinion about Belle's nonexistent new website, but then he seemed to pick up Belle's vibe and went along with the program, leaving Chip the odd man out.

  “You're a busy lady, Amanda,” Chip said. “It seems like every time I see you, you're in the middle of something.”

  “There's a lot going on,” I said.

  “I won't keep you, but I wanted to let you know that Dad was able to talk to Aunt Susan at the station for a few minutes before they transferred her to the jail.”

  Belle gasped, and Dennis looked shocked.

  “Your mentor, Susan?” Belle asked me.

  I nodded.

  Chip jumped in. “It's all right to tell them, Amanda. We found out the police put out a press release that they'd arrested Janice's killer. That'll make the eleven o'clock news for sure, and it'll be in the morning paper. By tomorrow, everyone in town will know. It's not right. Aunt Susan wouldn't hurt a fly.”

  “Not only that, but she had no motive. She spoke well of Janice even though she said they'd had some disagreements in the past. Poor Susan! I can't imagine her having to suffer in jail. Isn't there supposed to be some kind of a bail hearing?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow morning, she's scheduled for what they call an initial appearance in court. That's when the judge might release her if she posts a bond, but since they're charging her with homicide, the judge may not grant bail.”

  “I hope she has a good lawyer if Belmont's made up his mind that she's guilty. He's tenacious,” Dennis said.

  “Sounds like you know him.”

  “Unfortunately, I do. Hard to find a more pig-headed man.”

  “I got that impression, too, when he questioned me. He's interviewed every single member of the gallery. There are plenty of other members who've argued with Janice. I can't understand why he focused on Aunt Susan. Anyway, Amanda, I wanted to ask you if you could come with me to court tomorrow. You know, to offer Aunt Susan moral support?”

  “Umm. Sure. OK.”

  “Her appearance is scheduled for ten. Pick you up about nine-thirty?”

  “Oh, no,” I said hastily. “I have errands to run in the morning. I'll meet you at the courthouse.”

  “Well, all right. I'll see you there tomorrow.”

  Although I knew Chip was genuinely concerned about Susan, he evidently also saw Susan's court appearance as yet another opportunity to connect with me. I definitely needed to have a talk with him, but now wasn't the appropriate time.

  After Chip left, closing the studio's outside door behind him, Dennis turned to Belle. “You didn't tell me you were setting up a website.”

  Belle and I looked at each other and burst into giggles.

  “What gives, ladies?”

  “I'm sorry, Dennis. I'm afraid the website doesn't exist. I was trying to think of some reason to keep you and Belle here because I didn't want to be alone with Chip. He showed up out of the blue in the evening once before, but Dustin was here at the time, so he didn't hang around. Dustin's convinced that Chip wants to date me, even though I'm old enough to be his mother. I know it seems crazy. I'd like to avoid him, but that could be difficult since we're both members of the gallery, and his aunt is my mentor.”

  “No wonder you didn't want him to pick you up tomorrow,” Belle said.

  “It's unfortunate about his aunt, but I don't like the idea of him showing up uninvited here at night,” Dennis said. “If he does it again, give us a call, and we'll pay you a neighborly visit.”

  “I'll definitely do that. I think he's probably harmless, but . . . .”

  “You never know,” Belle said, finishing my thought.

  Chapter 18

  The more I thought about it, the more I felt freaked out by Chip's second sudden appearance at my home. I wanted to get along with him, but only as a colleague at the gallery, not as a romantic interest, and I didn't appreciate having my privacy invaded. I resolved to tell him so in no uncertain terms at the first possible opportunity, before the situation became untenable. Hopefully, he'd listen to reason and back off.

  When I arrived at the courthouse the next morning, Chip was nowhere to be found. He hadn't told me where Susan's appearance was scheduled, only the time—ten o'clock. I looked around to see if I could find any information. People were purposefully bustling about, all evidently headed toward a known destination. When I saw a man come out of one of the courtrooms wearing a badge identifying him as a bailiff, I decided to ask him for directions. He told me that he wasn't familiar with the case, but that he would check for me. The bailiff was back a few minutes later with news.

  “There's nothing listed with Susan Carpenter's name on the docket today,” he told me.

  “What does that mean? Has her appearance been rescheduled?”

  “I'm sorry. That's the only information I have.”

  “Thank you for checking.”

  I returned to my car, wondering what had happened. Since Chip wasn't at the courthouse to meet me, I surmised that he knew the answer, but I wasn't about to call him to find out. I didn't have his phone number, anyway, but I knew he must have mine. After all, he'd found my address by looking me up in the Roadrunner's member directory, which also listed members' phone numbers, email addresses, and websites.

  I'd just put my key into the ignition when my smartphone rang. Chip must be calling, I thought, but when I dug my phone out of my bag, Susan's smiling face filled the display. I'd taken her picture the first day we'd met, when she came to the studio to see my art
work and clue me in about my gallery membership.

  “Susan, are you OK?”

  “I'm out of jail, but I'm not exactly OK. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst of my life—being arrested by that awful Lieutenant Belmont and then spending a sleepless night in jail. I can't begin to describe how bad it was.”

  “I'm so sorry.”

  “I'm out now, so you'd think I'd feel relieved but not so much because, right before they let me go, Belmont told me he planned to keep tabs on me, and as soon as he gathers more evidence, he's going to arrest me again. I want to warn you, Amanda, that he kept implying that you were covering for me. He's convinced himself that I was already inside the gallery when you got there the morning Janice was killed.”

  “But that's ridiculous! I told him we met in front of the gallery.”

  “I know,” Susan sounded very weary. There was a catch in her throat when she said, “I wanted to give you a heads-up. The man's relentless. He questioned me for hours before my attorney showed up and put a stop to it. By then, I'd repeated the same story over and over. It seemed like a hundred times. I wish I hadn't said anything at all. If my brother hadn't hired a lawyer, I don't know what I would have done.”

  “Oh, Susan, how awful! How were you able to be released? Did you have to post a bond? Chip told me you had to make an initial appearance in court this morning.”

  “My nephew's another story, but my lawyer talked to the district attorney, who agreed not to pursue the case now, due to lack of evidence, but he said they could file charges if the police investigation uncovers more evidence. I don't know how there can be any evidence because I haven't done anything wrong.”

  “If only the police could find the real killer,” I said.

  “Yeah, like that's going to happen. They're not even looking at anybody else except me. Amanda, I'm exhausted. I'm going to take a hot shower, pop some melatonin, and go to bed. I didn't sleep a wink last night. I do want to talk with you about Chip, though. I'm too tired to think straight right at the moment. Let me call you when I wake up, if that's all right.”