“Sure. That's fine. Get some rest.”
I was curious about what Susan wanted to tell me about Chip, but it would have to wait. I wondered if it had anything to do with his failure to meet me at the courthouse, but I felt relieved to have avoided seeing him there, rather than angry that he hadn't shown up.
Although I was glad that Susan had been released from jail, it was nerve-wracking that the lieutenant remained so single-minded in his belief that she'd killed Janice. I was more than a little concerned that he thought I was covering for her, especially considering that I'd told him everything I knew. I reminded myself that I wasn't compelled to talk to him, and I resolved not to answer any more of his questions in the future. If he kept insisting on going off on the wrong track, he could go there without me.
I hadn't started my car yet when I received a text message from Pamela, inviting me to double check the proof of the new flyer for the Friday night studio tours. She'd had it delivered to her at home, rather than to the Chamber's office because she'd be working in her own studio all day. When I replied in the affirmative, she texted me her address, along with directions, and said to come anytime, so I decided to stop by Pamela's studio before going home.
Pamela's lovely and very large home stood at the end of a cul-de-sac in an upscale neighborhood. Like her neighbors' homes, Pamela's featured Southwest styling, paint in earth-tone colors, a red tile roof, and desert landscaping. I pulled into the semicircular driveway, paved with bricks in the same soft red hue as the roof, and parked behind a white Nissan. According to Pamela's directions, I should follow the sidewalk around the house and through a gate to her studio in the back. Her directions were easy to follow, but I wondered how she directed her studio tour guests to the right spot. I wouldn't have known there was a separate studio on the property if Pamela hadn't told me. I walked past a patio, swimming pool, and pool house. The grounds looked very inviting, planted with desert bushes, and the sidewalk was lined with pots of colorful blooming plants. When I went around the pool house to find the studio, I guessed that the stand-alone building had originally been intended as a guesthouse and that Pamela had converted it into her art studio.
I was several yards away from the studio when the door opened, and Chip emerged, followed by Pamela. They hadn't seen me, and I had no desire to talk to Chip, so I jumped behind a huge, leafy bush next to the sidewalk. It was large enough to conceal my presence, and I hoped Chip would walk right past me, without realizing I was there.
I didn't think he would notice me as long as I stood very still and didn't make any noise. I stayed frozen there for a while, but Chip didn't come by, so I cautiously parted the leaves that blocked my view of Pamela's studio. Chip hadn't left yet. He was kissing Pamela, and his kiss was no mere peck on the cheek, either. Pamela wasn't resisting in the slightest. When their lips finally parted, she clung to him for a few seconds before letting go. She didn't stay outside to watch him leave, but returned to her studio, closing the door behind her.
Whistling, Chip came down the walk toward me. I moved a few steps to one side so that the bush blocked his view of me as he passed by. Although I felt confident he hadn't seen me, I stayed where I was for several minutes. The car I'd parked behind must be Chip's, I thought, wondering whether he'd notice my own car in the driveway when he left and whether he'd realize who owned it.
I lingered outside for about ten more minutes before I approached the door to the studio. I rang the doorbell, and Pamela answered through an intercom.
“Come in, Amanda. The door's open.”
There must have been a camera there, but it was so well concealed, I didn't notice it.
Light and airy, Pamela's studio occupied the great room of the former guesthouse. Pamela offered a quick tour, and I followed her as she showed me the kitchenette, office, bedroom, and bathroom. The place would have been a perfect guesthouse. Now, it was a perfect art studio.
I tried to put the image of that lingering kiss out of my mind as Pamela showed me around. Her colorful acrylic paintings of tropical scenes and exotic animals were professionally displayed on the walls. Only one half-finished painting stood on an easel next to a table where Pamela kept her art supplies.
The exuberance and the vibrant hues of Pamela's paintings provided a sharp counterpoint to her own persona, so much so that it was difficult to believe that the artist who'd painted them and Pamela, who'd dressed in shades of drab brown and tan every time I'd seen her, could be the same person.
“Would you like some coffee, Amanda? I just brewed a fresh pot.”
“Sure. That sounds good.”
“Have a seat,” she invited, setting a china teacup on the table in the alcove that jutted off the kitchenette. She poured me coffee and set the pot on a trivet in front of me while she retrieved a sugar bowl and creamer and set them next to the coffee pot.
“I'll grab the proof. I left it in the office.”
She returned in a minute and handed me the document.
“It looks right to me, but since we had a problem with it before, I want to make sure,” Pamela said.
“It's fine,” I said, looking at the proof. The star marking my studio's location was right where it should be, and my address was correct, too.
“Good. I'll let the printer know we approved it. We should have the new flyers by Friday, and I've corrected our newspaper ad, too. I'll recycle the old flyers so they won't be distributed by mistake.”
“Thank you, Pamela. I really appreciate all your help.”
Although I'd felt uneasy about seeing Pamela after witnessing the scene between her and Chip, I forced myself to keep my mind on our art connections. Even though Pamela had talent and money, she must be lonely, and I guessed that, since both Pamela and Chip were on the Roadrunner's board, he'd learned about the void in her life from Pamela herself and had taken the opportunity to fill it.
Thinking about their connection as board members reminded me of the first time I'd seen both of them at my membership interview. Ever since that distressing day, I'd wondered why the committee—Janice, Pamela, and Chip—had acted in such a cold way toward me. Maybe she wouldn't tell me, but I thought now might be a good time to broach the subject with Pamela.
“Pamela, you've been such a great help getting this flyer situation straightened out.” I took a deep breath. “I wonder if I could ask another favor.”
“Ask away,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee and stirred in two liberal spoonfuls of sugar.
“OK. This may not be any of my business, but I wanted to ask you about my membership interview.”
“Oh, that.” Pamela looked embarrassed. “I guess I was hoping you wouldn't ask. Chip and I never should have gone along with Janice.”
Clearly, Pamela knew exactly what I meant.
“So it was Janice's idea to give me the cold shoulder?”
Pamela nodded. “Not you, in particular, but anyone who applied for membership.”
“Why would she want to do that?” I asked. “When I left the gallery that day, I thought you were going to reject my application.”
“I'm sorry about that. Like I said, we never should have agreed to play it Janice's way, but she had such a strong will, it was hard to contradict her. Somehow, she always managed to get her own way.”
“I still don't understand.”
“It all started after we interviewed another artist a couple of months ago. We rejected her application, and there were some repercussions. Chip and I wanted to accept her, but Janice didn't. We finally gave in to her because we realized that if we accepted her application, Janice would do everything in her considerable power to see that the woman resigned, so we ended up going along with Janice's wishes.
“The artist didn't take the rejection well, and she came into the gallery several times to find out why we hadn't accepted her as a member. Janice managed to avoid her at first, but when she finally did speak with her, she said the decision of the committee was final and refused to discuss it.
The poor lady left in tears. I felt terrible because I knew she had expected to be invited to join. Chip and I had been friendly with her and had praised her sculptures during the interview. After that incident, Janice insisted that we give absolutely no encouragement whatsoever to prospective members during their interviews.”
“You certainly succeeded. I was so sure that you planned to turn me down that I almost fainted when I received my acceptance letter the next day. What did Janice find so objectionable about the artist's work?”
“She said it was craft, not art, and she also thought it was too whimsical and not particularly salable. The lady makes needle-felted animals from wool roving. I was fascinated with her sculptures myself, and there's no doubt in my mind that they're art. Janice may have had a point about possible sales, though. I don't really know how popular they would have been. Unfortunately, Janice never considered any work a proper sculpture unless it was made of metal or stone. That's why she and Susan had such go-rounds about Susan's papier mâché animal sculptures.”
“How did Susan manage to convince Janice to let her display them?”
“She didn't, really. Susan was already a gallery member who was selling lots of watercolors when she added papier mâché sculptures to her repertoire. Even though our by-laws state that the gallery director must approve artwork on display, they also provide an exception if a majority of the board approves. It's the one and only time since I've been a member of the board that Janice was overruled on anything. Once she found out how popular Susan's animals were, she relented a bit.”
“So when Susan told me she and Janice had had disagreements in the past, that's what she must have meant.”
“I assume so.”
“Could that be the reason the police suspect her of murdering Janice? It seems awfully thin to me. Surely Susan wasn't the only member who ever had a disagreement with Janice.”
“No, she wasn't, but Susan's the only member who ever threatened to kill her.”
Chapter 19
“What? That's hard to believe.”
“I heard her. She was very angry, but I'm sure she didn't mean it. Her exact words were, 'I could kill that woman.' Susan and Janice were arguing in Janice's office, but the door wasn't closed, and they were both loud. When Susan left Janice's office, she slammed the door closed. That's when she said it. Several members were in the gallery at the time, and we all heard her. Like I said, I'm sure she didn't mean it literally. She was just blowing off steam. Unfortunately, when the police asked me whether I knew of any threats against Janice, I felt I had to report it. I know other members did the same.”
“I suppose that could have prompted Lieutenant Belmont to take a closer look at Susan, but it seems awfully weak to me. After all, they'd evidently patched up their differences. There must be something more,” I speculated.
Pamela shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea what it could be. Despite what she said, I don't believe Susan's capable of such violence.”
We chatted a while longer, the subject turning back to the Friday night art tours. By the time I left Pamela's studio, I had all but forgotten about the passionate kiss I'd observed, but when I passed the bush I'd hidden behind earlier, I was reminded. I wondered again whether Chip had noticed my car in the driveway when he left. If he had and if he realized the car belonged to me, I wondered whether or not he'd stop flirting with me since he would know I'd seen him and Pamela together.
Although I didn't want to date Chip, I didn't dislike him, but I couldn't help thinking of him in the same way as I thought of my son's friends. If I knew him better, I'd give him the same warning I'd given Dustin when he'd planned to go ahead with his date after he'd learned the beautiful manager of the Brooks Miller Gallery was married. Since I didn't know Chip well enough to tell him that he was playing with fire, I didn't plan to bring up the subject.
Knowing Laddie and Mona Lisa would be eagerly awaiting their mid-day treat, I headed for home and a warm welcome from both my pets. I took my paints out of the freezer and set them in the studio. By the time I'd eaten lunch and played fetch with Laddie, they'd be ready to use.
During the afternoon, I thought of Susan's dilemma as I worked on my latest landscape. By late afternoon, when I stopped work for the day, she hadn't yet called me. I assumed she was still sleeping, and I decided that she might enjoy having some comfort food for her dinner. She could probably use some pampering right now, but since she lived alone, there was nobody at home to pamper her.
I filled two large ceramic casserole dishes with my mac and cheese, topped with buttered bread crumbs. I mixed batter for a chocolate cake, poured it into two steel springform pans, and popped them into the oven when I removed the mac and cheese. My tiny oven was made to fit into my tiny kitchen, and it didn't work well to jam several pans into it at once. I planned on keeping one dish of mac and cheese and taking the other to Susan, along with the chocolate cake.
After I baked and cooled the cake, I iced one layer with a thick, creamy fudge frosting before carefully setting the top layer on it and finishing the frosting. I didn't know whether Susan was a chocaholic or not, but if she was, she'd like my cake, and, if not, I'd make her a different dessert tomorrow.
She called as I ran my knife through the icing to make a final swirl.
“Tell me you've been sleeping all this time,” I said. “I know how tired you were.”
“I have. It was heavenly to sleep in my own bed with my own pillows. They don't give you a pillow at the jail, not that I could sleep there, anyway.”
“It sounds horrible.”
“Believe me, it was. It's hard, but I'm going to try to put it out of my mind for the rest of the evening. I'd still like to talk to you about Chip. Would you be able to come over for dinner? We can order from Miguel's, if you like. They deliver.”
“I have a better idea. I just finished making you mac and cheese and a chocolate cake. I can be there in a few minutes.”
“Sounds delicious. I'm starting to feel hungry again. I haven't had a bite to eat since yesterday.”
“In that case, I'd better hurry. I'll be there soon.”
I heated Susan's mac and cheese, then stowed it in an insulated casserole carrier before placing the cake in its own plastic carrier. Both had handles, which made transporting them easier as I loaded them into my car.
Maybe I imagined it, but my pets looked a little sad when I left them home alone for the second time that day. The upside wouldn't come until I returned, and we'd have a happy reunion.
Susan had already set out placemats, plates, and silverware for us on her dining room table. The mac and cheese was still warm, so we didn't re-heat it.
“Umm. This is just what I needed. I guess that's why they call it comfort food,” Susan said, taking a second helping. “And it's delicious, by the way.”
“Glad you like it. I hope you're a chocolate lover,” I said, removing the lid of the cake carrier.
“My favorite, and I'm going to have a huge slice.”
So far, Susan had told me that Pamela had agreed to take her place at the gallery tomorrow, but she hadn't said a word about Chip.
“If you need anything, just ask Pamela,” she said. “I'm afraid I haven't been much of a mentor. You've been left on your own.”
“It hasn't been a problem. Ralph was there yesterday, but it wasn't really very busy.” And I'd been so distracted over Susan's arrest that I'd let Ralph handle the few customers we'd had, but I didn't tell her that.
“I thought about coming in tomorrow, but I decided against it. I'm not quite ready to face the world yet. Everybody will be asking about my arrest. It's so embarrassing.”
“The police are the ones who should be embarrassed,” I declared.
“Exactly my thoughts. I can't begin to imagine who killed Janice, but here they are wasting time by focusing on me. I've racked my brain trying to think who might have wanted to kill her, but I can't come up with a clue.”
“You did mention that lots of membe
rs have had disagreements with her.”
“Yes, but that's par for the course anytime you get a group of artists together to run a co-op gallery. There's bound to be some friction. I can't see it escalating to the level of homicide, though.”
“Maybe her death has nothing to do with the gallery at all,” I suggested.
“I guess that's possible. It always seemed as though the gallery was her whole life, that she really didn't have a private life, but maybe that wasn't the case. She certainly never talked about her sister and, as far as I know, she never took a vacation.”
Susan helped herself to another slice of cake. “I'm going to pig out here,” she said. “This cake tastes so good. I love home-cooked food, but I don't often take the time to make any. It's so easy to stop in at Miguel's or call my brother and have Chip bring me a pizza or a calzone from the pizzeria. Speaking of Chip, I do want to talk to you about him.”
“All right.”
“Don't get me wrong. I love my nephew. The thing is, well, I'm afraid Chip's something of a ladies' man, or, at least, he'd like to be.”
“Yes. I got that impression.”
“Oh, so you know. That's good because I'd hate for you to get hurt. He's been talking about you quite a bit ever since he met you, which is a sure sign he's interested.”
“He may be, but I'm certainly not! He's young enough to be my son. Believe me, I haven't encouraged him. He's shown up at my house unannounced a couple of times, but my son was there the first time and my neighbors, the second, so I couldn't really tell him I wasn't interested then.”
“Oh, well, the best way is probably the direct approach. I can tell him, too, if you think that would help. He doesn't like to take 'no' for an answer, but if you're very firm, he will.”
“Sounds as though you've been through this before.”
“A few times, yes. Chip seems to be attracted to women who are older than he is, sometimes quite a bit older.”
Artistic License to Kill Page 10