“He seems like a jerk,” Belle said, “But his offer sounded kind of good. Am I right in assuming that if you took him up on it, you wouldn't have to work in the gallery?”
“That's right, but there are a couple of sticking points, and, of course, Brooks doesn't know that Judith's dead, and he's still dealing with Janice.”
I stepped over the baby gate into my living room and invited Belle to do the same. Laddie was beside himself with joy now that there was no barrier between us. I sat on the sofa, patted the cushion next to me, and Laddie jumped up beside me, putting his head on my lap and soaking up my attention. Belle smiled as Mona Lisa joined her on the wide arm of the chair when she sat down. The calico kitty allowed Belle to pet her although my finicky cat refused to lie on Belle's lap.
“We'll be more comfortable in here. I don't know why it didn't dawn on me earlier that I don't have to stay in the studio waiting for visitors all evening. I can see cars parking in front perfectly well from right here.”
“True. What was that you were saying about sticking points?”
“Oh, right. I don't think I mentioned it to you, but the day Dustin and I shopped downtown, we went into the Brooks Miller Gallery on First Street.”
“If he already has a gallery here in Lonesome Valley, why does he want another one?”
“Better location, but his artwork is terrible. I mean it's really, really bad, but obviously he doesn't know that. He acts like he's Picasso reincarnated.”
“So not a good thing to be invited to show in his gallery?”
“Definitely not, and there's something else. We met his wife at his gallery that same day, and she believes in high-pressure sales. She wasn't above flirting outrageously with Dustin in hopes of making a sale. She even agreed to a date with him.”
“But she's married.”
“Exactly. Dustin didn't know that when he asked her, though. He ended up canceling.”
“Sounds like he dodged a bullet there.”
Suddenly, Laddie reared up and ran to the front door. I could see an old Lincoln stopping in front of my studio tour sign.
“Looks like we have another visitor. Sorry, Laddie,” I said as I stepped over the baby gate.
“I'll stay in here with him,” Belle called, but Laddie stationed himself next to the gate so he could see what was going on in the studio.
A middle-aged couple entered. They declined my offer of wine, but the woman plucked a cheese cube up and popped it into her mouth. “Cute toothpicks,” she commented as she discarded the red curlicued toothpick in the small trash container I'd placed next to the little serving table.
While her husband wandered around the studio, the woman looked intently at one of my partially finished paintings displayed on an easel.
“So you go from this,” she said pointing to the landscape on the easel, “to that.” She waved toward one of my paintings that hung on the wall.
“Yes.”
She seemed interested, so I explained my process.
“I'm afraid we don't know much about art. We're new in town, and we picked up the flyers for the studio tour downtown. By the way, that's a beautiful scarf you're wearing.”
“Thank you. I tie-dyed it myself.”
“I love the light and dark blue colors. You don't happen to sell scarves, too, do you? I'd really like to buy one.”
“I never thought about it, to tell you the truth. I make them for myself and to give as gifts once in a while, but, sure, I could make you one if you like.”
After we settled on terms, the woman who introduced herself as Faye Anthony, decided she'd like to buy two scarves, one blue and one pink. When she gave me cash for a deposit, I promised to have them ready for her in a week. She planned to stop by to pick them up during the next Friday night studio tour.
The Anthonys ended up being the last visitors of the evening. Although we left the sign out until nine, nobody came during the last hour.
“At least you made a sale,” Belle said.
“True. I'm sure that doesn't always happen. I tend to get overly optimistic about these events sometimes. At least the tour wasn't a total disaster.”
After Dennis brought my sign back inside and removed the spotlight, we finished the wine and cheese, and then they went home. I think they would have stayed a little longer, but they saw me stifling a yawn, and Belle commented that I must be exhausted.
She was right, although my exhaustion was more mental than physical. As soon as they went home, I decided to go to bed early, but, try as I might, I couldn't fall asleep. I had so many things on my mind I felt like a juggler with three balls in the air, all about to come crashing down unless I could keep my momentum going.
Thoughts about the murder, Janice's impersonation, and Brooks's obsession with buying the Roadrunner all spun around in my head. At the same time, I couldn't help dwelling on my odd studio tour. I'd only had nine visitors, but I guessed that probably wasn't unusual, given that we opened our studios to the public weekly.
I lay awake for quite a while. Finally, I decided to get up and read. I pulled on a robe, and a sleepy Laddie followed me to the living room, but Mona Lisa stayed in bed curled up on the pillow that she'd claimed as her own.
I leafed through some art magazines I'd checked out from the library, pausing as I paged through them to read some of the articles. Snoring softly, Laddie lay at my feet. I knew he wouldn't go back to the bedroom until I did. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was close to midnight. I didn't have to be at the arts and crafts fair until nine o'clock, so I wasn't especially worried about a lack of sleep. There was still plenty of time for that. I picked up another magazine. I'd just started to read an article about an artist, now eighty, who hadn't started painting until she was sixty when I heard a noise.
It sounded like a door handle rattling, and it was coming from my studio!
Chapter 28
The rattling stopped, and I would have thought I'd had imagined it, if not for Laddie's reaction. He jumped up.
I'd removed the baby gate hours earlier, so there was no barrier to prevent him from running to the studio door.
I followed, turning on all the lights. There were vertical blinds on all the windows in the studio, and I kept them closed at night, so if anyone were lurking outside, the person couldn't see us, but he could certainly see that the lights were on, so he'd know someone was home.
Laddie returned to my side, an indication that whoever had been outside the studio door had left.
I turned the lights out, cautiously parted the blinds slightly and looked out, but I couldn't see a thing in the darkness. I was turning the studio lights back on when we heard a muffled bumping sound, followed by a louder thump.
This time, Laddie took off for the kitchen door that led to the carport.
I peeked through the curtain that obscured the little window on the top part of the door. Had I seen a shadow next to my car? I couldn't be sure.
Then my car alarm went off, and I was sure.
Even though I'd followed Greg's advice to keep my doors and windows locked, I was scared now. Someone was definitely out there, and I felt sure that he had tried to get into my house!
I reached into the pocket of my robe for my cell phone, but it wasn't there. I ran back to the bedroom and looked on the night stand, but it wasn't there, either. When I turned on the lamp beside my bed, Mona Lisa gave me a baleful stare, along with a loud “meow” to protest being disturbed.
Hurrying from room to room in search of my phone, I began to panic. I had no landline. I hoped Dennis and Belle would hear my car alarm and call for help, but I was afraid it was more likely that they'd investigate in person, perhaps putting themselves in danger.
As I rushed about the house searching for my phone, Laddie stayed beside me, prancing and wagging his tail, as though I'd invented some new game to play.
My search seemed to take forever, but it probably lasted less than a minute. I heard my phone ringing and finally located it between
the cushions in the chair where I'd been sitting earlier, reading the art magazines. It must have slipped out of the pocket of my robe.
“Hello.”
“Amanda, we heard your car alarm go off. Are you OK?” Belle asked.
“Someone's prowling around the house! I was going to call the police, but I couldn't find my cell phone until just now when you called me.”
“Dennis is on his way over. I'll call the cops right now.”
I found my car keys on the kitchen counter and fumbled with them, finally managing to shut off the alarm with my trembling hands. Then I turned on the carport light and watched for Dennis. He soon appeared, flashlight in hand. When I saw him coming, I opened the door to let him inside.
“Someone's been out there, all right,” Dennis told me. “Your trash can's overturned, and some branches on the bush under your bedroom window are broken off.”
The siren of a Lonesome Valley police cruiser wailed somewhere close by. We listened as it grew louder. Lights flashing, the police car stopped in front of my house, and the siren abruptly stopped. An officer carrying a police-issue flashlight emerged from the vehicle and strode up the front walk to my door.
Laddie ran to meet him. Everyone was his buddy as far as Laddie was concerned, and he greeted his visitor with his usual happy tail-wagging enthusiasm.
“Mike!” I exclaimed.
“Everybody OK here?” he asked, patting Laddie at the same time.
“Yes,” I said, “but I heard somebody prowling around the house. It sounded like he tried the door handle to the studio, and my neighbor here said my trash can has been overturned.”
“Dennis Compton, officer,” my neighbor introduced himself. “My wife and I live next door, and we heard Amanda's car alarm going off. When she told my wife somebody was lurking around outside, I came over to check it out.”
“You stay here, and I'll have a look around,” Mike said, nearly running into Belle as he turned around.
“Sorry it took me so long to get over here,” Belle said breathlessly. “I had to get dressed first.”
Instinctively, I pulled my robe closer. I was about to head back to my bedroom to pull on some jeans and replace my fluffy slippers with sandals when another car pulled up behind Mike's police car.
“It's Greg,” Belle said, opening the door wider and calling to him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly. “Don't tell me you went out for a midnight snack.”
“Hardly. I was home monitoring the police band when I heard the call. It was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd come over to find out what was going on. I didn't know the call was to your house, Amanda. What's going on?”
I repeated the prowler story, and Belle introduced her husband to Greg, who immediately began trying to convince Dennis to start an official neighborhood watch group for our block.
“This is the first time we've ever had any trouble around here,” Dennis told Greg, “but we do watch out for each other.”
Mike returned and closed the front door behind him. Five people and a large dog all clustered within a few feet of each other created a claustrophobic feel in my small living room, but Laddie was having the time of his life, making the rounds and soaking up attention from everyone.
“Amanda, do you have any idea who might have been trying to break in?” Mike asked.
“No, I don't. Except for my artwork, there's nothing valuable here, but I can't believe someone would want to pilfer my paintings.”
“You did have an open studio tonight, didn't you?” Mike asked. “People could see what you have.”
“I did, but how did you know about it?”
“I saw the flyer. They're all over town. Maybe someone found a picture he liked and decided to come back and help himself.”
“Considering who showed up, I very much doubt that,” I said. “A couple who were more interested in drinking wine than looking at art, a young mother with three kids, and a lady who came in with her husband and bought some scarves from me.”
“Don't forget Brooks,” Belle added.
“Brooks? You mean Brooks Miller?” Mike asked. “The same guy who was causing trouble at the gallery?”
“Yes. That's the one.”
“As rich as he is, I doubt that he'd swipe a painting.”
“What about Chip . . . ? Dennis suggested. “He's been bothering Amanda.”
Mike insisted on hearing all the details. Greg looked at me in surprise while Belle told Mike about the young artist's interest in me.
“Where can I find this Chip?” Mike wanted to know.
“He works at his father's pizza parlor, The Pizza Palace,” I volunteered, “but I can't believe he'd do something like this. I think he's just a harmless flirt.”
“We'll see about that. What's his full name?”
“Travis Baxter.”
“You don't happen to know where he lives, do you?”
“No idea.”
“I'll track him down. In the meantime, I'll maintain patrols in the neighborhood to keep an eye on things. Call 9-1-1 again if there's any trouble.
After Mike left, Greg insisted on having a look around the yard, so Dennis accompanied him, although he wasn't enthused about Greg's constant urging to form an official neighborhood watch group on our block. In Dennis's opinion, he was already on the alert and didn't need to formalize it.
Belle invited me to spend the rest of the night at her house, but I declined. If I was going to get any sleep at all, it would have to be in my own bed. I never could sleep the first night in a strange bed; it always took me a while to get used to a different mattress.
Greg and Dennis returned, and Greg reported that they'd checked all the doors and windows to confirm that they were still locked up tight. We thanked Greg for his concern, and he left reluctantly after I turned down his offer to stay in his car out front to keep an eye on my house.
Although Laddie fell asleep right away after we went back to bed and Mona Lisa didn't budge from her nest on the pillow, I tossed and turned the rest of the night and woke groggy and out of sorts when Mona Lisa pounced on me and began tapping my arm with her paw. At least, she was polite about it and didn't scratch me.
After I tended to Laddie and Mona Lisa, I revived a little after taking a long shower and brewing a pot of strong black tea.
Belle had invited Laddie to stay with her and Mr. Big while I helped staff the Roadrunner's booth at the arts and crafts fair, so we left Mona Lisa to her own devices. As we went out of the house, my calico kitty bestowed one of her mysterious smiles on us. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought she held the secrets of the universe in her Mona-Lisa smile.
Chapter 29
Susan had texted me she was on her way and given me directions to the Roadrunner's white tent, located close to the park's pavilion. After walking around for a couple of minutes, I spotted it. I'd arrived early to find Chip and Lonnie setting up the grids where our members' artwork would be displayed.
“Thanks a bunch, Amanda,” Chip said sarcastically when he saw me.
“What are you talking about, Chip?”
“I had a little visit from the police last night. It seems they suspected me of trying to break into your house.” Shifting gears to his puppy-dog, hurt voice he continued, “Why would you suggest to them that I'd prowl around your house in the middle of the night? You know me better than that.”
I didn't actually know him at all, I thought.
“I didn't say anything, Chip. My neighbor told the officer you'd stopped by the house before, and it sounds like the police took it from there.”
“Good thing I had an air-tight alibi then. I was helping Dad clean up after we closed last night.”
“I'm sorry they paid you a call.”
Chip looked at me closely. I knew I had dark circles under my eyes, and although I'd tried to cover them with make-up, they were still visible. “No, I'm sorry, Amanda. You look as though you didn't sleep at all last night. You must have
been terrified.”
“It was a little scary,” I admitted.
“Hey, Chip, let's get a move on,” Lonnie called. “The members will start coming to hang their paintings any time now, and I need to get going. I have to babysit while Heather gets her hair done.”
“Sorry, Lonnie,” Chip muttered. He made quick work of finishing the grids' set-up. After they finished, Chip said, “You go ahead. I'll take care of the rest.”
Lonnie didn't object, and he took off in a hurry while Chip upended the folded six-foot table we'd be using to display our prints and note cards, pulled the legs out, pushed them to lock them in place, and set the table upright.
“Just in time,” Chip said. “Here comes Aunt Susan.”
Susan pulled two large rolling suitcases behind her. She stooped to unzip one of them and pulled out a dark blue table drape. I helped her position it over the table. It extended all the way to the ground and fit perfectly. That was handy because we could hide the suitcases under the table where nobody could see them.
“I can tell you've done this before,” I said, as Susan began pulling display props out of her bags.
“Oh, yes. Many times. Chip, I left the prints and note cards in my trunk. Do you have time to get them?”
“All the time in the world for you, Auntie,” he said with a grin.
“And don't call me 'Auntie,'” she scolded good-naturedly, tossing him her car keys.
Chip winked playfully at her as he walked off, whistling.
Susan sighed. “Honestly, I don't think that boy will ever take anything seriously.”
After that comment, Susan and I didn't really have a chance to chat because members began arriving with their paintings, and Susan started to place them on the grids. I'd forgotten to bring mine to our booth, so I had to return to my car to pick them up.
I'd chosen two small realistic portraits I'd painted about a year earlier. They weren't in my usual expressionistic style. Instead of my typical landscapes, I'd painted appealing pictures of my pets, which I'd originally intended to hang in my family room in our home in Kansas City. They never went up on the wall after Ned revealed he planned to divorce me. I decided that, if either painting sold, I could easily make another to keep for myself.
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