A Brush with Murder

by Bailee Abbott

  The sketches Willow had made were hung on the wall. She’d even captioned each with a bullet list of steps and tips, then taped them underneath each canvas. Izzie had snagged a real gem when she found Willow. Whatever she paid her probably wasn’t enough. I moved down the length of the wall and stopped to run a finger along the grooves of a sunflower painting, layered perfectly to give the flower and background a two-dimensional look. Moving closer, I could make out the signature. Izzie. I smiled, then moved around the room, checking out the other paintings. A couple of them were from the Paint Your Shop event. Sammy and Penny must’ve agreed to let Izzie display their work.

  “Knock, knock.”

  I startled and pivoted on my heel. Gwen stood in the doorway with one hand clutching a package and the other giving me a finger wave. My gaze traveled from her head to her toes. She was dressed in a pink-and-green-flowered kimono with a white orchid tucked behind her ear. Pink bangles covered her wrist, while a beaded necklace hung in layers over her chest. Polished toes peeked out from beneath the hem of the kimono, and lime green flip-flops completed the ensemble.

  “Hey, Gwen. What brings you here? You look fantastic.”

  “Thank you. I want to drop off this gift. My way of apologizing for acting like such a loon yesterday. I’ve been so out of sorts lately. No excuse, though.” She shoved the package in my hands. “Not much, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” She giggled nervously.

  “Oh. Why, thanks, Gwen. No apologies needed.” I gave the box a gentle shake. “I love surprises, but maybe we should wait to open it at dinner? You’re still coming, aren’t you?” I set the box on the counter and waited while a puzzled frown puckered her brow.

  “Dinner? Yes, I’m going to dinner.” She blushed and patted her curly hairdo with one hand. “I have a date, but how did you know?”

  I blinked. “I’m confused. Izzie told me Mom invited you to dinner.”

  Gwen fussed with the orchid while remaining quiet.

  “Maybe I misunderstood.” I rushed to cover the awkward moment.

  Her eyes glazed with confusion as she ran her tongue over her mouth.

  “In fact, it probably was a mistake. Sometimes, my ears tune out when Izzie talks. Blah, blah, blah.” I chuckled. “She’s a real chatterbox. So, hey! You have a date. How wonderful is that? Who’s the guy. Someone I know?” I clamped my lips and winced. Right now, I was the chatterbox who needed to shut up.

  “Hmm?” She came to attention then smiled. “Oh, yes, it is wonderful. He’s such a nice man. You know …” She cupped one hand to the side of her mouth and lowered her voice. “I haven’t been on a date in twenty years. Isn’t that awful?” She straightened her shoulders. “Never too late, I say. Well, I should be going. You have a good evening and enjoy your gift.” Gwen pushed open the door and flip-flopped across the lawn.

  I froze and gawked at the colorfully adorned Gwen as she hurried down Artisan Alley. My concern for her state of mind leveled up several notches. Either I had truly misheard Izzie’s comment or Gwen was having a senior moment. I’d like to think the blame was on me. I debated whether to follow her but grabbed for my phone instead.

  After three rings someone picked up.

  “Mom. Hi. Hey, did you invite Gwen to dinner this evening?”

  “Yes. Why? Is something wrong?” Mom’s words clipped with an edge in her voice.

  “Ah, no. I don’t think so. I’m not sure.” I tapped the phone, thinking. “Did she mention anything to you about dating someone?”

  A loud fit of laughter burst through the receiver. “That’s absurd. Gwen doesn’t date. After her divorce, she swore off men. Told me so dozens of times, even when I tried to play matchmaker. Why? Chloe, what’s going on?”

  I shrugged, though she couldn’t see. “Gwen stopped by a few minutes ago, dressed up and ready for her date. Or so she told me. The strange part is she seemed totally unaware of your dinner invitation. Should we be worried?”

  “Worried? Obviously. I’ll give her a call and see what I can find out. Honestly, though, there’s not much we can do other than to keep an eye on her.” She sighed. “Love you, sweetie. Don’t be late for dinner.”

  I gripped the phone and chewed on my lip while my mind carried on about Gwen. I’d read that traumatic events often brought on strange and disoriented behavior. Traumatic like committing murder.

  I shuddered. “Stop it, Chloe. You’re speculating again. Gwen has earned the right to have those senior moments.” I paced the room. “And to keep certain things like dating to herself.” I stopped at the front window to stare out at the lake. A boater docked and cranked down his sail. He pulled something from his pocket as he stepped onto the dock. In the next second, he lifted his arm and held his hand close to his ear.

  I gasped as my phone rang and vibrated in my hand. Without glancing at the screen, I clicked to open the call. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Chloe. It’s Hunter Barrett. I got your message.”

  The deep growl of his voice made me shiver. An authoritative rather than friendly tone hardly put me at ease.

  “Yes. I have some news to share.” I grabbed the nearest chair and sat, giving my wobbly legs a break.

  “Are you still at your shop?”

  “I’ll be here until five.” All at once, I had doubts. What if he scoffed at my story about Sammy? Then again, I didn’t know any details about what Sammy knew. The news could be important.

  “Good. I’ll be right in.”

  I heard the click to end the call and frowned. “Right in?” Bouncing out of my seat, I turned toward the window. My eyes widened. Detective Barrett was jogging across the dock and up the lawn toward the shop.

  “Huh. How about that?” I opened the door and waited as he approached.

  His face was tan with a blush of red from too much sun. He wore frayed khaki shorts and a faded Lollapalooza T-shirt.

  I pointed. “You ever been there?”

  He lowered his chin for an instant then smiled. “Yep. Two thousand ten.”

  “Hey, me too.” I nibbled on the tip of my thumb. “I’m surprised.”

  “Why?” He tilted his head.

  “You don’t seem the type. Green Day? Soundgarden? I mean, Lady Gaga? Seriously not you.” I chuckled. Were we having a moment, one that didn’t include crime interrogations and finger-pointing?

  He crossed his arms and widened his stance. “I can name the first album and first hit released by Soundgarden and by Green Day. Can you?”

  “Too easy. I bet you can’t tell me what Lady Gaga wore to the Grammys in two thousand eleven. Now, that would impress me.” A smile teased the corners of my lips.

  “Black leather and thigh-high boots.” He winked.

  My eyes widened. “You’re a true groupie, Detective.”

  I couldn’t believe I was having fun. His authoritative tone had mellowed, nearly coaxing the tension right out of me, until I remembered why he was here.

  I cleared my throat. “Much as I’d like to continue playing music trivia with you, we should probably talk about why I called.”

  He pulled back his shoulders and tensed his jaw. “Is this about Fiona’s murder?”

  I gestured to the chair next to mine. “I think so.”

  “Go on.” He pulled out a notepad and pen from his back pocket.

  I walked behind the counter and opened the mini-fridge. “Would you like a bottle of water? Or soda. We have that too.” I retrieved a bottle of water.

  “None for me, thanks. Now, you were saying?”

  I took a couple of swigs from the bottle and returned to my seat. Something stopped me from revealing what Sammy had told me in confidence about her problems with Infinity. Most likely, Hunter and his team had found that information while investigating. At least the thought kept me from feeling guilty about not sharing those details. “Sammy called me early this morning. She claimed to know who killed Fiona and wanted to meet with me.”

  “I see.” He tapped the pad with his pen while h
is gaze bored through me.

  He was probably calculating time in his head. The next question would be why I waited until almost noon to call.

  “I suggested she call you, but she refused. I think she wanted to see how I’d react. Sort of like taking a test drive. Anyway, I decided if I met with her and listened to her story, then I could persuade her to come to you.” I chugged the rest of my water to quench my dry throat. The tension in me rushed back at full throttle.

  “I’m guessing you couldn’t convince her. What happened?”

  “Not exactly.” I explained how Sammy never showed. “Makes no sense, does it? I’ll admit, I’m sort of worried. She hasn’t tried contacting me since her call this morning. And before you ask, my calls to her went straight to voice mail.” I shoved both hands under my rear to stop from chewing on my nails or engaging in any other nervous habit wanting to take over. Saying those things out loud deepened my concern.

  Barrett’s steely glare with its hint of judgment didn’t help to calm me. “Maybe she had an emergency and couldn’t meet you.” His expression softened with the slight upturn of his mouth. “Before I go back to the office, I’ll stop by her shop and her house, if need be, to make sure she’s okay. How’s that sound?”

  “Thank you.” I stood and scratched behind my ear, puzzling over his gesture of what? Sympathy? Caring? “Um, yeah, that would be nice.”

  He shrugged and rose from his seat. “I need to check out her story anyway. Just doing my job.”

  My smile slipped. The detective who was all business and without a trace of empathy resurfaced. Not a big surprise.

  I gave a quick glance at my watch and jumped. “Crap. I’m late.” I juggled my bag, book, and thermos. “I’m sorry to push you out, but I need to go.”

  He stepped to the door. “One more question?”

  “Sure.” I fished for my keys, then remembered I’d left them on the counter. Retracing my steps, I snatched them. “Can we talk while walking?” I gestured toward the door with my chin. “Will you? My hands are full.”

  He held the door open with his backside. “Have you seen Miss Finch lately? I’ve been trying to get in touch, but she never returns my calls.”

  I set down my load and fiddled with the lock while deciding what to say. He might have noticed Gwen leaving our shop. The view of Artisan Alley from the lake was mostly unobstructed. Only a few trees blocked parts of what a boater could see. In any case, there was no point in lying to him, and Gwen would have to deal with him sooner or later.

  “I spoke with Theo, the owner of the town Gazette.” He moved closer.

  “Oh?” The lock clicked, and I skipped away from both the door and the strong scents of coconut sunscreen and musky cologne that were rather enticing.

  “She had an interesting story to tell about an argument that might move Gwen Finch to the top of my list.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Yeah, that Theo. She loves telling stories. Embellishes a bit to make them more entertaining.” The top of his list, his suspect list. My stomach curdled. I couldn’t help my impulse to protect fragile and broken creatures, like our neighboring shop owner. “All I know is Gwen stopped by earlier to drop off a gift. I think she mentioned meeting someone for dinner.” I kept my head down as I inched closer to pick up my things.

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll catch up to her sooner or later. You have a good day.”

  I straightened, hefting the gift, my bag, book, and thermos once again. He hadn’t waited for a response. I studied the tan, well-built form of Detective Barrett as he jogged across the lawn and toward Quaint Décor.

  “You too, Detective,” I whispered with a shrug. No point in expecting he’d call to let me know about Sammy, which was fine because I could learn that information without his help. This was a small town, where most everybody knew what everyone else did.

  I made my way across Whisper Cove Boulevard and arrived home, only fifteen minutes late to dinner. Mom would give me the pouty, hurt look then quickly forgive me because that was how she was. I dropped everything in the foyer and power walked down the hall to the kitchen. Max pranced around me while everyone sat at the table, waiting. I had one ace of an excuse up my sleeve and planned to use it. “Sorry. Detective Barrett paid me a visit. I couldn’t get away.” I scooted my chair closer to the table and spread a napkin across my lap. “How was everyone’s day?”

  “Well, not as interesting as yours, I bet.” Izzie leaned against her chair. “What did Hunter have to say? More accusations about how we killed the victim with a painting knife while munching on barbecue?” She snorted.

  “Izzie Abbington. No point in being disrespectful about the authorities,” Mom said while passing the green beans to Dad.

  “Yeah, stop being such a smart …” I caught the other look Mom always gave us and stopped what I intended to say but threw Izzie an impish grin.

  “What did he have to say, Shortcake?” Dad forked a slice of seasoned beef off the plate.

  “Wow. I can smell the spice from here.” I waved a hand in front of my tearing eyes.

  “It’s the mango powder.” Izzie nodded. “Wait until you try some. Yummy.”

  The scrunch of her nose told me otherwise. “Before I tell you why Detective Barrett came to the shop, I need to give you guys some backstory.” I debated on sharing the account of Sammy’s dealings with the black market. Instead, I dove straight into her claim she knew who the killer was and wanted us to meet but then never showed up. Obviously, I left out the part about my lake swim with Ross. No good would come of feeding the gossip mill.

  “Wow. Do you think she really knows? I mean. I figured she fit under the column of most likely suspects.” Izzie pushed away her plate.

  “Let’s hope so. Then life can return to normal. Izzie, you shouldn’t waste food.” Mom pointed to the plate.

  “Whatever she has to say, she can tell the detective.” I pushed the beef to one side of my plate, then took a tiny nibble of the potato dish.

  “Maybe I should call her. See if she’s okay.” Izzie pushed away from the table.

  “I doubt you get to answer. I’ve already tried.” I shrugged.

  The house phone rang. Dad usually answered. As leader of the neighborhood watch, he was first on the call list whenever there was a problem. “Be right back. Don’t eat all of the key lime pie while I’m gone.” He winked.

  “Can we talk more about Sammy?” Izzie began and gave me a pointed stare. “What do you think she knows? Did she say something on the phone that seemed off?”

  “Well—” I stopped when Dad returned to the kitchen.

  He rubbed his jaw while standing next to the table.

  “Dad? Is everything okay?” I swallowed.

  “Detective Barrett. He wants to speak with you, Chloe.”

  My heartbeat raced while I hurried across the room. “Maybe he spoke to Sammy and wants to let us know she’s okay.” There. I’d shoot for one of those happy endings Izzie talked about.

  I reached the living room. My hand hovered, then I picked up the receiver. “Hi, Detective.”

  “Chloe. I followed up on what you told me. Sammy isn’t at her shop or at home. In fact, no one—not her neighbors or anyone on Artisan Alley—has seen her since early this morning.”

  “Oh.” I dragged out the moment, sorting out what he’d told me and searching for what it meant. “She’s missing then?”

  “I don’t know yet, but Sammy’s next-door neighbor, Nell Simpson, saw her leave the house. She wasn’t alone.”

  I tensed. If this had anything to do with Infinity and those thugs Sammy did business with, my hunch was Detective Barrett had more to worry about than a missing person’s case.

  “The odd part of Miss Simpson’s story is her description of the woman leaving with Sammy. Shorter than average, curvy figure, dark hair cut above the shoulders. Sound familiar to you?”

  I ran my tongue over my lip. His words stabbed me like daggers, quick and sharp.

  “Chl
oe, did you have anything to do with Sammy disappearing?”

  Chapter Ten

  I snuggled under the throw blanket and stared at the lake from the front porch. The sun’s crescent-shaped form peeked above the horizon, changing from a pale, ghostly yellow to a bolder shade as it inched upward. I squinted, narrowing my eyes to concentrate on the scene. Like one of those slow television broadcasts from Norway where viewers watched an ordinary event for hours, I could sit here all day until sunset. Maybe that was what I’d do. Anything to avoid my reality. If only the phone conversation I’d had with Detective Barrett would stop playing in my head.

  At first, I thought I had a chance to avoid blame, to cry foul. I didn’t have anything to do with Sammy’s disappearance. The person fitting my description wasn’t me. However, when he informed me that Penny claimed I was snooping around Quaint Décor, peeking in the window, sneaking around back, I knew how my behavior looked. After that, I caved. My confession about knowing Sammy’s business arrangement with Infinity only made things worse. Without seeing his face, I cringed, imagining that steely-eyed, accusatory stare. My goose was more than cooked. The bird was on fire.

  I wasn’t worried about myself, though. My problems would get sorted out. I had faith in that outcome. What churned my insides and weighted my heart with guilt was Sammy. If only I’d gone to Detective Barrett right away, but I hadn’t. I needed to own up to that mistake. He agreed to follow the trail of bread crumbs of Sammy’s whereabouts by talking to the people at Infinity. I was grateful, but my worries would linger until Sammy returned safely home. I shivered and pulled the blanket to my chin. Safe and unharmed.

  Despite the tailspin of events putting me in a funk, there was an ironic twist to the situation that almost made me laugh. Ross, in a roundabout way, was the only one who could back up my story. Of course, Detective Barrett planned on talking to him. Ross would love to help, which meant I’d be indebted to him. He’d love that part even more. Yep. I should’ve called Detective Barrett at the first sign of Sammy’s troubles.

  “I thought you might need this.” Izzie handed me a mug of tea, then sat in the wicker chair close to mine.