A Brush with Murder

by Bailee Abbott

  “Perfect.” I shifted my gaze side to side. The front room was spotless and organized. “Maybe I’ll head to the storage room and inventory supplies.” I stiffened and my stomach lurched. Sooner or later, I’d have to get comfortable working back there. Not yet, but eventually.

  “Already done. I made a list.” She patted a folded piece of paper sticking out of her pocket. “I got us a great deal on canvases. An order of fifty at half the price. That order should arrive in a couple of days. Not much else. Some paper products and more turpentine. We never got the second part of our order from the distributor in Jamestown, but I can stop by the general store and pick up enough to cover the beach fireworks event. Just in case, you know.”

  “You are amazing.” I smiled. Relief washed over me. I could put off facing my fears a bit longer. In this situation, procrastinating hadn’t hurt.

  “Not really. Doing my job, is all.” She blushed and grabbed her keys and bag.

  “No, seriously.” I pointed to the ceiling. “It’s like Izzie called for an angel, and here you are.”

  “Well, this angel needs to deliver flyers.” She flapped the thick stack at me. “Be back in an hour or less.”

  “No hurry. I’ll just sit here reading this cheesy romance novel since you’ve left nothing for me to do,” I called after her and got a dismissive arm wave in return.

  I tapped my thighs and scanned the room once again. Willow had even painted the fireworks scene—three canvases in three different stages, and, as with the lighthouse, she’d added sticky notes. I couldn’t compete, but there had to be something I could do. Wasn’t that why I’d come here? Work. Keep busy. Avoid troubling and disturbing thoughts. I took a straight path across the room to the stage. Grabbing a couple of blank canvases from the stack and some sketch pencils, I sat at the nearest station. I’d checked online and three people had signed up and responded to the website post. They’d emailed headshot photos of their pets. We limited attendance to fifteen guests, since this event involved individual instruction. Sketching each headshot took time. We had four days to finish them, and, most likely, the majority of those signing up would email their pet photos the day before.

  I tapped my phone and pulled up our business email account, then printed off the first pet shot. The printer whirred and spit out paper. I examined the image and grunted approval. I hummed while sketching a cute cocker spaniel on the canvas.

  The jingle of the front door chimes barely registered in my brain. Artwork drew me in, as if my body had traveled someplace far away. Izzie always said she envied me that concentration.

  The tap on my shoulder, however, startled me and brought me back to the shop. “Oh! I didn’t hear you come in.” I set the pencil aside and stepped away from the station. “Detective Barrett, what brings you here? Catch any criminals lately? That would certainly put my mind at ease.” Maybe a tiny bit of sarcasm colored my tone, but I managed to stop a smirky grin to go along with it.

  He stood with arms crossed. Not even a hint on his face showed my words bothered him.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” He nodded at the canvas sketch. “I do have some news. The forensics team finished their toxicology report on Fiona. No drugs were in her system, which rules out an attempt to poison her.”

  Now, the smirk rose to the surface. “Figured the knife in her neck would’ve given them that conclusion.”

  His expression didn’t change. “More importantly, your blood type didn’t show up on any of the samples. Neither did your fingerprints.”

  “Huh. Imagine that.” I erased a smudge mark on the canvas then looked up. “That goes for Izzie, too?”

  “Absolutely. Of course, the lack of prints or blood matches doesn’t mean everything in a case.”

  “Mmhmm.” I clenched my jaw and counted to ten, refusing to say words I’d regret later. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea?”

  “Not right now.” His face softened as he leaned against the table of the station next to me.

  My brows arched. “Is there something else?”

  “I spoke with your Ross.”

  “He’s not my Ross.” I grabbed the pencil and turned my attention back to the sketch. I outlined the nose and mouth. “What about him?”

  “He confirmed your story about the visit to Sammy’s shop and about her trouble with Infinity.”

  “Gee. Just like I told you.” I scribbled the pet owner’s name on a sticky note and slapped it on the canvas, then plopped down in the chair. Too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours. My nerves had splintered and frayed, making this conversation difficult to handle. “Why do you insist on thinking I’m lying to you?”

  “A certain amount, or let’s say, a lot of distrust comes with the job.” He tilted his head. “Sorry if that offends you. It’s nothing personal.”

  My eyes widened. I leaned back. “How can this not be personal? You think I’m a murder suspect. Me. Can’t get more personal than that.”

  He held up both hands. “It’s part of doing my job. I look at everyone as a possible suspect.”

  I snorted. “Even your mother? How about your wife? Is she a possible suspect too?”

  His lips narrowed. “My mother lives in California, and I don’t have a wife. So, no on both counts. Are you always this confrontational? I know Ross said you can be at times, but I figured he was exaggerating.”

  My heart hammered against my chest, and my face flamed with heat. “You discussed personal stuff about me with Ross? What is wrong with you?” The chair scraped across the floor as I pushed it away.

  “I asked him to confirm what you’d told me. So yes, we talked about you. It’s not my fault he wanted to go on and on about your relationship.” He scratched behind one ear. “He’s a real chatterbox, isn’t he?”

  I calmed a bit and sniffed. “Yeah, he is. That doesn’t mean you should listen. My personal life isn’t part of this investigation.”

  “You’re right. I’m an idiot.” He raked fingers through his hair.

  I wiggled a finger at him while keeping a smile from showing. “Why, Detective Barrett, I think this is the first time we agree on something.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He shrugged an apology. “Do you think you could drop the detective title and call me Hunter? Your sister does, and she hates me.”

  I let go with a laugh. “I don’t know what you did to her in high school, but I doubt Izzie holds that much of a grudge to hate you.”

  “How about we leave it at that? I don’t want to add to the unfavorable image you already have of me.”

  “Deal. I promise never to ask again.” I held up three fingers.

  “A former girl scout, huh? I’ll check off another item on that personal life list.” He winked.

  I rubbed my arms to rid the goose bumps. The conversation had taken a turn, and our roles of suspect and detective changed into something I wasn’t comfortable with yet. “Okay, Detective Hunter. You need to go so I can get my work done.”

  “Detective Hunter. At least we’re making progress. See you around, Chloe.” He tipped his hand and whistled as he walked out of the shop.

  Willow held the door as Hunter stepped past. “What was that all about?” She came inside and set a shopping bag on the counter.

  “Nothing really.” I narrowed my gaze.

  Her complexion lacked its usual pink blush, and she moved like her energy of an hour ago had expired without notice. “You okay?”

  “Yes. Why?” She blinked with widened eyes, then turned away to unload her purchased items from the bag. “It’s a downpour out there. If you leave anytime soon, better carry an umbrella.”

  “Hmm. Thanks for the tip.” I folded my bottom lip under my teeth. “How about some tea? I think there’s some ginseng Mom included in the last care package she delivered. That’ll perk you up.”

  “I said I was fine.” She snapped the words, then immediately followed with a laugh. “Listen to me. I don’t even know where that came from.” She threw u
p her arms. “Oh wait. Maybe it’s the guy I thought was nice. We had dinner together. Twice. He was sweet and charming, you know?”

  “Yeah, I’m familiar with the type.” I lowered my head and winced. I hated playing Dear Abby, but the conversation seemed to be roping me into the role. “Maybe if you talked to him, told him how you feel?”

  “Nope.” She sniffed. “I’m done, moving on, and leaving him for the next stupid, starry-eyed girl.”

  “Okay. Good for you, but the offer of tea is still on the table. Or, if you want to take off and spend the rest of the day watching reruns of Friends and eating leftover pizza, that’s fine too.” I was horrible at this, and the look on her face proved it. My usual MO was to stop answering the phone after two or three dates. Except for Ross. We’d lasted two years, which probably amounted to over a hundred dates, and look how that ended.

  “No tea. No going home. Keeping busy with work is my medicine.” She piled supplies in her arms and headed to the storage room.

  “Now that’s a remedy I can relate to.” I followed close behind her, then skidded to a stop. I gasped at the creaking of the back door as Willow hefted a bag of trash outside. I peered through the opening. Rain pelted the concrete pavement and pinged as drops hit the trash bin. Fiona lying outside the door as blood puddled and stained the pavement around her flashed into my head. Again. Not as scary as the last time, but still … I heaved a breath and retreated to the front.

  “That wasn’t too hard. Next time I’ll try to stay put and not have a panic attack,” I whispered in an attempt to avoid Willow overhearing.

  The clock read a quarter before eleven. I checked my phone. No phone call or message from Izzie either meant she should be here within a few minutes or something else had come up. I refused to imagine what something else could mean. Like I’d told Hunter, too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours. As far as I could see, we’d maxed out our quota of unfortunate events.

  Heavy footsteps sounded as Willow returned from the storage room. She slung the strap of her bag over one shoulder and held her phone in a white-knuckled grip. Her face had turned from pale to almost ghostly white. “I think I should go home. I’m not feeling well.”

  “Sure. Of course. You deserve some alone time, and rest. Plenty of rest. Call if you need anything.” I followed her to the door and stood there with one arm braced against the frame as she barreled outside.

  As she did, Izzie came around the corner and nearly collided with her. They spoke briefly. The exchange lasted only a few seconds as the rain fell harder.

  I stepped to the side and Izzie rushed in. “Hey, little sis. Glad you decided to come visit your shop. You know, the business you decided to run? Hope you didn’t have to ask for directions to get here.”

  “Emphasis on the sarcasm, Chloe?” She shook out her rain jacket. “I said by eleven and I’ve got ten minutes to spare.”

  “Jeez. Where’s the clever comeback?” I nudged her. “Was your morning that bad? Maybe you should choose better company.”

  “My morning was fine. Do we have any coffee left?” Izzie frowned at the empty carafe, then rummaged through the cupboard and pulled out boxes of tea. “Would you look at all these? Mom is a true wonder. Ginseng, Earl Grey, and here’s one called Rum Raisin Biscotti. Yum!”

  That was my cue. No more talk about her trip to wherever this morning. “Hunter stopped by earlier.”

  “Hunter.” Izzie chuckled. “Since when are you on a first name basis?”

  “He wore me down. Anyway, good news. Blood evidence and fingerprint results put us in the clear.” I retreated to my chair and picked up the pencil. Eyeing the unfinished cocker spaniel’s ear, I resumed sketching.

  “That’s great. Maybe he’ll stop coming around and calling to harass us.” Izzie sipped her tea.

  “Not so fast. According to him, we will remain on his list of suspects until told otherwise.”

  “Why?” She set down the mug.

  “We could’ve worn gloves. We might be part of a murderous gang. Maybe we hired a hit man.” I threw up my arms. “How do I know what goes through that obsessed, almost neurotic detective brain of his? I’m only telling you what he said.”

  “Well, that stinks.” She sank in the chair. “So, Hunter, huh?” She winked.

  “Stop.” I avoided her teasing by staring at the canvas. Thank goodness I didn’t have a mirror because my face must’ve turned tomato red.

  She dropped the subject and hunched over the laptop. “I’m thinking we should push out the date to finish the lighthouse paintings after the beach fireworks and pet events. Sound good?”

  “How far?” I cooled down and dared to look up. “Can’t wait too long. Otherwise, we’ll lose those from out of town who may only be here for a short visit. Refunds too. Don’t forget that part.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I did forget about refunds. Let me count.” She tapped the screen. “I see four names I don’t recognize. I’ll reach out to them first and ask how long they plan to stay in town. If needed, I’ll have to refund their money. By the way, what’s up with Willow? She wouldn’t tell me much, other than she didn’t feel well.”

  “Boyfriend problems, I guess.” I finished the ears and worked more on the eyes.

  “Huh. Funny. She told me it was the greasy breakfast making her ill.”

  “Boyfriends. Greasy food. They both have that kind of effect.” I snorted.

  “Ha. Got that right.”

  We worked on sketches and schedules until my stomach began to growl. “How about I order takeout?” I tapped my watch.

  “Sure.” Izzie stood back from the canvas she was working on and stretched. “Chinese or Mexican food?”

  “Mexican. I’ll pick it up.” I made the call and reeled off a list of the usual items, then grabbed my bag and keys. “Back in twenty.”

  I exited the shop and heard a loud, hysterical voice coming from next door. Gwen stood outside with a phone pressed to her ear. She paced in a circle and waved one arm. Hesitating, I tossed reasons back and forth for why I should or shouldn’t approach her, maybe ask if she needed help, or stay out of business that wasn’t mine. I cringed as her voice elevated.

  “Don’t do this. It’s cruel and unfair, and you know it.” She held the phone at a distance and sobbed. After a second, she spoke once more. The tone changed, edgier, angrier. “If you do this to her, I’ll make sure you pay.” With that, she marched back inside her shop.

  “Oh, Gwen. What is going on with you?” I muttered aloud, then moved on to get to my car. Whoever she was speaking to, the conversation hinted she was unhappy. I had never witnessed any angry or threatening behavior from her before. What and who could push her to act that way? I opened the car door with a trembling hand. I didn’t want to think of reasons why because, right now, all my thoughts were clouded by Fiona’s murder and how Hunter would only find her behavior suspicious. Especially since he’d talked to Theo and heard all about the ongoing feud between Gwen and Fiona and had placed the usually kind and gentle woman at the top of his whodunnit list. Quite honestly, I wasn’t sure his suspicions were wrong.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Mom, tell me more about Gwen and her sister-in-law.” I spread butter on a bagel and carried my plate and coffee mug to the table.

  “There really isn’t much to tell.” She pulled down the window shade. After an all-day soaker, we were blessed this morning with brilliant sunshine, and the temperature on the outdoor thermometer had already climbed to eighty. “After the divorce, Gwen stopped talking about William or anything relating to him. I assumed that included his sister. Tressa had never married. At least as far as I know. Gwen said she was strange. Shy, never talked much or left her house.”

  “Gwen mentioned Tressa was ill. I wonder if it’s serious.” I piled scrambled eggs on my bagel and took a bite. I’d spent a restless night thinking about Gwen’s phone conversation. It sounded as if she was trying to protect someone. Maybe the person she had spoke
n with wanted to harm that person. But who? The unanswered questions were killing me. Besides, knowing the answers might explain why Gwen was acting so strangely. The bonus would be if I could help clear her name from Hunter’s suspect list, or at least move her farther down the list.

  “I don’t know, but something tells me you’re going to work on finding out, aren’t you?” Mom sat next to Dad and patted his hand. “Drink your beet juice, dear. You need the energy boost.”

  I shuddered at the mere thought of beet juice and took several gulps of my coffee. “Maybe I will work on it. Hey!” I winked at Izzie as she entered the kitchen. “It’s the slumber queen of Whisper Cove come to breakfast. I’m guessing from the Frankenstein hair and angry scowl you didn’t have pleasant dreams.”

  She wadded a napkin and tossed it at my face, then turned to Dad. “Can you cut down the tree outside my window, please? Those baby robins squawking at five in the morning are giving me migraines.”

  “Sleep in the bedroom across the hall for now.” Mom carried her plate to the sink.

  Izzie sighed. “That was Granddad’s room.”

  “So?” Mom turned.

  “He … never mind. I’ll put up with the bird noise.” She shifted her gaze my way. “Are you going to the shop with me this morning?”

  I munched on the last bite of bagel and egg. “I have a couple of things to take care of first, but I’ll be in by this afternoon, if that works for you. We’ll have plenty of time to prepare for tomorrow evening’s event. Isn’t Willow coming in?”

  “Nope. Stomach cramps and a slight fever. I sure hope it’s not contagious. This isn’t the time for all of us to get sick.”

  Mom and I exchanged looks.

  Izzie threw up her arms. “What? It’s true. I feel bad for her, but I have to think of the business.” She stretched then scratched her messy hair. “I’m going to take a shower, a cold one to wake me up.”

  “Hey, I know it’s a challenge, but don’t use up all the shampoo.” I called out as she shuffled away in her bunny slippers. “What are you two doing this morning? Any sailing adventures?” I cleared my plate and Dad’s from the table.