The drape was yanked open, and DeeDee was surprised to see a bearded man with a diamond earring. She recognized him as the man whose gallery she’d visited in Provence.
DeeDee’s voice faltered, and no sound came out.
The man looked at her quizzically. “Have we met before? Your face looks familiar.” The deep timbre of voice was softened by his lilting French accent, and when he smiled, his eyes lit up.
“Aren’t you Marc Germain? I was in your gallery in Provence. My name is DeeDee Wilson.”
Marc walked toward DeeDee and extended his hand. His handshake was hard and firm. “It’s a small world. It’s nice to see you again, DeeDee. It was only last week you were in my village, non?”
“That’s right.” DeeDee’s heartbeat had steadied, and she loosened her grip on Balto’s leash, but only slightly. “It already seems like a long time ago. What are you doing here in the States, Marc?”
Marc rubbed his beard. “I came to see my uncle, Philippe, but I can’t find him. I arrived here at the gallery only minutes ago, and there’s no one around.”
DeeDee gestured towards the fabric panel. “Is there an office or something back there?”
Marc nodded. “Yes, there’s an office and a bathroom. I just checked, and he’s not in either one of those.”
He was edging backwards, and DeeDee followed his lead through the fabric panel into the back area. The office door was open, and there was a half-full coffee cup sitting on a table inside the office. They walked past a small bathroom, which was also empty, before coming to a closed door. Balto growled, and DeeDee pulled him back from the door. “Where does that lead?” she asked Marc, who shrugged.
“I have no idea, but let’s find out.” Marc turned the handle of the door, and held it open so DeeDee could enter first. Balto made a low deep-throated growl, and DeeDee gasped. She turned to Marc, who had stepped beside her, a stony expression on his face. Before them, on the floor, lay the body of a man dressed in gray wool pants, a bright blue sweater, and wearing a cravat twisted around his neck. The toes of the man’s shiny black leather shoes pointed upwards.
“Uncle Philippe,” Marc mumbled, not moving.
DeeDee rushed over to Philippe, placing her index and middle fingers on the side of his neck next to his windpipe. “There’s no carotid pulse,” she gasped, reaching for his wrist, but there was no pulse there either. His arm was limp. She shook her head, and looked up at Marc, who stood there, unmoving. “He’s dead,” she whispered. “I’ll call 911.”
*****
The police and paramedics were on the scene within minutes.
When the Chief of Police, Dan Hewson, spotted DeeDee, he walked over to her with a frown on his face. “Ms. Wilson, we have to stop meeting like this. Every time I see you, someone’s dead. And like the last time, this is going to involve a murder investigation as he was obviously stabbed to death.” He took out his notebook. “Care to tell me what happened this time?”
“I met my sister for lunch earlier, and I wandered over to look at the paintings,” DeeDee said, stumbling over her words.
Dan interrupted her. “Have you been to this gallery before? What was the reason for your visit?”
DeeDee hesitated. She wished Jake was there, to help steer the conversation in the right direction. Visiting a gallery wasn’t a crime, and she didn’t want to tell the chief about her suspicions that Philippe Germain might be involved in some sort of counterfeit art operation when she had no proof whatsoever. She suspected it wasn’t the right time to be accusing a dead man of a crime on the basis of a few photographs and the opinion of a man she had met once in Laguna Beach.
“I saw some paintings I admired when I was on vacation recently in Provence, and the owner of the gallery there told me this was his uncle’s gallery,” she replied truthfully. She nodded toward Marc, who was being interviewed by another police officer on the other side of the room. “That’s the man there. I’m interested in the plein air genre and have a background in art from working as a docent at SAM,” she explained.
Dan scribbled in his notebook. “That rings a bell,” he said, staring back at her. “What happened when you got here?”
DeeDee explained how she thought there was no one in the gallery until Marc had appeared, and how they’d gone into the back of the gallery and found Philippe. “That’s about it,” she said. “I don’t know anything about the decedent, apart from having looked at the gallery’s website last night before I visited.”
She chewed her lip, hoping the chief would leave it at that.
He seemed satisfied. “Fine,” he said, “but if you think of anything else, please let us know. By the way, how’s Jake?”
DeeDee knew Jake and the chief went way back. Not only was Jake in close contact with the Seattle Police Department as part of his job as a private investigator, but Jake had told her once that he and Dan knew each other from when they were in high school and dated a couple of girls who were close friends. The double dates ended when the respective relationships with the two young girls ended, but Jake and Dan’s friendship had lasted.
“He’s great, thanks,” DeeDee said, grateful for the reprieve.
“Give him my regards,” Dan said, closing his notebook. “You have my telephone number, if there’s anything else you think of to tell me. Otherwise, you’re free to go.”
DeeDee watched as Philippe’s body was bagged up and removed, and yellow tape put up around the crime scene. She paused on the way out to wait for Marc, who was also wrapping up his police interview.
“Are you staying at your uncle’s house?” DeeDee asked him. “I’m sure his wife will be glad to have your support at a time like this.”
Marc smiled sadly. “Philippe didn’t know I was coming. I have a room at a nearby Best Western motel. It’s only a couple of blocks from here.”
“I see,” DeeDee said, all the while thinking it was odd he’d just show up and not let his uncle know he was coming. “I’m sorry you never got to see your uncle.”
“You and me both,” Marc said, giving her a glassy stare, before turning on his heel and striding away.
On the ferry ride home to Bainbridge Island, DeeDee had to restrain an excited Balto from jumping through the railings on the passenger deck, while she was on the phone to Jake filling him in on what had happened. It was one of those rare times that cell phones worked when she was on the ferry.
“I’m just glad you’re all right,” Jake said when she was finished. “I’ll meet you at your house when you get back. How about you cook dinner, and I’ll buy steaks on the way there?”
“I’d like that.” The shock of finding a dead body was making DeeDee shiver, despite the mild evening. “I definitely need some comfort food after finding a corpse, and twice baked potatoes work for me. I’ve got all the ingredients to make them. Can you also buy the makings for a salad and some sourdough bread?”
“You got it,” Jake said, ending the call.
*****
While they were eating, DeeDee and Jake discussed what they knew about Philippe Germain, and possible reasons why he was murdered.
“I’m assuming he was murdered, since the chief told you he’d been stabbed,” Jake said. “But I’ll be able to find out more details from my contact at the police department tomorrow.”
DeeDee gave Balto a scrap of her steak. “There’s a good chance Philippe was selling fake paintings to his customers,” she said. “That’s something I didn’t mention to Dan Hewson, and I’m not sure if I should have. What do you think?”
“Let’s come back to that,” Jake said. “Chances are, if we know about it, the police won’t be far behind. What’s bothering me is why Marc would be there without telling Philippe he was coming.” He gave DeeDee a knowing look.
DeeDee raised an eyebrow. “You think Marc didn’t tell Philippe he was coming because he’s the murderer, right?”
Jake shrugged. “It’s possible.”
DeeDee thought for a moment. “But he di
dn’t know Philippe was dead. He’d already looked in the office and Philippe wasn’t there. If he killed him, why would he stick around to talk to me?”
Jake stroked Balto, who was sniffing around for more steak. “Sorry, buddy, you’re too late. My plate is clean.” He looked back at DeeDee. “That could be a cover-up. Maybe you interrupted Marc, and he didn’t have time to get away. He could have said that so you would think he wasn’t the murderer.”
“He’d need to have nerves of steel to pull that off,” DeeDee said. “But I guess if the alternative is getting caught, it’s possible.”
Jake tapped the table with his finger. “There’s something obvious we’re missing. Maybe Colin found out his pieces were fakes, and he killed Philippe. Or…there’s another more likely possibility. But I don’t really want to be the one to say it.”
DeeDee’s eyes widened. “You mean, someone else we know and love might have done it. Like Al De Duco, by any chance?”
Balto woofed at the mention of Al’s name, breaking the silence that had fallen over DeeDee and Jake.
“I’m going to ignore that option,” DeeDee said after a while. “Al’s not like that anymore. He doesn’t just go and kill people that upset him.”
Balto was twirling around, chasing his tail.
“Looks like Balto agrees,” Jake said with a chuckle. “Do we know if Philippe is married, or if he has an evil ex-wife out to get him for some reason? Any disgruntled staff on the payroll?”
“According to his bio on the website he’s married,” DeeDee said. “But I’ll see what else I can find out about his personal circumstances. Evidently he has two people on his staff, a painting restorer and a female gallery intern. I’d like to talk to his wife and those two employees. I also think we need to talk to Marc,” she went on. “He told me he’s staying at the Best Western near Pioneer Square.”
Jake leaned closer to DeeDee, taking her hands in his. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but why do you even need to get involved in this? The more I think about it, it’s a classic case for the police to investigate. My advice is to let them take care of it and stay out of it.”
DeeDee’s chin wobbled. “I can’t, Jake, don’t you see? I was the one who discovered the discrepancies in the paintings. What if that somehow led to his death? Like it or not, I’m already involved.”
Jake sighed. “In that case, count me in. While you were talking, I came up with an idea. A friend of mine is an assistant dean in the art department at the University of Washington. I’ll call him right now and see if we can meet with him tomorrow. He might have some thoughts on the whole phony art thing.”
He got up and stepped into the hallway, where DeeDee could hear him on the phone.
“He’ll see us tomorrow afternoon,” he said when he returned. He patted his leg for Balto to come over. “Why don’t I take Balto for a walk, while you see what you can find out about Philippe’s wife and employees?”
“That’s a deal,” DeeDee said, opening her laptop to begin the search.
CHAPTER 13
“Calm down, Renee. I can hardly understand a word you’re saying. What the heck is going on?”
Renee’s breathless sobs, interspersed with half-formed words, left no doubt in Brady’s mind that his girlfriend was really upset. She was emotional at the best of times; her gentle nature being easily bothered by things that wouldn’t cause him to bat an eye. If Renee saw a stray cat in the street, she wanted to rescue it, or at the very least, give it a meal. Brady was more inclined to look the other way.
He shook his head and spoke softly into the phone, trying to soothe her. “Take a deep breath. Try again when you’re ready, honey. I’m right here.”
He was seated in a chair facing the window, with a view that was nothing more than the brick wall of the apartment building across the street. Sounds of traffic filtered up from street below in the rundown area where they lived. It was as far from his ideal painting location as he could imagine. When Brady had dreamed of being an artist, he had visions of working in a studio in the countryside, or preferably by the sea. The only sounds would be those of nature, except when he would play instrumental music for inspiration. The reality was far different. In his cramped apartment, with Mozart turned up to full volume, all it earned him was the anger of the neighbors, who banged on the walls or the ceiling, indicating they wanted him to turn the volume down.
At the other end of the line, Renee’s wailing eventually quieted, and when she spoke again she was somewhat coherent. “Brady, I’m so glad you answered. I’ve never been so upset in my life. Have you heard?”
“I’m not a mind reader, Renee. What is it?”
If Renee noticed his curt tone, she let it go. “Philippe was murdered. His body was discovered this afternoon. I’m on my way to the library from class, and I just heard it on the radio. I can’t believe it.” She started to sob again.
A strange feeling came over Brady. His chest was tight, and it was as if something heavy was weighing him down in the chair where he was sitting. Philippe’s death didn’t make him as happy as he’d thought it would. It was just one of those things. He knew if he told Renee he could care less, she definitely would not appreciate it.
“I’m so sorry. I know how much you liked working for him, Renee.”
Renee made a choking sound. “And I know how much you hated working for him. Don’t pretend you’re going to mourn his passing.”
“That’s unfair,” Brady said, his voice steady. “My only problem with Philippe was that he wasn’t supportive of my career. Philippe’s numero uno priority was Philippe. Pure and simple. Not me, not you, and not his wife or family. He used everyone he knew to one degree or another. You worked for him for free, so you can hardly argue that he was your generous benefactor.”
“Maybe not, but any other gallery owner would have been the same. In order to get experience, I needed to intern somewhere. Now I’m back to square one.” Renee sniffed. “I guess this is going to affect both of us. I know you restored paintings for him from time to time.”
Sweetheart, you have no idea how much restoration I did for him. As a matter of fact, I have a nice little savings account and I’ve paid off a lot of my student loans because of Philippe Germain, Brady thought.
He got up and walked across the room to where a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass sat on the table. He lifted the bottle and poured. Taking a slug, the bitter liquid caught the back of his throat and sent a warm feeling down to his chest, loosening the tightness.
“I did,” Brady said, resuming the conversation, “and although I work for some other gallery owners as well, he was one of my main sources of income. Renee, I know this is a shock for both of us, and I haven’t thought this through yet, but maybe it’s time for us to make some changes.” He swirled the liquid around in the glass, where it clung to the edges before gravity sent it trickling back down the sides.
“I can’t think straight right now, Brady. I need to feel your arms around me, to make me feel safe. We can talk about it when I get home later. It’s going to take a while for this to sink in, for both of us.”
Brady drank the rest of the whiskey in the glass and set it down with a thump. “No,” he said with urgency. “You have to listen to me, and I mean right now. I think we need to go to France for a while. There must be plenty of galleries there who could use a good restorer, and with your name, and you speaking the French language, I’m sure you wouldn’t have any trouble getting a job.” His mind was working overtime. “I think you even told me you have relatives in Aix-en-Provence. Maybe we could live there? I know they have a university there. You could even continue with your education. What do you say?”
Renee gasped. “Brady, there is no need to raise your voice at me like that. I’m telling you, I’m in no shape to make any decisions regarding moving to Europe or anything else. I have an exam tomorrow and the next day, and I need to study for them, which is going to be difficult considering how upset I am.”
/> Brady swallowed. He took a deep breath before continuing, the combination of adrenalin and the whisky causing his heartbeat to race. “Of course, darling,” he said. “I’m sure it will be, but you’ll do just fine. Let’s talk it through later. I can’t wait to put my arms around you either. All I want is to be by your side, always. I love you, Renee.”
“I love you too, Brady.” Renee’s voice was lighter. Brady knew how to wrap her around his finger, and he smiled to himself as she continued. “I’ll call you when the library closes. See you tonight.”
Brady stalked into the bedroom where he pulled out a suitcase from under the bed. He threw in some clothes from the stack of clean laundry Renee had left for him to put away, but which was still sitting where she’d left it in a basket on the floor. Now that he had made up his mind, he might as well start his preparations for leaving Seattle. There was no point in hanging around. This was the opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to fulfill his dreams. When Renee got home, he’d make her realize that it was the best thing for both of them. There was nothing left for them anymore in Seattle, and since Renee was madly in love with him, he was sure she would do what he wanted, after she finished her two exams.
Brady whistled to himself as he packed up the original Edgar Payne painting he’d completed. He’d take the forged copy to the gallery and leave it there before they left, so the buyer could pick it up and no questions would be asked. He assumed the police had someone there until they allowed the gallery to be reopened. He’d give it to whoever was there or leave it with the men’s clothing shop next to the gallery.
Picking up his cell phone, he scrolled through the numbers on his contacts list until he came to the one he wanted. Darren Bennett was a friend of his from when they were doing their Master’s degree together, and who was starting to get established as an art dealer in New York City.
Murder at the Gallery: A Northwest Cozy Mystery (Northwest Cozy Mystery Series Book 6) Page 9