Death as a Fine Art

by Gwendolyn Southin

  “I tried to keep him out of Jonathan’s studio,” Alice added. “Several sketches have gone missing.”

  “So there could be a connection with Sheldon’s death,” Nat said slowly. “I take it you’ve been to Sheldon’s place?”

  Alice nodded. “He wanted Jonathan’s advice on the lighting. We couldn’t help but be impressed with the size of the place.”

  “He just wanted to gloat,” Jane said scathingly.

  “Well, it didn’t do him much good,” Maggie said with a shiver, remembering the way the body had been arranged on the chaise-lounge—it had been so bizarre.

  “Perhaps Sheldon would still be alive, Jane, if you had accepted Jonathan’s death as a suicide,” Alice said sadly, “and just let it go . . .”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jane answered sharply. “I’m sure Sheldon had it coming to him! He was probably mixed up in something really nasty—he could even be the one responsible for Jonathan’s death.” She turned to Nat. “When can we expect the police?”

  “Probably tomorrow.”

  • • •

  THE NEXT MORNING, Tuesday, Farthing greeted Maggie and Nat with the complaint, “You two have been meddling in police business again!”

  “Come off it, Inspector,” Nat answered. “We didn’t know the man had been murdered. Just our bad luck that we found him.”

  “How do you do it?” Farthing fumed, glaring at Maggie. “Just one body after another!” He leaned back into his leather chair—it was much better than the one Nat had been provided with when he had occupied the same office. “So what were you doing there?”

  “We are investigating the so-called Jonathan Standish suicide. If you remember, I did come to you and ask permission to speak to your detectives.”

  “And I remember that I told you we were perfectly in agreement with the verdict of suicide. That still doesn’t answer my question—why were you at Sheldon White’s house last night?”

  “He works, or I should say, worked at the Silver Unicorn Gallery.”

  “That’s the gallery Jonathan Standish owned and where he committed suicide?”

  “Was murdered,” Nat corrected. “Sheldon had agreed to stay on to work for the present owner, Alice Standish. She was worried because he hadn’t turned up at the gallery for a couple of days and wasn’t answering his phone. She asked us to go to his house and make sure he was okay.”

  “And was he?”

  “What do you mean, was he?” Nat asked, puzzled. “You know we found his body. Hey! You don’t think we cut his throat, do you?”

  “How well did you know this Sheldon White?”

  “We spoke to him a couple of times at the gallery.”

  “And you, Mrs. Spencer?”

  “Slightly. The same as Nat. Why?”

  “And you were the one who discovered the body,” Farthing continued, looking at Maggie. “How close did you get to it?”

  “I didn’t get close,” Maggie answered, “but I could see he was covered in blood, that his throat had been cut, and by the terrible smell I knew he’d been dead for at least a day or so.”

  “And you, Mr. Southby?”

  “I didn’t want to contaminate the scene so I didn’t go past the doorway.”

  “Why are you asking these questions?” Maggie asked. “You already know we went to Sheldon White’s house and found his body in the studio.”

  “So, if asked, you could identify the victim as Sheldon White?”

  “I suppose so,” Maggie answered slowly, wondering what Farthing was getting at.

  Farthing gave one of his rare grins. “That’s great, considering that the corpse is not Sheldon White.”

  “What!” Maggie and Nat cried simultaneously.

  “White’s aunt went to identify the body this morning,” he said, by now laughing so hard that he could barely get the rest of the sentence out, “and she stated categorically that the body is not that of her nephew.”

  “Then who is it?” Maggie asked, and then had to wait while Farthing stopped laughing.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Farthing answered, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Sorry about that, but it’s so great to have one over on you two for once.” He stood up from behind his desk. “So, get yourselves over to the morgue right away and see if you can identify the body, and after that, get back to your divorces and chasing errant husbands, and let us do our job.”

  • • •

  “FARTHING SURE ENJOYED his little moment, didn’t he?” Maggie said, sliding into the passenger seat of Nat’s Chevy. “Let’s get this morgue visit over with,” and Nat obviously agreed because he stepped on the gas so quickly, Maggie was flung back against the seat. It seemed like they reached their destination in no time flat and found themselves looking down onto the white, waxen face. A sheet had been pulled up to hide the terrible gashed throat, so that the face they saw looked quite peaceful—but neither of them had seen the man before.

  “I was so sure it was Sheldon,” Maggie murmured. “I know I should have gone right up to the body when I discovered it, but the smell and the blood made me panic.”

  “I’m just as much to blame,” Nat answered, putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to him. “I didn’t go inside the studio, I just took your word that it was Sheldon.”

  “Can you think of anyone who could identify the body?” the police officer on duty asked them after he had escorted them out to the reception area.

  “The only person I can think of is Alice Standish,” Nat answered. “It’s a long shot, but there’s a possibility that he might have visited the gallery.”

  “We’ll get her to come in if you could give us her address and phone number.”

  “Would you mind if we went to see her first?” Maggie asked. “She’s already had a bit of a shock thinking that the body was her employee. Then we could bring her back to the morgue if you like.”

  • • •

  “AND YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY sure it’s not Sheldon?” Alice asked when they entered into her apartment and broke the news to her. “Then why was the body in his studio and where has he disappeared to?”

  “We looked at the body in the morgue ourselves,” Nat answered. “The victim has dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Sheldon’s hair is sandy and, if I remember correctly, he has pale blue eyes.”

  “So why did you think it was Sheldon in the first place?” Jane asked sharply.

  “The body was in Sheldon’s studio and Sheldon himself was nowhere to be found,” Nat answered.

  “The body was covered in blood,” Maggie added slowly. “We got out of the place as quickly as we could and I’m afraid we just assumed it was Sheldon.”

  “And there was no sign of that little sneak in the house?” Jane mused as she placed coffee in front of each of them.

  Maggie shook her head. “He must have been scared out of his wits because he left a half-eaten meal on the table and his chair had been tipped over on its side as if he’d rushed out of the room.”

  “Scared shitless,” Jane said, and gave a little laugh. “I told you he had no guts,” she added to her sister. “Here, have a biscuit.”

  “I don’t want a biscuit,” Alice replied angrily. “You can be so heartless, Jane.”

  “But it’s not Sheldon who’s been killed.” She turned away from her sister and added under her breath. “More’s the pity.”

  “But it could have been,” Alice replied, turning to Nat. “So how do we go about finding the poor man?”

  “Stop worrying about Sheldon,” Jane said. “You know he’ll turn up. Now let’s go and have a look at that man in the morgue.”

  A half hour later found Maggie and Nat waiting in reception while the two sisters viewed the body.

  “I hope they don’t take too long,” Maggie said, glancing at her watch. “I promised Midge I’d pick up the bridesmaids’ dresses for her. I can’t believe the wedding is only a month off!”

  “So you keep telling me,” Nat answered w
ith a grin. He stood up as the door opened.

  “I didn’t recognize him,” Jane said as she rejoined them in the reception area, “but I haven’t been working with Alice long enough to know all her clientele.”

  “What about you, Alice?” Maggie asked.

  “As I told this nice officer, I’m sure I’ve seen him before somewhere. Let me think for a bit.” She sat on one of the hard benches then looked back up at the cop standing beside her. “I’m sure I’ve seen him in our gallery a couple of times, but it was when my husband was alive. I think he wanted Jonathan to sell some paintings for him and I vaguely remember Jonathan and the man discussing technique and oil versus acrylics.”

  “Did Jonathan sell any paintings for him?” Nat asked.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”

  “He hasn’t been back to the shop since your husband died?” the police officer asked.

  “The shop? Oh, you mean the gallery. No. I’m sure I would have remembered. Perhaps Sheldon would know . . . Oh, dear. And poor Sheldon is missing.” Alice began searching in her handbag for a handkerchief.

  “What about you, Mrs. Weatherby?” the officer asked, turning to Jane.

  “Miss Weatherby,” Jane corrected, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket and handing it to her sister. “No. I’m sure I’ve never set eyes on the man before.”

  “Perhaps you could look through your husband’s records,” the police officer said as they prepared to leave. “You might find something to jog your memory.”

  “You mean try to put a name to the face? I’ll try,” Alice answered, “but I don’t think it will do much good.” She turned to Maggie and Nat and asked, “Are you coming back to my apartment?”

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie replied, glancing at her watch, “I have an errand to run for my daughter.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  “Two. And the youngest, Midge, is getting married in a month’s time. Her father and I want her wedding to be everything she’s ever dreamed of.”

  “But I thought you were divorced,” Jane said.

  “Separated. But we’re working together to make Midge’s big day perfect.”

  • • •

  “DO YOU THINK this murder has anything to do with Jonathan Standish?” Maggie asked as she and Nat drove back to the office.

  “Sheldon worked in the art gallery and the owner gets killed, and now some unknown man gets his in Sheldon’s studio. That seems like just too much of a coincidence.”

  “Let’s go over everything tomorrow,” she said tiredly. “I really mustn’t be late for the dressmaker.”

  “Don’t overdo everything, Maggie,” he said as they pulled up at the office. “You have a whole month before the wedding.”

  “Nat. You don’t realize how much there is to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Nat was very pensive as he watched her get into her own car and drive away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Why did I oversleep, today of all days?” Maggie muttered as she placed a piece of bread on each of the two metal side flaps of the toaster and then pushed them shut—she had to keep an eye on the contraption because she was sure it had a mind of its own and would burn the bread if she glanced away for even a moment. She checked the kitchen clock. Almost 1:00 PM. At least I’m dressed and ready to go for when Midge arrives.

  She was just swallowing the last of the only slightly burnt toast that enclosed her breakfast/lunch sandwich when the doorbell rang.

  “You look a bit bushed,” Midge commented, watching her mother rinsing her cup under the faucet.

  “So would you be if you’d had a week like I’ve just been through.” Maggie shrugged on her coat and opened the front door.

  “What, another juicy murder? How do you and Nat find them?”

  Maggie laughed. “Oh, that part is easy. The hard part is being interrogated by our friend Inspector Farthing, and then having to look at the dead man in the morgue.”

  “Not my idea of fun.”

  “No.” Maggie shuddered. “This last murder has been really horrible. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Now,” she said as she climbed into Midge’s car, “give me the latest on the number of guests.”

  “It’s been so hard cutting it down,” Midge answered, slipping the car into gear. “But it’s already up to a hundred.”

  “Is your father happy with that figure?”

  Midge nodded. “He said to try and keep it to under a hundred if possible. But there is something I am worried about, and it’s a bit awkward. What do I do about Nat?”

  “Inviting him, you mean? Midge, he doesn’t expect you to invite him to the reception. He wouldn’t spoil your special day for anything. But he will be at the church.”

  “I’m glad. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings by not inviting him. Oh, look,” she said as they drew up outside the Hotel Vancouver, “there’s Dad.”

  “You’re looking tired, Margaret,” were the first words Harry said after giving his daughter a hug. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he added, peering at his gold pocket watch.

  “Oh, Daddy, don’t be such an old grouch. We’re only five minutes late.” Taking his arm in hers she led him through the hotel’s entrance. “Come on, let’s go and order a scrumptious and very expensive wedding breakfast for my big day. You did mention a five-tiered cake?”

  “I certainly did not,” he said, but he chuckled. “I’m not made of money, you know.”

  She certainly knows how to wind her father around her little finger, Maggie thought as she followed them.

  After everything had been discussed, down to the serving plates and the colour of the table napkins, the three of them sat in the restaurant for a much needed afternoon tea.

  “I hear you bumped into Humphrey a few days ago,” Harry said as he extended his cup and saucer to Maggie for a refill.

  “Yes, he told me that he and his wife are looking forward to the wedding,” Maggie answered, wondering what else Humphrey had told Harry.

  “He didn’t say where he’d seen you.” He paused and looked expectantly at Maggie, but when she didn’t volunteer any more information, he added, “But Miss Smythe said you came to his office.”

  “How did dear Miss Fitch-Smythe hear that?” she asked sweetly. “I didn’t see her.”

  “Well . . .” he raised his napkin and coughed into it. “Well, I gather Humphrey’s secretary mentioned it to her.” He had the grace to look uncomfortable.

  “It was on a private matter,” she remarked, then turning to Midge, she asked, “More tea?”

  “She said you had that man with you,” he pushed on. “What kind of business could you have with Humphrey?”

  “If you mean my partner, Nat, yes he was with me. And the business we were on was—and is—strictly private.” She turned back to Midge. “Is there anything else that needs discussing about the wedding?”

  Midge, who had been following the exchange between her parents with dismay, shook her head. “No. Everything seems to be going smoothly. I did tell you that when we return from our honeymoon in Yellowstone, we’ll be moving into a larger apartment, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, dear. Yours is really barely big enough for you and Snowball. And that reminds me, who’s looking after her while you’re away?” Snowball was the pure white Sealyham that a grateful client had given to Maggie the previous year. But Emily and Oscar were enough for her to cope with, and Midge, having had a part in that adventure, loved the little dog.

  “We’re taking her with us.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would you take that animal with you?” Harry demanded. “There are some perfectly good kennels around.”

  “But she would hate that,” Midge answered. And folding her napkin, she stood up. “You ready, Mum? I’m meeting Jason after I’ve dropped you off at your house.”

  Harry, every bit the gentleman, insisted on escorting the two women to the parking lot. After giving his daughter a hug, he looked uncomfor
tably at Maggie before giving her a peck on the cheek. “You do look tired, Margaret,” he said, helping her into the passenger seat. “Do try and rest up for the wedding.”

  “He’s still very fond of you, Mum,” Midge said as they drove out of the lot.

  “I know,” Maggie answered. “And I’m still fond of him, too, in the way that people who’ve lived together for twenty-five years become fond of one another, but there is no way I could go back to that stifling life.”

  • • •

  MAGGIE WAITED UNTIL Midge’s car had turned the corner before opening her own front door. Oscar bounced around her legs, encouraging her to reach down and pet him. Emily, sitting in her favourite place on the window sill, jumped down, stretched languidly, and then wound herself between Maggie’s legs. “Now is this love?” she asked the two animals, “or is it just cupboard love and you want your supper?”

  After letting both animals briefly into the backyard, she coaxed them back again by tapping on their food dishes, then sank into her armchair, kicked off her shoes and gave a huge sigh of relief. “Phew! What a day. But there’s nothing to think about until Monday—no wedding, no office, no Harry, and even no Nat”—he was entertaining his brother from out of town for the weekend—“and definitely, no murders!” And Monday was Victoria Day so she would have two whole days to herself.

  • • •

  IT WAS NEARLY seven on Sunday evening when Maggie remembered that she and Nat had intended to go to the cemetery in hopes of seeing the young woman and child who left the flowers on Jonathan’s grave. There was no point in getting in touch with her partner now because he would be busy with his brother, and in any case, it was probably already too late to see the young woman. She dithered for a moment then decided she might as well go.

  But the fresh flowers on the grave were the only indication that the mother and child had been there. She had missed them again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Do you think we should mention the flowers to her?” Maggie asked. Maggie, Nat, and Henny were sitting in Nat’s office having their usual first day of the work week meeting of minds.