Paint a Murder

by Lily Ashton

  Alice had never seen Elisabeth’s work before. She had lived and died in Mallorca, but one of her paintings had ended up here in Great Wheaton, hidden in Marjorie Cavendish’s pantry.

  “And then she died and there were no more paintings for you to sell,” said Alice. “That is, until you found this one in the council’s collection. You took it, so you could carry on making money out of her.”

  “What’s wrong with that? People still make millions out of John Constable and he’s been dead for two hundred years.”

  Alice looked at Beach, specks of sunlit patches breaking the sea.

  “They’re doing it legally. You stole this painting because you felt like it.”

  “If you think that everyone in the art world is honourable, then you’re a naïve, silly girl. Dealers exploit artists and sellers all the time, to make money for themselves. And with paintings they know are fakes. At least Elisabeth’s paintings are genuine.”

  Alice scrunched her nose. “But why did you do it?”

  “Because I could.” Marjorie drew closer to Alice, fluffy pink slippers emerging through the gloom. “And I said the same thing to Jason Marley when he asked me why I’d set up Carrie Developments and made myself a pile out of the Dunn Road development. Because I could. There, I’ve said it again.”

  Alice flinched. “Jason found out you were the director behind Carrie Developments. So he did know all about Carrie, just as Julia Marsh said. And then you got rid of him.”

  “Exactly. Just as I’m going to get rid of you.” Marjorie blinked behind her glasses and gave a crooked smile. “By the way, how did you know it was me?”

  “I worked it out through Delilah.”

  “My dog?” Marjorie spluttered.

  “Yes. That nice man Victor who changed my tyre – he had another black Labrador, called Samson. You said that Delilah had a twin and I figured that Samson must be Delilah’s twin, the one you said you gave to your handyman. Samson and Delilah.”

  “Well done.”

  “But it was the voice that confirmed it. I had heard your handyman’s high voice when I had dinner at your home. But I didn’t make the connection till Roddy mentioned that Victor, the man who brought me flowers, had a ‘Barry Gibb’ voice. I thought it had to be the same man.”

  Marjorie put both hands in her dressing gown pockets.

  “And Victor – David Victor – is your handyman. The man who fixed your hose pipe and shot my Defender. It seems he does all kinds of dirty work for you.”

  Marjorie’s face, ghoulish in the sub-light, crumpled momentarily and her shoulders rounded.

  Alice reached down and grabbed Beach in one hand. The action seemed to jolt Marjorie back into life and she stepped backwards into the kitchen.

  “Right, talking over. Last chance, pretty girl. Put the painting down.”

  “No.”

  “Okay, you asked for it.”

  Alice was holding Marjorie’s stony eyes, so she did not see the older woman pull a hand out of her pocket. It was not until Marjorie held her arm out in front of her, that Alice saw the gun. Pointing straight at her.

  “Put the painting down, Alice,” she said, with a voice like ice.

  Alice’s world paused, like a movie stuck on a frame. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch and started the movie again, she knew what to do.

  “Hand it over!” shouted Marjorie.

  “You want Beach? Okay, here it is.”

  Alice flung the painting at Marjorie. It clipped the unsuspecting woman on her shoulder, flew on and fell to the kitchen floor. Marjorie yelped and dropped the gun, sending it across the floor and out of sight. She staggered back, clutching her shoulder. She trod on the painting, tottered over to one side and into a wooden chair. She tumbled down, reaching out with one hand to cushion her fall.

  Alice darted out of the pantry and reached for the gun, her fingers catching the cold metal. But Marjorie was quicker. Alice felt Marjorie’s hand on her back, forcing her down on her knees. The gun slid out of reach. Moving quickly for a large woman, Marjorie bent down and snatched the weapon.

  Alice grabbed her calf, receiving a couple of heavy blows to her shoulder in return. Marjorie fell to the ground again and kicked out at Alice, sending her onto her back. The gun was near. Alice snatched at it, but found only air. She snatched again, but Marjorie scrambled over her and got there first. She grabbed the gun and stood over the prostrate Alice.

  “This time it really is goodbye, pretty girl.”

  The crack of gunshot was the last sound Alice heard, before she plunged down into a well of darkness.

  Chapter 46

  “Alice,” said a voice tinged with panic. “Alice. Wake up.”

  In the floaty world between sleep and wakefulness, Alice struggled to place the familiar voice. Until a sharp pain bolted through her head, bringing her back to reality. The pain seeped across her temples and down the right side of her face.

  “Alice, can you hear me?” said the soft Irish voice.

  There was no mistaking it this time. She prised her eyes open.

  “Joe!”

  Alice lifted a hand towards him, but a searing pain from her right shoulder prevented her moving any further.

  “Crapola, that hurts!” Warm liquid trickled down her arm.

  “It will hurt alright, you’ve been shot.” Joe placed Alice’s hand on her stomach. “Hold still a minute, while I fetch something to stop the bleeding.”

  She lifted her hand to her face, and it came back smeared in blood. She tried to lift her head, but it was too painful.

  “What happened? How did you get here?”

  “I came back early from my job, worried that I’d left you by yourself. I got to Daisy Dawn in time to see you take off in Roddy’s dinghy. Livvie said you were on your way to rob someone, so I followed you.” He pressed a tea towel into her shoulder. “I missed your conversation with Marjorie, but as she was pointing a gun at you, I guess you said something to hack her off.”

  Alice gritted her teeth and snorted a half-laugh.

  “Fortunately, she didn’t hear me come in, so I gave her a good whack with a saucepan. She still pulled the trigger, but the bullet just grazed your shoulder. It looks fairly superficial – you should be fine.”

  “Where is Marjorie now?”

  “Over there, keeping the furniture company.”

  Marjorie was sitting on the floor. Her hands were tied behind her back and around a table leg, feet bound together.

  “You won’t get away with this, Alice Haydon. I have powerful friends.”

  “Yada, yada, Marjorie.”

  Alice looked back at Joe, watching as he concentrated on the job in hand.

  The only time she literally needed someone to save her life, and who was there?

  “Joe.”

  He ran a finger down her nose and Alice could not stop the tears rolling over her cheeks.

  Chapter 47

  Alice lay back on the sun lounger, watching her friends. Roddy stood at Daisy’s side, his floppy straw hat low over his face. Joe was on the director’s chair, finishing off a bacon sandwich fresh from The Coffee Pot. Livvie poured coffee and handed round steaming mugs.

  A rowing crew powered along the river, sending the swan family scurrying for shelter. Alice, one arm in a sling, rubbed her other shoulder, while contemplating a new collection of bruises on her leg.

  “Good morning.”

  Nathan Salisbury breezed over the gangway and onto the deck. He crouched down beside Alice and squeezed her arm. “I’m glad to see you’re up and in pretty good shape, all things considered.”

  “If Joe hadn’t arrived when he did. Well …”

  Nathan shot Joe a guarded look.

  “He did arrive, lucky for you – and that’s all you need to remember.”

 
Roddy ambled over to Alice’s side and rested a hand on top of the lounger.

  “Well, DI Salisbury, we are waiting with bated breath. Has she confessed?”

  “Mrs Cavendish will have difficulty maintaining her innocence with the evidence we have against her. Thanks to you, Alice, and your ingenuity in following the trail to her home.”

  “Well,” said Roddy. “Let’s hear it Haydon, how did you find out that Marjorie was stealing from the council’s art collection?”

  Alice looked at their expectant faces and a rush of adrenaline coursed through her body. For what seemed like the first time ever, she held the floor.

  “Well, it was looking for Beach that started it. I came across Edward Hacker and that led me to Carrie Developments and the Dunn Road shopping development. I wanted to know who was behind the organisation, especially when I realised that it may have had something to do with Jason Marley’s death. As I followed the leads, Edward Hacker’s name and company kept coming up. I thought that one of his clients had to be behind it, so I dug deeper.”

  “By downloading Hacker’s files and impersonating him,” said Nathan. “Which, given your valuable contribution to our investigation, I suppose I can forget.”

  “Then what?” prompted Livvie.

  “I saw Marjorie in one of Martin Bradman’s photos. She had been a councillor years ago. So, I went back over the documents Freddie Garfield gave me and found that Marjorie had chaired the council’s business committee. She knew the Dunn Road site had been identified for the shopping centre, so I guessed she must have she set up Carrie Developments and bought the land. Then she leased it back to the council at an exorbitant rate.”

  “And when she left the council, Julian de Havilland did her dirty work for her?” said Roddy.

  “Yes, ultimately, but under duress from Marjorie’s partner in crime – Vivien Taylor, who chaired the same business committee on which Marjorie and Julian served. Vivien and Marjorie already knew each other and I can’t imagine Vivien took much persuading to join Carrie Developments as a shadow director.”

  The sun was dazzling from directly overhead and Alice’s head started to ache. She reached under the lounger for a baseball cap.

  “Helen Yardley said it was when Julian was given oversight of the Dunn Road project that he was set up by Marjorie and Vivien. It was Vivien who falsely recorded George Shaker’s election donation and tipped off the Electoral Commission. Julian was under the two women’s control and he felt he couldn’t do anything other than follow their instructions.”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever say poor Julian, but poor Julian…” Livvie said.

  “After that, it was all too easy for the Cavendish and Taylor partnership.”

  “But how did Marjorie know you were on to her?”

  “When Jason Marley confronted her, she knew her involvement with Carrie Developments was no longer a secret. Edward Hacker told her I had been to his office and she put two and two together. So she had David Victor keep an eye on me.”

  “That’s who was following you around?” said Joe.

  “No, he got his ex-army pal, the red-haired man I saw a couple of times, to follow me and keep Victor informed about what I was doing.”

  “So, Victor knew that you were driving back from Narebridge on your own and he waited for you so that—”

  “So that he could take a shot,” Alice continued. “But he was only aiming to scare me. Or at least that’s what Marjorie told me.”

  “And the companies getting council contracts were also owned by Marjorie and Vivien, which is why I could never get any of the work,” said Livvie.

  “We’re looking into the council’s tender processes,” said Nathan. “So, we would like a statement from you, Miss Manners. And you too,” he said to Alice. “We wouldn’t have got to Mrs Cavendish so quickly without you. But the next time you decide to confront an armed criminal on your own, Alice, please tell me first.” He smiled and touched his forehead with his index finger. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”

  Alice watched him make his way across the gangway. If she had told him about her suspicions sooner, she might not have been shot. But then, she wouldn’t have been saved by Joe …

  Joe crossed the deck. “The Augustus John drawing wasn’t there, was it?” he said. “What are you going to do about that?”

  Alice rubbed his arm. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything. I’ll leave that to Nathan and his art specialist.”

  “But you won’t have it for your exhibition.”

  “But you will have a new Roddy Rafferty work.”

  “Roddy, you’ll finish your painting for us?”

  “If it’s shown beside Elisabeth’s Beach, I will. We always promised ourselves we’d do a joint exhibition, but we never did.”

  “That’s a lovely idea, Roddy. Consider it done.”

  Alice and Roddy clinked glasses of Rioja in Daisy’s cabin and toasted the incident board.

  “You have to admit, Roddy, it did its job.”

  “It certainly did and you, dear girl, pulled it off. I’m very proud of you.” Roddy put his glass on the coffee table. “And what about Beach? What will happen to it now?”

  “It will go on display as part of the centenary exhibition and then it’ll go back to the town hall. It’s a beautiful painting, Roddy. Elisabeth was a very talented artist.”

  “She was indeed. She—” Roddy choked as tears flowed down his cheeks.

  Alice handed him a tissue. He wiped his eyes and looked out of the window. When he turned back, the tears were still streaming, but he let them come.

  “Elisabeth and her work are the only things that can make me cry.” He grinned through the tears. “But I’m over the moon about seeing one of her paintings again.”

  Alice’s heart purred. “I’m going to get you that painting, Roddy, and then you’ll have something of Elisabeth’s. I’ll ask Julian de Havilland to give it to you. That’s if you want it.”

  “I would love nothing more. Do you really think Julian will let it go?”

  “Well, we got Marjorie Cavendish off his back, so I think he owes us, don’t you?”

  Chapter 48

  On a warm September evening, Gregory’s House was heaving. The building buzzed: visitors, lenders, critics and funders mingling amongst the exhibits.

  A bashful Nicholas Waites, flanked by his children, stood beside his late wife’s figurines, describing the story behind their creation. When Duncan Jones had finally seen them, he had been moved by the clay children and the little dog with its red and yellow ball, and had agreed to their inclusion in the show.

  Alice found Roddy in the downstairs gallery, at the centre of an enthralled crowd, regaling them with Mallorcan tales of Beach, wine and a talented artist called Elisabeth Moreno. He was wearing the borrowed cream linen suit he had worn for Vivien Taylor’s unveiling party; though this time the shirt struggled to contain his puffed chest.

  Duncan Jones was also having difficulty containing his excitement, downing a glass of champagne in just a few gulps.

  “Beach is such a lovely piece, thank goodness it’s finally on the wall of a public art gallery where it belongs.”

  “Well, isn’t it a good job that someone pursued it and didn’t just take a painting of pink peonies instead?”

  Alice put a hand on her hip and Duncan had the decency to looked chagrined.

  “Yes, it is thanks to you that it’s here at all. Even though you did disobey all my instructions. Which I will ignore. This time. By the way, that early Rafferty is a revelation. And to think we had it right here in our own basement and didn’t know it.”

  “Duncan, it never occurred to me that Nicholas Waites would lend anything other than an average landscape, so I didn’t even bother unwrapping it. Though he did tell me his wife had bought it in Mallorca and had exquisite ta
ste, so I guess I should have picked up on that clue!”

  “Now that Jenna’s left for Hong Kong to join her husband, you are going to stay on as senior curator, aren’t you Alice? Permanently, I mean.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Alice ambled up the stairs, soaking up compliments on the exhibition. She made her way to the Ann Gregory room and her favourite piece of the show. The Frida Kahlo was a burst of joy. As she looked at it, she fell in love with it all over again.

  “Do you see anything you fancy?”

  Walker Hampton leaned against the wall, chocolate eyes twinkling. He was wearing a clean shirt, ironed too, teamed with navy chinos and proper shoes.

  “Déjà vu. Thank you for sending this, Walker. It’s a beautiful piece, I love it to bits.”

  “I hoped so, that’s why I picked it out for you.”

  “I’m glad you’re here for the opening, I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  “Well, the wife’s in prison and there was nothing on TV, so I thought I’d mozzie over and see what was going on.”

  Walker rubbed his chin and grinned. Alice searched his face and for the first time, noticed frost in his eyes.

  “It took me a while,” she said, “to work out that Marjorie and Vivien were in that racket together. I have to ask, Walker. The paintings they stole from the council’s collection – are any of them at your house?”

  “If only. Anything would be better than Vivien’s appalling assortment of so-called artworks.”

  “It seems that Marjorie was the brains behind the outfit, the art thefts as well as Carrie Developments, so at least Vivien didn’t plan any of their schemes.”

  “Dear Vivien is a doer, not a thinker. She would never have come up with such an ingenious plan on her own.”

  “And it was ingenious. Why would anyone suspect a pair of genteel ladies, diligently devoting themselves to public service? If it hadn’t been for Jason Marley’s death, I’m not sure I would have found them out either.”

  “Full marks for tenacity. If it had been me, I would have been put off after being shot the first time. How is the wound by the way?”