A Bad Reputation

by Jane Tesh

  “That’s why I’m talking to you. I want to know what it means. You’re obviously very upset, and I sympathize. At one time, he was your husband. You must have loved him very much.”

  She took a deep breath and calmed down. “Yes. Yes, I did. At one time.”

  “Then would you please help me find his killer?”

  She still kept her arms folded tight. “Wendall called me and said he wanted to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know! I found him lying on the ground.”

  “Did he specifically want to meet you in the back of the gallery?”

  “He said come around to the back. He wanted to talk in private. You’d better believe I wanted to talk to him! I wanted to know the real reason he decided to come back to Celosia. Opening an art gallery was a flimsy excuse. He could have his gallery anywhere. He had to know how much it would hurt me to see him with Flora. I couldn’t believe he hated me so.” She shuddered. “I could tell he was dead. I couldn’t comprehend that. I suppose I was in shock. I didn’t want to be there with him. That must have been when you saw me leave.”

  “Did you see anyone else? Another car? Did you hear anything?”

  “No, all I wanted to do was get away. And of course the police found my fingerprints on that piece of wood. I’d taken those stupid pictures apart.”

  “Bea Ricter’s pictures? When was this?”

  “Earlier that day. After the meeting, four-thirty, maybe. Do you know she had the nerve to approach me at the afternoon meeting and ask me what I thought about Wendall’s new wife? You heard how she was in the meeting. So when everyone was gone, I accidentally on purpose knocked over the stack of junk she’d hauled into the gallery and broke her frames.”

  “You destroyed another artist’s work.”

  “You can’t call Bea Ricter an artist. She’s an idiot. She doesn’t deserve to have anything in any gallery.”

  “You’re mad at the whole world, aren’t you?”

  She took another breath. “I suppose it looks that way.”

  “I know you probably won’t believe me,” I said, “but my first husband and I went through some rocky times before we decided to call it quits. It wasn’t easy, and I still wonder about what I did wrong. But you can’t let this eat you up.”

  She gave me a curious look. “You’ve been divorced?”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone left you? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Bill decided to marry someone else.”

  “Quietly? Discreetly?”

  “Yes. We came to an amicable agreement.”

  “At least your husband didn’t have the gall to flaunt his new relationship. I found out the hard way.” She held out her hands. “I’d always been ashamed of my large hands. But they were perfect for reaching difficult chords and playing intricate runs, so I told myself to stop being foolish about them.” Suddenly, words rushed out. “Then one day, I found a box in Wendall’s desk. Inside was the most beautiful pair of white lace gloves. For several wonderful moments, I thought they were a surprise gift for me, until I realized they were too small for these ugly fingers of mine. That started my suspicions. Why would he buy lace gloves? He didn’t have any young nieces or cousins to give them to. So that night, I followed him. He drove to another part of town and a young blonde came out of her house and got in his car.” She paused and tightened her lips as if holding back a curse or possibly a sob. “I followed them to a motel. I didn’t need to see anything else. The next day I confronted him. He confessed to the affair. I divorced him as fast as I could and took him for every penny I was entitled to. But I didn’t really want his money. It was never about his money.”

  “Did you know who Flora was?”

  “I’d never seen her before. I found out who she was, and I let her husband know what she was doing. She was married to Stan Bailey then, and he acted as if he didn’t care what she did. He wanted to get rid of her. He knew what kind of woman she was.” She fixed me with anguished eyes. “I hated Wendall for cheating on me. I hated him for bringing that woman to town and parading her around like some sort of prize. I hated him for setting up that gallery and making everyone love him. But I didn’t kill him. Yes, I panicked and I ran, but only because I knew what would happen. I knew I’d be accused of his murder.”

  “And it happened anyway.”

  “Somebody knew they could get away with murder because I’d be the perfect suspect, the scorned ex-wife with a grudge.”

  But somebody else might have a grudge, I thought.

  ***

  Bea’s house was huddled in the woods outside of town, a small dreary structure incongruously shaped like a Swiss chalet. Her car was a sad-looking gray Volkswagen Beetle. Pieces of wood lay scattered on the front yard and stacked in heaps beside the house. Bea also had a herd of fake deer and a wishing well. One interesting feature was that the well and all the bushes were circled with bricks. I took a closer look. Most of the bricks were wedged in the dirt. I could tell they hadn’t been moved in a long time. But in a row of bricks surrounding a boxwood it looked as if one brick had been removed and the others rearranged to fill the hole. The bricks were old with smooth edges. I’d have to ask Chief Brenner if I could have a look at the brick that had smashed the gallery window.

  Something sparkled from a pile of leaves. I reached down and picked up a plastic bag filled with bits of silver. I shook a few out into my hand. The pieces were little ornate circles, the kind of spacers used in making bracelets and necklaces. Did Bea make jewelry, too? I put the bag in my pocket and went up the few steps to the house. A jumble of wind chimes on the porch made it hazardous to reach the front door. Bea opened the door on my first knock. She glared at me suspiciously.

  “What do you want?” She stepped out on the narrow porch and shut the door behind her. “You get off my property right now.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I was just admiring all your bricks.”

  Bea’s little eyes darted for just a second to the bricks lining her bushes. “And what the hell’s so special about my bricks?”

  “I think one of them smashed the gallery window.”

  “And you think I threw it?”

  “Possibly the same person took their anger a step further and killed Wendall. Whoever it was used a piece of one of your picture frames.”

  She was so furious, I thought she might pick up a piece of wood and smack me. “You’ve got two seconds to explain what you’re talking about.”

  “Imagine for a minute, if you can, that I’m on your side. Tell me why it wasn’t you.”

  She hadn’t expected that and took a moment to readjust her thinking. “Chief Brenner’s already talked to me. I came by the gallery and left some of my work for that Sasha woman to see. I can’t help it if a crazy person tore up the frame and killed Wendall Clarke.”

  “But you were angry with him.”

  “Damn right! Everybody in town’s angry with him.”

  “Even though he built this wonderful gallery and was giving everyone an opportunity to show their work?”

  “By hiring some woman from Parkland who isn’t even an American? Sasha? All that about making an appointment and everyone would have a turn? That’s just bull. That was just his way of trying to smooth things over.”

  I guess Bea thought Sasha was Russian. Following that line of reasoning, I’d be French. “You made an appointment, didn’t you? If you thought you didn’t have a chance, why bother?”

  Bea fixed me with her fierce little eyes. “I was willing to play Wendall’s game. So why would I kill him? As much as I hated it, he was going to give me that show. I was going to make it happen. But I wasn’t going to murder anybody.”

  “When did you drop off your work?”

  “I brought it with me to the afternoon meeting. Sasha said she’d get back to me. Where is sh
e, by the way? Did she go back to Parkland? Maybe she did it. Maybe she wanted the gallery for herself.”

  I doubted that Sasha Gregory wanted the Celosia Gallery when she could return to the more prestigious gallery in Parkland. “I’ll ask her.”

  “Ask that new wife of Wendall’s, too.”

  “Mrs. Clarke has hired me to find her husband’s murderer.”

  Bea gave a snort. “I knew you weren’t here to talk about the broken window.”

  “What do you know about the window, Ms. Ricter?”

  “Oh, shut up about the window! They got another window up. The gallery will close, and some other shop will go in that space.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “The members of the Art Guild could work together and find some way to run the gallery. Isn’t that what all of you wanted in the first place?”

  “Some people did. It wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “What did you want?”

  “None of your business! Go talk to Larissa Norton. She’s suspect number one, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Were you here at home last night?”

  “I was playing cards with Ginger Alverez at her house.”

  Since Bea’s house was surrounded by wood, I wondered if Ginger’s was full of ping-pong balls. “So you settled your differences?”

  “Ha! I still think she’s a moron, but she plays a mean hand of canasta. We played till about eleven. You can call her. Now go away.”

  She started to turn, and I took out the plastic bag. “Is this yours?”

  She snatched the bag out of my hands. “Where did you find that?”

  “In the yard. You must have dropped it.”

  She didn’t say yes, or thank you. “Go away!” She went inside and shut the door. She didn’t slam it, but I could tell she wanted to. And before the door closed, I caught a glimpse of more shiny things, lots of them, all colors, as if Bea had her own magical cave of wonders inside her run-down little home. Did she have her own private jewelry store in there? I hadn’t seen her wearing any jewelry, and her artwork was as drab as mud, so she wasn’t using jewels to make it sparkle.

  What was she hiding?

  ***

  Ginger Alverez confirmed that she and Bea had had dinner at the Chicken House at six, went back to Ginger’s, and played cards until ten forty-five. Flora wasn’t home. Chief Brenner told me the brick his officers had found was an old brick with smooth edges. When I mentioned Bea Ricter had these bricks lining her shrubs, he said many people in Celosia had the same.

  “When the old high school was torn down, the bricks were available to anyone who wanted them,” he said. “Right now, we’re concentrating on the murder investigation, so anything you discover pertaining to that would be appreciated.”

  He spoke politely, but I knew what he was really saying was: Don’t withhold any important information, or you’ll be in trouble.

  “Bea Ricter was with Ginger Alverez last night until ten forty-five,” I said. “She left her work at the gallery around two yesterday afternoon. Larissa Norton accidentally broke some of those picture frames after Bea left. She told me Wendall called her around eight o’clock and asked her to come to the gallery.”

  “Thank you for confirming this information.”

  But I didn’t say anything about the gold button. Not yet.

  ***

  Back in my car, I called the Silver Gallery in Parkland and asked to speak with Sasha Gregory.

  “Such an awful thing to happen!” she said. “Sasha can’t imagine who would do this.”

  I still couldn’t imagine why she liked to refer to herself as “Sasha” all the time. “When was the last time you saw Wendall?”

  “Sasha left the gallery around four. Sasha had scheduled appointments for all the local artists and showed him my calendar. He approved the list, and Sasha came back to Parkland.”

  “Was there anyone who wanted to show his or her work and was turned down?”

  “No, no one. Not at this stage of the process. Sasha will see everyone’s work. Then Wendall and Sasha will—Sasha supposes now she will determine whose work is appropriate. That is, if the gallery stays open. Do you know? Have you heard anything?”

  “I don’t know the future of the gallery. Did anyone argue with Wendall? Did you notice if anyone left angry?”

  “Sasha must confess her head was down practically the whole time, writing down appointments. Sasha didn’t hear any arguments. When everyone had gone, Sasha said good-bye to Wendall and left. He said good-bye and thank you. That’s all.”

  ***

  I was anxious to share my findings with Jerry. When I called, he was on his way home from his interview.

  “Unless you’d rather meet at Burger World.”

  The thought of a cheeseburger and fries made me slightly nauseous. “I’ll see you at home, then.”

  On my way, I drove by the medical park and hovered for a while outside the doctor’s office. I could easily make an appointment and find out for sure if I was pregnant. Well, what if you are? I asked myself. Let’s try the emotional test. What if the answer is no? How would you feel? I knew I’d feel relieved, but I was surprised to feel a bit disappointed. And what if the answer is yes? My feelings were still ambiguous, but somewhere in the mix of emotions was the slightest thrill of a challenge. It would be a challenge to raise a child, run my agency, and find time to paint. I was up for this challenge, wasn’t I? It wasn’t as if I’d have to look after the baby all by myself. Bill wouldn’t have been any help, but Jerry was ready and willing to do whatever I needed him to do.

  My hand was on the door when my old caution took over.

  No.

  Not yet.

  Chapter Twelve

  I argued with myself the rest of the way home. Just go ahead and find out! Maybe after I solve Wendall’s murder. I’ve got too much to think about right now.

  I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I had to stop in the driveway and take another look at the strange car parked in the yard. I didn’t recognize the car, but I recognized the large woman sitting on the porch.

  Honor Perkins.

  Now I was really nauseous. What could she possibly want? I parked my car and got out, wondering if I was ready for yet another confrontation. As I walked up the porch steps, I’m sure my expression said, what the hell are you doing here?

  Honor got up and held out both hands as if to forestall my protests. “Before you say anything, I’m not here to cause trouble, honest. I need to lay low about forty-eight hours, and then I’m on my way. You owe me.”

  I stopped. I owed her? “How do you figure that?”

  “You called the cops, right?”

  “Right. You’ll be happy to know Jerry didn’t rat on you.”

  “I knew you would. I could tell by looking at you.”

  I took out my phone. “Yes, and I’m getting ready to call them again. Why are you here?”

  “Hold on, let me explain. I had originally planned to stay with Mrs. Forest, but she was just a little uncooperative.”

  From the way Mrs. Forest had insisted on being paid right away, I knew exactly what had happened. “You stiffed her, didn’t you?”

  Honor grinned and shrugged her wide shoulders. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. Can we sit down and talk?”

  “I’ll give you five minutes.”

  “All I need.”

  She arranged herself in one of the rocking chairs. I positioned myself further away. I didn’t trust her one bit and was grateful her unexpected visit wasn’t later in the day when Austin and Denisha would have been here.

  “You can’t stay here, Honor. I’m not going to harbor a fugitive.”

  “Like I said, you owe me. I’ll sleep in my car. You won’t know I’m here.”

  “No. You may be one of Jerry’s old friends, but I
have no loyalty to you whatsoever.”

  She rocked and smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Oh, there might be a few things about Jerry you wouldn’t want to come to light.”

  “Blackmailing me won’t work. Jerry and I have discussed all the cons he’s done.”

  “Everything?”

  This made me pause. Before she came upon the scene, I hadn’t known anything about Honor Perkins, or the bank examiner swindle, or any of his past dealings with this woman. I believed Jerry was as truthful with me as he could be. Unfortunately, he often omitted things he knew would upset me.

  Honor looked pleased with herself. “So, not everything.”

  “What will it take to make you go away?”

  “I need Jerry’s help with something. Nothing bad, I promise.”

  “If it’s nothing bad, tell me what it is. Maybe I can help you.”

  “It’s a bit personal.”

  I’d had enough. “Your five minutes are up.”

  I was wondering if I could physically wrest her from the rocking chair and heave her into the yard when a small SUV zipped up the drive and Jerry hopped out. As the car turned to go, he called “Thanks” and waved good-bye to the driver. He was almost to the porch when he saw Honor. His reaction was the same as mine.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d stop by for a visit,” she said. “Nice place you got here. Lots of room.”

  Jerry correctly read my face. “You can’t stay.”

  “Aw, be a pal. Your wife called the cops, so I have to hide somewhere.”

  “Not here.”

  “I can pull my car around back and sleep there.”

  “No.” He took her arm. “Look, for the sake of old times, I’ll tell you where you can hide, but you need to leave.”

  She wouldn’t budge. “But I need to talk to you about something.”

  This had all the signs of becoming a fierce tug of war, interrupted by a silver Mercedes coming up the driveway. My mind immediately shifted into overdrive. “Jerry, that’s my mother’s car.”

  He let go of Honor’s arm. “Great timing.”