Murder at the Car Show

by Sandi Scott

  Murder at the Car Show

  A Pet Portraits Cozy Mystery

  Book #5

  Sandi Scott

  Copyright © 2018 Sandi Scott and Gratice Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at Sandi@SandiScottBooks.com

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Adari - Who is a better person than I am, even while (or because of) being a special duck. Thanks for enriching our lives and attempting to nurse the better parts of us being human!

  From Ilze

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Letter from the Author

  About the Book Cover

  PREVIEW: Madeleine Murder

  Recipe: Strawberries Chantilly

  Recipe: Raspberry Baked French Toast

  Recipe: Coconut-Chocolate Almond Tart

  Chapter 1

  “Where is it?” Georgie scolded as she crawled further into her closet. “How can I have lost a left shoe? It’s impossible! I’d have noticed that a shoe was missing as I walked, wouldn’t I?” Her pug dog, Bodhi, watched with interest as his mistress rummaged around. He tried to help, pushing his flat nose into the blouses and skirts that had fallen to the floor, but he only succeeded in getting in Georgie’s way.

  “Bodhi, none of this is for you,” she said, “unless you know where Mama’s shoe is. I have to find it; it must be in here.” Georgie Kaye had a wardrobe that would make Lady Gaga jealous. Right now, the search for her missing shoe—a red Mary Jane style with a modest heel—was top priority. That shoe was the key to the perfect outfit.

  “Ah-ha! There you are you red devil!” she pounced on the missing shoe that had cunningly concealed itself under a long feather boa. Slowly, she backed out of the closet until she could stand up. “Whew, that was a close one! I almost had to cancel everything due to this shoe!” Georgie sat down on the corner of her bed, slipped the shoe on and fastened the strap over the top of her foot.

  “How do I look, Bodhi?” she asked the pug who was lying with his head between his paws. Checking her outfit in the full-length mirror, Georgie squealed with delight and clapped her hands. Quickly walking through the house—Bodhi hot on her red heels—she grabbed her vintage purse that looked like a mother-of-pearl miniature tackle box and headed out the door.

  “I sure hope the weather holds up,” she muttered more to herself than to the dog that was proudly prancing behind her. Bodhi knew where they were going. “It’s not supposed to start raining until after ten o’clock tonight; but then again, you can’t always trust what you hear on the news.”

  Bodhi yipped his agreement. He passed Georgie and bounded up the steps to the neighboring house. Before ringing the doorbell, Georgie smoothed her skirt, adjusted her blouse, and peeked over her shoulder to make sure the seam was straight up the back of her nylon stockings. Finally, she pressed the button, giddy with excitement.

  When her twin sister, Aleta, opened the door, Georgie got the very response she was hoping for. “Oh, my gosh! Georgie, what are you thinking?” Aleta gasped, one hand covering her mouth, “You can’t go out in public like that!”

  “What do you think?” Georgie did a quick twirl.

  “Get in here before someone sees you.” Aleta Kaye took hold of her twin sister’s hand and pulled her inside the house. Bodhi had already snuck in and taken his usual place on Aleta’s couch. “What in the world has gotten into you? Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a pin-up of Bettie Page in her senior years.”

  “Just because it tans your hide that I’m older than you, doesn’t mean you get to insult my more mature standing in the community.”

  “Georgie Kaye you are two minutes older than me” Aleta stood back and looked her sister up and down again. “And if you call dressing like a pin-up girl a more mature standing in the community I think we’ve got some big issues to address!”

  “I’m not showing anything but a little cleavage.”

  “Georgie, you don’t have a little cleavage.” Aleta shook her head. “At our age any cleavage is a lot of cleavage—it’s just how you’re built. Is that a skirt you’re wearing or did you just use black paint?”

  “It’s called a pencil skirt, Aleta, as you very well know. And this is just a V-neck cardigan.”

  “A leopard print V-neck down to your navel!”

  “Oh, it’s not down to my navel. Stop being such a prude.” Georgie giggled. “Want to go get some coffee?”

  “With you dressed like that? A walking traffic violation?” Aleta walked into the kitchen and pulled a box of Entenmann’s chocolate doughnuts from the cupboard. “I don’t even think I’m going to let you out of the house. I do like your purse, though. Where did you get that?”

  “Isn’t it cool? I picked it up for two dollars at that thrift store over on Baker Street; the one by the bowling alley.”

  “You mean the one next to that bar where the motorcycles are always lined up outside? Where the cops are making arrests every weekend?”

  “That’s at night. I was there at ten in the morning. Besides, no one from that bar is going to bother me. I’m too tough, sista.” Georgie cracked her knuckles, making a gangster face at her sister before daintily picking out a doughnut for herself.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re dressed this way? I know you didn’t do it just for me.” Aleta picked a doughnut for herself, poured each of them some coffee, and took a seat at the kitchen table, waiting for her sister’s response.

  “Is it too much?” Georgie joked.

  “Not if you are going to a Halloween costume party,” Aleta replied.

  A FEW WEEKS EARLIER Georgie had attended the second official exhibit of her paintings. Lori and Steve Friedman made all the arrangements for the event after Georgie completed a large canvas of their two chow-chow puppies, Stanley and Stella.

  “Your exhibit will be at the Abbiocco Gallery,” Lori gushed when she told Georgie about what had been arranged. “Our friends, the Colesteins, own it. When they saw Stanley’s and Stella’s portraits, both of the Colesteins just demanded I speak to you and get you to agree to a showing.”

  Georgie had agreed on the spot and included every painting she had done over the past six months. Naturally, the diverse collection on display included her favorite subject—Bodhi. His black mask and bulging eyes looked up nobly from a soothing blue-gray background, on a canvas the size of a TV tray. Georgie had used acrylic paint for this design giving it a wonderful blocky texture.

  One portrait that was popular with the art aficionados at the showing was an oil painting of
Tico, the macaw. Tico had a unique helmet of red feathers. His blue wings and back looked like a feathery cape, fastened by a thin but distinct chain of bright yellow feathers. Georgie had thoroughly enjoyed working with him because he sang the entire time she painted him.

  Rocky, the lop-eared rabbit, was also an oil painting that Georgie loved. Unlike Tico whose feathers looked soft but stiff, Rocky’s fur jumped off the canvas. Georgie saw more than one person look at the painting and reach out as if they could pet and feel the softness of the fur.

  Sushi, the guinea pig, was done in watercolor paints. Many people liked the painting but not Georgie. Naturally, the technique was correct, and the overall design was good. The client was thrilled with the result and pleased to have Sushi included in the show—but all Georgie remembered of her time with Sushi was the smell. “The monkey house at the zoo smelled better than that thing,” she had told Aleta. “Any time I get hired to paint anything that lives in sawdust, I’m requesting a photo. Painting from the live creature is too hard on my nose.”

  On an impulse, Georgie had included an acrylic abstract painting of Charlie, Joe and Max, three kittens from the same litter. Instead of painting them in their realistic colors of black, white, and gray, Georgie used almost every color in her arsenal to create a psychedelic composition and was pleased to hear people mentioning Jackson Pollocks name when they looked at her work.

  Of course, the large canvas of Stanley and Stella was also featured. The painting of the two of them was so big it almost took up an entire pillar wall. Since the Friedmans were the people responsible for coordinating the event with the Colesteins, Georgie was happy to put their chow-chow puppies front and center.

  As a couple, the Colesteins were the polar opposite of the Friedmans. Stoic and observant, the Colesteins complimented Georgie on her beautiful paintings but said little else as they sipped wine and mingled among the guests. Nevertheless, Georgie was happy with the turnout, and she thought the gallery director had arranged her work beautifully. However, Georgie didn’t think any of the Colestein’s friends were all that interested in commissioning her to do a portrait of their pet—until Lori introduced Georgie to Errol Barr.

  “You’ve got to meet him,” Lori said as she slipped her arm through Georgie’s. “I just have the feeling you’ll get along famously. I’ll warn you up front, though, Errol is a little eccentric. His topics can sometimes be a bit avant-garde, but he is a genius.”

  Georgie was thrilled to meet Errol and quickly discovered that Lori was correct. She and Errol hit it off immediately, as they began to discuss the sources of their creative ideas.

  “I’m a photographer,” Errol boasted. “I can take beautiful pictures, but I could never put paint on a canvas like you. How hard is it to get the animals to sit, or do you use photographs?”

  “It really depends on the animal,” Georgie said. Her first thought was of Sushi, the smelly guinea pig, but she refrained from talking badly about one of her models. “Maverick, the bulldog whose portrait is over in the corner there, sat completely still in the same pose every time I came to paint her. She might have yawned a couple times, but she was a dream. Those kittens, though,” Georgie said chuckling, “were impossible to corral, much less get them to sit still. A photograph was absolutely necessary in their case. Babies, human or animal, cannot sit still. It’s impossible—unnatural, really.”

  Errol laughed. “Right now, I’m working on spontaneous pictures that I notice—you know, odd cracks in the sidewalk, reflections in puddles of water, close-ups of everyday materials. They may not be perfect, but I’m trying to stretch my limits—and at least those things keep relatively still.”

  “That is fantastic! We all have our special gifts. It’s wonderful that you are pushing yourself; discovering new avenues to express yourself in the process,” Georgie replied. She couldn’t help but notice the elaborate tattoos on his arms: a deck of cards, an eight ball, and a sexy pin-up girl changing a tire. “That sure is a fancy tattoo.” She pointed to his bicep.

  “Thanks. I’ve got her sister on the other arm.” Errol flexed that arm, showing another buxom beauty pumping gas into a vintage car.

  “I love the car. Is that supposed to be a 1956 Chevy Bel Air?” Georgie stretched Errol’s arm out to get a better look.

  “It is.” He smiled.

  “My ex-husband used to pick me up in one of those. I’ll never forget it.”

  “You really know your cars.” Errol winked at Georgie before continuing, “Hey, I just had a great idea! I’ve been doing the photography at the Tri-Local Antique Car Show for the past several years. Would you like a free ticket?”

  “Could I get two?” Georgie asked eagerly. “I’d love for my sister to come along.”

  “I can do you one better. The organizers are always looking for pretty girls to model with the cars. The publicity is great, and you get a write-up in the program, so you can do a little self-promoting. I don’t know if it’s your style but judging by what I see here”—Errol looked Georgie up and down with a smile—"I think you’d fit right in.”

  “You think so?” Georgie grabbed Errol’s arm and squeezed. “I’ve wanted to be a car model ever since I was a little girl. There was something so glamorous and mysterious about them, but ... you don’t think I’m too old?”

  “Are you kidding?” Errol laughed. “You’d be perfect. Do you have some rockabilly style clothes? Even just blue jeans and a white T-shirt would have you fittin’ right in.”

  “Of course, I do, Daddio. I’m no square.”

  Chapter 2

  “You didn’t really say that.” Aleta shook her head as she listened to her sister’s story. “Daddio?”

  “You’re all wet.” Georgie waved at Aleta. “Now get dressed. We have to be there before the show starts so we’ll know what to do.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not dressing up like a harlot for some car show.”

  “Of course, you’re not, but you can’t go to an antique car show dressed like a flat tire.” It was Georgie’s turn to stand back and look her sister up and down appraisingly, “Just put on a pair of blue jeans. You do own a pair of jeans, don’t you?”

  Aleta looked at her sister and squinted as if she didn’t understand the question.

  “I should have known.” Georgie sighed, “You don’t have a pair of jeans. The only woman in the world who doesn’t own a pair of jeans, and I’m related to her—shared a womb with her! That’s okay, I’ve got a pair that will fit you.”

  “They’ll be too big,” Aleta snapped.

  “Yeah, so for once you’ll look like you’ve got some junk in the trunk.”

  Georgie took her sister by the hand and led her back to Georgie’s house. Within twenty minutes, she had Aleta wearing a pair of blue jeans cuffed over her ankles and a crisp white blouse. “I’ve got a leopard print scarf that we could put in your hair and—”

  “Absolutely not!” Aleta huffed. “I hate these pants. They don’t feel right.”

  “When was the last time you wore denim?”

  “High school, probably. I didn’t like how they felt then, and I don’t like these now. I’m going to put my clothes back on.”

  “But, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb,” Georgie complained.

  “Right, because all these years when we’ve gone out together, you’ve just blended seamlessly into the crowd! I’m putting my clothes back on,” Aleta called back over her shoulder as she headed to Georgie’s room. Before Georgie could get to work on changing her sister’s mind, the doorbell rang. She looked down at her watch and sighed. If they didn’t get going soon, she was going to be late. When she pulled the door open, Georgie was exasperated to see the stunned face of her ex-husband.

  “Georgie?” he stuttered.

  “What are you doing here, Stan?” she asked. The days of pretending he didn’t annoy her were long gone.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re wear
ing something to get someone’s attention. Well, you’ve got it, honey!” Stan stepped past her into the house.

  “I asked you a question.” Georgie put her hands on her hips, but her anger just made Stan laugh.

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, my office supplies were delivered to my house. You asked me to get you some sketchbooks with my senior discount. They arrived. I thought I’d be a gentleman and run them over for you. Aleta said you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Aleta doesn’t know me very well.”

  “But,” Stan winked at her, “I do. I knew you still had that figure I spotted all those years ago. C’mon, Georgie, let’s play The Postman Always Rings Twice.” Stan was forever trying to win her back. If he weren’t so handsome with his wavy salt and pepper hair and those snug fitting jeans he liked to wear, Georgie would have killed him and buried his body in the backyard years ago.

  After he left in search of gold and the perfect fishing hole while she was still rearing their three kids, Georgie didn’t think she’d ever see him again. Unfortunately, Stan returned to Chicago with no gold and a heart full of remorse, vowing to get Georgie to forgive him and take him back. So far, nothing had worked.

  “Aleta! If we don’t get going we’re going to be late!” Georgie took the sketchbooks from Stan and dropped them on the coffee table in her front room.

  “Where are you going dressed like that?” Stan asked.

  “None of your business,” Georgie said.

  “We’re going to the Tri-Local Antique Car Show. Georgie will be modeling in front of the cars.” Aleta joined them, pulling on her plain, tan colored sweater.

  “They aren’t even going to notice the cars.” Stan licked his lips and rubbed his hands together. “I might have to go with you and make sure no one tries to birddog my sweetheart.”

  “There’s no room for you in the car.” Georgie grabbed her purse. “Come on Aleta. Let’s make like a banana and split.”