Bryce looked thoughtful. “Huh. Why did she hide, I wonder?”
Willow slapped her hand down on the bar, making Bryce jump. The bartender eyed her. She glared back at him. “I totally forgot that part!” she exclaimed as she turned back to Bryce. “She thought she’d killed Logan. She put turpentine in his drink. I guess she just wanted to make him sick so he’d stop drinking, but she thought it killed him. That’s why she ran off.”
Bryce was very interested now. “So did it?” he asked.
Willow shook her head. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Bryce inwardly groaned. He was getting nowhere. “And she hasn’t talked to you since?”
“Nope. I told the cops I wanted out. It was this big guy. Johnson, I think his name was. I actually thought he was okay, but I still didn’t want to talk with any of them again. Haven’t heard anything from them since, so that’s fine by me.”
Bryce decided to change the subject. They talked about painting as they finished their beer, then he walked Willow home. He asked if she wanted to have dinner with him later in the week and was mildly surprised to see her looking shy. But she agreed. He left it at that.
Bryce walked aimlessly through the city. He was in a difficult position. He knew something, yet he wasn’t sure if it was really important. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to the police, though. He’d had a run-in with them once before, a speeding situation that had involved a bit of a chase during his days as a joy-riding youth. He had skipped out on the final weekend of community service that they’d given him instead of jail time. He really didn’t want them to dredge that up again.
What he knew was nagging at him, though. Johnson. Willow had said that’s who she had talked to, and that he had seemed okay. If he had put Willow at ease, maybe he would be the guy to talk to? He shook his head. No, he had to think it over more.
#
Nick had read the autopsy report three times. Logan Dumbarton had died from heart failure. Yet he did not seem to have any kind of heart condition. It could happen, but something told Nick that it was all wrong. He needed some answers.
Nick looked up the number of the coroner who had signed off on Logan’s autopsy. He dialed, hoping that he wouldn’t get voicemail.
“Dr. Kraus!” a brisk voice said.
“Hello, doctor. I’m Nicholas Black, detective with the Portland Police. Could I ask a few questions about Logan Dumbarton?”
“Sure. You have about seven minutes. Maybe eight. I have to pick up my daughter from ballet class.”
Nick stifled a snorting sound. Somehow he couldn’t imagine a coroner at a ballet school. Or even having a daughter, for that matter.
Quickly collecting his thoughts, Nick said, “Dumbarton’s death was determined as heart failure, but he didn’t have a known heart condition. That seems odd.”
“Yup. But it happens.”
“He was a heavy drinker. Would that have affected his heart at all?”
“Sure. You’re talking about alcoholic cardiomyopathy. The weird thing is that he really didn’t show signs of it. My guess would be that he only started the drinking recently.”
“That’s interesting. Overall, did anything strike you as odd? He’d ingested turpentine, I know. Did that seem to affect him?”
“Nope. It might have made him sick to his stomach if he’d lived long enough. Oh, but there’s one thing that you might not have picked up on. It’s in the report but not obvious to the layman. He suffered from hypogonadism.”
“That sounds like enlarged…”
The doctor chuckled. “It isn’t what you’re thinking. Basically, it boils down to low testosterone. He was recently married, right?”
“Yes,” said Nick, slowly.
“My bet is that the marriage probably hasn’t been consummated.”
“Huh!” It was the only response Nick could come up with.
“Anything else?” the doctor asked.
Nick was still at a loss for words. “No, nothing else. Thanks, doctor.”
“Anytime,” he responded.
Nick put down his phone on the desk in front of him, then picked it up again immediately. He tapped on it, and it began ringing. His partner answered.
“Hey, where are you?” asked Nick.
“Havin’ a decent cup of coffee,” Johnson replied.
“Good. Stay there. I’ll be right down.”
Nick left the police station and jogged down the street. He pushed open the door of the coffee shop and immediately spotted Johnson at their usual booth. Johnson looked up from the cinnamon danish he’d just ordered. “Got somethin’?”
Nick sat down. “I don’t really know. You tell me.” He related what the coroner had said.
Johnson put down his fork. He leaned back in the seat. The vinyl cushion squeaked beneath him as it rubbed against the wooden bench. “So you’re saying that the heart attack was totally ‘normal’ if you can call it that.”
“Right.”
“But the big news is that most likely the marriage was in name only.”
“Yes.”
Johnson folded his arms, resting them on his large stomach. “Well that puts a spin on things for sure, now, doesn’t it.”
“It does. The question is, what kind of spin? Something tells me that in spite of what the coroner said, that heart attack wasn’t natural.”
“Can anything bring on a heart attack without leaving any trace?” asked Johnson.
“Good question. Probably. I don’t know for sure, but I’ll find out,” said Nick.
Johnson leaned forward again, the lure of the danish too much to ignore any longer. He took a big bite and washed it down with a large swig of coffee. “Go get one,” he said, hoisting his cup in front of Nick as an example, “And let’s think about this.”
Nick decided on an espresso. It was in a tiny cup, but it gave him the jolt he desperately needed. He returned to the table, balancing the diminutive cup on the saucer. Johnson looked at it and rolled his eyes.
“Doubt you’d be man enough to drink this,” said Nick in response.
“Won’t even go there,” Johnson replied. “So, that young lady, Isabel, we need to talk to her next, right?”
“Right,” said Nick. “I don’t totally buy that story that she was hiding because she thought she killed her husband. Something else scared her, and it wasn’t a dead man. She did not want to talk to her sister-in-law, that’s for sure.”
“Was she scared of her do you think?” asked Johnson.
“I can’t see why. Could be. Heck, I’d be scared of her. But she’d been living there with her so I don’t know why she would suddenly be scared.” Nick finished his espresso in one mouthful and made a face as he swallowed it. “Bitter,” he said. “But it makes me think better.”
“Rots your stomach, too,” added Johnson.
Nick ignored him. “I’m probably wasting our time here. Most likely he dropped from a heart attack, end of story. I should just let this one go.”
“Ya can’t though, can you,” said Johnson.
Nick closed his eyes and sighed. “No,” he said. “No, I can’t.” He opened his eyes and looked intently into the empty cup. “So let’s say someone gave him something during the day, or the evening, that eventually induced the heart attack. That leaves only Linda or Isabel.”
“Unless he took something himself. Maybe he had some drugs someone gave him?”
“Good point. I’ll find out if he had any regular doctors in London, and if anything was prescribed. There’ll be nothing, of course, but we have to rule it out.”
“How are we going to find out who his doctor was?” asked Johnson.
“That’s the sticky part. I suppose we’ll have to ask Linda.”
“Let me do that,” said Johnson with a faint smile. “I’d love to take her on. Sounds like she needs to come down a peg.”
“Go easy,” said Nick. “She just lost her brother.”
“Yeah, okay. But she could have been the one wh
o did him in, ya know.”
“True, but I don’t think so. His will was changed so that everything went to Isabel. Linda gained far more by managing his career while he was alive,” said Nick.
“All right. I’ll work the Linda angle and find out about doctors. You go talk to Isabel,” said Johnson stuffing the last bite of danish into his mouth. “Oh, and don’t go too easy on her! You can be way too soft sometimes.”
“My methods always work in the end, and you know it,” Nick said, trying to hide a smile. “I’ll give you a call later.”
“Can’t wait,” Johnson replied without gusto.
The moment Nick left, Johnson’s phone rang. He didn’t like to talk on it in the coffee shop. He grabbed it and quickly made his way to the door. “Johnson!” he barked into it.
He heard someone inhale, as if caught off guard. “This is Detective Johnson?” said a man’s voice.
“I just said that,” Johnson replied.
“Okay. I’m Bryce Bartlett. I was in that art class with Logan Dumbarton. I’d like to talk to you about something.”
Johnson’s demeanor changed instantly. He stood up straight and focused intently on the sidewalk in front of him. “Sure, I can meet you right now. Where are you?” he said.
“I’m over at the Dock. The bar on Commercial Street. You know it?” said Bryce.
“Yup. Sit tight – I’ll be right there.”
Bryce put his phone back in his pocket. His wandering had led him right back to the bar where he was having another beer. He’d nearly finished it before he worked up the nerve to call.
Johnson barreled down toward the water and made it to the bar faster than anyone who saw his size would have expected. He strode through the door and blinked in the comparative darkness.
Bryce considered pretending that he was someone else for a moment. Johnson had spied him, though, and somehow knew who he was. “Dammit,” thought Bryce. “He’s probably looked me up in some police database already.”
Johnson hoisted himself onto the barstool. “Mr. Bartlett?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Bryce.
The bartender came over. “Get him another on me,” said Johnson. “And I’ll have a ginger ale.”
“You don’t drink?” asked Bryce.
“I’m on duty,” said Johnson. “So, you wanted to tell me something?”
“Yeah, it’s probably not important, though. Shouldn’t have wasted your time.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Johnson jovially. “Lemme have it.”
Bryce took a sip of the beer that had just been put in front of him. “Well, it’s kind of weird. When I came to the first plein air painting session, for that class with Logan Dumbarton, I could have sworn I’d seen his sister before. Linda Dumbarton. It was driving me nuts because I couldn’t place her. Then I remembered, finally. It was a couple of months ago. I work at a gallery up on Congress Street. She came in with what looked like a Logan Dumbarton painting. She wanted to sell it. The gallery owner said that it looked like one of Dumbarton’s and the signature was right, but the lady didn’t have any authentication for it. She was pretty mad when she found out we couldn’t sell. The owner said she could sell it as a possible Dumbarton, or as a potential student of Dumbarton’s work. Those would go for about a quarter of the amount a Dumbarton would bring in, though, if that. The lady left in a huff with the painting, and I didn’t think about it again.
“When I remembered, I asked Logan about it during one of his critiques. He just gave me this arrogant look and said I didn’t know what I was talking about. He said his sister hadn’t been to the states for two years. Then he proceeded to rip apart my painting technique in about twenty different ways. He could be pretty brutal. Didn’t bother me, though. I knew he was an ass.”
Johnson swirled his ginger ale glass around on the bar. “How certain are you that it was her?” he asked.
“Pretty darned sure,” Bryce said.
Johnson was thoughtful. “Thanks for getting in touch,” he said, throwing a few dollar bills on the table. “I’ll call you if I need anything else.” He slid off the bar stool and lumbered out.
Bryce breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they hadn’t checked up on him after all.
#
Nick sat on the couch in Dulcie’s townhouse beside Isabel. Dulcie came in with two mugs of tea. She gently put the mugs down on the table in front of them. Then she disappeared into the kitchen, and reappeared with her own mug.
When Dulcie sat down, Nick turned to Isabel. “Tell us everything,” he said simply.
Isabel took a deep breath. Her dark hair gleamed as a ray of sunlight came through the window and radiated among the ebony strands. She took a sip of tea and looked back and forth between them. “All right. Here’s everything,” she said. “I met Linda when they were in India. I was there on a photo shoot, and Logan had a show there. We met at a party. Linda was so nice to me. I found out that they lived in London, quite near me. When we were back in England, Linda got in touch with me again. She and I got together several times and, well, a relationship started. I’m a lesbian, you see, and so is Linda.”
Nick and Dulcie exchanged surprised glances.
Isabel continued. “Linda came up with the plan that I should entice Logan and get him to marry me. Then she and I could be together, plus I wouldn’t have to worry about money any more. Logan seemed nice enough, so I thought it would all be fine.
“The biggest problem was that I wasn’t attracted to Logan, for obvious reasons. Linda said not to worry. She said that he wasn’t able to perform, that he never could. I wondered why we had to keep our relationship secret from Logan, but Linda told me it was because he was very old-fashioned and would disapprove entirely.
“Linda arranged for Logan to go to a specific party in London, and I was supposed to attract him, but be aloof at the same time. She said that he had already remarked about me after he saw me in some of the advertising campaigns that I had modeled for. Whatever I did must have worked. He started calling me and I dated him, then I married him.
“Everything seemed fine at first, but then Logan started drinking. He was horrible when he drank. It was like he became a different person. And once he started, he just couldn’t stop. He ordered everyone around and was so rude. I didn’t know what to do.
“Linda suggested that we get away from London for a change of scene. She said that it might help Logan to stop the drinking. But it didn’t. I even tried to take his work in a different direction by planting suggestions of abstract nudes and the ocean and so forth. It worked for a little while. He seemed focused on that, especially with me posing. But it didn’t last.
“I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. I knew that I had to do something drastic. I put turpentine in his drink that night before he died. I thought that if it made him really nauseated, he wouldn’t be able to so much as look at a gin and tonic again.
“And fortunately, that wasn’t what killed him,” said Dulcie. “Look Isabel, I think anyone could sympathize with you, especially after what he did to you. I don’t know what you may have said or done to provoke it, but no man should hit his wife the way he did. I felt so horrible for you when I saw that bruise.”
Now Isabel looked confused. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Isabel, what is it?” asked Dulcie.
Isabel looked down into her tea. “Logan didn’t hit me,” she said quietly. “Linda did.”
Dulcie suddenly remember the loud slap that she had heard when Linda was trying to wake Logan on that terrible morning. She thought about how she herself would attempt to revive someone. She might try slapping them, but she knew that even if she thought they had passed out, or worse, she could never have possibly hit them so hard. Linda had delivered the blow easily. As though she had done it before.
Now it made sense. “Isabel, is that why you ran away? Was Linda hurting you?”
Huge tears began to run down Isabel’s cheeks. She gulped back a sob.
“She had done it a few times, when she got angry. She was always so apologetic and remorseful afterward. But that was another reason why I convinced Logan that I should pose nude for him. If I did, any bruise would be there, plain to see. It kept Linda from hitting me.”
“Why didn’t you just tell Logan?”
“He would have been disgusted by my relationship with Linda. Don’t you realize? We duped him, played him for a fool! He would have thrown me out. He had to keep Linda because she ran his life, but I would have been tossed out like garbage and worse off than when I started. Linda made it clear that she could easily spread some pretty awful rumors around about me and destroy my reputation in the industry. My contracts have been diminishing as I’ve become older. It seems that everyone wants to photograph youth. I’ve needed every job I could get, until I married Logan.”
Nick and Dulcie were silent for a moment. Then, they both spoke at once. “Sorry,” said Nick. “Go ahead.”
“Isabel, Linda told me that the plan was originally for Logan to come here on his own. But you’re saying that you all intended to come together from the beginning.”
“Yes, we did,” said Isabel. She sniffed loudly. “Maybe you misunderstood her?”
“Maybe,” Dulcie murmured.
“Isabel, you are aware that Logan changed his will?” Nick asked. “You inherit everything. That is motive to kill him, although you’ve been cleared of that by the autopsy.”
“I didn’t know about the will until he died. Honestly!” she protested.
“Linda only benefitted from him while he was alive,” Nick continued.
“I know, and it looks quite bad for me, but really this has to be just an unfortunate accident! I only put the turpentine in his drink. Really!”
Dulcie leaned forward. “When did he start drinking?” she asked.
“It was a couple of weeks after we were married. I remember he didn’t even have champagne at our wedding, although it was quite a quick, small affair. Still, I thought that was strange since someone brought a bottle and I certainly had a glass,” Isabel said.
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