“Was Lila…” Richard tented his fingers and pressed them to his lips for a moment before speaking again. “Did she look like she was on something? I know you told me she’s had problems in the past.”
Sunny lifted her chin and met Richard’s intent gaze. “Yeah, I’m afraid she was. And Caden, well, he’s kind of known to be a small-time dealer, so…”
“Oh God.” I gripped the edge of the barn door. “They both could’ve been mixed up in this?”
“Maybe. No, I can’t imagine…” Sunny dropped her head until her chin was pressed against her chest.
“We don’t have to figure that out, thank goodness,” Richard said. “Although you’ll have to tell the deputies about Lila’s dazed appearance and Caden running off.”
“I know.” Sunny laced her fingers together so tightly her knuckles blanched.
Sirens wailed through the crisp autumn air. I gave Richard a quick glance before I crossed to Sunny. “Whatever happens, we’re all in this together.” I squeezed one of her shoulders. “We’ll be right here with you.”
“I know, thanks,” she mumbled, before straightening and looking me in the eyes.
I sucked in a sharp breath. Shock and grief had altered Sunny’s beautiful face. Her skin was pulled tight over her fine bones, and her blue eyes were glazed with tears.
A line of sheriff’s department vehicles rounded the final corner of the driveway and screeched to a halt behind our cars.
“Here we go.” I kept my hand on Sunny’s shoulder as I focused on the tall, broad-shouldered, blond man who leapt from the lead car.
“Not you two again,” said Chief Deputy Brad Tucker. “And Sunny?” He shoved his hat back from his forehead and expelled a gusty sigh.
“Sorry,” I said. “But you don’t need to interrogate Sunny extensively, as she hasn’t been inside. Richard and I found the body.”
Another deep sigh escaped Brad’s lips as he motioned for several officers from the other cars to step forward. “Deputy Frye, come here. Coleman and I will question Mr. Muir and Ms. Webber, but you and Denton need to talk to Ms. Fields.”
“Yes, sir.” Alison Frye glanced up at Brad’s face before she squared her shoulders and eyed Sunny with what looked like disapproval.
Oh, there’s a wrinkle, I thought. That one glance had given the young deputy away. It was clear Alison had more than a collegial interest in her boss and wasn’t impressed with his choice of girlfriend.
Sunny, whose confidence couldn’t be shaken by such things, raised her voice. “Brad—I mean, Deputy Tucker—you should know that Lila LeBlanc is up at the house. Alone, at this point, although someone ran off when I approached the back door.”
Brad strode over to her. “Where? And did you see who it was?”
“He disappeared into the woods behind the house. And, not really. He looked a little bit like Caden Kroft. I think Caden dated Lila in the past, although I’m pretty sure her parents never approved.”
Brad spun around and shouted at the additional deputies who’d just pulled up and jumped out of their vehicles. He told several of them to search the woods and the perimeter of the property while ordering others to secure Lila at the house. “But don’t interrogate the girl yet,” he told them. “I want to be present for that. Don’t ask any questions or tell her anything. Just keep her at the house.”
He turned back to Sunny, his expression changing for a moment to one of concern. “Okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded. Brad’s face hardened back into its professional mask as Alison Frye and the other young deputy reached him. While they led Sunny to a bench under one of the maple trees, Brad crossed to me.
“Now,” Brad said, as he was joined by an older man in an ill-fitting uniform. “Let’s get your stories. Coleman, you take Mr. Muir’s statement while I talk with Ms. Webber.” He waved me toward one of the metal chairs under the pergola. “Coroner here yet?” he called out as another deputy approached the barn with an evidence case in one hand and a digital camera in the other.
“Right behind us.”
“Well, don’t do anything until he gets here. Take photos, of course, but don’t touch anything.”
“Sure thing, sir.” The deputy with the camera disappeared into the barn, followed by another man in a suit. A plainclothes detective, no doubt.
“Okay, so let’s start from the beginning,” Brad said, fixing me with a piercing stare. “Why were you out here?”
I explained Sunny’s errand and how Richard and I had offered to help. “It really was a last-minute thing. So definitely not premeditated.” I twitched my lips into a smile, hoping my little quip would lighten the mood.
No such luck. Brad was a complete professional when he was on the job. I actually appreciated that, although I had to admit that his intense examination of my face was unnerving.
“So Sunny heads to the house, then you two go inside, find the body, and Richard calls 911. That’s it?”
“Yeah. I did knock over a table, though. One of those small side tables. So that wasn’t something the killer did.” I frowned. “But we didn’t touch anything else. That mug of linseed oil was already tipped over when we found the body. We even smelled it when we entered the barn.”
“Okay.” Brad tapped some information into his cell with a stylus. As he snapped the phone case shut, his expression softened. “Sorry you had to go through this again, Amy.” He laid his hand over my wrist. “I really am.”
I sniffled. His sympathy was actually more difficult to bear than his tough cop attitude. “You’re going to think I’m bad luck or something.”
“I don’t believe in luck, bad or otherwise.” Brad tugged his hat back down lower on his forehead. “We’ll need you and Richard to come into the office for a more formal statement tomorrow, but I think I have enough for now.”
Deputy Coleman had apparently finished questioning Richard too. As they both approached the terrace, the deputy paused at the edge while Richard stepped under the pergola and crossed to stand beside me.
“Can we let these two go home?” Coleman asked Brad. “It doesn’t seem like they saw anything except the murder scene, and it might be easier to get more work done…”
“Yes, yes.” Brad waved him off. “Send me your notes and then join the group searching the woods.”
Coleman touched the rim of his hat and nodded sharply. “Will do, sir.”
“So we can go?” I asked, rising to my feet and moving to Richard’s side.
Brad looked us over. “Yes. Just come in tomorrow. Don’t worry”—he cut me off as I opened my mouth again—“I’ll make sure Sunny gets home safely. I won’t let her drive alone.”
“I know you’ll take good care of her.” My warm smile brought a slight flush to Brad’s cheeks.
“And I’ll take care of Amy.” Richard slid his arm around my waist and guided me toward his car.
As he opened the passenger side door, the deputy with the camera burst out of the barn, shouting for Brad. “Boss, you need to see this!”
Richard slammed the car door shut and grabbed my hand as we turned to stare at the flustered deputy.
“What is it?” Brad strode forward, his height making him loom over the man in the doorway. “Another body?”
“No, but maybe a motive. There’s paintings in there. A whole slew of them.”
“Well, of course there are. It’s a gallery,” Brad said.
The deputy shook his head. “Not those paintings. Others. Stashed in a hidden room. Detective Carver says they look like valuable stuff. Impressionists and that sort of thing. Well, according to Carver, anyway.”
“What the hell?” Richard said under his breath.
Impressionists? I tightened my grip on Richard’s fingers. That was impossible. As far as I knew, the LeBlancs did not deal in other artists’ work and certainly not in expensive masterpieces. That sounded more like something that might involve local art dealer Kurt Kendrick.
Richard rubbed his chin with his free han
d—a telltale sign that something was bothering him. “Why would any paintings owned by the LeBlancs be stashed in a secret room?”
“I can’t imagine,” I said. “Unless they were involved in some illegal activity no one knew about…”
Except perhaps Kurt Kendrick. My suspicions immediately fell upon the wealthy, extremely secretive art collector and dealer, who I knew was not above getting his hands dirty with some shady transactions. The fact that he owned an estate not far from this location unfurled several red flags in my brain.
“Amy, sorry, but could you do me a favor?” Brad asked.
I focused on him, noting how his tall, muscular figure filled the open barn doorway.
“I know I said you could go, but I wonder if you might take a look at this discovery.” Brad jerked his head toward the interior of the barn. “You have a background in art history, right?”
“I majored in it as an undergrad, but I’m no real expert.”
“I’m sure you know more than any of these guys. It’ll be a few days before the state sends an official expert, so if you can just take a look and let me know if Carver is right in his assessment…”
“Okay,” I said, although I had no desire to enter the barn again. I glanced up at Richard. “Come with me?”
He sighed. “I think dinner’s going to be cold cuts back at the house at this point, but sure. If it’s all right with Deputy Tucker, of course.”
“That’s fine.” Brad waved us forward. “Just don’t touch anything.”
“Not really hungry now anyway,” I said as we followed Brad into the barn.
We had to walk by the studio area, although fortunately we couldn’t see Rachel’s body. Any view of that was blocked by deputies, detectives, and the coroner.
“Prints?” I heard one of the detectives say. “Doubtful. Looks like our killer wiped down that palette knife with the spilled oil and a rag he or she probably took with them.”
I shared a glance with Richard as we followed Brad and the camera-wielding deputy. No prints, I mouthed at him.
“Careful killer,” he whispered back
Which got the wheels in my brain spinning. The use of the palette knife made the murder appear not to be premeditated, but the wiping down of that knife indicated that the killer was not entirely thoughtless.
We reached the back of the barn and a large square column enclosing what looked like an old hay shaft—where bales would’ve once been tossed down from the hayloft above. But closer examination showed that the actual space was completely closed off, and the illusion of an open shaft had been achieved by a skillful trompe-l’oeil painting.
“Clever,” Richard said, rapping his knuckles against the fake shaft.
Brad shot him a sharp glance. “Touch nothing, I said.”
Richard clasped his hands behind his back.
“Right around the corner, sir,” said a man in a severe navy suit. I assumed this was Detective Carver. He pointed to the side of the fake shaft with his latex-gloved hand. “Just seemed like regular boards at first, but when we saw that false front, we looked closer and found this.” He slid his fingers over the rough surface until I heard a click and a hidden door popped open.
Brad held out his hand. “Light.”
Carver slapped a flashlight into Brad’s palm, then stepped back to allow me to stand next to the chief deputy.
The cool light of the LED flashlight flooded the small closet-sized space, illuminating rows of shelves filled with muslin-wrapped rectangles of various sizes. Canvases, I thought. Three or four had been placed on the floor, leaning against the lowest shelf. Their wraps had been thrown back, by Carver or the other deputy, I assumed, revealing vividly colored oil paintings.
I knelt down, ignoring the creak of the old floorboards.
“Morisot, Monet, de Chirico, Cézanne,” I said, pointing at each canvas in turn. I sat back on my heels and gazed up at Brad’s stern profile. “But these can’t be real.”
He frowned. “Because?”
“Because these are painters whose works are not going to be stuffed in a closet in a barn, even if it does function as an artist’s studio and gallery. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I highly doubt it. Not all of them together like this, anyway.”
Richard helped me to my feet. “So what do you think? Stolen and stashed before being sold on the black market? Or forgeries?”
“I don’t know enough to say that. I can do some research to see if any of these match lost paintings from the artists’ catalogs, but I suspect they’re fakes. Really good fakes. But I’m not absolutely sure. You’ll need someone who can verify their authenticity, one way or the other.”
Brad fiddled with the gold badge on his uniform. “Could you do some research? I mean, before the art expert arrives? I would like to have a sense of what we might be dealing with before I move this stuff to another location. Or do anything else, for that matter.”
“Sure, if you want.” I glanced back into the small storeroom. “Someone had to know they were here. To have painted that fake front and all.”
“One of the LeBlancs. Had to be.” Richard stared at the paintings over my shoulder.
“Or Rachel’s parents,” I said. “They lived here before she and Reese did, and I know they had lots of connections in the community.”
And were nearly broke at the end of their lives, I thought. So perhaps someone like Kendrick offering them money to store stolen or forged goods … I shook my head. Reese and Rachel had renovated the barn after they moved to Taylorsford. Surely they would have discovered a hidden closet then. Which just led back to one or both of them also being involved.
Brad narrowed his eyes “We can’t jump to conclusions, but it seems more likely it was one of the LeBlancs. Speaking of which, we know where two of the family members are, but where’s the husband?”
“Reese?” Sunny’s voice sailed in from behind us. “Lila said he was off on some business trip. Not expected back until this afternoon.”
Brad turned on her. “You shouldn’t be in here, Sunny.”
She slid past him to step into the secret room. “These aren’t works by the LeBlancs, either one of them.”
“No,” I said. “They aren’t. At least not something they would sign with their own names.”
Sunny’s blue eyes widened. “What are you saying? That they were involved in forgery?”
I shrugged. “Could be.”
“I can’t believe that,” Sunny said, as Brad laid a hand on her shoulder.
“So if he was to return this afternoon, where is Maurice LeBlanc? The daughter claims she hasn’t seen him?”
“No, but she told me she was sleeping.” Sunny bit her lower lip. She was probably thinking the same thing I was—that Lila had been passed out in some sort of drug-induced stupor. “She said her dad often goes right to the studio to see her mom when he gets home from business trips, so she didn’t think it was weird that he hadn’t shown up at the house yet.”
“Perhaps he did come here.” Brad’s gaze took in the entire interior of the barn.
“Strolled in, stabbed his wife, and then just blithely left again?” Sunny’s tone conveyed her doubt over this theory.
“It’s a ways to the house,” Carver observed. “He could’ve driven up and had an altercation with the wife without the daughter hearing anything. Especially if she was asleep.”
“Okay, enough speculation.” Brad took a deep breath. “Carver, head to your vehicle and put out a BOLO on Maurice LeBlanc. We need to find him as soon as possible.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “As well as that kid who ran into the woods. Could be Caden Kroft. Put out a lookout request on him too.”
“Will do.” Detective Carver strode off.
“Did you already document everything?” Brad asked the deputy with the camera.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then join Carver. He can probably use some of the images for his report.”
The deputy nodded and dashed off after the de
tective as Brad turned to me. “I’m going to send some photos to you as well. I assume Sunny has your cell phone number?”
“Of course. But it might be easier to send them to my email if they’re large files, which I suspect they must be.”
“Sure, sure. Just give the address to Deputy Coleman outside. And Sunny”—Brad turned to her and laid his hand on her arm—“tell Coleman he’s to escort you home. No, don’t argue. I don’t want you driving yourself. Not after all this. I’ll stop by the farm later to pick him up, since he won’t have a car.”
And then you can also check on Sunny, I thought. Which didn’t bother me in the least. I knew Brad, who loved her, would make sure my friend was properly comforted when the reality of the situation hit her.
“So now we can go?” Richard asked.
“Yes. Just show up at the sheriff’s office tomorrow so we can make sure we have everything correct in your statements.”
Sunny pressed her fingers over Brad’s hand, which still rested on her arm. “What about you?”
“I”—Brad tugged his tie so hard it went askew—“have to go and tell a young woman that her mother is dead. And then question the girl unmercifully.”
I cast him a sympathetic smile. Whatever I felt, it had to be nothing compared to the stress Brad was under.
“Can’t say I envy you that,” Richard said, gazing at Brad speculatively.
It had probably just dawned on him what Brad’s job really entailed. I tapped his arm. “Come on, let’s allow the experts to deal with this.”
“Glad to.” Richard bent his arms so that Sunny could slide her hand through one crooked elbow and I the other. With us flanking him, he headed out of the barn and into the deepening twilight of the autumn evening.
Chapter Four
I glanced toward my aunt’s house as Richard parked in his driveway. Your house too, Amy. Yes, since I’d been living with my aunt for the past year and a half, her home was now mine as well.
After unbuckling my seat belt, I paused with my hand on the door latch. “Should we stop in and tell Aunt Lydia what’s happened?”
Richard shot me a quick, raised-eyebrow glance. “Seriously? You know Zelda’s probably already told her more about it than we could possibly know.”
Shelved Under Murder Page 3