Shelved Under Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “I loved him for everything he was,” she replied stiffly.

  “That’s probably quite true, but Andrew was never really sure.” Kendrick straightened and turned to face her. “You made such a big deal over his art career. He said that whenever he mentioned his guilt over living off your family’s money, you demanded that he forget such nonsense and follow his vocation. You always told him that his talent was all that mattered.”

  “I never resented him for not making money. Even Grandma Rose didn’t, and you know how she was.”

  “Indeed.” Kendrick rolled his eyes at the mention of my great-grandmother. “But Andrew wanted out, Lydia. He longed to escape the constant rejection he experienced with his art. He sought a salaried job of some kind that would allow him to contribute to the household income. He wanted to feel that he was providing something to the family instead of being a burden. But he couldn’t tell you that. You’d built your whole marriage around him being special. You’d created a fantasy where he was the struggling but brilliant artist and you were his loyal helpmate and muse.”

  Aunt Lydia stamped her foot against the marble hearth. “That’s a lie!”

  Kendrick shook his head. “No, it isn’t. If you think about it honestly, you will see that it’s the truth. You didn’t want some ordinary Joe. Your head was stuffed full of romantic notions about finding, and nurturing, your very own artistic genius. You cast Andrew in that role, and he played along because he loved you so much.”

  Aunt Lydia lifted her trembling chin and held his fierce stare with her own.

  “My dear Lydia, don’t you see? He couldn’t bear to disappoint you. He couldn’t take another job when he thought doing so would break your heart. You’d placed him on a pedestal that left him little room to move. He didn’t want to fall from your grace. So he turned to the only thing he thought would allow him to make money and still play the part you desired. He became a forger.”

  Aunt Lydia leaned forward, burying her face in her hands. While no sound escaped her lips, her shoulders heaved.

  Feeling helpless, I lifted my hands and dropped them again as Hugh moved closer. He did not touch my aunt—he simply stood at her side and allowed her to cry.

  “I am sorry,” Kurt Kendrick said in a strained tone. “But it’s the truth. I never planned to tell you. I thought once Andrew died, his forgery activities would die with him. I even searched out and destroyed any paintings I suspected he’d created, based on things he’d mentioned to me. But one or two slipped through my net.”

  I stared up at the art dealer’s ruggedly handsome face. “You loved him too.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did.”

  I continued to stare at Kendrick, unsure how to read this declaration. But, as he’d said, it was ancient history. Unlike my aunt’s current pain.

  She lifted her head, heedless of the tears sliding down her cheeks. “So if it wasn’t you, who did lure him into the forgery scheme? I know he wouldn’t have come up with it on his own. He wasn’t duplicitous enough. And he didn’t have the right, or I should say wrong, connections to make it work.”

  Kendrick lifted his hands. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. I have my suspicions, but they are only that. Andrew would never tell me. I guess he feared I was too embedded in the art world to stay silent about something as significant as a forgery ring. But from time to time he let things slip. The way he talked, I assumed it was a well-organized operation.”

  “The money…” Aunt Lydia yanked the crumpled handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Not long before his accident, Andrew deposited a couple of large sums into our account. He told me he’d sold several of his paintings. I didn’t question it. We even celebrated with champagne.” She took the clean handkerchief that Hugh silently offered her and daintily blew her nose. “He must’ve thought it would be easy enough to deceive me, as I didn’t keep track of everything he was painting. Especially then, when he was working in the garage rather than the sun-room. He told me he had some larger pieces he could only paint out there.” She sniffed back another sob. “I guess I was thoroughly fooled, wasn’t I?”

  “He did it out of love,” I said.

  “Yes, but…” Aunt Lydia squared her shoulders before looking me in the eye. “Also out of fear. If Kurt is to be believed, Andrew apparently didn’t trust me to love him enough. He was afraid I’d leave him if I knew the truth.” She shoved the handkerchiefs in her pocket and tossed her head of white hair. “Which is a rather sobering thought, all in all. I believed we had a perfect rapport. That we had no secrets. Of course, I was very young, and I suppose far too idealistic. I was living in a dream world, it seems. But I did love him, truly and deeply. He was my whole world. I thought he knew that.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Hugh said. “But it can be difficult to keep one’s balance on a pedestal.”

  I thought Aunt Lydia might bristle at that remark, but she simply turned to Hugh and laid her fingers on his arm. “Yes, I suppose.”

  He covered her hand with his own. “And now that you know the truth, you can allow your husband to step down from that great height. He can live in your memory at your level—at your side. Isn’t that better, in the end?”

  “If only I had known sooner…” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry, Lydia,” Kurt Kendrick said. “Andrew swore me to secrecy.”

  “And your first loyalty was to him.” Aunt Lydia pulled away from Hugh to face Kendrick. “Which … I can forgive, Kurt. There are other things I still hold against you, but not that.”

  He gave her a nod. “It’s a start.”

  A clatter from the hall drew our gazes to the open doorway. Richard entered the room, but not alone.

  Held forcibly in check by Richard’s grip on one of his wiry, tattoo-sleeved arms was another man. A short, ginger-haired man with light brown eyes. Someone I’d seen only in photographs but recognized immediately.

  Reese LeBlanc.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aunt Lydia cast Kendrick a furious glare. “What’s this?”

  Reese squirmed in his tight grip, but Richard focused on Kurt Kendrick. “I found this guy hiding in one of the upstairs closets. Care to explain?”

  “A thief?” Hugh studied the tattooed man with narrowed eyes.

  Kendrick languidly brushed some imaginary speck from his sweater. “No, my guest.”

  Hugh’s eyebrows shot up to the fall of his dark hair. “Your guests like to skulk about your house and hide in closets?”

  I touched Hugh’s arm. “It’s Reese LeBlanc.”

  Hugh turned to me, his mouth dropping open. “The fugitive?” He thrust his hand into his jacket pocket.

  His phone. He’s going for his phone.

  Hoping to draw Kendrick’s eyes off of Hugh, I slid my arm through the crook of Aunt Lydia’s elbow and pulled her toward the center of the room. “So you’re harboring fugitives now, Mr. Kendrick?”

  He made a disparaging noise and crossed to stand behind an antique desk that sat in one corner of the room. “No, a man unfairly labeled and hounded by the authorities. If you will unhand him, Richard, I’ll be happy to explain.”

  “Not sure I should do that,” Richard said. “He is a wanted man, whether you believe in his guilt or not.”

  When Reese’s eyes locked with Kendrick’s icy gaze, I thought I glimpsed a flicker of something pass between them. Some type of signal.

  Kendrick casually opened one of the desk drawers.

  “I’m innocent,” Reese declared. “If you’ll just give me time to explain…”

  “I’m not sure I can allow you that courtesy.” Hugh held up his cell phone. “You’re a wanted fugitive, Mr. LeBlanc, and as someone working with the sheriff’s department, I feel compelled to report your presence here.”

  “Please don’t.” Kendrick’s tone made Hugh lower the hand holding his phone.

  “Let him go, Richard,” I said, when I spied the object Kendrick had pulled from the drawer.

&n
bsp; Aunt Lydia slipped free of my grip and gasped as Kendrick leveled a black revolver at Richard and Reese.

  “I will ask one more time—please release my guest.”

  Richard immediately dropped his hold on the artist and stepped back. “Surely you don’t intend to use that,” he said, flexing his fingers.

  “I don’t want to,” Kendrick said, “but I will if necessary. Oh, maybe not to kill. But I doubt a shattered kneecap would benefit your dance career. Now—sit.” He waved the gun toward one of the leather sofas and Richard sat down, his eyes fixed on the weapon. “Amy and Dr. Chen, please toss your phones onto the floor and take a seat on either side of him. Lydia, do the same but take the chair next to the fireplace.”

  Aunt Lydia walked over to the wingback chair, her white head held high.

  “Richard, please toss your phone on the floor too,” Kendrick continued. He waited until Aunt Lydia sat down before he motioned to Reese LeBlanc. “Join me. We need to clear up some obvious confusion.”

  “I doubt you can hold us hostage forever,” I said, settling beside Richard, who immediately put his arm around my shoulders. “There’s only two of you and three of us. Well, four, counting my aunt.”

  Kendrick made a tutting noise. “But I think three of you can probably be discounted. Richard might be up to a fight, but two women and a smallish older man?”

  “For your information, I have acquitted myself quite well in a few dangerous situations.” Hugh glared at the two men behind the desk.

  “Perhaps, but I still have a gun.” As he brandished it, the revolver’s sleek black surface glinted in the light from the Tiffany lamp behind him. After glancing at the cell phones piled on the patterned rug, he casually placed the gun on the desk. “Now, are you willing to listen to reason? Yes, Reese is hiding out, but it’s not because he murdered his wife.”

  “I was nowhere near the studio that day, And I can prove it,” Reese LeBlanc said, as he rounded the desk to stand beside Kendrick.

  I studied the artist’s thin face, noting the lines wrinkling his brow and bracketing his mouth. “So you say. I know your daughter thought you were on a business trip, but you could’ve lied to her easily enough, especially if you planned to murder Rachel for the insurance money…”

  Reese raised his clenched hands to his waist, as if he would have liked to throw a punch at me. “Kill my wife for money? What do you think I am?”

  “I can’t say I know. Obviously your hands aren’t entirely clean, whatever you say.” Aunt Lydia’s tone dripped with disdain. “Personally, I suspect that you and Kurt are both involved in some illegal art deals, and that’s why you ran here to hide out after the murder.”

  Reese shook his head. “No, that’s not it at all. I didn’t kill Rachel, and Kurt isn’t mixed up in this. Not in the way you think.”

  “But he’s certainly been willing to help you out.” Richard tightened his grip on my shoulder. “So how does that figure in?”

  Reese pressed his palms against the surface of the desk and lowered his head. “I came to him because he already knew the trouble I was in. He’d approached me with … an offer of assistance a few months ago. I refused his help then, but he told me he’d keep the offer open and that I should come to him if things ever got really bad.” Reese grimaced. “Sadly, they did.”

  “Because you’ve been painting forgeries?” Hugh asked.

  “Yes,” Reese muttered.

  “You were in financial trouble before that, weren’t you?” I asked.

  Reese lifted his head and shot me a surprised glance. “Yes, but…”

  “I found out about the lien on your property.”

  “Always the little researcher, aren’t you, Amy?” Kendrick’s sardonic grin vanished as quickly as it appeared. “But yes, poor Reese got himself into some hot water. He has a bit of an issue with gambling, you see.”

  “Horses?” Richard asked. It wasn’t a bad guess. A large racetrack just over the river in West Virginia drew many people from our area.

  “No, other sports.”

  “So, illegal gambling,” Aunt Lydia said. “Football pools and such?”

  “Something like that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what it was. And I stopped the betting about two years ago.” Reese lifted his chin defiantly. “Cold turkey, if you must know.”

  “But you’d already lost a good deal of money, I expect,” Hugh said thoughtfully. “So you decided to turn to forgery to make some quick cash.”

  “Yes.” Reese’s expression soured. “I couldn’t make that kind of money off my own paintings. Not nearly.”

  “But your wife is a very successful artist,” I said, then pressed my fingers to my lips as Reese’s face crumpled like paper.

  “I didn’t want to involve Rachel.” He buried his face in his hands. “Rachel…”

  If it was an act, it was a good performance. But I wasn’t entirely convinced. Reese LeBlanc appeared to have a rather histrionic personality. It was possible that he could fake emotional outbursts as well as he could paintings.

  Kendrick laid a hand on one of Reese’s shaking shoulders. “Yes, poor Rachel got caught in the middle. She wasn’t involved, of course. But apparently she discovered one of the fake paintings when Reese foolishly forgot to stash it properly after working on it.”

  “She threw me out on the spot.” Reese’s voice was thick with tears. “The forgery thing appalled her. So it wasn’t a business trip,” he added, looking at me. “We just told Lila that so she wouldn’t worry.”

  “And you eventually came here.” Aunt Lydia folded her hands in her lap and gazed speculatively at Kendrick. “But why take him in if you weren’t involved, Kurt?”

  “Because I knew who was involved.” Kendrick glanced at Reese, who nodded. “Not a bunch of lightweights. It’s a very well-established and ruthless criminal operation.”

  “The Quinns?” I asked, earning a smile from Kendrick and a surprised look from Hugh.

  “I expect so,” Hugh said. “If my information is accurate.”

  Kendrick tipped his head to the side and examined the art expert. “You’re tracking them?”

  “I’ve been following their operations for some time. As have many others. But no one can seem to get the drop on them.”

  “No, they are very clever.” Kendrick tapped his chin with one finger. “They use go-betweens to contact artists they think may be interested in their scheme. People you’d never expect.”

  “Like you?” Aunt Lydia asked.

  “No. Anyway, I believe I would not fit that role, since I’m on the radar of several investigators.” Kendrick’s gaze slid from my aunt to Hugh. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Chen?”

  “It is,” he replied.

  I shot him a sharp glance. “You’ve been looking into Mr. Kendrick’s business affairs?”

  Hugh shrugged. “I have, along with others. But I haven’t found any irregularities. None I can prove, that is.”

  Kendrick flashed a wolfish grin. “I trust you’ll keep looking. But that isn’t relevant to the current situation.”

  “One thing that is relevant, at least to me,” my aunt said, raising her voice as well as her chin, “is the identity of this go-between. I assume they’re the liaison between you and the actual criminal organization, Mr. LeBlanc?”

  Reese shuffled his feet. “Yes. They sought me out, you know. I didn’t go looking for them.”

  Aunt Lydia examined Reese intently. “So this contact—they just walked into your studio one day and asked you if you’d like to forge paintings?”

  “No, it was more subtle than that. The person got to know me first. It really seemed like they were interested in my work, and art in general, but who knows? That was probably knowledge that was fed to them, because they were also aware that I needed money. I guess the Quinns had collected that information on me…”

  “As they do on many artists, especially those with great technical skill who are not quite famous,” Kendrick said. “Or so I’ve heard.”
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  “I suppose. Anyway, they must have sent my contact in to befriend me before we ever got to the subject of forgery. I trusted them by that point. I guess that was the plan.” Reese wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I was taken in, for sure. Used, then thrown to the wolves when I had to go on the run.”

  “But even so, it seems you won’t disclose the name of this contact?” Hugh asked. “You’ll have to eventually, you know.”

  “Yes, but not to you. It’s one of my few bargaining chips, you see.” Reese glanced at Kendrick. “I’ll tell the feds, but only after I get my deal.”

  I leaned closer to Richard, but kept my gaze focused on the art dealer. “So you aren’t tied in with the Quinn organization?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m sure you’ll dig into that later, Amy, but for now let’s move on.” Kendrick surveyed us, his blue eyes very bright. “The thing is, the Quinns are quite likely to murder people for any number of reasons. One of which is uncovering their operation.”

  “Which Rachel was about to do,” I said, as the pieces clicked together in my mind. Perhaps Reese was telling the truth and he’d had no involvement in the murder of his wife. Maybe this Quinn organization had sent a hit man to kill Rachel without his knowledge.

  I stared at the artist, unsuccessfully attempting to read guilt or innocence in his face. Or perhaps his criminal bosses had ordered Reese to murder his wife and he had complied. He could be a killer, despite his protestations. I knew from personal experience that not all murderers looked or acted the part.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Kendrick said. “Not that she knew who was behind the ring, but simply exposing her husband as a forger could have eventually led back to the Quinns. Especially with people like our good Dr. Chen on their trail.”

  “I didn’t kill her, but it was still partially my fault,” Reese said, rubbing one fist over his right eye. “I wanted to keep her and Lila out of it and make sure they were safe, and all I did was … get Rachel killed.”

  Richard leapt to his feet. “Wait, you’re saying this Quinn group had Rachel LeBlanc murdered? Then why haven’t you told the authorities that?”