Bad Reputation, A

by Jane Tesh

  “Why would she think he owed her?”

  He turned to check where Bea was. She and the other Art Guild members were deep in conversation with Jerry. He lowered his voice. “She seemed to think Clarke was my father, but he wasn’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “My real father had all the tests that proved he was my dad, but for some reason, after the divorce, Mom got this notion that he wasn’t. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  Apparently, it hadn’t mattered to Wendall what Bea thought, but Bea could still believe she deserved something from his estate, however misguided this was.

  “Learn anything?” Jerry asked as we got into our car.

  “Bea thinks Wendall was Ferris’ father. She divorced her husband, Ferris’ real father, when the money ran out, so I’m guessing she wanted in on Wendall’s fortune.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Possibly. And it looks like business as usual between Larissa and Pamela.”

  “Flora didn’t have a sister. I hope you noticed that.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So she could be running the long con. Do we have time to scope out her house before she gets back?”

  Flora was still talking with Wendall’s cousins. “Looks like she’ll be busy for a little while. Let’s go.”

  ***

  The deck’s sliding glass doors proved no problem for Jerry’s special keys, and no alarms sounded as we stepped into the Clarke’s rented house in River Ridge.

  Jerry closed the doors behind us. “What are we looking for?”

  “First, I want to see if there’s a button missing off Flora’s pink suit.”

  We found the master bedroom. Flora had packed a lot of her clothes in suitcases, but her pink suit was still hanging in the closet. No buttons were missing.

  “Check Wendall’s,” I said.

  Wendall’s suits had all their buttons, and none were gold. While Jerry looked through the rest of the closet, I went into the study and looked on the desk. A stack of bills had been pushed aside to make room for a cardboard box filled with a few books, a paperweight, a stapler, and other office supplies. The bills were for clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Flora was an expensive little gal. I wondered if she would benefit from Wendall’s will, if he had one.

  I continued to look through the box, thinking I wasn’t going to find anything useful when down at the very bottom was a cell phone. Was it possible this was Wendall’s? I turned it on. The phone still had a little battery power left, enough for me to check through the received calls. Most were from Flora, but there was one from Pamela made on Wednesday around seven-thirty p.m.

  Jerry came in from the bedroom. “Find anything?”

  “I think so. Judging from all the calls from Flora, I think this is Wendall’s cell phone. He got a call from Pamela about half an hour before we got to the gallery.” I turned off the phone and put it back in the box. “I need to know what that was all about.”

  “The only thing I found was more clothes in suitcases. Most everything in the house has been packed up. She’s ready to move on.”

  “I’m wondering why Wendall didn’t have his phone with him Wednesday night,” I said. “I know the police would’ve asked Flora about it.”

  “Maybe they did. Maybe she lied and said she didn’t know where it was.”

  “But why pack it in a box if it holds a clue to who killed her husband?”

  “You’ll have to ask her.”

  “I want to talk to Pamela, too. She hasn’t said anything about Wendall calling her that night.”

  We left everything as we’d found it. Jerry locked the sliding door behind us. “I’m all warmed up now. Why don’t we have a look in Bea’s house?”

  “She might be home.”

  “We can drive by and see if her car’s there.”

  “That could be tricky. Her house is down in a wooded area.”

  “Even better. But we need to change clothes.”

  “I don’t think I have any camouflage wear.”

  “Jeans and sneakers will do.”

  ***

  I wasn’t exactly sure what Jerry was up to, but we went home and changed clothes. On the way to Bea’s, he asked about the house.

  “It’s a chalet style, right?”

  “If Switzerland were bankrupt. It’s small and very shabby.”

  “A shabby chalet.”

  “Yes.”

  “With a balcony.”

  “A little one.”

  “Let me know when we’re a couple of blocks from her house.”

  I did, and he had me stop the car at the convenience store on the corner. “We’ll walk the rest of the way, and if anyone asks, we’re out for a stroll in the pleasant October weather.”

  It was a pleasant stroll down to Bea’s driveway. The gray VW wasn’t there.

  Jerry looked around. “Okay, we’ll wander through the woods and approach the house from the back. She doesn’t have a dog, does she? Bea strikes me as a bulldog kinda gal.”

  “I think it would’ve attacked me if she did.”

  The house was quiet and dark. Jerry eyed the balcony, and then, using a trashcan, climbed up. I waited below, expecting at any minute to hear the chugging sounds of the VW. Bea could come home at any time. How would we explain? Oh, we were in the neighborhood and thought we’d break into your house. It’s a little hobby of ours. We’ve already broken into Wendall’s. Or maybe she and Ferris had gotten home from the funeral, and he had the VW, and Bea was inside taking a nap. Or she knew we were here and was crouched behind a door with a brick. I was almost ready to call up to Jerry and tell him to forget it when he said, “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “You can’t get in?” Maybe that was best. My imagination had us in jail for life.

  “No, I can get in. I mean, you’re not going to believe what’s up here.”

  Now I had to see. He leaned over the balcony railing and helped me up. He had removed the screen and unlatched the small window. He stood back so I could look inside. The sight was so unexpected it took me a moment to process what I was seeing. Even though the upstairs room was dark, piles of multi-colored jewels glowed like phosphorus in a cave.

  “Wow.”

  Jerry bent over and stepped inside. I forgot all my apprehensions and followed, entranced. We stood surrounded by a wealth of bracelets, necklaces, and rings, heaps of beads separated by color and size in bowls and dishes, more of the silver spacers, larger glass pieces shaped like leaves and fish and stars, and finished projects arrayed on black velvet. I’d had friends into jewelry making, and I recognized the trays for organizing beads, the coils of wire, and the little scissors and pliers. Propped in a fancy silver holder was a stack of business cards with “Bea’s Baubles and Beads” written in glittery silver letters.

  “Jerry, Bea makes these.”

  “They’re fantastic. Hey, what about this necklace. Look familiar?”

  The necklace was a collection of jagged yellow and gold glass crystals, a companion piece to the little leaf bracelet Bea had snatched from Flora.

  “Maybe Flora bought the bracelet somewhere, and Bea couldn’t stand to see one of her creations on Wendall’s newest conquest.”

  Next to that necklace was another of chunky pastel beads in frosted glass. Jerry pointed out a red and black pendant slashed with silver and a spiky green and coral bracelet fit for a mermaid queen.

  “These are works of art,” I said. “I can’t imagine why she keeps this a secret.”

  “Maybe she really is a jewel thief.”

  “No, as gorgeous as all this is, it’s costume jewelry. There may be some sterling silver and some gold, but the beads are glass. Still, she could ask some high prices.” I looked around at the little room filled with a Fourth of July holiday’s worth of sparkle. There was anot
her stack of business cards on Bea’s desk from various jewelry stores and dealers. “Jerry, here’s a card from the TSN, the Television Shopping Network. That’s the network that bought Wendall’s perfume bottle design.”

  “Bea’s stuff would look great on TV.”

  “Here’s another TSN card. There are six of them.” Bea had scribbled dates on the backs of the cards. “My guess is she wrote down each time she contacted them.”

  “No luck, maybe?”

  “I don’t watch the shopping networks, so I don’t know, but I would imagine if her jewelry was on TV, the world would hear about it.” I didn’t want to push our own luck and stay any longer. “We’d better go.”

  We climbed back out onto the balcony. Jerry closed the window and replaced the screen. We’d both gotten down when we heard a car.

  Jerry grabbed my hand. “This is why we came through the woods.” We quickly hurried into the safety of the trees. We watched as the VW ambled down the driveway and parked. Bea got out, carrying a plastic bag.

  “More loot,” Jerry said.

  Ferris drove the VW back out the drive. Bea went into her house, and after a while, a light came on downstairs. We waited a few more minutes then circled around to the main road and walked to the convenience store.

  “It’s official,” I said. “I have now gone into mystery overload.”

  ***

  We’d managed to grab a quick snack on the way to Parkland, but that had been hours ago, and my stomach was growling. Growling, but not upset.

  We decided to eat in the living room. There was one serving of casserole left over, which Jerry heated for me. He preferred a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chips. I sat down on the living room sofa, kicked off my shoes, and tucked my feet underneath me. Jerry put his feet up on the coffee table. Blue Moon Garden gleamed from its place of honor over the fireplace, its tones of blue and white complementing our walls and furniture.

  I pointed my fork at the painting. “My artwork is out for everyone to see. Why would Bea choose to hide her wonderful creations? She enjoys lording over the other women in the Guild. You’d think she would love to flaunt her jewelry.”

  “Maybe she’s saving up for a big reveal.”

  “Or maybe she’s planning some big con. What do you think?”

  “I think I will never figure out why women do anything.”

  As I munched on the casserole, I thought of something else that puzzled me. “If Honor hadn’t known Flora was a con artist, I certainly never would’ve guessed, but wouldn’t you say that was genuine grief we saw at the funeral today?”

  “Sure looked like it. You want something to drink?”

  “Oh, I forgot my tea. It’s on the table.”

  Jerry returned with my tea and a bottle of cola for himself. “What’s Pamela’s part in all this?”

  “Sasha Gregory said Sasha left the gallery at four o’clock. Larissa went back around four-thirty, found the door unlocked, went in, decided to smash Bea’s pictures, and then apparently went home. Wendall called her around eight, but according to his phone, he got a call from Pamela at seven-thirty.”

  “So maybe whatever Pamela told Wendall made him call Larissa.”

  “Then Larissa hurries over to the gallery and finds Wendall dead around eight-thirty.”

  Jerry dug in the bag of chips for a handful. “That’s her story. She could’ve bonked him on the head first.”

  “Wouldn’t we have heard that? That’s the same time we were there with Nell. We would’ve heard some sounds of a struggle, voices, something.”

  We pondered the mystery for a while. “I wonder what kind of car Pamela drives? The owner of the gift shop saw the dark blue Honda at six o’clock. Larissa said she parked out front, and her car is beige. Wendall drives a black sports car. Bea has that old VW. Someone else must have been in the gallery.”

  “Or maybe someone just randomly parked there. Ask Nell.”

  “I’ll go over to her house and see for myself.”

  “Do you need backup? I can skip rehearsal.”

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Speaking of fine, how do you feel?”

  “Great. One hundred percent.” One hundred percent confused, I wanted to add. I set my empty dish on the coffee table. “We discovered Bea’s secret, but I’m not sure what I can do with the information. People keep a lot of things private. Those things don’t necessarily make them murderers.”

  “They may lead to something else.”

  “And how in the world do you stay so calm? I didn’t mind looking around in Wendall’s house, but I did a little hyperventilating at Bea’s.”

  “That’s because you are an honest person, Mac. You have what I believe are known as ethics.”

  “You have ethics, too.”

  “I do now.” He set his sandwich down. “When I ran cons, I never used my name, so I was playing a character. It was easy to get away with things when you were someone else.”

  “But you weren’t playing a character when you broke into Bea’s. You were Jerry Fairweather on her balcony.”

  “Ah, yes, but I had a story ready. Always have some reasonable explanation for why you are doing whatever you’re doing.”

  “Checking for termites?”

  “That’s good. That might work. I was going to say that our cat had run away, and I thought I saw it on her balcony.”

  “She wouldn’t have believed that.”

  “But she couldn’t prove it wasn’t true. Have a story ready. Like the Boy Scouts. Be prepared.”

  “You are the least likely Boy Scout I’ve ever known.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got five Breaking and Entering badges.” He gathered the empty dishes. “Want anything else?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “We’re all out of snacks, so I thought I’d make a cake.”

  “Chocolate, please.”

  He leaned over to give me a kiss. “I’ve also got two Dessert badges.”

  I sat for a while, gazing at Blue Moon Garden and thinking about the beautiful one-of-a-kind jewelry I’d seen at Bea’s. Was there some connection between those creations and Wendall’s murder? Or maybe Bea didn’t feel her work was ready. Oddly enough, I could sympathize. For a long time, I didn’t want anyone to see my paintings. I knew something about rejection, and if Bea had been constantly turned down by the TSN, she might have decided not to show her jewelry to anyone.

  Not long after Jerry’s cake was done, someone gave him a ride to the theater, and I started my search for Flora’s other ex-husbands. My computer search program found long lists of Thomas Rileys and Ryan Hendersons. It was going to take a while to sort through all of them. There were only sixteen Phillipe DuCoeurs in the states, so I started with them. Eliminating the very young, I wound up with ten. Luckily, most of them were home when I called. The fifth Phillipe was the one I wanted. Speaking with only a trace of accent, he informed me that yes, he had been married to a beautiful young blond woman named Lizzie Fountaine. She had been too expensive for him to keep, however, and he divorced her after a year. I had an idea that would be Thomas’ and Ryan’s story, too.

  After a while, my eyes began to cross. I needed to get up and move around. I needed to go to Pamela’s house. Besides wanting to see what kind of car she owned, I was curious about her relationship with Big Mike. Was the story of the pink sapphire ring another of Honor’s scams, or was it possible Pamela had ties to the underworld—connections that may have led to Wendall’s murder?

  Chapter Fifteen

  The car parked at Pamela’s was a white Camry. Parked next to it was a car I was surprised to see: Larissa’s beige Accord. As I walked up the porch steps, I could hear their voices raised in argument.

  Pamela sounded as angry as I’d ever heard her. “You can’t possibly think you are entitled to any of that. You hadn’
t seen Wendall in years! You objected to everything he wanted to do. There is no way you’re going to be involved in the gallery.”

  Larissa’s voice was even more harsh than usual. “Don’t be stupid. Flora will get everything. She’s the sole beneficiary of Wendall’s will.”

  “I don’t care about Flora. I only care about the gallery.”

  “Aren’t you listening to me? The gallery isn’t yours! It belonged to Wendall, and now it belongs to Flora. She can turn the building into a skating rink if she wants to.”

  “Why are you here, Larissa? What do you want?”

  “I want to know what happened to Wendall.”

  “You know very well what happened. You were angry with him and you killed him.”

  I thought the next sound I would hear would be choking noises as Larissa attacked Pamela, but she became unexpectedly calm. “I didn’t kill him. Maybe you were so angry because he hired that Gregory woman that you killed him.”

  “Wendall was killed with a piece of wood Bea used for a picture frame. I saw you break up Bea’s pictures.”

  Now Larissa’s voice was scornful. “No, you didn’t. How could you have seen me?”

  “That mirror in the office. It’s a two-way mirror.”

  There was a long pause. I imagined Larissa staring at Pamela in surprise. “And just what were you doing there?”

  “I came back to the gallery to talk to Wendall. I thought he might be in the office. I heard you come in, and then I saw you attack Bea’s pictures. You were so angry I thought you might attack me, too, so I stayed in the office until you left.”

  Larissa’s voice got very intense. “You listen to me, you little sneak. Yes, I broke up Bea’s pictures, not that anyone could tell the difference, but I did not kill Wendall.”

  “Then why were you seen running away from his dead body?”

  “I knew people like you would jump to conclusions, that’s why. Maybe you stayed hiding in the office, waiting for him so you could kill him.”

  Pamela snapped. “Get out of my house! Get out!”

  I quickly stepped off the porch and got into my car before Pamela flung the front door open, and Larissa came out. Pamela was so furious, she didn’t notice me or my car. She slammed the door shut. I got out of my car as Larissa walked up to hers.