Paint the Town Dead

by Nancy Haddock

“It’s not the number of seats, Nixy, darling, it’s the arrangement. I’ll be painting a large wooden tray as the main part of my program. The table needs to be in the center, and the chairs in a semicircle around it with plenty of space for people to stand around me so they can better see what I’m doing.”

  I went to work rearranging the furniture, and a few early bird attendees helped. By the time we’d reorganized, Melissa had set up an easel and a 16 x 20 inch canvas board showing some of the basic brush strokes she’d be using. She launched into her presentation right on the hour.

  “Decorative folk art painting is as old as man and paint, and as versatile,” she began. “Classic patterns include Pennsylvania Dutch symbols, florals, animals, and nursery figures. Modern patterns can be accented with scraps of metal or wood if you like mixed-media effect. I believe that whimsy plays a large part in folk art painting, but folk painting is also as fresh as the artist is inventive.”

  She pointed at the canvas board. “These are some of the simple brush strokes I’ll be using today. If you know anything about Penn Dutch symbols, you’ll probably be able to spot the ones used in those patterns.”

  Melissa continued her lesson on types of brushes, stroke work, varying strokes to get different looks. Three fourths of the audience nodded their heads as she threw out terms like the comma, crescent, and dots, then touched on brush loading techniques. The remaining fourth looked overwhelmed, but still interested. If I hadn’t studied art, Melissa’s rapid fire primer in painting techniques would’ve had me completely befuddled. It was a win that no one’s eyes had glazed over into a blank stare. With luck even the overwhelmed attendees would enroll in the course Melissa would teach for us next week.

  “All right, time for the fun.” Melissa rubbed her hands together, then picked up a large wooden tray. “In the interest of time, I’ve applied a white base coat, although you could certainly use another base color if you like. I’m going to decorate this with a stylized lily in honor of Lilyvale! Now since I need to lay the tray flat to paint it, y’all come stand around the table so you can see what I’m doing.”

  Melissa kept up a lively narration, talking her group through her own painting process, and managing to make eye contact with those gathered around her as she wielded her brushes. She fielded questions as she worked, and gave next week’s painting class a plug.

  During a short show and tell on mixing paints, one of the open bottles of acrylic fell and splashed on the floor. The audience members jumped back and avoided being paint splatted, but the spill of red on our wood floor made me picture Kim as I’d last seen her. Forever still and lying in a pool of blood. For a moment I couldn’t move except to convulsively swallow. Then Eleanor shoved a wad of paper towels in my hands. I shuddered, and pulled myself together to clean the mess.

  * * *

  Melissa left in a flurry of hugs with the promise to bring the newly painted tray back to the emporium as soon as the paint had dried thoroughly and was sealed. This was one of the prizes we’d be drawing for at the end of the week, along with the other crafts our demonstrators had completed.

  Now beyond impatient to tell me what they’d learned during lunch at the café, Maise and Aster, Eleanor, and Sherry dragged me into Fred’s workroom. They didn’t let Dab escape either, insisting that Jasmine could handle customers for a while without any of us.

  I went along because Eric had texted to meet up at three forty-five. That gave me plenty of time with the Six. However, I kept mum about what I’d learned from Judy this morning, and about my appointment with her and Eric. My hunch about the blonde’s identity might be a bust, and besides, there was no point in me stealing their gossip thunder.

  Fred stood at one workbench dismantling a blender and carefully arranging each part on white butcher paper. The rest of us gathered around an adjoining table.

  “Do you want to join us for the conference?” Maise asked him.

  He waved a screwdriver at us. “I can hear just fine from here while I’m workin’.”

  “All right, then,” Aster said. “Now first, Doralee told us about the opal and what it’s worth.”

  I felt my eyes bug. “She did?”

  “We didn’t ask about private financial business, of course,” Sherry insisted with a tug on her apron.

  “Of course not,” I said. “That’s the code of the South.”

  “We were quite shocked she shared so many details with us,” Eleanor put in.

  “But here’s the kicker,” Maise said. “We found out that Ernie could’ve bought Doralee’s opal several times over, and that sucker is expensive.”

  “Wait. Doralee told me that most of Ernie’s family money was gone when she was with him.”

  “I think it was,” Sherry confirmed, “although he—or they—were far from destitute during the marriage. Anyway, she said you got her to thinking about why Kim would be with Ernie.”

  “Because she’d already married two very wealthy men,” Maise interjected, “and why break the pattern?”

  “So Zach did some nosing around about Ernie’s finances, thinking that he might have motive to kill Kim if he was in her will,” Aster said. “I don’t know who his connections are, but Zach called Doralee while we were eating and told her Ernie scored big in the stock market shortly after he and Doralee divorced.”

  “As in the high six figures big,” Eleanor added.

  I whistled. Guess that’s what Georgine had meant about Ernie being quite comfortable. Maybe Doralee should’ve sold him that stone on Sunday. Or did she get money when she and Ernie split?

  “Did Doralee get a divorce settlement of any kind?” I asked. “I’m wondering how contentious the breakup might have been.”

  “We only skirted that subject,” Sherry said, “but Doralee said she left the marriage pretty much with what she brought to it. She had her own money from sound investments over the years. She had her personal property—her computer and other electronics, plus her books, knickknacks, clothes, and jewelry pieces like the opal.”

  “She also,” Aster said, “had her own set of gourd tools, and some gourd art designs she’d created. They didn’t have a pre-nup, so Doralee could have asked for a settlement, but she chose not to take one.”

  “Wow, she really was forthcoming about her finances.”

  “Only because she knows we’re investigating on her behalf.”

  I wanted to remind them we were only gathering information, but who was I kidding? In as much as we had the resources, we were investigating. I might be a take-charge sort of person, but I generally did not confront and fire questions at murder suspects like I had lately with Doralee and Ernie, and even Georgine.

  “Listen up, though,” Maise said, pulling me back to the conversation. “The bigger news is that Kim’s brother Caleb is supposedly coming to town tomorrow. He called Lorna about staying at the inn.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Poor Lorna. I do believe she’s about to have a meltdown over having a murder at the inn.”

  “She has to be worried it will be bad for business,” I said. I wasn’t best buddies with Lorna Tyler, and I didn’t much like her husband, Clark, but I should stop by for a neighborly visit.

  “The point,” Maise said, “is the brother is Kim’s only relative so he probably inherits his sister’s estate. Remember, the money Kim inherited from her first husband was a considerable amount. What if the brother killed her?”

  Dab straightened, rubbed his chin. We all turned toward him, waiting. Dab wasn’t a particularly taciturn kind of man, but when he spoke, we paid attention. “It seems to me that we don’t know enough about who gains from Kim’s death.”

  “Dab’s right,” Fred called from his workbench. “We’re long on rumors and supp’sition, but short on facts.”

  “You’re both correct, of course,” Sherry said, fussing with her bangs. “We’re getting carried away with gos
sip.”

  I checked the time on the shop clock and realized I needed to be at Great Buns in just a few minutes.

  “Can y’all watch the emporium without me for a bit?”

  Fred humphed. “Jasmine’s running the place right now. You going snoopin’?”

  “I need to run down to the bakery.”

  “Why?” Maise challenged, narrow eyed. “We have plenty of cookies left.”

  She might like Grant Armistead, but she wouldn’t serve the bakery’s cookies if they were the last ones in town. She’s just a bit jealous that way.

  “It’s not about food, Maise. It’s about Kim.”

  “Judy knows something about the murder?” Aster asked incredulously. “She didn’t breathe a word to us when we canvassed the square asking questions yesterday.”

  “If you’ll recall, Aster,” Maise said, “we talked to Grant, not Judy. She was out running errands.”

  “Oh, you’re right.” Aster gave me the eye. “Well then, get cracking, Nixy.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Eleanor, did you send any of those photos from Friday’s gourd demo to my e-mail?”

  “The ones from the presentation Doralee and Sherry did? No, I didn’t see the need.”

  “Are they still on the camera?”

  “I do believe they are. I recall downloading them to the laptop at home, but not deleting them.”

  “Fantastic. I need to take the camera with me.”

  * * *

  “I’m positive that’s the same blonde,” Judy said, head bobbing in a decisive nod. The bakery was empty at the moment, and bless her heart, she was having a blast answering questions. She’d be part of the Silver Six’s posse before long.

  Eric looked from the camera’s digital display to Judy. “Her sunglasses cover half of her face. How can you be sure?”

  “The helmet-head hairstyle, and the way she holds her mouth. Like she’s bracing herself to smell something awful at any moment. And, look,” she added, finger swiping at the screen. “Her nose is in the air in that picture. I remember that haughty tilt of her head.”

  “All right,” he said slowly. “So the woman in the emporium Friday afternoon is the same one you overheard threatening Ms. Thomason on Saturday morning. And a ring was mentioned. You’re certain of that.”

  “I’ll swear to it if you want. Have I identified a suspect?”

  “‘Suspect’ might be too a strong word,” he hedged.

  “But this is a photo of Kim’s sister-in-law, isn’t it?” I said, turning the camera in my hands to swipe between the two good photos of the blonde and her companion.

  “Margot Thomason Vail, yes. D.B. Thomason’s only sibling.”

  “So you followed up on my tip about her?”

  He dragged his hand over the back of his neck. “Not exactly. I’ll say this much because I don’t want either of you confronting her. But if this gets on the grapevine, I’ll ticket your cars for unlawful parking for a week. Deal?”

  Judy mimed locking her lips. I crossed my heart.

  “I ran a check on Ms. Vail after she called the station this morning to demand that I release Ms. Thomason’s effects to her.”

  Wide-eyed Judy whistled. “Wow, that woman has brass. Bet you told her to take a hike.”

  “More or less,” my darling detective confirmed. “I need to know who rightfully owns what. I called Ms. Vail’s attorney, who also drew up the Thomason family trust. He wrote Ms. Kim Thomason’s will, too.”

  “I don’t suppose you know all the terms yet,” I said, “but at least you have proof that Margot was in town on Friday and Saturday. Before Kim was killed. She had motive for sure.”

  “What about the guy who’s with this Margot woman?” Judy asked as she reached across me to point at the camera screen.

  “That’s Dennis Michael Thomason, D.B.’s son.”

  “Is he a suspect, too?”

  “We’re looking at everyone who might be connected, so don’t confront him, got it?”

  We solemnly nodded.

  “I need to get back to the station, but thanks for your help.” He met my gaze. “Nixy, walk with me?”

  I told my friend I’d catch her later and followed him into the gentle afternoon heat. As we strolled toward the courthouse, I aimed for patience. I failed.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I need to talk with Clark and Lorna about releasing the guest room.”

  I stumbled on a curb, and must’ve looked pained because Eric asked, “What’s wrong?”

  I decided to be candid. “Every now and then I picture Kim’s body. Do you get used to that?”

  “No.”

  I met the understanding in his gaze, nodded, and took a deep breath. “How did you locate Margot? Aster and Eleanor struck out on their Internet search.”

  “Besides having better resources,” he said with a grin, “I had her married name. She’s only listed on Google once under her maiden name, and that’s an ancient listing.”

  “That’s it? You don’t know people who know people?”

  “You watch too much TV, but yeah, I talked to a guy in Shreveport who knows the casino scene in general and the Thomason’s in particular.”

  “So what’s Margot’s story?”

  “She’s a widow, is big on family pride if not family feeling. She won an award for heading up about ten different committees in the last few years. She made a point of telling me she should be addressed as ‘Missus Vail,’ not Ms.”

  “She likes to be in control. Do you think she could be the killer?”

  “Knowing that she was in town near the time of the murder is suspicious. My source indicated she’s ruthless about getting what she wants, and she hated Ms. Thomason. Considered her a gold digger.”

  “But Kim was married to D.B. for nearly ten years.”

  “And there wasn’t a hint of foul play in his death, but Mrs. Vail can hold a grudge. She was furious with her brother for the way he treated his son, her nephew. Dennis Thomason had a playboy reputation and Daddy disapproved,” Eric elaborated. “The two had been estranged for years when D.B. died. I don’t know yet if or how the split affected the son’s inheritance, but Dennis is recently engaged.”

  “And he wants to live in the family manse again.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Eleanor found a Facebook post. It’s astounding what people will put out there on social media.”

  “But sometimes it works in our favor.”

  I inclined my head and we walked in silence for a moment.

  “Are you certain Margot called you from Shreveport?”

  “Now that I know she and Dennis were here last week, no. I suspect they’ve been in the neighborhood all along.”

  “Well then, that makes me less suspicious of Ernie. That and his alibi.”

  Eric gave me a questioning look. “Ernie doesn’t have an alibi.”

  “He has a partial one. I saw him leave the party with Kim a bit after three, but he was back at the farmhouse about three thirty. He was talking with Doralee, and he wore the same clothes he had on earlier. Not a red speck or stain on them. Besides, I find it hard to believe he’d kill his fiancée and then calmly return to the party.”

  “Murderers aren’t predictable, Nixy.”

  “Yes, but if he’d killed Kim, wouldn’t he have made the effort to establish a real alibi? Like watching a baseball game at the Dairy Queen? Hanging out in the ER. Running naked through the laundromat.”

  He flashed me a full-on grin. “Naked, huh? Yeah, I think we’d have found witnesses to that.”

  “A witness who’d need therapy the rest of his or her life.”

  Eric chuckled. “Tell me, did Ernie ask you to convince me of his innocence?”

  “More like put in a good word. His sister did the same. She says C
aleb is lying about Ernie and Kim fighting all the time.”

  “Mr. Collier mentioned a few recent conflicts, and that’s all I’m saying.”

  “How can you share some details with me, but not others?”

  He stopped and turned to me. “I trust you to come to me if information happens your way. I also trust you to keep certain things I tell you to yourself, but there are aspects of the case I won’t divulge. I’m also sharing so you won’t run around confronting potential killers.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed. You’ve been warned.”

  “Gotcha, but about those recent conflicts between Kim and Ernie? I’ll bet those were all about the opal.” We dodged parked cars and continued to the café. “I do have to wonder where Margot Vail and her nephew have been staying.”

  “Not at the Pines Motor Court. Doralee and Zach are the only guests.”

  I nodded, not surprised he’d checked out the place. “They could be in Magnolia or Camden.”

  “One of the many details I need to follow up on.”

  “And you’re following the money, right?”

  “If Mrs. Vail and her attorney continue to cooperate without making me jump through hoops, I should have answers on that score in a day or two.”

  “Will you have the scoop on Kim’s will, too? Who inherits from her?”

  He arched a brow. “I will, and if I learn that Caleb Collier is the sole beneficiary, I’ll look into him. When I called to inform him of his sister’s death, he was on the road doing maintenance on oil rigs.”

  “Or not. You didn’t know Margot and Dennis had been in town until an hour ago. Caleb could’ve been here, too. Heck, everyone Kim ever ticked off could have been in town.”

  “Touché,” he said, tipping his head as he opened the Lilies Café door.

  Lorna and Clark Tyler, a couple in their fifties, owned the café, and the Inn on the Square—which was simply a different name for the upstairs part of the building. Originally the Lilyvale saloon and boardinghouse, the property had passed down from generation to generation until Lorna inherited. My forefather (and mother), Samuel Allan Stanton and his wife, Yvonne Ritter Stanton, had founded Lilyvale, and been contemporaries of Lorna’s ancestors.