Fatal Brushstroke (An Aurora Anderson Mystery Book 1)

by Sybil Johnson

“Kind of late, isn’t it?”

  “People who buy multi-million dollar homes for cash expect twenty-four hour service. I don’t want to miss out on a big sale, but we still have work to do here.”

  “Go ahead, I’ll finish up. There’s not much left. I’ll leave the box with your stuff here, and you can pick it up later.”

  “You sure?”

  “Go. Make a sale.”

  Liz grabbed her purse and headed out of the room toward the back door.

  Rory finished unpacking the box she’d been working on, but the joy had gone out of it. At the bottom she found Kevin’s christening picture. She was staring at the photo, wondering how it would help in their investigation, when her mother returned with a handful of books and painting packets. Rory hastily rewrapped the scarf around the frame and tucked it into the closest box to deal with later.

  Arika placed the items she carried on the table. “Sorry I took so long. Where did Liz go in such a hurry?”

  “Something to do with a client.” Rory pointed to the box she’d finished packing for her friend. “Can I leave these here? Liz is going to pick them up later.”

  Arika nodded in agreement, then spread the books and pattern packets out on the table and went over the changes to the website. As Rory took notes, she wondered if she would have time to do the updates before the police arrested her for murder.

  Chapter 15

  On her way home from church, Rory stopped by Nora’s house to deliver the painting supplies she’d picked out the previous day especially for Hester’s protégé. As she slid into a parking spot in front of the single-story stucco house, Rory couldn’t help noticing how much the place resembled her own. Except for the satellite dish on the roof, she imagined it looked as it had in the 1950s when the house was new and the area was being heavily developed.

  Feeling a little like an out-of-season Santa, Rory walked up the driveway with her box of gifts. Her face dimpled with pleasure when she thought of the smile the presents would bring to Nora’s face. Rory was about to turn onto the path that led to the front door when she heard a thud followed by a very unladylike oath coming from the backyard. She continued down the driveway, passing through a partially open double swing gate. When she reached the garage, she found the home’s owner struggling to remove a covered bundle from the trunk of her Toyota. Nora staggered when the blanket, covering what Rory could now see was a three-foot tall nutcracker, caught on the edge of a box.

  Rory placed her gifts on the driveway next to Nora’s car and hurried over to help. Together they wrestled the uncooperative nutcracker to the ground and unloaded the rest of the jam-packed trunk, piling the boxes just inside the side entrance to the garage. On one of her trips, Rory snagged her jacket on the doorjamb. When she examined the sleeve, she discovered empty threads where a button should have been and a rip in a seam. Rory shook her head in disbelief. She’d lost track of how many buttons she’d lost recently. Luckily, she spotted this one on the ground not far away. She wouldn’t need more than a few minutes to sew it back on, but the seam would take longer. With the button now safely in her pocket, she continued helping Nora.

  When Rory stepped through the side door with the final load, she almost dropped the box of unfinished wood pieces she was carrying. She’d been too busy unpacking the trunk to pay attention to the interior of the building until now. As she looked around, she marveled at the changes that had been made to what looked from the outside like an ordinary two-car garage.

  Nora had permanently evicted her car and turned its former home into a painter’s paradise. Sun streamed through the skylights in the ceiling onto worktables in the middle of the room where several projects lay in various stages of completion. Built-in cabinets lining one wall and a three-tiered open shelving unit on another provided ample storage space for all sorts of painting supplies and projects. A drafting table stood in one corner covered with partially-completed designs.

  Rory inhaled the inviting smell of freshly cut wood. “This is the best setup I’ve ever seen.” Even better than Hester’s, she thought but chose not to add, unsure if Nora would welcome the comparison.

  “Thanks. I put a lot of thought into it.”

  Rory walked over to a shelf filled with both finished and unfinished wood projects and picked up a beautifully rendered Zhostovo tray. The Russian folk art piece shared shelf-space with a painted candle and a baseball-themed item Rory knew her cousin’s daughter would love.

  Nora’s tastes certainly were eclectic. Most painters Rory knew favored one style over another. Hester’s protégé didn’t seem to have a preference and appeared equally adept at all of them: the cuter designs as well as the more traditional.

  Rory was marveling at the detail on the flowers on the tray when Nora said, “Thanks for your help. Was there a reason you stopped by?”

  Rory replaced the tray on the shelf and turned around. “I almost forgot. I brought you a few things I got at Hester’s yesterday. I’ll just go out and get them.” She headed outside to get the boxful of presents she’d left by Nora’s car. Moments later, she returned to the painting studio and placed it on one of the worktables.

  Nora rummaged through its contents, examining each item in turn. “Did you say you got these yesterday? At Hester’s? But the service was Friday.”

  Rory thought she detected a hint of jealousy in Nora’s voice—not exactly the squeals of delight Rory had anticipated. “My mom’s helping Julian dispose of her painting supplies so Liz and I volunteered to take inventory. We found all sorts of stuff, even signed originals of her latest book. Mom’s going to display those as soon as she cleans them up a bit.”

  Nora slammed the jumbo clothespin she was holding down on the worktable. “Julian’s selling Hester’s things? She hasn’t even been gone a week! Just like a man! No appreciation for creativity. A similar thing happened to my friend.” She gestured toward the boxes they’d piled near the door. “Her new husband thought her hobby was taking up too much space so she had to get rid of supplies she’d spent years acquiring. I’m so glad I don’t have that problem any more.”

  If Rory had known Nora would react so violently to the news, she’d never have mentioned Julian’s disposal of his wife’s painting supplies. Getting rid of them so close to Hester’s death did seem a tad callous, but Rory didn’t want to fan the flames of Nora’s anger by agreeing with her. “I think he would have asked for your help, but he thought it would upset you too much, seeing how close you were to Hester. I know he really appreciated the marvelous job you did on her service.”

  “Did he really say so?” Nora said, a hopeful expression on her face.

  Rory crossed her fingers behind her back and nodded, sure that Julian would have agreed had she bothered to ask. “No question about it.”

  Nora seemed satisfied with the answer and went back to examining the items in the box. She picked up a Telemark Rosemaling plate painted in earth-toned blues, greens, and golds. When she’d seen it yesterday, Rory had admired the asymmetrical design of the Norwegian folk art piece with its scrolls and flowers and thought Nora would appreciate its beauty.

  “Hester painted that,” Rory said. “I thought you might like it.”

  Nora examined the plate, looking at both front and back. “Are you sure she painted this? It doesn’t look like her work.”

  Rory pointed to the signature on the back. “See, she signed and dated it.”

  Nora took off her glasses and peered closely at the name painted in gold. “Ah, yes, I see now. You’re right. The signature says it all.” She carefully placed the plate on the worktable next to a brush caddy. “Sorry I doubted you. I don’t know where my mind’s been lately.”

  Rory nodded sympathetically. “Doesn’t seem real, does it? This must be hard for you. You knew Hester a long time, didn’t you?”

  “I think Kevin was thirteen—no, fourtee
n—when we met. I remember she told me stories about his swim meets. She was so proud of him.”

  “Really? I got the impression they didn’t get along.”

  “Teenagers never appreciate their parents, do they?”

  “Kevin’s hardly a teenager.”

  “Boys never seem to grow out of it, if you know what I mean. His behavior at the service was disgraceful.”

  “I’m sure Julian had a talk with him afterward.”

  Nora sniffed her disapproval. “I doubt it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Julian wasn’t as loyal to Hester as he wants everyone to believe. His fling with Trudy proves that. When Hester found out...well, you can imagine.”

  So Hester knew about her husband and best friend, Rory thought. “The fur flew, huh?”

  “I don’t know if I’d use those words. She was heartbroken and unburdened herself to me not long after she found out.”

  “When was this?”

  “Oh, maybe a week before she died.”

  “Just how upset was she?”

  “Very. Wouldn’t you be?” Nora leaned forward and lowered her voice even though no one was around to hear. “She even mentioned the D-word.”

  “You mean...?”

  Nora nodded. “That’s right. Divorce. And Julian wasn’t about to give her one. She has a trust fund, you see, and they had a pre-nup.” As soon as she said the words, Nora looked stricken as if she’d suddenly realized she’d revealed something that should have remained private. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this. I gave my word not to say anything.”

  “I won’t tell anyone you told me, I promise.” Rory looked around the studio for something to get Nora’s mind off her indiscretion. She pointed to a scroll saw that was off to one side. “Do you cut your own wood? That’s impressive.” She knew if she tried to use the tool she’d soon be out a finger or two.

  “I’m just learning. The retired gentleman who usually cuts my wood sold me his old saw when he bought a new one. He still cuts the more complicated pieces for me. Would you like to try it?”

  “No, thanks, I need all my fingers right now.” Rory waggled the fingers on both hands. “Can’t damage my typing tools.”

  “I did these the other day.” Nora pointed to a set of six bell-shaped Christmas ornaments she was in the process of painting.

  Rory picked up one of the ornaments and admired the smooth curves. “Very nice.”

  “Would you like me to cut a set for you?”

  Rory visualized the closet in her guest bedroom crammed full of painting projects she had yet to start.

  Tempting as the offer was, she already had enough unfinished wood to keep her busy for years. “I couldn’t put you to all that trouble.”

  “There must be something I can give you. You’ve been so kind.”

  “Well...” Rory walked over to the shelf that held the baseball piece she’d noticed earlier: a baseball bat, sawed in half lengthwise, was attached to the bottom of a small shelf; hanging from the bottom of the bat were bears dressed up in bright blue uniforms. “I do like this one. My cousin’s daughter is playing Little League this year and would absolutely love it.” She picked it up and examined the almost completed piece. All it required were some touch-ups, a little personalization, and a few coats of varnish.

  Nora frowned. “That’s not my best work. I was just playing around.”

  Now that Rory had the baseball-themed piece in her hand, she didn’t want to let it go. “I think it’s great. Samantha’s birthday is coming up. She’ll think it’s the best present ever.”

  “I was going to throw it out, but...If you really want it, it’s yours. I’ll paint her name on the bat and send it to her. Samantha, was it? Where should I send it?” Nora jotted the name down on a notepad and waited, hand poised above the paper, for Rory to supply the address.

  “I’d really like to put the name on it myself. I’ll make sure to let her know you did most of the painting.”

  For a moment, Nora looked as if she thought Rory’s efforts would contaminate her work, then her face softened and she said, “Just let me know if you change your mind. Why don’t I give you the supplies you need to finish it.” She opened a cabinet and selected several bottles of acrylic paint and varnish, which she put in a small bag.

  Five minutes later, the shelf in one hand and the bag in the other, Rory headed out the door to her car. She was so preoccupied with thoughts of her new project, she didn’t see the woman wearing drawstring pants and a form-fitting tank top, out for a run with her golden retriever, until it was too late.

  After they untangled the leash from around Rory’s legs and generally sorted themselves out with apologies uttered on both sides, the woman said, “Rory, how nice to see you. It’s been ages.” One of her mother’s favorite customers, Mrs. Scarsella always took the time to chat with Rory whenever they saw each other at Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint.

  “Mrs. Scarsella, I didn’t realize you lived around here.” Rory patted the retriever on the head as he sat patiently on the sidewalk.

  “Just over there.” The woman gestured toward a two-story Tudor style house three doors down. “I hear your mother’s going to hold an event in Hester’s honor at the store. I’m looking forward to it.” She nodded toward Nora’s house. “How is she? Haven’t seen her much around the neighborhood lately.”

  “Okay, considering. She’s looking forward to teaching at the paint-a-thon.”

  “That’s good to hear. It’s hard to lose a friend, especially one so close. Hester really helped when Nora was going through that nasty split with her husband.” Mrs. Scarsella lowered her voice. “He ran off with his nursing assistant, you know. And after Nora had worked her fingers to the bone putting him through medical school. At least she got a hefty settlement in the divorce.”

  Rory didn’t know what the talkative woman meant by a hefty settlement, but she guessed it was enough so Nora didn’t have to work full-time.

  “I wish she’d get out more. She always declines my dinner invitations. Spends every night in that studio of hers. Hasn’t missed one in weeks.”

  “I thought she’d be helping Hester out with her Monday night class,” Rory said.

  “I don’t know about that, but she was here last Monday evening.” The woman nodded emphatically, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she spoke. “I was walking Goldie here and saw a light on in her studio around...nine or so. Oh, that was the night Hester died, wasn’t it? Hadn’t thought about that before.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t know what’s going on these days. We shouldn’t have to live in fear of being assaulted in our own backyards.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m sure it was an isolated incident. Besides, the police don’t even know where Hester was killed yet. Could’ve been anywhere.”

  “Really? I thought Hester came to see you and someone attacked her in your backyard. That’s what Reg across the street said, anyway. I hear the police don’t have any suspects, except for you. I know you’re innocent, of course, but not everyone knows you like I do. You can’t help who your parents were.”

  Rory was trying to figure out how to respond when the retriever started inspecting her front and back, sniffing areas she’d rather the dog would leave unexplored.

  Mrs. Scarsella yanked on the retriever’s leash. “Sorry about that. I guess we’d better get going. Say hi to your mother for me.” The woman headed down the street, Goldie leading the way.

  As she watched Mrs. Scarsella jog off into the distance, Rory was glad there was someone in the neighborhood who had Nora’s back now that the woman’s best friend was out of the picture.

  Chapter 16

  After a change of clothes and a quick lunch, Rory stuffed what she needed for the day in a tote bag and headed ou
t the door, intending to drive to Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint to help her mother out with the preparations for the paint-a-thon scheduled for the following Saturday. But, when she stepped outside, she found a police car blocking her driveway. She looked up and down the street to see if she could spot its owner, but all she saw was one of her neighbors washing his car and another watering roses. Moments later, a stout uniformed figure exited the house opposite her and approached the car washer.

  “Chief Marshall,” Rory muttered to herself. “I wonder what he’s up to.”

  She watched uneasily as the two men talked. At one point in the conversation, the car washer nodded and looked in her direction. She waved, but the man who she’d spoken with on a number of occasions, ignored her greeting. Before long, the chief shook her neighbor’s hand and headed toward her house.

  Rory felt rooted to the spot, unsure what to make of the conversation. As soon as the chief reached the police car, he leaned against it and stared at her without saying a word.

  When he didn’t appear inclined to talk, Rory said a bit nervously, “Could you move your car, please, Chief? My mother’s expecting me at her store.”

  “In a minute. Had a friendly chat with your neighbors. Nice bunch.”

  Even though Rory sensed she wouldn’t like the answer, she felt compelled to ask, “Oh? Anything I should know about?”

  “Just making sure they’re all aware of who’s living on their block.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing that they couldn’t have found out if they’d thought to ask about your background. All I did was connect the dots, so to speak.”

  With a start, Rory realized the man must have told everyone about her birth parents. She felt the noose tightening around her neck. While she understood why the man didn’t trust her, she wasn’t about to let him accuse her of a crime without a fight. “You know I didn’t kill Hester.”

  “Do I?”