Fatal Brushstroke (An Aurora Anderson Mystery Book 1)

by Sybil Johnson

  “Definitely not the suicidal type. Thought way too much of herself,” Veronica agreed. “Did she leave a note?”

  “Not that I saw, but I didn’t spend much time looking around.”

  “Maybe they’ll find one on the body. Come to think of it, she did seem a little down when I saw her yesterday.” Veronica’s cell phone chimed, and she glanced down at its display.

  “The last time I saw her she seemed as full of confidence as ever,” Liz said. “But that was several days ago. Maybe Hester’s death hadn’t sunk in yet.”

  “Might have been a false front. She seemed awfully upset when Kevin bawled her out after he discovered she’d been lying to him all these years.” That, plus the guilt she must have felt over killing her former best friend might have pushed the woman over the edge. Rory was tempted to voice her suspicions, but decided it best to keep her theory to herself for now.

  “Lying to him about what?” Veronica looked up in the middle of sending a text. She seemed genuinely confused by Rory’s statement. Apparently, Kevin hadn’t informed his secret girlfriend about his recent discovery. Luckily, Rory had stopped short of spilling the family secret. She searched her mind for an explanation that would temporarily satisfy the inquisitive woman.

  But Liz had other ideas. “Don’t you know? Trudy is Kevin’s birth mother. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you, since you two—ow.”

  “Sorry.” Rory removed her toe from her friend’s shin.

  Liz shot an annoyed look in Rory’s direction, but took the hint and stopped talking. Apparently, Veronica’s reporter instincts had yet to kick in. Instead of pursuing the matter, she finished her text message, then asked them to fill her in on what they knew about the plans for Hester’s tribute event. As they reviewed Saturday’s activities, Veronica recorded their answers in a wire bound notepad.

  The paint-a-thon featured a full day of classes as well as periodic demonstrations of various painting tools, including specialty brushes such as deerfoot stipplers and mediums like DecoArt’s Snow-Tex, which added texture and dimension to a project. Drawings for door prizes would be held throughout the day, ending with the grand prize: an arched sign board painted by the artist herself.

  All of the classes taught would feature designs Hester had created over the years. Nora was scheduled to bookend the event, teaching one of her mentor’s earliest designs at the beginning of the day and a project from Hester’s final book at the end.

  They were discussing the various instructors who had volunteered to teach when Rory’s mother approached them.

  “Hello, ladies.” Arika gestured toward Rory and Liz. “May I borrow you two for a moment?”

  The two young women followed the store owner into the classroom while Veronica stayed behind to finish writing up her notes. On one of the two eight-foot tables in the room lay a dozen or so pictures Rory recognized as ones she’d taken during last Saturday’s inventory.

  Arika pointed to the photos. “I want to put together a display of Hester’s finished pieces for the paint-a-thon. I think these are representative of her work. Could you two go through the boxes and find the matching items, then see if they all fit into the display?” She gestured toward a collapsible three-tier bookshelf that leaned against the wall. “I’ll move it onto the floor tomorrow.”

  Rory eyed the neatly labeled boxes that surrounded the table. If they were lucky, everything they needed would be inside these so they wouldn’t have to tackle the mountain in the other room.

  Arika started to leave, then changed her mind and turned around to face her daughter. “Rory, you don’t need to pick me up tonight. Agatha’s giving me a ride home. And I’ll be driving myself to work from now on. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I’m fine now.”

  Rory knew better than to argue with her mother when she had that obey-me-or-else look in her eyes. As a teenager, she’d challenged one of her mother’s decisions and ended up doing hard time cleaning out a jam-packed garage. “If you’re sure. I still plan on coming by tomorrow afternoon and helping with the setup, though.”

  Arika nodded her thanks and headed back up front.

  While Rory’s mother worked the sales floor, Rory and Liz set up the wooden bookshelf, then started the search for the finished pieces. When they found each one, they placed it next to the corresponding picture on the table.

  As she rummaged through the cartons, Rory’s mind wandered back to their earlier conversation with the View’s aspiring reporter. “Do you think it strange that Kevin didn’t tell Veronica about Trudy? After all, they were talking about getting married,” she finally said. She kept her voice low so her words wouldn’t carry into the next room.

  “I think the wedding was all her idea. Looks to me like he’s playing the field. Anyway, Veronica seemed genuinely surprised at the news,” Liz replied.

  “Could have been an act to see what we knew. Though it was strange she didn’t ask us any questions. You’d think her first instinct would be to grill us.”

  “Maybe she wanted to get the information from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

  “Ask Kevin about it? I suppose...”

  They were looking for the last piece when the bell over the front door tinkled and they heard a familiar voice say, “What a morning I’ve had. Spent most of it bailing Kevin out of jail.”

  Rory and Liz suspended their hunt and hurried onto the sales floor to hear more about Kevin’s legal troubles. They reached the checkout counter in time to see Veronica slip out the front door.

  “Kevin was arrested last night for sabotaging an H & J Security alarm,” Nora continued. “Getting back at his father, I suppose, for some unknown reason. Must have gotten the idea from all those alarm problems everyone’s been having.”

  At least Kevin had taken his anger out on his father’s business and not his person, Rory thought.

  “I don’t know what’s going on in this town. It used to be so nice and quiet. First, all these alarm problems, then a murder, and now this suicide. At least we know who killed Hester, even if we can’t do anything about Vista Beach Security’s shoddy workmanship.” Nora grabbed a tissue from the box sitting on the counter and blew her nose.

  Arika patted the woman on the arm. “Things will get back to normal soon. Since you’re here, why don’t we find the supplies you need for the classes you’re teaching on Saturday.”

  As Arika led Nora to the back room, Rory wondered if the nightmare really was over.

  Echoing Rory’s thoughts, Liz said, “Do you think the case is solved?”

  “I hope so. We’ll have to see what the police say. Let’s get back to the display.”

  Liz followed Rory into the classroom. “We’re almost done. Let me finish. Go home and get some work done.”

  “If you’re sure...?”

  Liz shoved her friend toward the back door. “Go before I change my mind. I’ll stop by later.”

  As she made her way to the alley door, Rory waved good-bye to her mother and Nora who were pulling wood pieces and supplies out of the cartons in the back room. The H & J Security logo on the alarm box reminded Rory of Kevin’s aborted crusade against his father’s company. At least he hadn’t chosen Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint as last night’s target. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Maybe he’d started his campaign earlier than anyone imagined. Could he have been the one who’d broken into her mother’s store?

  Deep in thought, Rory headed outside.

  Chapter 25

  Almost as soon as Rory stepped into the alley behind Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint, someone grabbed her arm and whirled her around. The scent of a surreptitious cigarette mixed with a musky cologne lingered on the man’s suit. Apparently, Julian no longer felt the need to quit smoking now that Hester was gone.

  “This is all your fault! Are you happy about all the damage you’ve caus
ed?” Julian glared into her eyes while keeping an iron grip on her arm.

  “What are you talking about?” Rory tried to pull free, but the infuriated man held on, displaying far more emotion than he had when his wife died.

  “Trudy wouldn’t be dead now if it weren’t for you, poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  His words landed like a punch to her gut. She’d never considered that Julian or anyone else would blame her for Trudy’s death. Hoping to defuse his anger, Rory stood as still as possible and waited for it to run its course. But, instead of calming him down, her inactivity only appeared to enrage him further.

  “Because of your meddling, Trudy’s gone and my son was arrested. That’s your fault.” Julian’s fingers dug into her arm. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Rory bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain. Even though she felt partially responsible, she reminded herself that Trudy’s guilt at killing her former best friend was more likely to have driven the woman over the edge than anything Rory had done.

  “Everything all right here, folks?” someone behind her said.

  Rory had never been so happy to hear Detective Green’s deep voice.

  “This doesn’t concern you.” Julian released her arm and toned down his aggressive posture in the detective’s presence. “Remember what I said. This is on you,” he murmured so only Rory could hear, then strode down the alley toward the street.

  Somehow, she found the man’s quiet tone more menacing than the anger he’d displayed moments before.

  “What was that about? He seemed angry,” Detective Green said.

  “Thanks for your help. He thinks I’m responsible for Trudy’s death.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “You’ll have to ask him. I think he’s just looking for someone to blame, and I’m a convenient scapegoat.”

  “Do you want to lodge a complaint?”

  Rory considered the question. She didn’t think she had anything to fear from Julian as long as she stayed out of his way. Besides, the man was a good friend of the chief who would no doubt take Julian’s side over hers. “No. I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything to worry about. He was just flexing his muscles. I promise to be careful around him.”

  “Let me know if he bothers you again. Anything else I can help you with?”

  Julian’s words still nagged at Rory. If only she could be sure her unearthing of Kevin’s true parentage hadn’t contributed to his birth mother’s suicide. Rory arranged her features into an alluring expression and batted her eyelashes. “There is one thing.”

  “Are you okay, Ms. Anderson? Do you have something in your eye?”

  Once more, she tried for a sultry expression but, when the detective merely favored her with a puzzled look, Rory gave up on charming the information out of him and turned to the direct approach. “Did you find a note on Trudy’s body?”

  Detective Green raised an eyebrow.

  His stare made Rory uncomfortable. She wished he’d just answer the question instead of interrogating her with his eyes. “I’m not being a voyeur. It’s just that, some of us were talking...”

  “Were you?”

  “Well, it is pretty big news and her friends don’t really understand why she did it, assuming it wasn’t an accident, of course. I mean, you seem to think she killed herself. Anyway, it’s important for us to know so we can get closure.”

  “You considered her a friend, did you?”

  “Not me, personally. I mean, I hardly knew the woman, but the others...We just really need to know.” Rory silently admonished herself for appearing so idiotic in front of the detective. She really had to watch what she said around him. She didn’t need to get even more of a reputation for odd behavior.

  “Do you?” He let her stew for another minute before putting her out of her misery. “We found a note in the pocket of her hoodie. In it she confessed to Ms. Bouquet’s murder.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Rory felt her face heat up. She sensed he was giving her a chance to come clean, but she didn’t think it wise to tell him about her venture into Trudy’s past. “Not that I can think of. Did you verify the handwriting?”

  “The note was printed.”

  “So anyone could have written it,” Rory mumbled to herself.

  “I suppose so,” the detective responded even though the words hadn’t been meant for his ears. “Are you sure there’s nothing I should know? Withholding information can bring serious consequences,” he continued.

  She shook her head and hoped he wouldn’t pursue the matter.

  “I’ll be in touch.” Detective Green turned around and headed back toward Main Street Squeeze.

  All the talk about Trudy’s suicide and Rory’s role in it had worn her down. Even though Julian’s words no longer rang in her ears, she found it difficult to concentrate. By the time she got home, she saw little hope for getting any work done that day. She needed a task that wouldn’t require much mental concentration. Her gaze swept over the unfinished painting projects that now covered almost every inch of the kitchen table. The lettering on the piece for her cousin’s daughter involved more detail than Rory wanted to work on right now, but she could touch up the paint and finish the back. At least she’d accomplish something.

  Rory found the flocking materials she’d brought home from Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint and studied the instructions. She’d have to recreate the tips her mother had given her from memory since the police had confiscated the sticky note she’d written them on. She really needed to come up with a better system for reminders to herself. From now on, Rory vowed to use the memo feature on her cell phone instead of the Post-it notes she usually employed. That way, she wouldn’t leave little bits of herself lying around in unexpected places—like under dead bodies.

  After sanding the back of the project until it felt smooth to the touch, she went into the bedroom where she stored her supplies and searched through her assortment of acrylic paint for a color to apply beneath the nylon fibers. A paint color that closely matched the flocking material would provide a uniform backdrop as well as mask any imperfections in her application of the velvety finish. She brought bottles of various shades of brown into the kitchen and compared them to the flocking kit her mother had given her.

  Rory tried to squirt a small amount of the color she’d chosen on palette paper, but nothing came out. When she squeezed harder, the reddish-brown paint exploded out of the bottle and splattered everywhere—onto the table, the project, and even her clothes. She wiped up as much of it as she could, but some spots refused to budge. She wasn’t worried about the ones on the back of the project, they’d disappear once a coat of paint was applied, but her pants would be a lost cause unless she got them into the wash soon.

  Rory dug through her clothes hamper for enough items to make up a load. She emptied pockets and, before long, had a hodgepodge of coupons, buttons, change, and odd bits of paper piled on her dresser. She rinsed the jeans under cold water and scrubbed soap on the stain, repeating the process until she’d removed as much as she could. She’d just rubbed in a heavy-duty stain remover and thrown the clothes into the washer when she heard a knock on her front door. Rory opened it to find Liz standing on her doorstep.

  Her visitor glanced down. “Hoping to impress Dashing D? I’d have gone for sexier undies. I don’t think those are going to keep you out of jail.”

  Rory looked down at her bare legs, remembering a little too late that the sweats she’d planned on changing into were still where she’d placed them on her bed.

  Chapter 26

  Friday dawned gray and dreary. The sky was so overcast Rory was tempted to hide under the covers until the gloominess passed. But not only did she have work to catch up on
, she’d promised her mother she’d stop by Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint that afternoon to join the other volunteers from the local painting community in prepping the store for the next day’s big event. Since Arika didn’t want to lose her Friday afternoon business, they’d have to work around customers. The more disruptive tasks, such as removing shelves from the sales floor, would be done after the store closed at five.

  After eating a bowl of cereal at her desk, Rory spent the rest of the morning writing code and catching up on other work tasks. By noon the overcast skies still hadn’t burned off. She hoped that wasn’t an omen for the rest of the day.

  On one of her breaks, Rory checked the Vista Beach Confidential website to see how Veronica had dealt with Trudy’s suicide. The blogger had lost no time in posting the interview with Josh, the young man who’d found the body.

  The Main Street Squeeze employee painted a picture for the blog’s readers of the surprise that greeted him after he’d unlocked the door of the juice bar. How everything appeared normal until he’d gone inside the walk-in freezer looking for fruit to make himself a breakfast smoothie and found his boss lying prone on the cold metal floor, purse by her side, pills scattered around her lifeless body.

  Rory cast her mind back to the moment when she herself had entered the freezer. All she remembered were the yoga pants and patch of red she’d mistaken for a streak in Veronica’s hair. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall seeing the purse or the pills. The shock of finding another dead body must have rendered her temporarily unobservant. Everything else about the employee’s account of the crime scene jibed with her own memories.

  The rest of the interview was fairly tame. Josh readily answered questions about his employment at the restaurant, but, no matter how hard Veronica tried to get him to express his opinion about the unexpected death, he refused to speculate on why his boss had chosen to kill herself. Rory applauded his prudence. She only hoped he was just as discreet when it came to the conversation he’d overheard between herself and Trudy.