Fatal Brushstroke (An Aurora Anderson Mystery Book 1)

by Sybil Johnson

  A few keystrokes brought Rory to the local paper’s website where she found an article on the death of the Vista Beach restaurateur plus a smaller one detailing Kevin’s arrest around three a.m. for tampering with the alarm at Surfside Deli, one of H & J Security’s newest clients. Neither of the events had occurred early enough to make Thursday’s print version of the newspaper, but the coverage on the View’s website was just as thorough and up-to-date as anything she expected to see in printed form. After reading the articles, Rory wondered if Kevin had arranged to meet his birth mother at her store in the wee hours of the morning. After all, Main Street Squeeze and the business he’d targeted were on adjacent streets. Perhaps they’d had another fight, which had ended up in the young man’s act of sabotage and Trudy’s suicide.

  The rest of the afternoon flew by. Around three, Rory knocked off work and drove downtown. She was turning a corner not far from her home when a flyer stapled to a telephone pole attracted her attention. She pulled over and stepped out of her car to examine the piece of paper. Covering most of the page was a candid photo of Rory in front of her house. Surrounding the picture were words in bold type: “DANGER! Beware of this woman.”

  For a moment, Rory was too stunned to do anything other than stare at the flyer. When she came out of her dazed state, she ripped the paper off the pole then looked around to see if there were any more nearby. She spotted one taped to a mailbox and another on a pole at the end of the block.

  Rory drove around, ridding telephone poles and mailboxes of the damning notices but, faced with the sheer number of them, soon gave up. At a stoplight, she banged her hands against the steering wheel, frustrated she could do nothing about the flyers. For every one she took down, another would pop up. She was sure of it. Somehow, she had to prove to her neighbors she wasn’t the evil person everyone seemed to think she was.

  By the time the light turned green, Rory had calmed down. She headed toward her mother’s store, stopping on the way to buy the paper goods for the next day’s gathering and pick up a small folding table they were borrowing from her mother’s friend, Agatha. She stuffed as much as she could in the trunk of her car, then put the overflow in the back seat.

  By the time she walked into Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint, volunteers were already scurrying around, decorating the sales floor with balloons and streamers. All of the painting instructors were there, gathering the supplies for their classes as well as helping out any way they could. Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved Oxford, the store owner directed the group while Lily waited on customers and handled last-minute sign-ups for the paint-a-thon’s free classes. The short two-hour sessions featuring techniques used in projects designed by Hester herself had proved to be so popular only a handful of openings remained. The ones Nora was scheduled to teach had filled up almost as soon as they’d been announced.

  Rory greeted everyone a little nervously, unsure how many of them were aware of the flyers. To her relief, everyone waved at her in a friendly manner. Either none of them had seen the notice or were too polite to mention it.

  When Arika spotted her daughter, she assigned Rory the task of moving the bookcase filled with Hester’s painted designs from the classroom onto the sales floor. The expertly painted surfaces of wood, tin, and glass were a fitting exhibit of the painting teacher’s talent. The items would be raffled off as part of the event, all proceeds going to Hester’s favorite charity. Even though they no longer had the original drawings of the designs in her latest book to auction off, Arika expected the raffle to generate a substantial amount for an organization that provided free art classes and supplies for underprivileged kids.

  Rory tied her hair back in a ponytail and got to work. She took pictures with her cell phone of each of the four shelves, then began dismantling the display so she could transfer everything piece by piece. People trickled in and out as she set up the now empty bookshelf next to the cash register so attendees would see it as soon as they walked in the door and carried the contents from the classroom onto the sales floor. Progress was slow. People kept on stopping by to ask her about Trudy’s unforeseen death. Finally, when word got around that Rory had no information beyond what was available online, everyone left her alone.

  She was setting down the final armload of wood and tin in front of the bookcase when Detective Green came in the front door. Without saying a word, he walked over to Rory and handed her a plastic evidence bag. Inside was the photo Trudy had torn in half, now pieced together with clear tape. “You don’t strike me as a blackmailer,” he said in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the store.

  The world around the two of them came to a standstill, as if everyone were participating in a mass freeze frame with all eyes directed at Rory and the detective.

  Ignoring the gawkers, Rory stared at the picture of Trudy holding her newborn son. Apparently, Josh hadn’t been as discreet as she’d hoped. She motioned for Detective Green to follow her into a deserted aisle and lowered her voice so no one in the store could hear her. As soon as they disappeared from view, the impromptu flash mob ended and the normal bustle of activity resumed in the store.

  “Where’d you find that? It wasn’t on the desk yesterday,” she said.

  The detective lowered his voice to match hers. “You were looking for it, were you? Why is this picture so important?”

  “Look, I never would have asked Trudy about it if I’d known how she’d react.” The words burst out of her mouth before she could stop them. So much for watching what she said around the detective. Rory heard a muffled cough and glanced around, but didn’t see anyone lurking nearby.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “So you think this had something to do with Ms. Applebaum’s death?”

  Rory pointed to the baby in the photo. “You know who that is, don’t you?” When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “That’s Kevin in his mother’s arms. Trudy’s arms.”

  Surprise flashed across Detective Green’s face when he finally connected the dots.

  Apparently, the Main Street Squeeze employee hadn’t overheard as much as Rory had thought or, at least, hadn’t conveyed that information to the police.

  “So you were looking for this to cover up your blackmail attempt?” The detective’s words were more of a statement than a question. “Before you answer, keep in mind I’ve already dusted it for prints.”

  “There was no blackmail! I just asked her about it because I thought it might have something to do with Hester’s death.”

  “Is that what you talked about at two in the morning?” he said.

  “I didn’t call her, ever, and especially not at two a.m. I am not responsible for her death. I can’t help it if Trudy committed suicide.” Rory hoped, if she said the words often enough, she’d actually believe them.

  “Who said anything about suicide?” Detective Green stuffed the evidence bag in his inside jacket pocket and headed out the front door.

  The heavy weight that had lifted from her shoulders after Hester’s killer had been identified came crashing down when Rory realized the implications of his words. She steadied herself against a nearby shelf. All of the conversations she’d had with Detective Green flashed through her mind. She realized that, even though he’d asked about the possibility, not once had he indicated he actually believed he was dealing with a suicide when referring to the restaurant owner’s death. Rory headed back to the bookcase and contemplated the empty shelves.

  “Did he mean what I think he meant? That Trudy was murdered?” a voice behind her said.

  “I guess so.” Rory looked over her shoulder at Liz who stood nearby, holding a box with a local printer’s logo on it. “Are those the programs?”

  “Don’t change the subject. You should be happy. There’s no way the police would think you had anything to do with Trudy’s death.”<
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  “He thinks I was blackmailing her.”

  “I doubt he actually believes that,” Liz said.

  “I’m not so sure. There’s that picture. The one we found behind the frame. My prints are all over it.”

  “My fingerprints are on it, too, and I’m not worried about being arrested. They need more than a picture to establish motive.”

  “But I never told him about it, and, when he asked me after I found the body, I lied about why I’d gone to see Trudy on Tuesday.”

  “So? Dashing D probably gets lied to twenty times a day for all sorts of reasons. I’m sure he’s used to it by now. Forget about it. Let me get rid of these programs, then I’ll help you finish the display.”

  After Liz put the box on one of the tables in the classroom, they arranged the items in the bookcase, periodically consulting the photos Rory had taken earlier. Soon wood plates with colorful floral designs nestled next to similarly painted tin trays, bentwood boxes, and metal wind chimes. The mailbox used to advertise Hester’s class at the store held a prominent spot on the top shelf, though the winner wouldn’t be able to take it home until after the final session the following Monday. Rory was particularly careful with a glass plate she had her eye on. She planned on picking that one should she win one of the raffle drawings.

  They’d filled two of the four shelves when Arika ushered the last customer out of the store. After flipping the sign from Open to Closed and locking the front door, Rory’s mother walked over to them.

  Arika studied the shelves partially filled with the last vestiges of the painter’s handiwork. “That’s very nice. Hester would be pleased.” She turned to her daughter and said, “Were you able to get the items I asked for, dear?”

  “Everything’s in my car. I’ll bring it all inside after we’re done here.”

  “Just give me your keys and I’ll take care of it. You two finish what you’re doing.”

  Rory fished her keys out of a pocket of her jeans. “My car’s parked out back. Are you sure you don’t need our help?”

  “I’ve got plenty of volunteers looking for something to do.”

  While the two young women continued working on the display, Arika and her helpers finished preparing the sales floor for the nine a.m. opening. Some set up the refreshment table near the sitting area, covering it with a blue tablecloth and laying out paper plates and plastic utensils. Others began removing shelves filled with scrapbooking supplies to make way for a demonstration area where teachers would give tips on the use of various painting tools.

  The group had moved on to folding programs and making sure the sales floor was in pristine condition by the time Rory and Liz finished populating the bookshelf. The two young women stepped back and eyed the display critically.

  Liz pointed to the top shelf. “I think we should swap the two end pieces.”

  Rory made the change, and Liz nodded her approval.

  After Arika checked their work, she sent the two of them into the classroom to set it up for the first class of the day. They were covering one of the tables with a white plastic cloth when someone came up behind Rory and shoved a digital recorder in her face. “How does it feel to be a suspect in two murders?” a raspy voice said.

  If she needed confirmation the police had reclassified Trudy’s death as a homicide, this was it. Rory mentally kicked herself. She knew she should have watched what she said in front of Detective Green.

  Chapter 27

  Rory and Liz stopped smoothing out the wrinkles in the white plastic cloth and stared at the digital recorder that hovered inches from Rory’s lips. Neither one had heard the intruder’s footsteps as she entered Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint through the alley door and walked into the classroom where the two young women worked. Not even the flowery perfume she usually wore had announced Veronica’s presence.

  “I have nothing to say.” Rory plucked the recorder out of the overzealous reporter’s hand, accidentally chipping the woman’s crimson fingernail polish, and pressed the stop button. “I don’t want to see my name in the paper or on your blog.”

  “Hey! I just got my nails done.” Veronica frowned at the scratch in the polish that matched the streaks in her hair, then made a grab for the handheld device. “Give it back.”

  Rory held it above her head so the much shorter woman couldn’t reach it. “Sorry about the nails, but I’m keeping this until you tell me what you know.”

  “Who else have you been harassing?” Liz said from where she stood on the opposite side of the three-foot-wide table. She reached across, indicating with a motion of her hand she wanted to examine the confiscated item.

  Rory kept a firm grip on it, considering it inappropriate to listen to any of the recordings. Though she did briefly wonder if she’d hear any blackmail-worthy conversations should she hit the PLAY button.

  “No! That’s private.” Veronica swatted the arm out of the way.

  “Ow!” Liz rubbed the spot where the woman had slapped her, then placed both palms on the table, leaned over, and glared at her opponent. “You should have thought of that before you shoved it in my friend’s face.”

  “Cut it out, both of you.” Tired of holding the recorder above her head, Rory tucked it in the front pocket of her jeans. “You’ll get this back after you tell me what’s going on.”

  Veronica slumped down into a nearby chair and crossed her arms, the picture of a pouting child. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  Liz went back to work, smoothing out the tablecloth while she listened to the ensuing conversation.

  Rory grabbed another chair, placing it so it faced her subject. She sat down, her knees mere inches from Veronica’s, and leaned forward. “Who are the police looking at for Trudy’s murder?”

  “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”

  Rory leaned in closer and stared straight into the other woman’s eyes. “I need details. Whatever you’ve got.”

  Veronica averted her gaze and slid her chair back. “They think someone knocked Trudy out, pumped her full of sedatives to make it look like a suicide, and left her to die in the walk-in freezer. They suspect you but, as far as I know, have no plans to arrest you...yet.”

  “Are they investigating anyone else?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’re guilty.” Veronica glanced around as if looking to make sure Detective Green or one of his cohorts hadn’t slipped in unnoticed, then said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I know you didn’t do it.”

  “You should tell that to the police.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Stop it! I thought that was you lying dead on the freezer floor. Whatever you know, you have to tell the police—now. It’s not safe.”

  “Why would you think the body was mine?” Veronica seemed genuinely puzzled.

  Rory didn’t understand how the woman could write about Hester’s murder online and say she knew important details about the crime and not be aware of the possible consequences. “You bragged on Vista Beach Confidential that you know where the murder weapon is. What did you expect me to believe? I thought the killer had permanently silenced you. Now’s the time to tell the police everything you’ve been holding back. Do you want another death on your hands?”

  “I need to go.” Veronica slung her tote bag over her shoulder and stood up. “Can I have my property back now?”

  Rory knew she’d hit a nerve, but it took her a few moments to realize what was really going on. “You don’t know where the weapon is, do you? You made it up.”

  “That doesn’t sound very ethical. I guess that’s why you’re blogging and not writing for the newspaper on a regular basis,” Liz chimed in.

  “You know nothing about it.” Veronica held out her hand. “Recorder, please.”

  “What else
did you make up? Were any of those comments from my neighbors real?” Rory asked, appalled that someone who dreamt of being taken seriously as a reporter could be so irresponsible.

  “Unfortunately for you, all too real.” Veronica motioned for Rory to give her the recorder.

  Rory took it out of her pocket and placed it in the woman’s outstretched hand.

  Veronica stuffed it in her tote bag and started toward the back door. She’d barely taken two steps when her face turned pale and she stopped in her tracks. Rory followed the woman’s gaze to the doorway where Kevin now stood, dressed in plaid knee-length shorts and a graphic T-shirt, looking young and a little lost. He hesitated as if unsure of his reception should he step further into the classroom.

  Veronica retreated and turned her head, lowering her voice so only Rory could hear. “Be careful. He was wandering around town both nights. I saw him.”

  “You mean the nights Hester and Trudy died?” Rory whispered.

  Veronica gave a barely perceptible nod before heading toward the exit. She knocked her shoulder against Kevin’s as she passed through the doorway, not bothering to look him in the eyes. He stared after her with a sad look on his face.

  So much for the two lovebirds, Rory thought.

  Kevin took a step inside the classroom. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you know if Arika—Mrs. Anderson—is around?”

  Rory didn’t know what he wanted from her mother, but she didn’t trust him one bit, especially after the bombshell Veronica had just dropped. Until she was satisfied of his innocence, she didn’t want him anywhere near her mother. “She’s busy right now. Tomorrow’s a big day for the store. Can I give her a message?”

  “I’d really rather talk to her myself.”

  “She’s not available. You can tell me whatever you came to say. I’ll relay the message, I promise.”