‘Was the food good at least?’
‘Yeah, it was. Burger was greasy but nothing wrong with a bit of grease every now and then.’
‘Well, that’s good. I ran into one of my co-workers who knows Wilson and it turns out he’s actually seeing him tonight. He said he’d try and find out what he’s working on.’
‘That would be perfect. Hope he has better luck than we’re having.’
‘No kidding.’
‘Alright. Well, did you want me to pick you up when you’re ready—save both of us driving tonight?’
‘Um, sure. Yeah, that would work. I’ll give you a call when I’m ready. Give me an hour?’
‘I’ll be waiting for your call.’
‘Perfect. Talk to you soon.’ Kulcheski hung up the phone and logged off the computer. ‘Damn,’ she said. She’d actually been looking forward to that drink with Grant.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Millar pulled into a parking garage only a block away from the gallery and found a spot on the second level, close to the stairs. ‘That’s the nice thing about Ottawa,’ he thought, ‘After five o’clock, downtown becomes a ghost town, and it’s much easier to find parking.’ He and Penner got out of his car and headed down the stairs to the main floor. In the stairwell, they passed a homeless man who was curled up in the corner, covered with a tattered sleeping bag. Penner opened her purse, pulled out a five-dollar bill and quietly put it on the ground between the wall and the man.
Millar opened the door onto Queen street, and they stepped out into the brisk night air. The sky was clear and probably full of stars that were hidden by the city lights. Penner hooked her arm through Millar’s, and they walked down the sidewalk, turning onto Kent street and heading up to Sparks Street. At Sparks, they turned left and saw a crowd of people standing on the sidewalk. Cigarette smoke hung in the cold air like maritime fog.
‘I guess that’s the place,’ Millar said. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to a very large man who was blocking most of the sidewalk. They squeezed past the smokers and Millar held the door open for Penner.
The inside of the Spider Loft Gallery was small but inviting. Several dozen people were already inside—some were examining the paintings which hung from wires on the brick walls, while others held glasses of wine in their hands and were trying to talk over the music. Contemporary jazz.
‘I ever tell you how much I hate saxophone?’ Penner said aside to Millar. She took off her long, black, belted coat, revealing a knee-length red dress covered by a grey knit sweater. There was no coat rack in sight, so she just draped her coat over her arm. ‘Never been a fan, ever since high school.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ said Millar. He looked around the room at the mixed crowd. There were a few young hipsters hanging out. They were easy to spot in their too-large glasses that looked like they came from the eighties, plaid shirts, tuques perched on the back of their heads, pants too short for anyone’s good. Probably there more to be seen and for the free wine than to look at art. Near the door was a group of people who looked like they had just been walking down the street, saw a crowd of people and a warm storefront and went in. But most of the guests were older, professional types. Very well dressed, wearing expensive suits and chic dresses. They looked like they knew what they were talking about when they were discussing the paintings in front of them. ‘Ugh, friggin’ Arden’s here,’ he said, spotting the reporter, Arden Wall, at the back of the room, his cameraman at his side, as always.
‘Guess he’s doing a story on the opening,’ Penner said. ‘I don’t see Beverly. Maybe she decided not to come after all.’
‘I wouldn’t blame her. I don’t think I’d feel too social if my wife had just died. Well, if my wife died, I’d probably be fine going out. But, if I was still married and liked her, it would be a different story.’
‘I don’t see Gabe either. Maybe he’s in the crowd outside smoking. I didn’t really have a look to see who was out there,’ said Penner. She spotted a table towards the back of the room set up with wine glasses and manned by a server in a bow tie. ‘Care for a drink?’ she asked Millar.
‘Yeah, I can have one. What do you want? Red or white?’
‘I’ll go for a red tonight—it’ll match my dress if I spill.’
‘Already planning on getting sloppy?’ Millar asked, starting towards the makeshift bar area.
‘Time will tell, my friend,’ Penner said, following him. ‘Time will tell.’
As they threaded their way through the crowd, Penner considered stopping to check out a painting or two, but she decided to wait. She was hoping that she could get a personal tour of the work by Gabe. Based on the number of people in the room she realized it was a long shot, but she was going to try.
‘Two red wines, please,’ Millar said to the man in the bow tie.
‘Here you go. Enjoy the evening,’ the bow tie man said, passing Millar two very full glasses of wine.
‘Wow—my type of pour,’ Penner said, carefully taking one of the glasses from Millar. Over his shoulder, she accidentally made eye contact with Arden. ‘Crap,’ she said, seeing Arden put down his glass and make his way over to them.
‘Detectives. Didn’t expect to see the two of you here. Out on a date? What, was the Captain not available tonight?’
‘Very funny, Arden,’ Penner said. She took a sip of her wine. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was hoping to do a follow-up interview with the artist, Gabe Tootsie. I interviewed him the other night at the museum and thought I would get his reaction to the crowd. Ask him how his first show in Ottawa was going, that sort of thing.’
‘Have you seen him at all?’ Penner asked.
‘Not yet. Artists, eh? Seem to work on their own schedule most of the time. Ah, there’s the mayor. Come on. Let’s see if we can get a few words from him,’ Arden said to his cameraman and they wandered off.
‘Glad he gets distracted easily,’ Millar said. ‘So, want to check out some art?’
‘Yeah, sounds good. I thought we could talk to Gabe first—get his explanations as to what the different pieces were, but I guess not.’
They slowly made their way around the perimeter of the room, stopping to look at each painting. Some of the paintings already had little red dots next to the title, an indication that the piece had been sold. They stopped at a very large canvas which hung prominently by the main entrance—a painting of a blue heron taking flight. Penner’s eyes widened when she saw the price next to the little red dot.
‘A steal isn’t it,’ a woman’s voice said from over her shoulder. Penner turned and saw Beverly standing behind her, glass of white wine in hand. She wore a simple, black sheath dress and her silvery blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail. Only the dark circles under her eyes revealed that something might be wrong.
‘Beverly, I didn’t think you were going to come tonight,’ Penner said.
‘I couldn’t miss my rising star’s debut exhibit here, now could I,’ Beverly said. ‘Truthfully, I just couldn’t be at home alone one more night. I thought this might take my mind off things. And besides, I had to make sure Gabe’s show goes off without a hitch—I have a lot invested in tonight.’
‘Well, it’s definitely well-attended. And, by the looks of things, a lot of paintings are going to be finding new homes.’
‘Let’s hope so. It will be great for Gabe’s career,’ Beverly said. ‘That’s one of the reasons I bought this one. Fell in love with it the moment Gabe showed it to me and I couldn’t stand to see it go to anyone else’s home but mine,’ she said, looking at the painting of the heron.
‘You bought this one?’ Millar said.
‘I did.’
‘Sorry. Have you met Terry?’ Penner asked.
‘We’ve met once or twice, but it was a while ago,’ Millar said.
‘Nice to see you again,’ said Beverly, transferring her wine glass to her other hand so she could shake Millar’s hand.
‘And I’m very sorry f
or your loss. Mark was a great guy.’
‘Thank you. He was,’ she said simply.
‘Is Gabe here? I haven’t seen him,’ Penner asked, turning her attention back to the painting on the wall.
‘He is.’ Beverly glanced around the gallery. ‘I think he went to the back room for some air. He’s not a big fan of all the attention. I’ve tried telling him that he needs to get used to being in the spotlight if he wants a career in art. People like getting to know the artist behind the work they buy. In fact, a lot of art is sold because of who made it, not necessarily for what it is.’
‘Must be tough, though—coming from a small village like he does. He’s probably not used to being surrounded by strangers,’ said Penner.
‘I think that’s a big part of it. He’s young, so the more shows he does, the easier it will become. Well, look who just came in,’ Beverly said, stepping towards the door. ‘Good to see you again, Captain. And Gail, I’m so glad you could make it. I was hoping to see you the other night at the museum.’
‘Busy as always,’ the Captain’s wife, Gail, said, putting her hand on Beverly’s arm. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Mark. How are you holding up?’
‘One day at a time,’ Beverly said. ‘Having the opening tonight has helped keep my mind occupied. It’s tough when I stop to relax—when I have too much time to think, that’s when it really hits home.’
‘Well, if there’s anything I can do, you just let me know,’ Gail said, giving Beverly a hug.
‘Well, you can send your husband to the back over there to get the two of you a drink. And he might as well get another one for me while he’s at it.’
‘Right. I’ve got my orders then,’ said the Captain. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘So, have you heard back from the coroner about how Mark may have died?’ Gail asked.
‘Nothing yet,’ Beverly said. ‘Apparently it wasn’t his heart and he didn’t drown, so I’m not really sure. Have you heard anything, Sue?’
‘Nothing more than you have, I’m afraid. I know Dr. Pelow was running more tests, but I don’t know if she’s found anything. She will, though, I’m sure.’
‘I hope so,’ Beverly said. ‘Not that knowing will make much of a difference, but it may give me a bit of closure, if nothing else. Mark always seemed so healthy.’
‘So, he wasn’t sick at all over the last couple of days?’ Penner asked.
‘Not at all,’ said Beverly. ‘He seemed like his normal self.’
‘There’s a pretty bad flu bug going around. Could he have had that?’
‘I don’t think so. If he did, he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t look under the weather at all. I could usually tell pretty quickly when he was ill—he could get pretty pathetic.’
‘I think they’re all the same way,’ Gail said. ‘Oh, thanks dear,’ she said, taking a glass of wine from the Captain.
‘Who’s the same way?” the Captain asked. ‘Here, Bev.’
‘Husbands,’ said Beverly, taking the wine.
‘I shouldn’t have asked,’ the Captain said. ‘Should we have a look around?’
‘I think we should,’ Gail said. ‘If you’ll excuse us. We’ll chat before we leave,’ she said to Beverly, giving her another hug.
Beverly smiled sadly as she watched Gail and the Captain walk away, arm in arm. ‘So nice to see her. It’s been way too long. I’m glad they could both make it out tonight. Glad you could all make it out tonight,’ she added, looking at Penner and Millar. ‘This is exactly what I needed.’
‘Happy to be here,’ said Penner. ‘There’s Gabe, I think,’ she said, looking towards the bar area. ‘I’m going to try and snag him before anyone else does.’ She made her way towards the back of the room—a woman on a mission.
‘If you don’t mind, Detective, there’s someone over there I have to go see,’ Beverly said, excusing herself. ‘It was lovely to see you again.’
‘Likewise,’ said Millar. He took a sip of his wine and tried not to feel out of place standing there alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Millar looked more closely at the painting that Beverly had purchased, admiring the way the feathers on the bird’s head were painted. They were far from realistic but were done in such a way that they conveyed a sense of movement. He leaned in closer and looked at the bird’s body. From a distance, the body looked like it was painted in a solid blue colour. But up close, Millar realized that it was actually painted with tight spirals in three different shades of blue. ‘Well, that must have taken some time to do,’ he said out loud.
‘That it did. Thought I was going to go blind after the first seven hours.’
Millar turned and saw a young man standing behind him with Penner at his side and, Millar observed, a fresh glass of wine in her hand.
‘Millar, this is Gabe, the artist. Gabe, this is Terry Millar, one of my co-workers,’ Penner said.
‘Pleasure,’ said Gabe, shaking Millar’s hand.
‘Likewise. This is really cool,’ Millar said, pointing to the heron. ‘Never seen this style of painting before. Not that I’ve looked too closely at a lot of art or anything.’
‘Thanks. I’ve worked hard on developing my own style,’ Gabe said. ‘When I started out, I used to paint like some of the European masters, but that wasn’t really me, you know? I was good at it, but it wasn’t making me happy, so I started looking at the works by people like my grandfather and others from the north. I realized that I needed to be true to myself, even if it was a tougher way to make money.’
‘Well, I think you made a good choice,’ Penner said. ‘I love the way you paint. The other night, Beverly said that you had pieces in all different price ranges. Do you have anything that would fit into the budget of a new art collector on a police officer’s salary?’
‘I have five pieces over here that are each around a hundred. Not sure if they’ve sold yet or not. Want to have a look? See if there’s one that speaks to you?’
‘Yeah, that would be great. I can afford that—as long as Millar buys my breakfast for the next week or so,’ Penner said.
‘Plain white toast is all you get,’ replied Millar.
‘That will do,’ said Penner. ‘Let’s see what you have.’
The trio walked past the entrance towards a wall with a grouping of smaller paintings. A cold blast of air hit them as the door was opened. Millar turned and saw Grant and Kulcheski walk in.
‘Grant, Kulcheski. How’s it going?’ Millar said. ‘I’ll catch up with you in a minute,’ he said to Penner.
‘Hey, Millar. Wow, good turnout. More people than I expected would be here,’ Grant said, taking off his jacket and putting it over his arm.
‘Yeah. Kind of nice that the door opens every now and then. It gets pretty warm in here.’
‘No kidding,’ Kulcheski said, shrugging out of her coat.
‘I can carry that if you want,’ Grant said, taking the coat from her. ‘You look great,’ he said. ‘Not that you usually don’t. Uhhh, well, you know what I mean.’ He could feel his face getting redder. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Red wine would be great. It will match your cheeks,’ Kulcheski said with a grin.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Grant said, trying to hide his embarrassment. ‘Millar?’
‘Ginger ale if they have it. Thanks, Rosy.’
‘Ginger ale with a bit of spit it is,’ said Grant.
‘He’s a pretty good guy, eh?’ Kulcheski said, watching Grant walk to the back of the room.
‘Who, Grant? Yeah, he’s alright.’
‘So, what’s his story? Is he single?’
‘As far as I know he is. Why? Don’t tell me you’re interested in him,’ Millar said in disbelief.
‘Maybe. Interested in getting to know him better, anyway.’
‘Huh,’ Millar said. ‘Want me to talk to him for you?’
‘What? No,’ Kulcheski said, sounding horrified. ‘I’ll talk to him. I’m not a schoolgirl anymo
re.’
Grant came back, trying not to spill the drinks while still carrying the coats over his arm. His face had returned to its normal, somewhat pasty colour. He passed a wine glass to Kulcheski. ‘Your wine.’ He turned to Millar and looked him in the eye. ‘Ginger ale. Enjoy that,’ he said. ‘Did you tell Millar your thoughts about Wilson?’ he asked Kulcheski.
‘No, not yet,’ said Kulcheski. She took a sip of her wine. ‘Oh, that’s nice.’
‘What are your thoughts?’ Millar asked. He looked in his glass to see if Grant had put anything in it. He couldn’t tell past the bubbles and ice.
‘Well, I was thinking, what if Wilson isn’t investigating Mark.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What if he’s investigating something that Mark told him about. Maybe Mark found out about something someone else did? Someone in International Trade, or at a big corporation? Another politician, maybe?’
Millar nodded as he listened and then said, ‘That’s actually a good suggestion. If it’s an open investigation, it’s possible he wants to keep things quiet so he doesn’t tip his hand,’ Millar said. ‘Doesn’t get us too much closer to figuring out what he’s looking into, but it’s another avenue to go down.’
‘Guess who’s an art collector?’ Penner said proudly, walking back with Gabe.
‘You bought a painting?’ Grant asked.
‘Nope. I bought two,’ Penner said. ‘Hey, Kulcheski.’
‘Two?’ Millar was surprised. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have any more wine. Drinking and shopping can lead to disappointment.’
‘Whatever. There were a couple of pieces that I really liked, and I couldn’t decide between the two. So, I just bought them both. Gabe told me the story of how he came up with the designs, his thought process while painting them, their symbolism. I can’t wait to see them in my living room.’
‘I’m just happy that they’re going to a good home,’ Gabe said. ‘I really like knowing my pieces are going to be appreciated—means a lot to me.’
The Art of Murder Page 14