by Thea Cambert
“It scared me half to death when Jean-Paul came running up to us at the park Tuesday evening,” said Franny. “He said he’d figured out who the killer was, and asked where you were, Alice.”
“When we told him you’d gone into the tent looking for Ella, he turned pale and ran in after you,” said Owen.
“Thank goodness,” said Alice. “How are his eyes?”
“The doctor said he’ll be just fine,” said Franny. “He’s been released to go home to his family in New York in time for Thanksgiving.”
“So, Ella came to our Fall Into Art Festival expressly because she knew her ex-husband had a mansion here, and that the Toussaint was in it?” Owen asked.
“Yep,” said Ben, who couldn’t move at all, since Theo was just beginning to nod off in his arms. “She’d even planned her meeting Ian Foster. She knew he’d been after that painting since she and Bernard bought it at auction way back, and she knew he was a special guest at the festival. So, she swept him off his feet, so to speak, hoping that he’d be successful in buying the painting, and then she’d either charm him out of it or steal it from him.”
“But of course, Bernard wasn’t willing to sell at any price,” said Luke. “So, Ella, who’d been watching from the window when Ian met with him, had to switch to Plan B. She had the forgery ready to go, just in case.”
“And then when she saw the discrepancy with the signatures . . .” Alice said. “She broke into Hemlock House, stole the forgery back, fixed it overnight, and returned it before the family awoke.”
“Funny thing is, the alarm system had been on that Sunday morning, as it turned out,” said Ben. “But Bernard has used the same code for decades: Toussaint. And of course, having been married to him—”
“Ella knew the code,” Alice finished. “How did she find out that Talbot had spotted the fake?”
“She heard it from Mia Bly,” said Luke. “They were at the artists’ brunch in the park together Sunday morning when Talbot texted the photography class, and Mia, who was confused by the message, shared it with the table.”
“Not knowing there was a killer sitting right next to her,” added Ben.
“According to some of the other artists who were at the brunch, Ella excused herself quite suddenly, saying she had a headache and wanted to take a rest. But of course, what she really did was to stop off at her car, where she had a bottle of antifreeze in the trunk, and then walk straight to Shutter Bug’s. We’re guessing Talbot would’ve been all too glad to welcome a beautiful and accomplished artist who claimed to be a fan of his work for a visit and a cup of coffee. He very quickly texted his photography students and told you all to come an hour later. Mia arrived at the studio a little early, though, since Shutter Bug’s is right next to the park, so Ella had to rush out. She had just enough time to wipe her fingerprints from the coffee cups, dump them out, and set them in the sink before running out the back door.”
“Not knowing that the amazing and gorgeous Franny Maguire would smell the coffee,” said Ben, smiling at his wife. “And that there was enough sediment left in the bottom of one of the cups to identify the poison she’d used—which, of course, the autopsy confirmed had killed Talbot.”
“Wow. All of this for a painting,” said Alice. “People are strange.”
“But people are also good,” said Luke, covering Alice’s hand with his. “Bernard has dropped all charges against Lee Fairchild for her misguided attempt to make a statement. He also decided to take her feelings to heart, and is donating Woman at Café with Book to Jean-Paul’s gallery in New York with the understanding that the family can come and visit anytime.”
“How wonderful!” said Alice. “Now the whole world can enjoy it.” She settled deeper into the couch and watched the flames in the fireplace flicker.
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand what really sets one painting apart from another,” Luke said with a yawn. “I see something and know whether or not I like it, but I don’t even always know why.”
Alice smiled at him. “’Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.’ Monet said that.” She looked around the room. Theo had finally nodded off on Ben’s chest, and Franny and Ben were quietly whispering to one another. Owen’s head had flopped over onto Michael’s shoulder, and both Martin and Arthur were snoring softly from their armchairs. Bea and Pippa were in the kitchen making coffee, and the comforting smell was wafting through the house. Alice felt an overwhelming sense of contentment washing over her. This would be her home soon—and what made it home, truly, was filling it with memories with the people she loved most in the world. “’It is simply necessary to love,’” she repeated. “Maybe that’s true of life as well as art.”
Luke kissed her hand. “I think it is,” he said. “And I’m going to love you forever.”
Alice smiled and snuggled closer to him. “Come on, Christmas.”
Author’s Note
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