Caramel Canvas

by Jessica Beck

  I threw open the door, and I was surprised to find a stranger standing there, looking as though she’d just got her hand stuck in the cookie jar.

  “What do you think you are doing lurking around here?” I asked her, clearly catching her off guard. Maybe I was being a bit aggressive, but she was violating Annabeth’s space, and I was very protective of my late friend.

  The nondescript woman in her mid-fifties clearly decided to push back. “I’m the one who should be asking the two of you that. Now step aside and let me in.”

  I wasn’t about to move, and neither was Grace. It would have taken more than this heavyset woman to push her way past us. “Who exactly are you?” Grace asked her.

  “I’m Bonnie Small,” the woman said, as though her declaration should mean something to us. A few hours earlier, I wouldn’t have had a clue who she was, but after reading the notes from Annabeth and learning Grace’s Internet search, I knew exactly who she was. She snapped, “I have more right to be inside Annabeth’s studio than you do.”

  “How can you say that?” I asked her, honestly startled by the woman’s brazen behavior. “You don’t even know who we are.”

  “You aren’t important,” she said. “That’s all I care about. Now step aside. I’m warning you, I won’t tell you again.” She really had an air of authority about her. It might have worked on most folks, but then again, she wasn’t dealing with most people.

  “We’re important enough,” I said as I closed the door behind us, effectively shutting her, and us, out.

  “Don’t make me do something you’ll both regret,” the woman said, beginning to bluster. It was clear she wasn’t used to being defied.

  That was just too bad.

  “Please, go on,” Grace said with a wicked grin. “Show us what you’ve got. I’m dying to see it.”

  Grace’s open defiance startled her, and I took a moment to interject while she was still trying to figure out how to deal with us. “We know you were Annabeth’s agent,” I said. “There’s a simple way to resolve this. Let’s all go up to the house and ask Alyssa.”

  As I suspected, that was not something Bonnie Small wanted to happen. “That woman has no idea of the value of what she’s got in there,” she said with disgust. “Annabeth has been offered a show posthumously, but I can’t make it happen if I can’t get inside.”

  “Who made the offer? Was it the Marcast gallery, by any chance?” I asked.

  It was a direct hit, though honestly, it hadn’t taken that much of a stretch, given the fact that the owner, Martin Lancaster, was among the names listed on Annabeth’s sheet.

  “What do you know about that?” she asked us both suspiciously. “Who exactly are you, anyway?”

  Now she was interested, given that we were more than just a pair of bystanders in all of this. “We are working on behalf of Annabeth’s estate,” I said as factually as I could manage it. In a very real way, it was true. I assumed that Alyssa was in charge, and we were doing something for her. That was going to be my story until I was contradicted, anyway.

  “That may be so, but I’m Annabeth’s representative,” Bonnie Small said defiantly.

  Grace must have seen something in the woman’s suddenly wavering gaze. “Perhaps while she was alive, but I doubt your agreement lasted beyond the grave. I’ll be examining the contract later, so I’ll learn the truth soon enough.”

  It was clearly another direct hit. We could almost see the wheels turning in the agent’s mind. Bullying and bluffing hadn’t worked on us, much to her chagrin. It was clear that she decided to retreat until she could come up with a different angle to come at us. I decided to give her one more nudge. “Let’s all go see Alyssa together, shall we?”

  Bonnie Small glanced at her watch, and then she said in a huff, “I don’t have time for this nonsense. I’ll deal with you all later.”

  “I’m willing to bet that you think you will,” Grace said as the agent stormed off.

  “That was interesting,” I said as I watched the art agent retreat. “She tried to bully the wrong people, didn’t she?”

  “We might have stopped her for the moment, but I have a hunch she’ll be back,” Grace answered. “What should we do in the meantime?”

  “Let’s go have another chat with Alyssa,” I said.

  “How can I have another if I haven’t even had the first one yet?” Grace asked me with a smile.

  “Are you channeling Alice at the tea party?” I asked her with a grin.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she replied with a Cheshire Cat–like smile of her own.

  “Let’s just grab a few things before we go,” I said as I unlocked the door again. I took the butcher paper notes, the flip phone, the watercolor book, and the planner/datebook.

  “We should take the donut painting, too,” Grace said as she grabbed the artwork in question.

  “That can wait,” I said. “I feel guilty asking her about it so soon after losing her daughter, anyway.”

  “Suzanne, it’s obvious Annabeth was painting this for you. What can it hurt asking Alyssa if she’s willing to sell it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said hesitantly.

  “Fortunately, you don’t have to. That’s why I’m here,” Grace said as she grabbed the canvas. “Be sure that door is locked tight behind us. We don’t want that Small woman getting in because of us.”

  I didn’t have to be reminded. After all, I double-checked the locks at the donut shop every time I left the building.

  If someone wanted to try to break in, that was on them, but at least I was going to do my best to keep them out.

  Chapter 10

  “Alyssa, may we have a few more minutes of your time?” I asked her after she answered the front door.

  “Of course. Good, you found it,” Alyssa said as she spotted the painting Grace was carrying. “I was about to call you while you were in the studio to tell you about it. In fact, I tried to come out there a few times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There are just too many memories there, especially recently.”

  I knew how much trauma finding the body of someone you cared for could cause, so if anyone could be sympathetic to Alyssa’s feelings, it was me. “I totally understand,” I said. “I was wondering if I might be able to buy this from you.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not for sale,” Alyssa said firmly.

  I tried to hide my disappointment. “Of course. I understand completely. We’ll put it back before we go.”

  “Suzanne, the reason it’s not for sale is because it’s already yours. Annabeth painted it to replace the one she gave you earlier. She told me that if anything happened to her, I was to be sure that you got it. It’s almost as though she knew she was about to have an accident.”

  Or be murdered, I thought to myself, though I wasn’t ready to share that suspicion with Alyssa just yet. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive,” she said. “Did I see someone out back talking to you a few minutes ago?”

  “Bonnie Small was trying to bully her way into Annabeth’s studio, but we wouldn’t let her,” Grace said bluntly. I couldn’t disagree with her assessment of the situation.

  “That woman,” Alyssa said, nearly spitting the words. “She’s the lowest form of leech. Annabeth was getting ready to fire her when she died, but from the way she’s been demanding access to my daughter’s studio, you would never know they had such a violent argument the day before Annabeth died. The Small woman didn’t know I was outside when they were yelling at each other. I was going to bring them some hot chocolate, but I left before either one of them could see me.”

  “Bonnie didn’t give us any indication that they’d had a falling out,” I said. It might explain a great deal. In fact, it might even provide a motive for murder, if she had been the one who had killed her client.

  “I suppose I’ll have to let her
in sooner or later, since Annabeth never got a chance to officially fire her,” Alyssa said.

  “Not necessarily,” Grace said. “Do you happen to know where their contract is?”

  “I’ve got it on my desk,” Alyssa said. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it, but I’m afraid I’m not very good at things like that.”

  “I’m pretty good with them, and I’d be happy to take a look at it for you,” Grace offered.

  “I would appreciate that so very much,” Alyssa said. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she headed off toward the back of the house.

  “You’ve got a hunch about that agreement, don’t you?” I asked Grace.

  “I suspect something, but I want to see if I’m right.” She didn’t have time to explain any further as Alyssa returned with a rather thick document.

  Grace took it and flipped immediately toward the back of the agreement. “Let’s see…here it is. Termination Conditions. You’re in luck,” she said as she glanced at Alyssa. “It says here that upon the death of either the party of the first part or the party of the second, which are Bonnie Small and Annabeth in this case, the document is no longer legally binding and is terminated immediately.”

  “That explains something I’ve been wondering about,” Alyssa said with a frown. “The day after Annabeth died, that horrid little woman showed up on my doorstep demanding that I sign an addendum to the contract, since I’m Annabeth’s executor. She said that it was a formality, but if I didn’t do it, I could lose my rights to everything Annabeth had worked so hard to create.”

  “Do you happen to still have a copy of what she wanted you to sign?” Grace asked. “I’d love the chance to get my hands on it and see exactly what the agent was trying to do.”

  “I tried to keep it, but she snatched it out of my hand before I could read it all. She was quite upset with me,” Alyssa explained.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. That seems to be her natural state of being,” I said, trying to reassure Annabeth’s mother. “Is Annabeth’s estate going to be very complicated, or have you had a chance to look into it yet?” I needed to know if anyone besides her mother had anything at stake in Annabeth’s demise, and I didn’t know how else to ask.

  “No, it’s as basic as you get. In fact, she’d been after me to make my own will for years, but I’d been reluctant, so she finally talked me into using a computer program. She did hers first to show me how easy it was. Annabeth left everything to me, and I did the same with her. I just never dreamed that she would be the one who died first.”

  “Did you happen to have the wills witnessed as well?” Grace asked her.

  “Yes, we had it done at the bank right after we made them. Did I do the right thing by refusing that nasty little woman’s demand?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Alyssa, I know it’s none of my business, but would you like some free advice?” Grace asked her.

  “Of course I would.”

  “Don’t sign anything, and I mean anything, regarding Annabeth’s estate without running it past an attorney first. Your daughter was getting to be rather well known, and as sad as it may seem, her art went up in value the moment she died.”

  “What a horrible thing to happen,” Alyssa said. “Why is that the case?”

  “The truth of the matter is that she won’t be painting anymore, so what’s out there is all there will ever be,” Grace said.

  I patted Alyssa’s shoulder. “Given the circumstances, if you’d like to keep this donut painting, I completely understand.”

  “No, it was meant for you, Suzanne,” she said firmly. “I won’t hear another word about it.” She looked at the stack of papers and the book in my hands. “What else do you have there?”

  I showed her the notes first. “We thought there may be some things that need to be resolved in these,” I said. “We promise to bring them back when we’re finished with them.”

  “Alyssa was always jotting things down on that butcher paper,” she said softly. Was she going to cry again? Who could blame her if she did, but I wasn’t sure I could take it. I had compartmentalized my grief for the moment in order to allow me to focus my attention fully on finding her killer. I’d let my mourning period truly begin only after Grace and I succeeded in our quest.

  “Do you mind if we borrow them?” I asked softly. “If you’d rather we didn’t, we could photograph them with our phones.” I planned on doing that anyway, but I felt as though they might be valuable to have as originals until we were sure there was nothing on them we didn’t need.

  “No, I realize they are in good hands with you two. Did you happen to find anything else of interest?”

  “Just her flip phone, the book on watercolors, and her datebook,” I said. “We’d like to hold onto those, too, at least for a bit, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Alyssa started to nod in agreement when she stopped herself. “Suzanne, what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked her, trying my best to sound as innocent as I possibly could.

  “You two are up to something. I’ve known you both since you were little girls, so don’t try to lie to me. What is it?” Before I could answer, she nodded in sudden understanding. “You don’t think it was an accident, do you?”

  I had two choices: I could lie outright to the woman, or I could tell her the truth.

  I’d like to think that it was to my credit that I didn’t even hesitate telling her what we suspected. “Alyssa, Grace and I both believe that someone might have had something to do with Annabeth’s death.”

  Grace looked surprised by my admission for a split second, but then she joined in. “We aren’t one hundred percent sure of anything yet, but Annabeth had her own suspicions, which she passed on to Suzanne. Alyssa, for our peace of mind, and yours, we want your blessing to dig into this.”

  Alyssa seemed to collapse on the spot. She barely managed to catch the edge of a chair as she staggered backwards, and for a moment, I thought she was going to tumble right out of it onto the floor. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t mean to upset you,” I said as I rushed to her aid.

  “Suzanne, why do you think I was really coming by the donut shop this morning to see you? I believe the same thing. Too many things didn’t add up for me after I had time to think about them, and the fact that you are both suspicious as well makes me think that maybe I’m not going crazy after all.”

  “Alyssa, it’s important that you don’t share what we’re doing with anyone else,” I said. “If everyone believes that Annabeth’s death was an accident, we might be able to catch the killer off guard.”

  “You have my word, but honestly, who would I tell?” she asked. “Annabeth wasn’t just my daughter; she was also my best friend. Suzanne, do you think you can find out who did this? I know you and Grace have had some success in the past, but I got the impression the last case you worked on was your final one.” Almost apologetically, she added, “Your mother didn’t come right out and say it at the funeral, but that was the distinct impression I got.”

  “I believed it was so at the time, but I’m not about to let someone get away with killing my friend,” I reassured her.

  “You can count on us. If it can be done, we’ll do it,” Grace said, doing her best to reassure her of our sincerity and our diligence.

  “I have faith in you girls,” she said. “What can I do to help?”

  “For the moment, besides keeping this to yourself, don’t let anyone else into that studio,” I said. “In fact, I’d get the locks changed this afternoon.”

  “No one else had a key,” Alyssa said firmly.

  “If our theory is right, someone besides Annabeth was there with her the moment she died,” I said. “Why take the chance that they had a key?”

  Alyssa nodded soberly. “I’ll have it taken care of this afternoon. Find whoever did this to my little girl. Promise me.”
<
br />   “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen,” I said.

  “I have one last favor to ask of you both,” Alyssa said as we started for the door.

  “Just name it,” I answered.

  “When this is all said and done, will you two come back and clean out the studio for me? The last thing Annabeth would want would be for me to keep it as it is right now as a shrine in her honor. I would do it myself, but I think it might break me once and for all if I ever stepped foot inside it again.”

  “We’ll take care of it ourselves,” I said, and Grace nodded in agreement, not even trusting herself to speak.

  Once we were outside, I looked at Grace for a moment. “If you start crying, I’m not going to have a chance.”

  “I’m not crying,” she said, though it was clear a few tears were tracking down her cheeks. “This is just from the cold.”

  “Then let’s get inside my Jeep and warm up,” I said, doing my best not to let my pain escape. Instead, I needed to channel it and track down this killer.

  “Where should we start our investigation?” Grace asked.

  “I’d like to have a word with Martin Lancaster,” I said. “How do you feel about visiting an art gallery?”

  “I think it’s a smashing idea,” she said, and we headed off to Maple Hollow to speak with someone Annabeth clearly suspected might be a candidate for committing her own murder.

  “You aren’t going to get away with this, Marty,” a shapely young woman with short black hair and a dozen piercings in her ears and on her face said as she confronted a heavyset man in his late fifties in front of the art gallery. She wore jet-black slacks and a matching top, and I had to wonder if that was her image of what an artist should look like instead of how she preferred to dress. “We’ll see what Bonnie has to say about this!”

  “Galen, I’d appreciate it if you’d lower your voice when you address me,” the gruff man said. He was clean-shaven, his hair was cut short, and he wore an expensive suit. We’d driven to Maple Hollow to the new Marcast gallery, and Grace and I had been sitting out front in the Jeep trying to come up with an approach to get us in the door that wouldn’t make the art gallery owner suspicious. It had been quite a surprise when the two combatants had burst out of the gallery in full-on conflict. Galen looked as though she wanted to kill him on the spot. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Feel free to speak with Bonnie. After all, that’s what agents are for. She agreed to the percentages, so if you have a problem with them, talk to her, not me. You always have another option, you know.”