Caramel Canvas

by Jessica Beck

“That I can’t help but continue to do,” he replied, and then he turned to me as we walked back to Momma’s car. “Suzanne, which of your last three suspects do we tackle next?”

  “Honestly, we can discuss it along the way, since all three of them are based in Union Square,” I said. “We can probably find Kerry Minter at her art supply house, and with any luck, Galen and Christopho will be at their studios, so it shouldn’t be too hard to track them down.”

  “Then let’s go see what we can uncover,” Momma said.

  After a prolonged discussion, we decided to confront the two artists on our list first. After all, their names had both been in boxes, while Kerry’s had been in a bubble. I reminded myself that I could be wrong about the supposition that Annabeth’s suspects were in squares only. Kerry had certainly given us enough reason to continue to suspect her, but then again, so had Galen, and upon further examination, so did Chris Langer, or as he liked to be referred to, Christopho, regardless of how they’d been designated.

  My cell phone rang as we drove toward Union Square, and I found myself hoping that it was Jake. Instead, I saw Trish’s name in the caller ID.

  “Hey, Trish. Don’t tell me you found something out already.”

  “I’m not doing anything more than chatting with my customers,” she said defensively, so I knew instantly that she’d been doing more than that, but it was a risk I knew I was taking when I’d brought her into the investigation. Trish wasn’t the kind of gal who could do anything by half measures or sit back and wait in the wings for things to happen, either.

  “I hope you’re not taking any unnecessary risks on our account,” I said.

  “Like you do all of the time?” she asked me.

  She might be in a playful mood, but I certainly wasn’t, not given what was at stake. “What’s going on, Trish?” If I wasn’t ready to answer her question, then I’d just duck it completely.

  “I’ve got a few friends who know Kerry Minter,” she said. “One of them happened to be in the diner…okay, I can’t lie to you. I called him. Long ago he told me that he’d dated Kerry five years ago, and I wanted to check her out. I just followed up with him, and he told me something that you need to hear.”

  “What did he tell you?” I was certainly intrigued.

  “He said that Kerry has always been obsessed with the men she was interested in, to the point of being a danger to others.”

  I’d believed that she was ardent in her pursuit of Chris Langer, but I didn’t know how far she might go. “Did he happen to give you any examples?”

  “Oh, yes. When he broke up with her because he was interested in someone else—and bear in mind this was after they had gone out on a total of two dates, two dates mind you—Kerry showed up at the other woman’s work, hysterical and claiming that she was having his baby, and that the new girl had to butt out before it was too late or she’d end up ruining her baby’s life.”

  It was a chilling thought. “Is it possible that she was telling the truth?”

  “If she was having a child, which he sincerely doubted, it certainly wasn’t with him. He assured me of that because of an accident in his childhood that made that impossible, and I believe him. Even if that weren’t true, he assured me that they hadn’t gone much beyond holding hands, though she’d been after him for more. He’d had a suspicion about her, and he’d held back to keep from letting things go any further. He said when the girl he’d been interested in called him in tears to accuse him of getting Kerry pregnant and then abandoning her, she wouldn’t believe him when he told her the truth. She told him that Kerry was too earnest, too believable, and she refused to see him anymore.”

  “She sounds like a real sociopath,” I said, which certainly got Momma and Phillip’s attention. I couldn’t take time to explain, at least not at the moment. “Thanks, Trish.”

  “I hope it helps,” she said.

  “Every piece we add to the puzzle completes the picture a little more,” I said.

  “Good. I’ll keep digging,” Trish replied.

  “Just keep being careful,” I warned her, but I wasn’t sure she was even still on the line. I was going to have to be careful of how I used her in the future. I’d had a friend nearly struck down from helping me in the past, and I wasn’t about to let it happen again, at least not if there was anything I could do about it.

  “Let’s go to Artie’s instead,” I told Momma after I put my cell phone away.

  “Is Kerry the psychopath you were just talking about?” Phillip asked from the back seat.

  “Actually, I called her a sociopath,” I admitted.

  After I told them what Trish had shared with me, Momma frowned. “What does that have to do with Annabeth’s death?”

  “Think about it, Momma. If Kerry went that far to scare off a rival back then, what could she have done to Annabeth? She wanted Chris Langer for herself, and it sounded as though she wouldn’t stop until she got him.”

  “Suzanne, making up a lie and confronting a woman at her workplace is bad, I will grant you that much, but it doesn’t make the woman a murderer.”

  “Unless she’s elevated her game,” Phillip said. “Dot, you tend to think better of folks than they sometimes deserve. It’s not a horrible trait to have, but when it comes to dealing with the seedier side of life, it can be a real impediment.”

  “If so, I can live with it,” Momma said. “At any rate, let’s go speak with the young lady and see what she has to say for herself. She at least deserves that much from us, don’t you agree?”

  “I think innocent until proven guilty is fine in theory,” Phillip said. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if she turns out to have done it.”

  “If she did, then I’ll be pushing to have her punished for what she did more than anyone else. All I’m saying is that we give her a chance.”

  We didn’t get that opportunity, though.

  When we got to the art supply shop, no one was there, including the owner.

  CLOSED FOR INVENTORY. REOPENING IN SEVEN DAYS.

  That was all it said.

  “Something’s going on,” I said. “I’ve been in this shop recently. Unless she’s checking her stock blindfolded, there’s no way an inventory could possibly take that long.”

  Phillip peered inside at the darkened space. “Besides, if she was doing inventory, wouldn’t she need to have the lights on? It’s as dark as a cave at midnight in there.”

  “Perhaps you two are missing something,” Momma said. “This still doesn’t necessarily prove her guilt.”

  “We never said that it did,” I said, rushing to Phillip’s and my defense. “Why else do you see her running away, though?”

  “First of all, we don’t know that she’s run anywhere, and second of all, what if the poor girl is afraid for her life? Whoever killed Annabeth could also be after her.”

  I had to admit that I hadn’t considered that possibility. “Why would anyone want both women dead?” I asked.

  Momma seemed to ponder that for a bit before answering. “What if Kerry saw or heard something that happened between Annabeth and her killer? Wouldn’t that put her in jeopardy?”

  “If she was a witness to something, she should have come forward the moment she learned about Annabeth’s death,” Phillip said, spoken like a true former chief of police.

  “Maybe she should have, but she could be afraid for her life,” Momma said.

  “I might be tempted to run if I were in her shoes,” I admitted.

  “See? Even Suzanne agrees with me,” Momma said triumphantly.

  “Hold your horses there,” I replied. “Just because I see it as a possibility, I also think it’s equally likely that she might have been the one to do it.”

  “All I’m asking is for you both to keep open minds. We need to track her down, so we can determine the reason for her absence ourse
lves.”

  “I’ll get a friend on it,” Phillip said as he took out his cell phone and started to make a call. When he got the party in question, he began a whispered conversation that both Momma and I tried to listen in on, equally unsuccessfully.

  “Okay, I’ve got the word out,” Phillip said after he finished his call. “In the meantime, why don’t we go to this loft where both of our remaining suspects have studios? If we’re in luck, we’ll find at least one of them there working.”

  Momma and I agreed, and after I gave her directions, she quickly found the warehouse space I’d visited earlier.

  Chapter 20

  “It’s still hot in here,” I said as the three of us walked into Chris’s, or Christopho’s, studio space.

  “If the owner doesn’t fix it soon, we’re going to have a rent strike,” he said irritably. “Who have you got with you now?” he asked as he took in Momma and Phillip.

  “Allow me to present my mother and her husband,” I said.

  “Please, call us Dot and Phillip,” Momma said as she extended her hand. She paused afterward to take in the work on his easel. It was mostly unchanged since I’d seen it last, although he’d added a few dribbles of red to the canvas in my absence. Was that really all he’d done in all of that time? It must take him forever to produce one painting if that was the normal pace of his work.

  “Are you patrons of the arts?” Christopho asked as he cooed to my mother. He clearly was a master at sizing up his visitors. One look at the three of us, and he’d zeroed in on the only one who might be able to appreciate what he was doing, and what was more, be able to afford it.

  “I’ve collected some local artists’ work,” she admitted. “Mostly Annabeth Kline’s in recent history,” Momma said. “What do you think of her paintings?”

  “Annabeth always had her own distinctive style,” Christopho said diplomatically. “She was very good at what she focused on, and we’ve all lost something by her death.”

  “Quite different from your work, though,” Momma said as she gestured to his current artwork.

  “No offense to my late friend and colleague, but if you want a realistic image, take a photograph. I like to deal with deeper issues.”

  “Such as this?” Momma asked him as she studied the painting a bit more.

  “The tumult in man’s soul is vastly more interesting to me than what he looks like on the outside,” the artist said.

  Momma nodded in understanding, but I thought it was a bit of poppycock. It wasn’t that I couldn’t appreciate abstract art in its many forms, but even Picasso started out rendering things realistically. I’ve always thought you couldn’t break the rules until you mastered them, but what did I know? I was a donut maker, plain and simple, and I never wanted to be anything else for the rest of my life. Maybe Grace and Momma were seeing something on a deeper level that I’d been missing, but if so, I wasn’t sure I’d ever learn to appreciate this man’s particular style.

  “I don’t know about that,” Phillip said as he stepped up to get a closer look. Momma was about to stop him from speaking, but for some reason, maybe it was something in his expression, she remained silent. “This one makes me uneasy.”

  “Exactly,” Christopho said gleefully. “That’s exactly what I’ve been struggling to attain.”

  “Well, you can stop, because you’re there right now,” Phillip said. “To be honest with you, it’s not my taste, but I can see the value in it.”

  “That’s all that I ask of anyone,” he said, nodding in agreement. “Would you like to know more about my work?” he asked Momma.

  “Later, but for the moment, we’re collecting the thoughts and movements of Annabeth’s friends and colleagues before she died. We know you two were friends, so I’m sure you won’t mind helping us put something together. It’s for her mother, you understand. I’m sure if the roles were reversed, you’d like someone to do it for yours.”

  It was a brilliant stroke adding Alyssa into the mix, one only a mother would think of, I thought.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said.

  Momma gestured to me, so I asked him our planned questions. “The first date, the Tuesday before her death, at ten p.m. is what we’re asking everyone to remember and share.”

  Christopho frowned at me for a moment before he responded. “That’s an oddly specific time,” he said.

  “Evidently it’s horoscope-star-chart stuff,” Phillip blurted out.

  “Pardon me?” Christopho asked. Had my stepfather lost his mind?

  If he had, he was continuing with the charade, doubling down. “One of Annabeth’s friends is big into astrology, and she said that if she knew where folks were and what they were doing twice during the last week of Annabeth’s life, she could tell Alyssa things that no one has any right to know. I don’t put much stock in it myself, but you never know.”

  “No, you don’t,” the artist said. “Okay. Let’s see. The Tuesday before at ten p.m., I was here working.”

  “Did anyone see you?” I asked.

  “No, not that I’m aware of, but when I’m in the zone of creation, you could set a bomb off under me and I wouldn’t even hear it.”

  So, we were zero for one. “How about at the moment she died? We can’t pin it down much between noon and three p.m. that day. Any luck there?”

  I was hoping for something, but I was destined to be disappointed yet again. “Can’t say that I know that one, either. I’m sorry. I won’t be able to help your project after all.” He then turned back to Momma and said, “If you’re interested, I’ve got some things from my rose period you might like.”

  “You painted roses?” I asked him, wondering if you could even tell they were flowers, based on the work I was looking at.

  “Not the flower, the tone and the hue,” he said dismissively.

  “Let’s make an appointment next week to get together,” Momma told him.

  Christopho seemed overly pleased by the offer. “That would be grand.”

  “Very well. I’ll call you later to iron out the details. In the meantime, would you know if Galen is in her studio?”

  “You’re interested in her work?” he asked incredulously. “It’s a bit derivative if you ask me.”

  “We’re working on that astral chart, remember?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. Of course. She has a separate entrance. You go back outside and use the stairwell to the top floor. If she’s there, her door will be open, despite the chill in the air today.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  As soon as we were outside again, I turned to Phillip and Momma. “I knew you were an art lover,” I said to my mother, “but you surprised me,” I added as I looked at my stepfather.

  “My tastes may be simple, but I know what I like,” Phillip said, “and that work in there wasn’t it. It gave me the willies just looking at it. I’d no sooner own it than I would a portrait of a serial killer. No, that’s not true. I’ll take the serial killer hands down, every last time.”

  “I’m not sure I’d take either one, but I get your point,” I said. As we climbed the stairs after ascertaining that Galen’s door was open, I asked Momma, “Were you serious about viewing his other work?”

  “Suzanne, a closed mind opens no doors.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “Are you suddenly spouting off in fortune cookies?”

  Momma just shook her head, a reaction I’d been known to get from her quite often over my lifetime and something I’d grown used to.

  If Christopho’s studio had been hot, Galen’s was absolutely scorching. Despite the weather outside, she was dressed in the merest of short, tight skirts and a top that was barely decent. The woman had a great body, I had to give her that much, even if I didn’t personally care for her multiple piercings. Phillip did his best not to notice, a fact that I was certain Momma
would appreciate. I supposed if I looked like that, I might be tempted to dress that way as well, but neither event was ever going to happen. I caught him sneaking a few quick glances in her direction, but I decided he was allowed, at least as far as I was concerned. Momma might be another matter altogether.

  Galen smiled at us until she recognized me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for information,” I said. “This is my mother and her husband. They are art fans.”

  “Okay,” she said, dialing her hostility back a bit. To be fair, if I had to work in that kind of heat for more than a few minutes, I’d probably be angry all of the time, too.

  There wasn’t a current work in progress on display and her hands were free of paint, which I thought was odd, particularly given the studios of the other artists we’d seen. “Where’s your artwork?” I asked her.

  “I’m getting ready for a show I don’t want to have,” she said with a frown, “not that it’s any of your business. Now why are you here?”

  “We’re trying to put together an astrological footprint for Annabeth’s death for her mother,” Momma told her. I myself didn’t think there was anything to astrology in general, but then again, once upon a time I’d taken part in cleansing the bookstore space before Paige Hill had opened for business, and I’d felt a palpable difference before and after the burning sage ritual, so what did I know? Like Momma had just reminded me, normally having an open mind is not necessarily a bad thing.

  “I don’t believe in that rubbish, lady,” she said curtly to my mother.

  Phillip may have been temporarily smitten by Galen’s physical appearance, but the moment she’d disrespected my mother, he’d lost even a cursory interest in her. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way. Where were you last Tuesday night at ten p.m. and then again on the day of Annabeth’s death between noon and three p.m.?”

  “You sound just like a cop,” she said, and not like it was a good thing.

  “That’s because I am, or I should say, I used to be. Chief of police. Answer the questions, or do you have something to hide?”