Kill them with canvas, p.12
Kill Them with Canvas, page 12
“No one’s going to read about this because—I repeat—the lawsuit doesn’t have a chance in hell.” Ross sounded and looked exasperated.
“I agree. We need to focus on Aunt Constance and her situation. This will only take away our time and energy, if we let it.” I stroked Max’s fur while he slept next to me.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what they hoped would happen,” Izzie said.
“You mean stopping you from helping Aunt Constance? Oh, come on. Now that is crazy.” Ross smacked the sofa arm with the flat of his hand.
“See what I mean? We should be discussing our plan to find out who might’ve killed Viola, not talking about this stupid lawsuit.” I scowled and crumpled the letter from the attorney, then tossed it in the fireplace.
“Hey! We might need that.” Izzie stood, but Ross reached across the sofa to stop her.
“We won’t, but I can get in touch with the attorney and have a nice chat with him.” He rose and stood next to the sofa, stretching his arms as he yawned. “Okay, I’m leaving. I have a video conference with a client in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Ross. You’ve made me feel better. Mostly, anyway,” Izzie said.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” I got up from my chair, and Max hopped down to follow me across the room.
As he reached the front, Ross opened the door and turned to face me. “Are you and Izzie still going to the memorial for Viola?”
I nodded. “No one will suspect anything. Aunt Constance is telling everyone we’re coming to give her emotional support.”
“I was going to say, if you find out anything useful, call me.”
He tapped the frame of the door and grew silent, as if waiting for me to carry on the conversation. Either that or he was thinking of a way to bring up the thing I didn’t want to discuss.
“You’re letting in the cold air,” I said pointedly.
“Oh, sorry. I guess I am.” He stepped out onto the porch. “Good luck with your painting event this afternoon. Lucky for you the weather is cooperating.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you.” I gave a slight wave and quickly shut the door. With a huge sigh, I walked back into the den. Any conversation about the Blue Whale, my date with Hunter, and how I’d stretched the truth about dating him had been avoided.
Izzie stood facing the fireplace, her arms folded over her chest. “Do you really think Ross is right about this?” Turning on her heel, she faced me. The troubled frown creasing her forehead hadn’t disappeared.
“I do. He’s good at his job and at reading people. I trust his gut instinct. Anyhow, we don’t have time to stress about it.” I tapped my watch. “It’s almost noon, and the memorial is in an hour. We should get changed.”
“You’re right.” Her chest heaved. “I signed up for yoga classes yesterday and start tomorrow.” She pressed fingers on her wrist, taking her pulse. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve got to stop stressing over everything. Otherwise, I’ll end up in a psych ward.”
“Stop. I’m proud that you’re taking steps to help yourself. So, no psych ward talk. Besides, if you go there, I’m coming with you. I couldn’t handle life without you.” I squeezed her hand.
“Aw. You do love me, after all.” She grinned and pulled me in for a hug.
“Izzie, I can’t breathe.” My voice was muffled against her chest.
“Sorry.” She held me at arm’s length. “I’m just so glad to have my big sister back. All that time you were living in New York was the worst. Don’t you ever leave me again.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I linked my arm through hers and led the way toward the stairs. “What about marriage? Can I leave you then? Or do you want to come live with me and my husband? I draw the line when it comes to the honeymoon, though. Oh! What if you get married first? Do I get to live with you?”
She patted my arm. “We’ll see. I have to think about it.”
“You are such a goof, you know that?” I swung my hip against her thigh.
“Forever and always.”
After a quick shower, I slipped into the only black dress I owned, one I’d bought at a thrift shop in Soho two years ago, and met Izzie downstairs. We drove north along the lake to Mayville. The venue for Viola’s memorial was the reception hall of Saint Anne’s Church. Aunt Constance attended services there and had offered to speak with Pastor Josephine who graciously agreed to midday Friday since the hall was booked for a wedding reception that evening. Members from every chapter of the Chautauqua Sisterhood planned to attend. It seemed that, contrary to Sarah’s and Aunt Constance’s opinions, Viola had been well liked. Her memorial page on the legacy website was filled with hundreds of condolences, including mine and Izzie’s. That gesture, along with attending the memorial, seemed appropriate, even though we had an ulterior motive for joining the function.
Soothing music piped through the speakers and filled the hall with Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” According to her sister, this song had been Viola’s favorite. I scanned the crowd, searching for Marilyn. I had no idea what Sarah looked like. In the far corner, a middle-aged woman with bright red hair closed her eyes and swayed back and forth, as if enjoying the music. A pleasant smile softened the features of her face. Maybe she was Sarah.
“Are we going to mingle?” Izzie nudged my shoulder as she whispered.
I leaned her way. “How about we split up? You take the right side of the room, and I’ll cover the other.” I set a slow pace across the floor, weaving around some guests while stopping to exchange words of sympathy with a few. I kept one ear on any conversation that raised suspicion, meaning one with negative comments about Viola, but I only overheard remarks like “She didn’t deserve to go that way” or “How will the Sisterhood ever replace her?” Frustrated, I ended up near the back wall, where tables were lined with refreshments and food dishes ranging from lasagna to fried chicken, plus plenty of sides and desserts such as pumpkin roll and pumpkin pie. There had been a bumper crop of pumpkins this year.
I loaded a plate with my choices, munched on a cheese puff, and moved on to the punch bowl. Looking up, I spotted Aunt Constance dabbing her eyes while standing next to Pastor Josephine. My gaze shifted to the right. I choked and quickly washed the bite of food down with punch.
Glaring at me from across the room was a tall, large-framed, white-haired woman. This felt like déjà vu. I recognized her from the night of the lodge party. She was the one who’d bullied her way to take a front-row seat. She still had the same steely-eyed stare and scowl. Scary to think the expression might be permanently frozen on her face.
“Are you all right, Chloe?” Aunt Constance patted my back. “Should I get you another glass of punch?”
I turned. “Oh, no thanks. I’m fine.” I heaved a breath and smiled. “See?” I tipped my chin. “Who’s the woman with the white hair standing next to Viola’s photo display?”
“Huh. She looks pretty upset. Can’t imagine why. She didn’t like Viola very much. Come to think of it, she doesn’t care for anyone very much. That’s Sarah Gilley. You asked me about her yesterday. Remember?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, contemplating my next move. I stared for a long moment at my plate, sighed, then shoved it at Aunt Constance. “Here. Save this for me. I think I’ll go have a chat.” Before she could respond, I grabbed a napkin to wipe my lips, then marched across the room. My gaze locked on Sarah, who hadn’t stopped staring at me. One thing was for certain: if looks like hers were any indication of being a killer, Sarah would be a perfect candidate.
Her shoulders pulled back and chin lifted as I neared. “Hi. You’re Sarah, right? I believe we spoke on the phone the other evening.” I extended my hand. “Chloe Abbington. My sister and I run Paint with a View. You were at the painting event at the lodge, weren’t you?”
“Yes to all of that.” She gripped my hand and shook it hard. “Nice turnout for someone like her.” Sarah’s voice matched the scowl on her face, gravelly and grumpy.
I skipped over the “someone like her” description, already guessing what she meant. “Lots of folks wanted to pay their respects, I suppose.”
“Probably hearing about the huge spread got them to come.” She ended the reply with a throaty harrumph.
I rolled my tongue across my teeth. This conversation wouldn’t be easy. “Have you eaten yet? I hear they catered with Delmonico’s, one of the best in New York, in my opinion.” Shifting the conversation to neutral topics seemed wise. I’d let her be the one to bring up murder or death.
“Not hungry yet.” She hitched her thumb back over her shoulder. “I don’t think that detective knows how to do his job.”
Or she could bring up how the investigation was going and skip right over the pleasantries. I screwed up my mouth as I glimpsed Hunter standing at the entrance, talking with one of the guests. “Oh? How’s that?”
“For starters, shouldn’t he and the coroner be checking into Viola’s background? Her medical records? Her family?” She snorted. “Anybody with a lick of sense would want to find out if there was a reason her death could’ve been due to some medical condition, or maybe an enemy no one knew about. There could be any number of possibilities instead of going with the obvious.”
Now, my curiosity was piqued. Natural cause of death for a woman only in her forties or early fifties who looked and acted healthy wasn’t a conclusion I’d jump to. “I’m sure the coroner checked her medical records.”
“You’d have to dig deeper and elsewhere. Can’t find everything in medical records, you know. And families have all kinds of secrets.” She wiggled her brows.
I blinked. “Do you know something that the police don’t? Something you’re keeping a secret? It would be your civic duty to tell them, wouldn’t it?” The questions fired out of my mouth in quick succession, which didn’t seem to rattle Sarah.
She counted on her fingers. “One, I’m not implying I know anything. Two, I would absolutely do my civic duty if I found any information that was relevant. Three, if she did have a medical condition, how could I have access to information about that? I’m not a doctor. And four, what I do know is that I keep a very close eye on what goes on around me, which is something that detective should be doing.”
I took a moment to digest everything she’d told me and consider any possibilities that would explain Viola’s death. “So, this is all speculation on your part? You don’t have any evidence.”
Sarah shook her head and laughed. “You’re missing the point. As long as the detective doesn’t have concrete evidence, he’s the one speculating. Anyone can do that. For instance, I could say she walked onto the ferry deck, maybe to get a breath of air and calm herself after that ugly incident with Constance, then she stepped near the edge, had a fainting spell, and before she could stop herself, fell into the lake, hit her head, and kaboom”—she snapped her fingers—“just like that she was dead. See what I mean?”
Kaboom? My mouth gaped as she turned on her heel and walked away. “Holy wow. She’s good.” I spoke aloud to no one but myself, though I did get a few puzzled stares.
“Who’s good?” Izzie leaned over my shoulder.
I startled, and my hand flew to cover my chest. “Good grief. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry. Aunt Constance sent me over to give you this.” She held my plate. “She’s been summoned to the kitchen. Some sort of food crisis. Now, who’s this person you say is good?”
I took the plate and motioned to a free table in the far corner. “Sarah Gilley. She threw out all these suggestions about how Viola could’ve died. Like maybe having some sort of medical condition that killed her. Or a secret enemy who wanted her dead.” I took a huge bite of lasagna and mumbled my words. “She’s only guessing, which is something Hunter wouldn’t approve of.”
“But if she’s right, Aunt Constance will be free from facing a murder charge.” Izzie picked a piece of rotini off my plate and popped it in her mouth.
“A long shot at best. She was evasive answering my questions. She didn’t admit to knowing relevant information about Viola, but if she found any, she’d tell the authorities. How do we know what she considers relevant and important?” I chewed slowly. “You know, there’s another explanation.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something so obvious. If she killed Viola, it would make sense to throw off the authorities by suggesting other suspects. A textbook diversion.”
Izzie snorted. “Come on. She’s a busybody who wants to look important, so she noses into people’s business and spouts off murder theories.”
I sucked my tongue. “Hey, we’re busy bodies of a sort. Snooping around to find out who could’ve killed Viola.”
“That’s different.” She tapped the table with one nail, painted tangerine orange to match the Halloween season.
“How is it different?” I frowned.
“Well, we do it to help others, like Aunt Constance. She’s doing it because she wants to dig up dirt on people.”
I dropped my fork, and it landed on the plate with a clatter. “We’re trying to get dirt on—never mind. I’m telling Hunter about this. Sarah Gilley should be on his suspect radar. He might agree she’s hiding something. If it takes his mind off of Aunt Constance for a while, then it’s worth mentioning.” I’d take any amount of time we could get to keep looking for who or what was responsible for Viola’s death, whether it was Sarah or Dewey or some person we didn’t know—or simply an accident.
“Your call.” Izzie glanced at a pumpkin cream cookie, then picked up a piece of chocolate walnut fudge instead.
“I’m sure there’s plenty of food left, if you want to go make your own plate.” I slid mine a few inches closer to me.
“No, that’s okay. I’m not really hungry.” She licked her lips. “Why didn’t you get any sugar cookies? I hear Delmonico’s are the best.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe we should get going. We only have two hours before the event. Why don’t you grab our coats while I finish my meal?”
“Sure.” She picked up the slice of pumpkin roll and walked away.
“Sisters,” I mumbled, then shoveled pasta salad in my mouth.
* * *
The weather was perfect for our paint party along the shore. Cool, but not too cool to be uncomfortable; clear skies without the threat of rain; and only a slight breeze off the lake, so our canvases and paint materials wouldn’t scatter across the lawn. Though the unseasonably warm October had delayed the autumn peak of color, trees in the distance were dotted sparsely with golden-yellow, bright red, and burnt-orange leaves.
One row of twenty chairs and easels skirted the lawn a few yards from the shore. At four thirty, the sun hovered slightly above the tree tops. We had a little over an hour to paint before dusk would take away our light. Willow and I placed canvases on the easels while Izzie filled cups with water and set three different brushes on top of each of the placemats. Thanks to Dad, who had recruited our neighbor, Tod Bixby, the projector and screen had been set up, along with two sets of Willow’s step-by-step, illustrated painting instructions. Izzie was pleased that everything was in its proper place and we were as ready as we could be.
After getting home from the memorial, I’d called Hunter to give him a brief account of my conversation with Sarah. His reaction surprised me. Instead of dismissing my suggestion, he complimented me and said it was worth keeping an eye on Sarah. He also told me that the coroner had checked with Viola’s doctor about her medical history to see if anything in her records could explain what had happened. That’s where our phone conversation had taken a turn for the worse, when he refused to tell me what exactly he’d learned from the coroner. I ended with “I can find out on my own” before stabbing the end call button. What happened to quid pro quo between friends?
“Hey, Izzie, Chloe. Everything looks great. I finally got away from the shop. We got slammed at around four, but as soon as the place cleared, Mom scooted me out the door. She’s such a big help. I couldn’t do this without her support—and Dad’s.” Megan flopped down in a chair and straddled the seat. She smacked her thighs. “I almost forgot to tell you the news.”
“I think our guests are arriving.” Willow popped up next to Megan, interrupting whatever she planned to say. “I turned on the projector to warm it up and set flyers for our upcoming events on each of the chairs.”
“Can your news wait, Megs?” Izzie squeezed Megan’s arm. “If we don’t stay on schedule, the paintings won’t be finished before we lose daylight. Thanks.”
Megan opened her mouth to speak, but Izzie had hurried off to the front and now stood next to the projector.
Seeing Megan’s expression, I shrugged. “That’s Izzie. Like one of those windup toys, she’s this never-ending whirlwind of energy.”
“Got that right.” Megan sprang out of her seat. “I see Bob coming with his drink cooler and boxes of goodies. I’ll go help him.”
I laughed. “You mean to get first dibs on his barbecue puffs.”
She waved to dismiss the comment and jogged over to meet him.
“Good afternoon, everyone. It’s a beautiful day to paint, isn’t it? So, please claim your seat, and we’ll get started soon. Chloe and Willow will come around to fill your plates with paints. If you have any questions along the way, ask one of us for help. Or you can check out the step-by-step illustrated instructions at either end of your row. Notes are attached at the bottom, along with tips. Remember, we’re here to have fun.” She grinned.
I leaned close to the mic. “I’m Chloe, Izzie’s sister and partner. Just wanted to add that, if you’re like me, painting will work up your appetite. Bob’s Barbecue has got you covered. There’s plenty of food and drinks over there, so help yourselves.”
We stood back while every guest swarmed the table set up for Bob’s food items. A huge cooler filled with bottles of Fizzy Pumpkin and Fizzy Orange sat at one end. Bob recruited Megan to help hand out boxes of puffs, sandwiches, and fries. Bottles of the two Fizzy flavors went fast, though the pumpkin seemed to be the favored choice.
