Kill Them with Canvas, page 2
“Sounds like supplies for a school project. Maybe some kids in town are too poor to buy the materials they need, so they just took them.” I shrugged.
“Makes sense.” Izzie grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge.
“Just as good as any motive I’ve come up with.” Hunter stood. “I should be going. I want to pass the word around to the other business owners before I leave town. ’Course I wouldn’t be surprised if most all of them have already heard.” He reached the front and turned. “Like I said, keep a close eye on things. Whoever did this could come back. I wouldn’t want either of you to get hurt.” He nodded his goodbyes, then opened the door.
Max scampered inside. Landing at my feet, he opened his mouth and dropped whatever he’d found, sending it rolling across the room to where Hunter stood.
Staring at the floor for a second, Hunter then grabbed a plastic bag out of his pocket and picked up what looked like a flashlight, not much bigger than a felt-tipped marker. “Never can be too careful.” He stuffed the bag in his jacket pocket.
Max licked my leg. I smiled and scratched the top of his head. “He probably found it somewhere near Gwen’s shop. Are you thinking it belongs to the robber?”
“At this point, anything becomes possible evidence, even a tiny flashlight. You two have a good day and stay safe.”
“Bye, Hunter. See you in another …” Izzie turned and winked at me. “How long has it been? Oh right, in three months, give or take.”
“You’re hilarious, Izzie Abbington,” Hunter called out.
I gazed through the picture window as he stepped off the porch and then jogged across the lawn. “Will you stop giving him such a hard time?” I turned and slanted my chin.
“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I’ll stop. Promise.” Holding up her arm, she crossed her fingers, as if that promise would be a challenge. “He’s just so easy to tease.”
I pulled my chair closer, almost touching, knee to knee, when I sat down. “Tell me.” My voice lowered.
“Tell you what?” Her brows lifted.
“What exactly happened between you two in high school?”
She stood and pulled back her chair. “Let’s take this conversation in another direction. Did you see how Hunter was looking at you?” She covered her chest in a dramatic pose and fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh yes. Love is in the autumn air.”
I stood and walked to the counter. Grabbing the paper towel roll resting on top, I threw it in her direction, but it bounced off the wall instead of hitting her. “There’s nothing going on between us. No love. Not even a spark.” Even if there could be something, I wasn’t sure I was ready yet.
“If you say so.” She picked up the roll of paper towels and tossed it into a utility basket. “Maybe we should load the car with these boxes.”
I wagged my finger. “This isn’t over. One of these days you’ll have to tell me the story.”
“Have to tell you? No. Will tell you? Yes, one of these days.” She handed me a box, then grabbed another.
I whistled for Max, who trotted along behind me as I followed Izzie to the car. After making one more trip to grab the last of the easels, I locked the door. Hunter’s words sounded in my head. I turned to glance at Go Fly a Kite. The items stolen made me curious, but still, my stomach rippled with a twinge of fear. I gripped the easels tighter, remembering what had happened this past summer, then took hurried steps to the car.
* * *
“We’re right on time. Thank goodness.” After a twenty-minute drive east, Izzie passed the sign welcoming visitors to Willow Shores, then eased into the drive alongside Bellows Lodge. Our neighboring towns shared the building to hold all kinds of events—club meetings, social functions, and the occasional fundraiser. Even Whisper Cove’s high school prom had taken place at the lodge one year, after plumbing issues at the school flooded the gymnasium. Ironically, the lodge was named after Carter Bellows, the father of Abigail Bellows. People claimed her spirit hid inside the lodge when she wasn’t busy haunting the lake. Nothing like spinning a wild ghost story to scare folks.
I slipped out of the car and gazed across the empty lot. “We even beat Aunt Constance. Ten points to us for promptness.”
The lodge had been built in the late nineteenth century. Carter Bellows had made his fortune, while living in New York City, by investing in whatever products the market demanded, furs and lumber mostly. Later, he settled in southwestern New York, along Chautauqua Lake, and led the effort to build Willow Shores. He became known as the town’s founder as well as its benefactor. When Abigail, his only child, drowned in a boating accident at the age of twenty, Carter blamed himself for neglecting the one person he cared about the most. After that, he became a recluse and drank away the days and nights until the alcohol killed him a few years later.
The exterior was built of bath stone shipped from England. The warm, honey coloring had faded over the decades, but the stone had held up well. Etched in letters above the archway and front entrance were the words “Bellows Lodge—1896.” Lilac bushes grew and flourished on either side, like bookends to the archway. They’d been Abigail’s favorite flower, and it had been Carter’s dying wish that they be cared for by the townsfolk.
“Hey, can you give me a hand?” Izzie spoke from behind me.
“Oh, sorry. I was thinking how sad their story was. No amount of money can keep tragedy from happening.”
“You’re talking about the Bellows family?” Izzie opened the tailgate and removed one of the boxes, handing it to me. “It’s sad that people reacted by spinning some crazy ghost legend. What an awful way to respect the dead.”
“People can be cruel and insensitive. That’s for sure.” I hefted the box and frowned. “Did Aunt Constance give you a key?”
“No, but we might as well stack these by the door. She should be here soon.”
Aunt Constance’s black SUV pulled into the parking lot as we finished. She stepped out of the vehicle. From the passenger side, a tall, slender woman with long red hair exited. She wore a full-length dress, in a deep crimson shade, that reached just below her knees. Draped over one arm was a navy-blue wool coat, and hanging from the other was a red leather bag that matched her outfit. She’d come prepared for the autumn evening, as the temperature would drop several degrees after nightfall. Aunt Constance, on the other hand, looked armed for a winter blizzard, clad in a fur-trimmed coat, knit hat, and gloves.
“That must be Viola. She’s younger than I expected.” I studied the woman as she gracefully walked across the lot without so much as a side glance at Aunt Constance, who hurried to catch up.
“Hello, ladies. I take it you’re the artists who’ll run this event?” She tapped her watch and added, “I don’t have much time this evening, but I’d love to chat about hiring you for dates in the future. My nephew’s birthday is next month, and this would be the perfect entertainment for his party.” She waved Aunt Constance on to unlock the door. “And two of our chapters north of here are interested in having paint parties as well. With your talent and my contacts, I can guarantee your calendar will be booked well into next year.” Not waiting for a response, she grabbed one of our boxes and entered the lodge behind Aunt Constance.
I blinked and turned to Izzie, who pumped her fist in the air before leaning closer to me.
“I think Viola Finnwinkle might be our fairy godmother,” she whispered.
By now, Viola stood at the front of the room, unpacking the box she’d carried in and setting items on the front table near the projector screen. I had to admire her pitching in to help us. I grinned as Aunt Constance must’ve had the same thought. She shrugged off her coat, hat, and gloves, then dug into the box for more supplies. It seemed totally out of character for her. She was usually more the kind to bark orders while others did the physical tasks.
“Maybe wait and see. We don’t know this lady. She might be full of promises but fall short on the delivery.” I scolded myself for sounding negative. Given the scowl on Izzie’s face, she must’ve taken it that way. I hurried with a quick recovery. “Still, the idea of filling our calendar is exciting.”
We set up the easels and blank canvases for nearly fifty guests. At our small shop, thirty was a tight fit. The instruction for this event would be challenging. I added sets of flat, round, and liner brushes next to the easels while Izzie distributed the cups, paper plates, and paper towels.
“I wish Willow were here. We really need the help with this number of people, most of whom I bet haven’t held a brush to paint a picture since elementary school.” Izzie sighed.
Willow was the young, talented assistant Izzie had hired before the shop opened. After the events of this past summer, she’d decided to take some time off to spend with her family, promising to return before Whisper Cove’s Hallows Eve celebration.
“At least we have these.” I held up the canvases for this evening’s paint theme. There were two sets of paintings done in stages, from rough sketches to finished artwork. The brilliant idea had been one of Willow’s that proved very useful. While Izzie and I were busy helping others, a guest could take a look at these canvases for guidance. Especially this evening with a huge crowd, they were a blessing. I situated the canvases around the room while Izzie finished pouring water into the cups.
The chatter of voices coming from outside the door signaled guests were arriving. I glanced around at our setup. Every detail was staged perfectly. I stood next to Izzie, waiting while the sisters shrugged off their coats and gabbed.
Constance approached. A tight-lipped expression hinted at her nervous state. “The evening will go smoothly, right?” She tugged at her collar. “I mean, you’ve set up everything so well. I’m proud of you. I know my David would agree, if he could be here.” She sniffed and plucked a tissue out of her dress pocket. Dabbing at her eyes, she turned and headed toward a group of ladies huddled around the coffee maker and snacks.
“Does she seem more emotional than usual?” Izzie’s brow wrinkled as she chewed on the corner of her lip.
“It’s obvious. Putting on a show for Viola tipped her over the edge. The best way we can help is to make sure this evening goes off without a hitch.” I squared my shoulders as if ready to do battle.
“We got this.” Izzie tapped the microphone sitting on the podium in front of us and spoke. “Good evening, ladies. Are we ready to have some creative fun?”
Murmurs and nods of agreement threaded through the group as the women scattered to take seats. Only two of them seemed to squabble over a spot nearest the front. A tall, rather stocky woman with snow-white hair, dressed in a red sweater three sizes too small, cast a steely glare and squeezed into the seat, leaving the shorter and frailer one to stare, with her fists clenched. The winner of the coveted seat ignored her by fingering the brushes and repositioning the paper towel and cup.
I pushed my tongue against one cheek and exhaled. “Only takes one or two to make things awkward,” I said to Izzie under my breath.
As if accepting defeat, the woman standing looked around the room for an empty seat. In an instant, Aunt Constance hurried forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She guided her to the back of the room, where the only vacant spot remained. Patting her shoulder, Aunt Constance smiled and mouthed a few words before rejoining Viola at the front.
“That was strange. Do you recognize either one of them?” Izzie spoke out of the side of her mouth while flipping the projector switch to light the screen.
“Nope, but I’ll bet they aren’t living up to the Sisterhood’s stellar reputation. Just look at the scowl on Viola’s face.” I nodded in her direction.
Izzie shuddered. “Fairy godmother has a thorny side. Poor Aunt Constance. She’ll get an earful from the director, and none of it will be nice.”
“Okay, ladies. Let’s take a look at what you have in front of you. Three kinds of brushes that you’ll soon learn how to use, cups of water to rinse off the paint, and paper towels to dry the bristles.” I held up each item.
Izzie explained the process of our class while I walked over to point at the canvases of the painting in stages. “Any questions?” When no one raised a hand, she added, “Great! Let’s paint our ghost.”
The event was going along without a hitch. Izzie and I managed to circulate through the room, answer questions, and give instructions. We were in sync and worked without interruption.
When there was a brief lull in activity, I took advantage of the break to find the restroom. The muffled sound of voices echoed from the hallway. I slowed my steps, not wanting to intrude on what might be a private conversation. At once, the volume lifted, and the tone of the conversation became angry. Words snapped and soon both voices were shouting.
I leaped around the corner, prepared to do whatever it took to defuse the situation. I refused to let some silly quarrel between guests ruin the event. However, I got no farther than a couple of steps. My mouth gaped open at the sight of Aunt Constance and Viola. Both were red-faced, and their eyes practically bulged. My heart pounded, and I swallowed hard, ready to wedge myself between them before either of them did something rash like throw a punch.
“After all I’ve done, all our chapter has done, to contribute to the Sisterhood.” Aunt Constance poked a finger at Viola. “And this is the thanks we get?” She waved an arm. “You all sit in your offices, gather around some table in your meetings like you were royalty dictating the fate of others. It’s disgusting and disgraceful.”
“I’m sorry, Constance. We have to consolidate in order for the Sisterhood to survive. In fact, two other small chapters are being merged with yours. This will help make the chapters more effective. You’ll see.” Viola quieted down, tipped her chin, and pursed her lips. “This isn’t up for debate. The decision is final, whether you agree or not.”
“But I’ll lose my position as chapter president,” Aunt Constance screeched, loud enough for those in the room behind me to hear, and the chatter dissolved into silence.
“You’ll have until the end of the month to submit your chapter’s financial statement for the last quarter. All minutes from meetings, the calendar of events you’ve scheduled out until the end of the year, and other items I’ll be asking for will be in the memo I’m emailing to you this evening.” Viola pulled on her coat and turned to leave. “I’ll call for an Uber. No need for you to take me back to the ferry dock.”
“I’m not through with you, Viola.” Aunt Constance grabbed her coat and hat. “You won’t get away with this. You hear me?”
In seconds, both women stormed out of the building. I flinched as the door slammed, and the only thought in my confused mind was how, in one second, the evening had fallen apart.
Chapter Two
Pivoting on my heel, I found myself face-to-face with several ladies who’d obviously been curious to see what and whom the argument was about. A nervous titter escaped my lips, but I cleared my throat to speak. “The show’s over, ladies. Just a minor disagreement. Nothing more.” I waved a hand to motion them back to their seats. “We have paintings to finish, don’t we?”
Releasing my breath, I slowed my pace to cross the room and stand alongside Izzie, whose expression appeared stunned—her wide eyes, dropped jaw, and blanched complexion were almost as scary as our ghost lady, Abigail. I pointed to my lips and widened them into a smile.
She got the hint, immediately snapped her jaw shut, and nodded. “Everyone ready for the next step? Great. Let’s finish our ghosts. We’ll be using both white and blue paint to give her a translucent appearance. First …”
Izzie’s firm, reassuring voice seemed to work its magical charm as everyone concentrated on painting. The chatter had dwindled to a hushed whisper here and there, but as I circulated through the room to help with the painting, I overheard most of the comments that voiced concern about their chapter’s future and Aunt Constance losing her position. I couldn’t stop my worrying about Aunt Constance either. She’d been a part of the Chautauqua Sisterhood for as long as I could remember. Working so hard to campaign and win the seat as local president meant everything to her. Some older members even claimed she was the best their chapter had ever had. She worked tirelessly on organizing events, and the Chautauqua Sisterhood’s local fundraisers often raised more money than any of the other chapters’. It made no sense to me why the people in charge would want to dismiss all that commendable work she and her members had done. I didn’t blame her for getting so upset, and suspected she wouldn’t let it go without a fight.
Within an hour we were finished, and the last of the guests strolled out to the parking lot, their paintings in hand. I pulled my phone out of my bag. “I’m calling Aunt Constance.”
Izzie peeked over my shoulder. “I hope she’s okay. I can’t believe Viola and her accomplices are dumping the chapter. Such a cruel thing to do. I mean, Aunt Constance talks about how much money her group raises and how their membership keeps growing every year. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Viola has some other reason for doing this, something she wants to keep a secret.”
“If there is something underhanded going on, Aunt Constance will find out.” The call went straight to voicemail. I shook my head at Izzie and shrugged, waiting for the beep. “Hi, Aunt Constance. It’s Chloe. You rushed out so quickly. We wanted to make sure you’re okay. Please call me as soon as you can.” I pressed the button to end the call.
“Should we contact the authorities?” Izzie chewed on her nail.
I blinked. “Why would we do that?”
“I don’t know. She’s old. What if she’s lying somewhere having a heart attack? You heard the way she was screaming.” Izzie’s voice edged up.
“Let’s not go there. She probably went straight home because she’s too upset and maybe too embarrassed to come back and face the other sister members. That seems logical.” I scanned the room. “What we need to do is pack up and leave. It’s late and I’m exhausted. If we don’t hear back from her tonight, I’ll call again in the morning.”
