Kill Them with Canvas, page 7
Izzie caught up and whispered over my shoulder, “Take a deep breath and don’t say anything we’ll both regret. Remember, we need him to represent Aunt Constance.”
“She hasn’t been charged with anything yet,” I hissed under my breath, and a second later, I entered the kitchen. “We’re home,” I announced, pasting on a smile that couldn’t possibly reach my eyes because the irritation in me had to show. I leveled my gaze at Ross, who took the glass of tea Mom offered.
He walked to the table and set the glass next to his place setting before walking toward me, the moves deliberate and slow. His eyes sparkled, and he grabbed me in a hug. Without missing the opportunity, he planted a kiss on my cheek. “Hi, Chloe. You look as beautiful as ever.”
“Why are you here?” I wiggled out of his arms and stepped back to stare at his face.
“Chloe,” Mom reprimanded me with that tone of hers that meant serious business. “Ross is our guest.”
“Guest. Uh-huh.” I geared up to say more, but Izzie laid her hand on my shoulder.
“Easy,” she whispered.
I waited until my heartbeat slowed. “I thought we agreed you would wait until I called you to come. Not that you’d arrive the next day.”
He adjusted his glasses. “I don’t understand. She didn’t let you know?”
“Who? I have no idea what you’re talking about, and since when did you start wearing glasses?” I had to admit he looked good in them, like someone I could almost take more seriously. On second thought, they could be fake. I wouldn’t be surprised if he only wore them to convince the jury to take his side in a case. My face grew warm as everyone stared at me.
“I think he’s talking about Aunt Constance.” Izzie leaned around me and waved. “Hi, Ross. It’s great to see you.”
I jabbed her in the side, then quickly tucked my arm behind my back.
“Ouch! Well, it is great,” Izzie argued while massaging her side.
“Hi, Izzie. You’re right. Constance called me this morning at the office, pleading with me to come. She rambled on about how the authorities were coming to arrest her for—and I quote—‘the murder of my dearest friend, Viola Finnwinkle.’”
“I don’t understand. Why would you drop everything at home and drive for hours to get here without checking to see if she was right?” I looked away from him and tried not to sound petty. “Unbelievable.” The word slipped out and I bit my tongue. Maybe I was a little bit jealous. I couldn’t recall him dropping everything for me. Of course, I reminded myself this was work related, not personal.
“I’m not a fool, Chloe. I contacted Hunter as soon as I finished the call with Constance. It’s true. Well, mostly true.”
“He’s going to arrest her? Why? On what evidence?” My voice cracked.
“That’s ridiculous.” Izzie chimed in, nodding her head firmly. “Her neighbor, Mr. Bennington, swears he saw her pull into her driveway that evening before he went to bed.”
Ross cast a glance at Mom and Dad. He rubbed his fingers along the stubble on his chin. “Hunter claims an early report came back from the lab. The forensic tech estimates from the lividity and the texture of her skin that the victim died at approximately eight thirty.”
“But—” I started.
“There’s more. Hunter spoke with Constance’s neighbor. Like Mr. Bennington told you, he saw Constance come home before he went to bed. He remembers turning off the TV after his favorite show ended, and then going to the window to pull the shades. That’s when he noticed the headlights of her car as she drove into the garage. Afterward, he took off his watch and noted the time. Nine thirty.”
“Oh no.” Izzie hiccupped.
“Both your aunt and Viola left the party at around eight.” Ross grew stern. “She can’t account for the time between leaving the lodge and arriving home. She has no alibi.”
“So? That doesn’t mean she went to the dock and murdered Viola,” I argued. “They need hard evidence. Physical evidence. Don’t they?”
“What about the hat?” Izzie groaned.
“You’re right. Physical evidence is important. Right now, Hunter says he has no plans to arrest your aunt, which tells me he doesn’t have enough evidence. Not yet, anyway.” Ross walked around the table and reached for his glass.
“Why don’t we sit down to dinner and put this conversation on hold?” Mom said.
“Good idea, Kate. I’m starving.” Dad rubbed his stomach and groaned. “The manicotti smells wonderful.”
“Healthy too. I bought pasta shells made out of chick peas, not flour.”
I had no chance of arguing that the conversation was far from finished and that I’d prefer to finish it now. Mom and Dad were already dishing out portions on our plates. Maybe some pleasant talk about anything but murder would calm my nerves.
“How is life in New York? Busy with cases, I’m sure.” Mom heaped Ross’s plate with pasta and a salad made mostly of spinach.
“A lot more hectic and crowded than here in Whisper Cove. I think about how nice it would be to hang out my shingle and start a small law practice.” He winked at me.
I choked on a piece of spinach and gulped water to wash it down.
“What about the social life? Broadway, the clubs, the art museums. Wouldn’t you miss all that? Chloe, you know what I mean.” Izzie gave me a reassuring smile.
I nodded without comment, afraid that whatever I’d say would lead somewhere I didn’t want to go—that is, reminiscing about my past with Ross.
“When I have the time, I like to take in a show.” He dabbed his lips with a napkin. “In fact, I’ve seen several in the past two months. Went with a friend of mine who loves theater.”
My fork slipped from my hand and clinked as it hit the plate. Quickly, I dropped my head and forked up a bit of manicotti. I squashed the urge to ask. I had no interest in whom he took to the theater. There was no reason for me to care. I’d moved on.
“I think he loves the theater too much. That’s all he talks about at work.” Ross chuckled. “Maybe in another life he was a stage actor. Who knows, right?”
“I remember going to see Cats with your dad. That must’ve been twenty years ago. Wasn’t it, Joe?” Mom hummed a few bars of “Memory” while she dished more salad onto her plate.
“You wore that leopard print blazer.” He laughed. “I remember that part best.”
* * *
After nearly an hour of eating pasta, salad, and blueberry tarts for dessert, and having an endless conversation about musicals, the meal was over. I suggested we finish talking about Aunt Constance in Dad’s study, which was actually the family den, but he had claimed the room and situated his desk there to prove it. Mom and Dad passed on the invitation. They wanted to catch tomorrow’s sunrise. Mom was working on a painting commissioned by a customer from Charleston, and Dad planned to fish off the dock.
Izzie walked over to the hearth. Picking up the poker, she stoked the fire. Soon, the crackle and pop of flames filled the silence in the room. After a few seconds, she stood and stretched her arms. Her mouth widened in a yawn. “I’m dead-dog tired. No offense, Max.” She ruffled the fur on his head. “You can catch Ross up to speed on everything that’s happened, can’t you, Chloe?”
My head shot up. As she passed by me and winked, I ignored her and stroked Max, who’d jumped up in my lap to cuddle. “Sleep tight.” The words escaped through gritted teeth. Adding to my irritated mood, now I would have to deal with Ross alone. Hopefully, he’d leave any personal remarks out of the conversation. “How about we wrap this up? I’d like to head off to bed too.”
“Sure thing. Why don’t you tell me who you think is responsible for Viola’s death?” Ross sat on the sofa across from me.
“Well, our first thought was Dewey Sawyer.” I explained how we’d found him at the ferry that morning, and covered the conversation we’d had that afternoon. “I’m trying to look at his behavior from both angles. What if how he acted wasn’t a reaction to finding a body?” I held up a finger. “What if he was shaken up because he murdered Viola? Unless, of course, Viola’s death was an unfortunate accident, which would make Dewey’s behavior irrelevant.”
“But it could be murder. We can’t rule it out until the coroner finishes his report. It’s best to build a defense before it’s needed.”
“Good point.” I sipped my wine. “I’ll admit, I’m having trouble seeing Dewey as a suspect. He didn’t know Viola. What motive would he have to harm her?”
“You said he admitted he was drunk. Maybe they argued. With his emotions fueled by liquor, maybe Dewey got so angry, he pushed her into the lake.”
“I guess.” Shifting in my chair, I put Max on the floor. He trotted over to Ross and hopped up in his lap. “You always were one of Max’s favorite people,” I said.
“Max has good taste.” He smiled and scratched him under the chin. “Don’t you, boy?”
“Well, Max is easy to please.” I smirked. Releasing a somewhat exaggerated yawn, I stood and walked over to the fireplace and shut the glass doors.
“Who else would have reason to harm the victim? Constance believes any of the Sisterhood members who overheard Viola say their chapter was finished had to be angry, possibly angry enough to take revenge.”
My shoulders dropped. How much of a hint did he need to leave? “I can’t think about this anymore. Like Izzie, I’m exhausted and ready for bed. Besides, you’d probably like to be on your way to the hotel.” My brow squirreled up. “You are staying at the hotel, right?”
He sat on the sofa with his arms draped across the back. “Actually, your parents invited me to spend the night here.”
My knees wobbled, and I sank into the chair once more. I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t manage the words. Instead, I squeezed my stomach to relieve the uneasy feeling.
“You should see your face.” He laughed. “As for the invitation, I wouldn’t think of imposing on you.”
“Wise decision.” My voice steadied. As I dared to put weight on my legs again, I led the way out into the hall. As we reached the front, I flipped the lock and opened the door. A soft breeze filtered inside. I took a deep breath and slowly released it.
Ross stepped into the open doorway. “Besides, the temptation of being right down the hall from me would be too much for you to resist, wouldn’t it?”
I gawked at him and felt my face burn.
“Night, Chloe.” He winked and sauntered outside, whistling a tune as he crossed the lawn and hopped inside his car.
“Men.” I slammed the door. A soft whimper came from behind me. I scooped Max in my arms and walked upstairs. “Promise me you’ll never act that way around any of your lady friends, okay?” I was rewarded with a lick on my nose. “Good boy. I knew I could count on you.”
Chapter Six
I stacked plates on the counter, and Dad set them in the cupboard. This was a once- or twice-a-week ritual that Izzie and I shared with him. Our daughter-and-dad time gave us a chance for conversation without interruption and promised a few laughs. Joe Abbington and his jokes could easily be a hit on Comedy Central. Today, though, wasn’t so humorous.
“I might say some unkind things about your aunt, but as for her having what it takes to kill someone …” He scratched his chin and after a few seconds shook his head. “I very much doubt she’s capable. In fact, I’m sure of it. She’s a bit emotionally unstable, at times, but definitely not a murderer.”
“I’m sure she’d love to hear you say so.” I stood on tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek.
“Nope. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.” He turned and smacked the counter. “Do you know how much she spent this past summer remodeling her house? The things she buys. It’s insane. Real marble from Italy. Two Greek statues—from Greece, of course. And how about that tapestry she has hanging on the den wall? Twenty thousand dollars because it’s one of a kind. Handwoven by Tibetan monks, I’d imagine.”
“Dad. Dad. Dad.” I tugged hard on his shirt sleeve. “Stop. You’re turning purple. I don’t want to do CPR if you go into cardiac arrest.” I breathed in and out, over and over, rolling my hand for him to follow me. “Calm yourself. Aunt Constance is still mourning Uncle David. Maybe buying more than usual is her way of coping with grief. I have an idea. Why not put those yoga exercises you and Mom do to some practical use?”
“They’re practical in every way, sweetheart.” Mom stepped into the kitchen. “Are you about ready? The lake is calling to us.” She hugged Dad’s arm.
“It’s a beautiful day to sail. Where are you going?” I closed the dishwasher door.
“Mayville to visit Constance. We figured she could use some cheering up and moral support from family,” Mom said.
“Speaking of family support, why isn’t Spencer here? You’d think a daughter would want to comfort her mother.” Dad pulled me close and tousled my hair. “I can count on you when I’m in a fix, can’t I?”
“What about Mom? Shouldn’t I be there for her too?” I smiled.
“Not necessary. Your mom would never get into trouble.” He winked.
“While you two decide who deserves comfort and support, I’m heading to the boat dock. Don’t forget your coat, Joe,” she called out while walking down the hall.
“You and your sister have a great day. Stay out of trouble, and you know what I mean.” Dad lifted his brows.
“Tell Aunt Constance. She’s the one who thinks we’re snoops for hire,” I quipped.
“Just be careful.” He waved and disappeared through the kitchen doorway.
I refilled Max’s water bowl while he munched on his breakfast, and then I hurried upstairs to change. Izzie had left earlier to catch up on emails and go over our inventory list for tomorrow’s event. The weather forecast looked promising, with no chance of rain, snow, or plummeting temperatures. We’d posted a list of dos and don’ts on our website—do bring along a coat or jacket being the most important advice.
Charging out the front door, I rummaged around in my bag to find my phone. Once inside my car, I searched through my recent calls to find the rental company we’d hired to deliver chairs for the event. We ourselves could handle carrying outside the easels and trays to hold the paints and brushes. Later, we’d set up our projector and a makeshift screen to display the artwork instruction.
Hovering my finger over the call button, I startled as the phone rang. Aunt Constance’s face appeared on the screen. I shoved my sunglasses farther up my nose, powered on the engine, and answered. “Hi, Aunt Constance. How are you doing?”
“How am I doing?” Her voice pitched higher. “That’s a loaded question, which I’ll pass on answering for obvious reasons. Anyway, I’m calling to see if you’ve made any headway in your investigation into Viola’s death, meaning whatever can help clear my name from Detective Barrett’s list of whodunnits.”
I put the phone on speaker, set the device in the dashboard holder, and pulled out of the driveway. Exasperation filled me and I gritted my teeth. “We only started looking yesterday afternoon. Not much to tell.” I recapped the conversation with Dewey. “He claims it’s the same story he told the detective. Nothing new.” I stopped for the traffic light at the Whisper Cove Boulevard intersection. The stray cat who often sat on the corner bench was licking its fur. I’d nicknamed the feline Picasso, one of my favorite artists and a total free spirit in his painting. “Of course, I’m sure Ross filled you in on those details, since you’ve been in touch.” I clicked my tongue. “Not a cool thing to do, Aunt Constance. Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you were planning? He showed up at our house, totally unannounced.”
“Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “After Detective Barrett called yesterday, badgering me with his questions, wanting to know where I’d gone after I left the painting event—because he knew I didn’t get home until nine thirty, thanks to my nosy neighbor and his snooping—I panicked. I told him I drove around, trying to work through what Viola had told me.” The sobs turned into caterwauling. “He … he accused me of lying. I know he thinks I killed her. That’s why I called your Ross and asked him to come here immediately. They’ll be knocking on my door any minute now, ready to cuff me and drag me to jail.” The last word dragged out in a screeching howl.
“He’s not my—forget it. Ross assured me you won’t be arrested. Hunter doesn’t have the physical evidence he needs to charge you. So, stop stressing, okay?” I maneuvered my car into a parking spot next to Izzie’s vehicle. “Now, Ross told me what you said about your chapter members. Do you really think any of them is capable of murder?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice steadied. “My phone has been ringing nonstop. The sisters are angry and miserable. A few even admitted thinking Viola got what she deserved. I shuddered hearing that. I know people say things they don’t really mean when they’re upset, but still, I can’t help suspecting people who say those sorts of things. That’s why I suggested the sisters should be questioned. You can do that, can’t you? Call them, get them to open up. You’d have a much better chance to get answers than the authorities would.”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, giving her suggestion and reasoning some serious thought. “You might have something there. I’ll talk to Izzie, and we’ll work out a schedule to call those who attended the event.”
“Thank you, Chloe. You can’t know how much this means to me. Support from family is everything,” she sniffed.
I recalled Dad’s comment. “Speaking of family, how is Spencer doing these days? Have you heard from her?” A car horn honked, and I glanced in my rearview mirror. The driver steered his car to go around a vehicle stopped on the alley road. As if by reflex, I frowned, and not because of the blaring horn. Thoughts about my cousin got that reaction. She and I butted heads more often than not over just about everything. Her views were the opposite of what I would call kind and compassionate. She was selfish, entitled, and so whiny when life didn’t go her way. It took all my strength to be civil and considerate when I was around her. But I did it for Aunt Constance’s sake, and Mom and Dad’s. They all wanted peace in the family.
