A Fit of Tempera (9 page)

“They look like they're plotting the overthrow of a Third World government,” Renie noted after Dee had gone off to hand in their orders. “Does Clive seem hung over to you?”

It wasn't easy to be discreet when the objects of Judith's attention were the only other two people in the dining
room. “I can't tell. At least he doesn't have an ice bag on his head.”

At that moment the two men sat back in their chairs and began the ritual of Picking Up the Check. Clive seemed to be short of cash; Dewitt claimed the bill. Clive used the stairway near his table, apparently to return to his room. It appeared he hadn't noticed the cousins.

Dewitt, however, headed straight toward Judith and Renie on his way to the cash register. He seemed mildly surprised, but gave them a debonair smile.

“Good morning, Serena. And…Judith, is it?” He stopped next to Renie, the smile disappearing. “I'm still in shock. Indeed, I feel like a fool for being so callous with Iris. Have you heard anything new about Riley's murder?”

Renie shook her head. “Nothing of interest. Did you talk to the undersheriff?”

Dewitt Dixon pulled a face. “Yes, much to my sorrow. The man is an incompetent clod. I was still at Riley's house last night when that Costello and his stooge showed up. I'm quite certain they don't have a clue—literally.”

Renie suggested that Dewitt pull up a chair and join them. He hesitated, then gave in. Dee appeared with a pot of coffee and a piece of pie topped with a mound of real whipped cream. She asked if Dewitt wanted anything, but he demurred. She coaxed in vain. Judith had the feeling Dee wanted to linger, but the woman was forced to retreat with curiosity stamped all over her plain face.

“Did you get your painting?” Renie asked, doing her best not to decorate her upper lip with whipped cream.

Dewitt's tanned forehead furrowed. “Not yet. Clive Silvanus—the chap I was just speaking with—says it has to be properly wrapped for transport. That may take a few days. I'd rather carry it back to town myself.”

Judith tipped her head to one side, regarding Dewitt with sympathy. “I can certainly understand that. It must be a stunning work. Had you seen the finished product before yesterday, or was it a commission?”

“I'd seen it, about three weeks ago.” Dewitt's gaze
roamed around the ceiling beams. “My wife is the one who wanted to buy it. She's starting up her own gallery. That's why she went to Europe, to scour the Continent for new talent.”

Under the table, Judith gave Renie a nudge. Renie responded to her cue. “Was the one you bought a new work? One of those portraits he'd started lately?”

Dewitt drummed his fingers on the oilskin and gazed up at the beamed ceiling. “A portrait? No, it's a landscape. It has charm, I suppose. Erica was determined to have it. I'm afraid our tastes sometimes differ. For example, I don't find the Uffizi at all redundant.”

“On our first two tries, we couldn't find it at all,” Renie asserted with a gleam in her eye. “Of course, that was over twenty-five years ago and we were young and naive and Judith spent all her time in Florence leering at Michelangelo's ‘David.' She said it reminded her of Joe. I can't think why.” She paused just long enough to acknowledge Judith's incensed glare. “What did Riley call the painting you bought? It sounded to me as if he'd given his new series some really stupid names. He didn't do that with his earlier works.”

Dewitt didn't know, and apparently didn't care. “It's a large sum of money, But Erica refuses to change her mind. She wants it for the centerpiece of the gallery. Given the rumors about Riley, perhaps it's not an entirely frivolous decision.”

“Rumors?” Judith turned in her chair. “About what?”

Dewitt shrugged, then pulled out a package of foreign cigarettes. “Do you mind?” The cousins didn't. Nor did the Green Mountain Inn have a no-smoking policy. And with the number of carousing loggers who frequented the bar on a Saturday night, the owners would have been lucky to enforce a no-combat zone.

“There's been talk in recent months that Riley's talent has diminished,” Dewitt explained, lowering his cultivated voice. “His output has slowed, too. Erica points out that's because he drastically altered his approach. But Riley To-
bias was well known as prolific, without sacrificing genius. For years he's pleased critics as well as admirers. Then, about a year ago, everything changed, including his style. Erica and I were fortunate to discover that he'd painted one last landscape. There have been only three of his new, so-called portraits completed, and the two that have been placed on exhibit were scorned by everyone. Except,” he added with a pained expression, “my wife. It wouldn't surprise me if she made an offer on one of those blasted nerds now that Riley's dead.”

“Your wife sounds like a devoted fan,” Judith remarked.

Dewitt scoffed. “Not a fan. A fanatic.” He exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. “But what could you expect? I don't believe Erica has ever gotten over Riley.” He saw the puzzlement on the cousins' faces and gave them an ironic look. “Ah—I gather you didn't know. Years ago, Erica was Riley's wife.”

 

“I
told
you I didn't know much about the artsy set,” Renie declared as the cousins took the river route from the Green Mountain Inn. “As for Riley, you knew him as well as I did. Better, maybe.”

Judith wore a chagrined expression. “I knew he'd been married briefly. But that was over twenty years ago, before he moved up here from San Francisco. I don't think I ever heard him mention his ex-wife by name. Oh, well, it's not as if we've acquired another suspect. Erica Tobias Dixon is in Europe.”

Traversing the riverbank, the cousins alternated between sizable boulders and patches of sand. In some places where the river cut close to the shoreline, they had to step warily and cling to vine maples to keep from getting their feet wet. When they reached the Berkman property, the bank began to rise. The cousins disdained the trail that led up to the A-frame and kept walking next to the river.

Just beyond the Berkmans' A-frame, a movement caught Judith's eye. She stopped, with Renie following suit just behind her.

“Deer?” Renie whispered, taking Judith's silent, motionless stance for animal-gazing.

Judith shook her head. The figure had disappeared behind the Berkman cabin. The cousins waited, with Renie's expression growing curious. At last Judith sighed and turned to her cousin.

“I saw a man at the back of the A-frame,” Judith said, keeping her voice low. “He may have headed for the road.”

“Trent Berkman? A hippie?” Renie sounded dubious.

“Neither. It wouldn't have been Trent—the place is all closed up. And,” Judith added with a knowing look, “even well-heeled hippies don't wear Armani suits.”

“Lazlo Gamm?” Renie sounded incredulous as the cousins again took up the trail. “But he flew off yesterday.”

“His
helicopter
flew off,” Judith replied, but she, too, spoke in a disbelieving voice. “And even if he was in the copter, what's he doing now, lurking around the Berkman place?”

Naturally, Renie had no explanation. The cousins trudged on in puzzled silence. They were just below their own cabin when they noticed a figure perched on a big rock downstream. “Iris,” murmured Judith, nodding at the seated woman who seemed totally self-absorbed.

Here, in front of the Grover and Tobias properties, the bank rose at least twenty feet. Much of it was undermined by floodwaters. The stretch of river that flowed between the Green Mountain Inn and the Big Bend was relatively smooth, yet swift. In early May, the river ran about waist-high. In summer, the channel remained quite wide, but the water barely reached an adult's knees. The cousins had plenty of room to roam between the river and the bank. They got within fifteen feet of Iris before Judith called out a greeting:

“Hi, Iris! How are you doing?”

Iris seemed to move in slow motion. A ghost of a smile played at her lips. She raised an uncertain hand. “What can you expect?” she responded in a feeble voice as the
cousins drew closer. “I'm not sure I really believe Riley's dead.”

Judith and Renie each chose a big rock and sat down. The river rumbled by, reassuringly constant. “Have you heard from the undersheriff?” Judith asked.

Iris had her arms wrapped around her knees. She barely breathed as she spoke. “He's coming by in about an hour. I've already answered every conceivable question. What can he want now? Maybe he thinks he should look at that broken window.”

Judith winced; Renie squirmed. “Did he tell you how that happened?”

Iris's nod was indifferent. “Thieves, coming back to loot the place. Why didn't they take what they wanted when they killed Riley? It must have happened this morning, after I went into Glacier Falls to see the undertaker.” She didn't notice that both Judith and Renie had started to speak at once. “Riley had insurance. It'll cover the theft. What's important is to find his killer.”

“Ah…” Judith glanced at Renie. The cousins were equally ambivalent. “The theft? Of what, exactly?”

With a heavy sigh, Iris sat up straight. “I'm not sure. The main thing that's gone is the painting Dewitt Dixon bought. He doesn't know it's disappeared. I should have given it to him last night, but I was too upset. Besides, that's Clive Silvanus's business. And I can't reach him. I called twice from Glacier Falls, but he wasn't in his office or at home.”

Judith decided it was time to level with Iris. There was no reason not to, except some little corner of her soul hated to part with Riley Tobias's gift, especially now that the artist was dead. It was very unlikely that she'd ever own any of his work, no matter how ugly. For the first time, she understood why Erica and Dewitt Dixon would spend seventy thousand dollars on an eyesore: Love it or hate it, any painting by Riley Tobias carried the hallmark of genius.

At first, Iris reacted listlessly to Judith's account of
Riley's generosity. Then, when Judith got to the part about the ladder falling through the studio window, Iris showed a hint of excitement.

“You mean it was you two and not a thief?” She rose quickly from the rock, brushing off her tailored navy slacks. “Let's go see it. I'll know if it's Dewitt's purchase. I saw the work in progress. This is all very strange.”

Iris and the cousins climbed the zigzagging trail that led up to the meadow. Heading through the woods, Judith offered to pay for the damage she had caused. Iris brushed the notion aside.

“As I said, Riley had a lot of insurance. He had to, with all his own works and those he'd collected from other artists. If we can find Dewitt's painting, the insurance company ought to be grateful that we put in for only a broken window.”

The fire in the stove had gone out, which was just as well, since the day was growing warm. The aroma of breakfast still lingered on the air. Judith went to the Murphy bed and lifted the plaid curtain.

“We had to ditch it someplace,” she explained, tugging at the bed. “We've tried all sorts of locks, but the jerks who have broken in always figure out a way. And frankly, we'd rather have them come in, see that there isn't much worth stealing, and leave that wonderful old Dutch door in one piece.” The bed came down, curiously light. Judith snatched at the covering. The painting was gone.

“Damn!” She stared at Renie, then gave Iris a helpless look. “It must have been Clive,” Judith murmured, shaking both fists.

“Clive Silvanus?” Iris gaped at Judith. “What are you talking about?”

It seemed to Judith that there was a lot of explaining to do where Iris was concerned. “Clive was here last night. Drunk. He passed out, we left for a while, and when we came back, he was gone. He must have taken Riley's painting with him. We found out this morning he'd checked in at the Green Mountain Inn. Dewitt Dixon had
breakfast with him. Or something like that,” Judith finished lamely.

Iris sat down on the Murphy bed. “Good heavens,” she murmured. “So much has happened that I don't know about. I saw the undersheriff last night, sent Dewitt off with a flea in his ear, and collapsed. The last thing I remember was a bunch of snoopy TV reporters banging on the door. I took a tranquilizer and ignored them.”

A sudden thought struck Judith. “Iris, what happened to your car? You said it broke down when you stopped at the Green Mountain Inn.” Judith wondered why Iris hadn't seen Clive if she'd gone back to check on her car.

Iris gave Judith a vague look. “Oh—Gary Johanson got it started for me this morning. He drove it down here and walked back. It was some silly thing that only men understand. Who else would want to worry about their ignition?”

Since Judith and Renie were both married to men who didn't know a combustion engine from a compost heap, they kept quiet.

“Maybe we'd better drive up to the inn and talk to Clive,” Judith suggested. “You need to see him anyway, don't you, Iris?”

But Iris seemed to have lost her spine. “I'm not up to it just now. If Dewitt wants that picture badly enough, he'll get it out of Clive. Maybe Clive thought you two had stolen it.” She saw the shocked expression on Judith's face and waved her hands. “I don't mean that
literally
—I meant that
Clive
thought…oh, never mind.” She yanked off the white bandeau which held her hair in place and let the long black waves fall over her face.

Judith was willing to let Iris's remarks slide. Renie, however, was not. “I'd like to know why Clive was tearing our furniture apart. How did he know we had that canvas?”

It was, Judith thought, a good question. But maybe Renie had posed it at a bad time. Iris didn't seem ready to cope with much more than getting through the day. Per
haps once the funeral was over, she'd rebound as her normal, capable self.