Bad Reputation, A (11 page)

“Ask that new wife of Wendall's, too.”

“Mrs. Clarke has hired me to find her husband's murderer.”

Bea gave a snort. “I knew you weren't here to talk about the broken window.”

“What do you know about the window, Ms. Ricter?”

“Oh, shut up about the window! They got another window up. The gallery will close, and some other shop will go in that space.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “The members of the Art Guild could work together and find some way to run the gallery. Isn't that what all of you wanted in the first place?”

“Some people did. It wasn't what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

“None of your business! Go talk to Larissa Norton. She's suspect number one, as far as I'm concerned.”

“Were you here at home last night?”

“I was playing cards with Ginger Alverez at her house.”

Since Bea's house was surrounded by wood, I wondered if Ginger's was full of ping-pong balls. “So you settled your differences?”

“Ha! I still think she's a moron, but she plays a mean hand of canasta. We played till about eleven. You can call her. Now go away.”

She started to turn, and I took out the plastic bag. “Is this yours?”

She snatched the bag out of my hands. “Where did you find that?”

“In the yard. You must have dropped it.”

She didn't say yes, or thank you. “Go away!” She went inside and shut the door. She didn't slam it, but I could tell she wanted to. And before the door closed, I caught a glimpse of more shiny things, lots of them, all colors, as if Bea had her own magical cave of wonders inside her run-down little home. Did she have her own private jewelry store in there? I hadn't seen her wearing any jewelry, and her artwork was as drab as mud, so she wasn't using jewels to make it sparkle.

What was she hiding?

***

Ginger Alverez confirmed that she and Bea had had dinner at the Chicken House at six, went back to Ginger's, and played cards until ten forty-five. Flora wasn't home. Chief Brenner told me the brick his officers had found was an old brick with smooth edges. When I mentioned Bea Ricter had these bricks lining her shrubs, he said many people in Celosia had the same.

“When the old high school was torn down, the bricks were available to anyone who wanted them,” he said. “Right now, we're concentrating on the murder investigation, so anything you discover pertaining to that would be appreciated.”

He spoke politely, but I knew what he was really saying was: Don't withhold any important information, or you'll be in trouble.

“Bea Ricter was with Ginger Alverez last night until ten forty-five,” I said. “She left her work at the gallery around two yesterday afternoon. Larissa Norton accidentally broke some of those picture frames after Bea left. She told me Wendall called her around eight o'clock and asked her to come to the gallery.”

“Thank you for confirming this information.”

But I didn't say anything about the gold button. Not yet.

***

Back in my car, I called the Silver Gallery in Parkland and asked to speak with Sasha Gregory.

“Such an awful thing to happen!” she said. “Sasha can't imagine who would do this.”

I still couldn't imagine why she liked to refer to herself as “Sasha” all the time. “When was the last time you saw Wendall?”

“Sasha left the gallery around four. Sasha had scheduled appointments for all the local artists and showed him my calendar. He approved the list, and Sasha came back to Parkland.”

“Was there anyone who wanted to show his or her work and was turned down?”

“No, no one. Not at this stage of the process. Sasha will see everyone's work. Then Wendall and Sasha will—Sasha supposes now she will determine whose work is appropriate. That is, if the gallery stays open. Do you know? Have you heard anything?”

“I don't know the future of the gallery. Did anyone argue with Wendall? Did you notice if anyone left angry?”

“Sasha must confess her head was down practically the whole time, writing down appointments. Sasha didn't hear any arguments. When everyone had gone, Sasha said good-bye to Wendall and left. He said good-bye and thank you. That's all.”

***

I was anxious to share my findings with Jerry. When I called, he was on his way home from his interview.

“Unless you'd rather meet at Burger World.”

The thought of a cheeseburger and fries made me slightly nauseous. “I'll see you at home, then.”

On my way, I drove by the medical park and hovered for a while outside the doctor's office. I could easily make an appointment and find out for sure if I was pregnant. Well, what if you are? I asked myself. Let's try the emotional test. What if the answer is no? How would you feel? I knew I'd feel relieved, but I was surprised to feel a bit disappointed. And what if the answer is yes? My feelings were still ambiguous, but somewhere in the mix of emotions was the slightest thrill of a challenge. It would be a challenge to raise a child, run my agency, and find time to paint. I was up for this challenge, wasn't I? It wasn't as if I'd have to look after the baby all by myself. Bill wouldn't have been any help, but Jerry was ready and willing to do whatever I needed him to do.

My hand was on the door when my old caution took over.

No.

Not yet.

Chapter Twelve

I argued with myself the rest of the way home. Just go ahead and find out! Maybe after I solve Wendall's murder. I've got too much to think about right now.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I had to stop in the driveway and take another look at the strange car parked in the yard. I didn't recognize the car, but I recognized the large woman sitting on the porch.

Honor Perkins.

Now I was really nauseous. What could she possibly want? I parked my car and got out, wondering if I was ready for yet another confrontation. As I walked up the porch steps, I'm sure my expression said, what the hell are you doing here?

Honor got up and held out both hands as if to forestall my protests. “Before you say anything, I'm not here to cause trouble, honest. I need to lay low about forty-eight hours, and then I'm on my way. You owe me.”

I stopped. I owed her? “How do you figure that?”

“You called the cops, right?”

“Right. You'll be happy to know Jerry didn't rat on you.”

“I knew you would. I could tell by looking at you.”

I took out my phone. “Yes, and I'm getting ready to call them again. Why are you here?”

“Hold on, let me explain. I had originally planned to stay with Mrs. Forest, but she was just a little uncooperative.”

From the way Mrs. Forest had insisted on being paid right away, I knew exactly what had happened. “You stiffed her, didn't you?”

Honor grinned and shrugged her wide shoulders. “Let's just say it didn't work out. Can we sit down and talk?”

“I'll give you five minutes.”

“All I need.”

She arranged herself in one of the rocking chairs. I positioned myself further away. I didn't trust her one bit and was grateful her unexpected visit wasn't later in the day when Austin and Denisha would have been here.

“You can't stay here, Honor. I'm not going to harbor a fugitive.”

“Like I said, you owe me. I'll sleep in my car. You won't know I'm here.”

“No. You may be one of Jerry's old friends, but I have no loyalty to you whatsoever.”

She rocked and smiled as if she hadn't a care in the world. “Oh, there might be a few things about Jerry you wouldn't want to come to light.”

“Blackmailing me won't work. Jerry and I have discussed all the cons he's done.”

“Everything?”

This made me pause. Before she came upon the scene, I hadn't known anything about Honor Perkins, or the bank examiner swindle, or any of his past dealings with this woman. I believed Jerry was as truthful with me as he could be. Unfortunately, he often omitted things he knew would upset me.

Honor looked pleased with herself. “So, not everything.”

“What will it take to make you go away?”

“I need Jerry's help with something. Nothing bad, I promise.”

“If it's nothing bad, tell me what it is. Maybe I can help you.”

“It's a bit personal.”

I'd had enough. “Your five minutes are up.”

I was wondering if I could physically wrest her from the rocking chair and heave her into the yard when a small SUV zipped up the drive and Jerry hopped out. As the car turned to go, he called “Thanks” and waved good-bye to the driver. He was almost to the porch when he saw Honor. His reaction was the same as mine.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I'd stop by for a visit,” she said. “Nice place you got here. Lots of room.”

Jerry correctly read my face. “You can't stay.”

“Aw, be a pal. Your wife called the cops, so I have to hide somewhere.”

“Not here.”

“I can pull my car around back and sleep there.”

“No.” He took her arm. “Look, for the sake of old times, I'll tell you where you can hide, but you need to leave.”

She wouldn't budge. “But I need to talk to you about something.”

This had all the signs of becoming a fierce tug of war, interrupted by a silver Mercedes coming up the driveway. My mind immediately shifted into overdrive. “Jerry, that's my mother's car.”

He let go of Honor's arm. “Great timing.”

“What are we going to say?”

He and Honor looked a lot calmer than I felt. “No problem, Mac.”

Maybe the two of them were used to facing sudden potentially embarrassing situations, but my heart was doing strange little flutters as I went down the porch steps to greet my mother as she got out of her car. “Hello! What a surprise!”

Mother is tall, thin, and elegant. She decided years ago that color was vulgar and she'd dress only in black and white. She stared up at the house. “Good lord, what it must cost you to keep this up! And it needs painting, Madeline, or are you planning on aluminum siding? Jerry, how are you, dear? What a monstrous house your uncle left you! Are you certain you want to live here?”

Jerry kissed her cheek. “Hello, Cecille. Yes, I like the house very much. It looks better inside. This is a friend of mine, Honor Perkins. Honor, this is Mac's mother, Cecille Maclin.”

Honor stood. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, sweet as pie.

They shook hands.

“Do you also work at the theater, Miss Perkins?”

I could tell Honor was glad for an opening. “Yes, exactly.” She glanced at Jerry for a clue. “We're doing a great show.”

“
Oklahoma
,” he said.

“What part do you play?” Mom asked.

I couldn't help her there, and before Jerry could fill in, she said, “Oh, I'm the mother.”

I'm not sure if
Oklahoma
has a mother, but fortunately, Mom's knowledge of musical theater isn't vast. “How nice.”

“Can I carry anything for you?” Jerry asked.

“I just brought my overnight bag.”

“I'll get it.”

“Thank you.”

Mother's idea of an overnight bag was a large suitcase and a garment bag, which Jerry hauled upstairs. Once inside, she was a bit mollified by the redecorated living room. She inspected the white sectional sofa, moved one of the blue accent pillows a fraction, and nodded to herself. I expected her to run a finger along the mantel in search of dust.

“I see you have
Blue Moon Garden
displayed, Madeline. Did you design the room around those colors?”

“Jerry and I both like blue, so it was an easy choice.”

“I certainly didn't expect anything this elegant. It's too bad the outside of this house looks like a country store.”

“I think it has charm.”

She gave the painting another long look. “What have you done lately?”

“I'll show you my studio after a while. Come have a look at the kitchen. We've finished in there, too.”

The kitchen met with her approval, and she had to agree the view of the fields was pleasant, “If you like that kind of thing.” She peered out the back windows. “Is this friend staying here? I don't want to be in the way.”

“No, she just stopped by for a short visit.” The shorter the better.

“Now what about this gallery, Madeline? When can I see it?”

“I'm afraid there's been a little problem,” I said. “The owner's been murdered, so the gallery's closed.”

It was typical of my mother that she thought of her own concerns first. “You mean I came all the way over here, and it's not open? You could've called me.”

“It's just thirty minutes, and I'm glad you could visit.”

Then she realized what I'd said. “The owner's been murdered? You don't mean Wendall Clarke?”

“Yes, and I've been hired to solve the murder.”

“Good heavens. So the gallery's closed permanently? What happened?”

“Someone attacked him behind the gallery. That's all we know right now.”

“Here in this little town? I wouldn't think anything goes on.”

“You'd be surprised.”

“I wish you'd give up this idea of being a detective, Madeline. Not only is it ridiculous, it's dangerous.”

I didn't want her to get started. “Let me give you the tour, Mom.”

Jerry met us at the top of the stairs. He must have done a quick check of our bedroom. I didn't remember if I'd made the bed, but the blue comforter with its pattern of clouds was neat and straight, the pillows in place, and any dirty clothes had been scooped up and put in the hamper. “Cecille, we haven't done all the bedrooms yet, but this is our room, and yours is next to it. I hung your garment bag in the closet.”

“Thank you. Now where is the art studio?”

“Right here, Mom.”

She stepped into the room. “Well…Well, you've done quite a lot.”

As she peered at each painting, I exchanged a glance with Jerry. He grinned and rubbed his fingers together in the sign for money. I nodded. That was coming up, for certain.

“Have you sold any paintings, Madeline?”

“All of these are commissions, except the one I did of Jerry.”

“If you'd spend more time on your art, you'd probably sell more. How on earth did you afford all the repairs?”

“Jerry's brother gave him some money.”

This brought a gleam to her eye. “And you accepted it, Jerry?”

“For the house, yes.”

“Madeline tells me you're the music director at the theater. I'm glad you've found a job you like.”

I'm glad you've found a job was what she meant. Jerry grinned. “I've become quite the settled married man. You ladies come downstairs and let me fix you some lunch.”

Mom said she'd already eaten, but would love some tea. Honor joined us in the dining room. I could tell she was having a fine time making up stories about her non-existent theater career, and Jerry went right along with her tall tales. However annoyed I was at her, she kept Mom entertained, so Mom wasn't getting in more digs about the house, my agency, or my artwork.

After lunch, Honor said she had to get to the theater for an extra rehearsal. “Jerry, there's one song in particular you need to hear.”

“I'm sure there is.”

“It's the refrain that's kind of tricky.”

“Believe me, I'll take care of it.”

Mom didn't see me roll my eyes at him to express my opinion of all the double talk. Honor thanked me for lunch and told Mom again it was a pleasure meeting her. Jerry walked her to the door and must have also walked her to her car because in a few minutes, I heard her drive off. I assumed he told her where she could lay low. Alaska would be a great choice.

Jerry returned to the dining room. “I think I'll make some brownies for the kids.”

Mom looked at him askance. “Kids?”

“Jerry's playmates,” I said. “Some neighborhood children. They come by after school.”

“What for?”

“To see what Jerry's up to.”

“Don't they have other children to play with?”

By the time the brownies were done and Denisha, Kennedy, and Austin arrived, Mom was still amazed. I made all the introductions.

“Kids, this is my mother, Cecille Maclin. Mom, this is Denisha Simpson, Kennedy Marshall, and Austin Terrell.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Maclin. I see where Madeline gets her good looks,” Denisha said in her straightforward way.

Mom was bemused. “Thank you.”

“Jerry, has my mother called you yet?” Kennedy asked.

“Not yet.”

“I wish she'd hurry up. Mrs. Norton wasn't even there yesterday, and Mom wasn't very happy about it.”

This caught my attention. “Kennedy, when was your piano lesson?”

“It wasn't mine. It was Reagan's. Mom took her over there at her usual time, which is four o'clock, and she waited and waited, but nobody was home, and Mrs. Norton didn't answer her phone. Mom left a message, but Mrs. Norton didn't call back until almost seven.”

Larissa had been at the two o'clock meeting and left soon after. She told me she came back to the gallery after four. “Did she explain why she missed Reagan's lesson?”

Kennedy shook her head. “No, she didn't, and Mom got mad and said if she couldn't at least call to tell her she wasn't going to be there, then maybe we'd find another teacher. So I don't know why she hasn't called you yet, Jerry.”

“That's okay,” he said. “If that's what your mother wants to do, she'll get around to it.”

All Mom heard from our conversation was “piano lessons.” “That would be an excellent way to supplement your income,” she told Jerry.

“We'll see.” He knew as well as I that Larissa would be even more put out with him if he started taking her students away.

Austin asked Jerry if he'd bought a Wow System yet, which involved a lengthy explanation for Mom. By the time the kids had eaten and exhausted their supply of questions and discussions about the various games you could play on the Wow, Mom was looking even more dazed.

“Tell you what,” Jerry said to them. “Why don't you guys come to Parkland with me and help me pick out the best model? Call your folks and ask them.”

I handed Austin my phone so he could call his mother. Then Denisha called her aunt, and Kennedy called her mother. All three were granted permission, which sent them into orbit.

“The Wow 300 has Extreme Bowling,” Austin said. “You should get that one.”

“But they're coming out with Wow 350 next month,” Kennedy said. “Maybe he should wait.”

“No, I want one now,” Jerry said. “Get in the car.” The kids ran and piled into the Mazda. “Be right back, Mac.”

Mother watched him drive away. “Are those children here often?”

“Every day.”

“And their parents don't mind?”

“They've always played here. At least Austin and Denisha have. That's how we met. They were running around in the secret passageways.”

“Good heavens. I hope you've closed those off.”

“No.”