Dying Art (A Dylan Scott Mystery) (8 page)

Chapter Ten

Maddie knew damn well that Louise didn’t have a client with her but she was still made to wait until the dot of eleven before being shown into her office.

“Hello, Maddie.” Louise wore the gentle smile she always wore. Pushing sixty, her hair a natural grey and her face bare of makeup, she was doing what people referred to as “growing old gracefully.” What was the point? She’d look a whole lot better if she did something with her hair and painted her lips. Applying a coat of lipstick wasn’t a huge chore. “And before you ask, no, you may not smoke in here.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Then we’ve made progress. Sit down. Would you like the chair or the couch today?”

“Definitely the couch.” Maddie put her coat and bag on the chair and stretched out on the couch. For some reason, she didn’t feel quite so relaxed when sitting in the chair.

The couch was more suited to a hospital than a therapist’s office. It wasn’t comfortable, it was too hard and cold for that, and it certainly wasn’t attractive. Everything else in the room, like the huge wooden desk and captain’s chair and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, was antique. A huge pile of coloured paperclips clung to a pyramid-shaped magnet on Louise’s desk. Two children, presumably grandchildren, with beaming smiles gazed out of silver photo frames.

The pale green carpet had been quality once, but now it was worn in places. There were two windows in the room, one overlooking a small square of grass at the back and the other a side street, and blinds were angled so that they let a little light in but kept distractions out.

“So,” Louise said, when Maddie was comfortable, “how are you today?”

“I’m good.”

“I’m delighted to hear that. So what shall we talk about? Prue? The funeral? Tim?”

“The new man in my life.” Maddie waited for some sign of shock but, of course, there was nothing. Louise didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

“Very well,” Louise said. “Tell me about the new man in your life.”

Maddie closed her eyes and relaxed. “Actually, he’s not so new. We were together years ago, when I was eighteen.”

“Ah. Go on.”

“I’ve found him again.”

“Was he lost?”

“To me, yes. We split up. We had a quarrel, you see, and he went away. But that’s not important because I’ve found him again. He’s still the same. Handsome. Fun. Sexy.”

“Are you telling me he hasn’t changed at all? After twenty years?”

“I’m telling you exactly that. He may look slightly older, but that’s all, and that doesn’t matter, does it? It’s what inside that makes a person, isn’t it?”

“It is. So tell me about him? Does he have a name?”

“He has a name.”

She’d thought Louise might be interested but she wasn’t. She pretended to care, but it was all for show. As far as she was concerned, Maddie was just another client who handed over a big fat cheque.

“How do you feel about him?” Louise asked.

“The same as I did when I was eighteen,” she said. “I loved him then. I love him now.”

“Does Tim know about him?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about that? Or would you prefer to tell me how you found him after all these years?”

“Yes.” This was more like it. Perhaps Louise was interested after all. “When Prue first told me she was leaving France and moving to Lancashire, I looked up Dawson’s Clough on the internet. Well, I’d never heard of it. You hadn’t either, you said. So I was looking at the place on the internet—a right dump it is too—and I saw his name mentioned. I didn’t know if it was the same man or not but I did some digging around and, sure enough, it was him.”

“This was some time ago then,” Louise said. “It’s what, four months since your sister moved to Lancashire?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve only just contacted him? Why did you wait?”

Maddie propped herself up on her elbow to look at Louise. “Because I was angry with him. It said on the internet that he was married and that took me by surprise. I didn’t think he’d find anyone else, after me I mean.”

“But why wouldn’t he, Maddie? You’ve been married twice since then so why shouldn’t he marry?”

Maddie might have known she’d say that. There were times when she wondered why she bothered coming. Everyone said Louise was good, the best there was, but Maddie had seen dozens of shrinks and therapists in her time and Louise was no better than any of them. Talk, talk, talk. What was the point? Yvette, a young model who snorted cocaine for breakfast, lunch and dinner, swore Louise had saved her life. In Maddie’s view, a quick call to the Samaritans would have had the same result. In fact the person on the end of the line might have given a flying toss, which was more than Louise did.

“Why don’t you colour your hair?” Maddie asked her.

“Because I like it the way it is. Because I decided to stop colouring it ten years ago. Because I have more important things to do with my time. Will any of those reasons do?”

“What do you find to do with your time that’s so exciting?”

“Lots of things. I enjoy concerts, the theatre, reading, listening to music—my problem is that there aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all. Why were you angry with this man? Is it because you felt he’d cast you aside? Did he make you remember how you felt when Prue was born?”

Here she went again. Louise believed that talking solved everything. She was wrong. She had no idea what it had been like when Prue was born. Until then, Maddie had been the adored child, the one both parents had loved more than life itself. Maddie had been a happy little girl who’d been able to do no wrong. Everything changed the moment Prue came kicking and screaming into the world. One minute Maddie had been Daddy’s Little Girl and the next minute, Daddy had been reminding them with every breath that Prue was now his little girl and Maddie was his big girl. It was Prue who claimed her mother’s attention in the night, Prue who gurgled when Daddy came home from work, Prue who had to be christened, Prue who must have exactly the same number of birthday and Christmas presents as Maddie. It had been Prue, Prue, Prue until Maddie wanted to—

“We’ve talked about this, haven’t we, Maddie? You know you weren’t cast aside, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Maddie gave her a broad smile. “And that’s why I realised I was being silly about Dylan. That’s his name, by the way. Dylan. I realised that the way we split up was as much my fault as his. The time simply wasn’t right for us and there’s no reason at all why he shouldn’t have married. I don’t suppose his wife means anything to him. So I forgave him, you see? And when Prue was killed, I knew I had to get in touch with him. It was an omen, wasn’t it? Some power was telling me to contact him.”

“Explain.”

“What? Oh, I didn’t mention that he’s a PI, did I? He is. He was in the police force but got thrown out for something. I can’t remember what. He did tell me but I was so pleased to see him, I couldn’t take anything in. So yes, I thought it would be fun to get him to look into Prue’s death.”

“Fun?”

“You know what I mean.”

Louise was nodding slowly. “Was he pleased to hear from you?”

“Of course he was. But I’m not rushing into anything.” Maddie gave her a quick smile. “We’ve talked about that too, haven’t we? We know I tend to act first and think later. It’s nothing like that. Dylan’s busy looking into Prue’s death. First things first, eh? We need to make sure we’re right for each other, don’t we? We messed up last time so this time has to be perfect.”

“I’m pleased you’re not going to rush into anything, Maddie, because this is a very difficult time for you. It’s hard to lose a sibling, no matter how difficult the relationship was, and you need to take good care of yourself. You can’t go making any rash decisions. You know that’s important, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It was always easier to agree with Louise. “We had some great times all those years ago, you know. And I’m not just talking about the sex, although that was out of this world.”

“I should hope it was. When we’re young and single with no marriage, mortgage or kids to think about, the sex damn well should be good.” Louise glanced up at the large wall clock. “You said you were going to tell me about Prue’s funeral the next time you saw me. Have you changed your mind?”

“There’s not much to tell. It rained.”

“It often seems to at funerals, doesn’t it? Did you find it difficult?”

“No.”

“Do you have any regrets? Are there things you wished you’d said to her? A lot of people have regrets and they can be hard to deal with.”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“You were telling me about the kitten, do you remember? That was on your mind.”

“It was just a kitten, that’s all. It was my kitten and she—”

“She what, Maddie?”

“Nothing.”

“Your parents bought you a kitten and it decided to sleep on Prue’s bed, isn’t that right? Cats are like that, aren’t they? It could have decided to sleep on the stairs or in a bathroom cupboard. Perhaps Prue didn’t like it sleeping on her bed. Have you thought about that?”

Prue had
encouraged
it to sleep on her bed. She’d cuddled it and played with it and then called to it to make sure it would sleep on her bed. It had been Maddie’s kitten for half a day then Prue had stolen it. Once she’d made a fuss of it, it had refused to go anywhere near Maddie. Still, Maddie made sure she got her own back. How Prue had cried when it died.

“It was just a kitten, that’s all,” she said.

“So you don’t want to talk about your sister’s funeral? You found it easy to deal with?”

“It was okay, yes,” Maddie said.

“Were Prue’s friends there?”

“Of course. Loads of them. Not that I knew them.”

“She had a lot of friends, did she?”

“Quite a few, yes. She was a friends type of person.” She knew exactly what Louise was about to say. “Yes, I know friends are important, and I have been keeping up with my friends, but I also like to be independent. My grandfather used to say that the only person you can trust is yourself.”

“Do you agree with that?” Louise asked. “Would you have married Tim if you didn’t trust him? People know they can trust you, don’t they? Prue called you before she died. She was worried about something, you said, and she turned to you. She only did that because she knew she could trust you, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.” She always left this building convinced that Louise didn’t have a clue about the real world. Why did she bother coming? Tim said it was because she didn’t have real friends. Well, she didn’t
want
friends. She could cope quite easily without them. Most of the time, these so-called friends only wanted to have a good moan and get some sympathy. She didn’t have time for talking about silly things with friends. “I ought to go now. I’ve got another appointment.”

“Your hour isn’t up yet,” Louise said.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m doing okay so life’s good.”

“You haven’t told me much about the new man in your life.”

“Only because there isn’t much to say. Yet.” Maddie swung her legs off the couch and stood up. “Like I said, I’m not rushing into anything. I’ll tell you more about him next time, okay?”

“Have you seen your parents lately? Apart from at the funeral, I mean?”

“Yes.” It was a lie but Maddie was bored now. “We’re fine. Really. We’re all fine. I do have to go now, though, or I’ll be late for my appointment.”

She picked up her bag and walked out, leaving Louise staring after her with her usual pensive expression.

The blasted woman could wear whatever expression she liked. Louise would do well to remember that these visits were voluntary. Maddie might not bother going again.

Chapter Eleven

Dylan had switched his phone to Silent for the night so he’d missed Maddie’s text message, which came through at a little after seven that morning. It had been brief and to the point:
On way to DC. Meet @ your hotel @ 11.

He’d tried calling her but her phone went straight to voicemail, presumably because she was driving. She hadn’t responded to either of the messages he’d left.

She’d always been impulsive, he remembered, and it seemed that age had taught her nothing. If she’d checked with him first, he could have told her he was driving back to London today. She could have saved herself a long journey north.

He had no idea why she wanted to see him, or Dawson’s Clough, but if she was expecting an update on his progress, she was in for a disappointment. There was no progress. He didn’t believe that a petty thief had broken into Prue’s home on the off chance, but he had no better theories.

He sat at a table in the hotel’s reception area with a coffee and a copy of last night’s local newspaper in front of him. The top story concerned a fundraising event to benefit the town’s hospice. Nothing happened in sleepy Dawson’s Clough. Apart from the odd murder, of course.

Maddie breezed through the front door at a little after eleven-thirty wearing skin-tight jeans, a soft pink sweater and sunglasses. Sunglasses. In Dawson’s Clough. In March.

She spotted him, he stood up, and she rushed forward to put her hand on his neck and kiss his cheek. Every time he saw her, he was transported back to that blue bedroom with the huge smiley face on the ceiling. It was the devil’s own job forgetting the past.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” he said.

“Have you?” She took off her sunglasses and hunted through a large leather handbag. When she finally found her phone and switched it on, she gave him an apologetic smile. “So you have. Sorry. I was in a rush to get here.”

“I’m heading back to London today so I could have saved you a journey.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders sagged. “Can’t you stay? Just one more night?”

Christ, it was tempting. “I can’t, Maddie. Sorry. I have things planned.”

“Oh, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I needed to get away anyway.” She didn’t say from what and Dylan didn’t ask. She threw herself down in the chair opposite but before he could say anything, she stood up again.

“Can we go somewhere?” she asked. “Can we just walk?”

“Of course.” An angry wind howled around the hotel’s walls but it wasn’t actually raining. Yet. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” She looked jumpy. Nervy. He wondered if she was on drugs and the thought caught him by surprise. When he’d known her all those years ago, she hadn’t even been tempted to take a quick puff on a cigarette. She certainly wouldn’t have done drugs. That was then though. This was now.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes. Come on. I’ve been sitting in the car for hours. I need to stretch my legs.”

He refused to think about her legs.

They left the hotel and walked via the car park for Dylan to get his jacket and Maddie to collect a thick red padded coat.

“Which way?” she asked, and he pointed in the direction of Moors Park.

She slipped her arm through his as they walked, and he could feel her begin to relax with each step.

“I wanted to tell you that I’ve had the painting valued,” she said.

“And?” He’d managed to convince himself that Marshall had been mistaken about the painting, but he could tell from the tremor in her voice that he shouldn’t have. “How much?”

“God, you’ll never believe this. They said they’d put a reserve of sixty thousand pounds on it if they were selling it.”

“Sixty grand?” Dylan couldn’t believe anyone on the planet could be so bloody stupid as to hand over that sort of money for a painting that was three by three. Inches. “Bloody hell.”

“I know. It quite shook me. I didn’t know what to do with it so I’ve left it in a deposit box at the bank.”

“It was definitely painted by that chap McIntyre?”

“Yes.”

“So how did Prue get hold of it?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

They walked through tall black iron gates and into the park. Apart from a few ducks on the pond, and an elderly woman shuffling along with an equally elderly spaniel, it was deserted.

“Prue couldn’t have known she had it,” Maddie said. “If she had, she would have sold it, wouldn’t she? Someone must have thought it was worthless and donated it to a charity shop or something. Prue shopped at Oxfam. She got her furniture from car boot sales. There’s no way she could have known what it was, is there?”

Dylan wasn’t so sure. He believed that the person who broke into her home had been looking for something specific. And sixty grand’s worth of painting was very specific indeed. On the other hand, if they’d been after that painting, they would have slipped it in their pocket. It had been hanging on the wall in Prue’s bedroom for all the world to see.

“She couldn’t afford to buy it,” Maddie said, “and she wasn’t the type to steal so much as an apple from a market stall. There’s no way she could have known she owned something so valuable.”

A gust of wind rocked them both and he felt her shiver in her coat.

“You could have phoned to tell me,” he said. “There was no need to come all this way.”

She gripped his arm tighter and leaned her face close to his. “I wanted to see you and this gave me the perfect excuse.”

“Why?”

She smiled at that. “Because it’s been too long, Dylan. I’ve missed you.”

She was his for the taking and the realisation hit him like a kick in the stomach.

He wasn’t kidding himself that she’d spared him a thought during the years since they’d had fun in that blue bedroom. She’d been married twice so she’d been too busy making out with others. But now—was her marriage so bad that she was looking elsewhere? Would anyone do? He had the feeling they would.

One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to encourage her. That way led to disaster. She might not be happily married, but he most definitely was.

That thought caught him by surprise too. He and Bev had had more than their fair share of ups and downs—more downs than ups if he included the months he’d spent banished from the marital home—but now, everything was as it should be. He was happy. Happy was perhaps stretching it a bit. Wives, kids, jobs, mortgages—none of it left much room for happiness. He was certainly content with his lot though.

“Missed me indeed.” He tried to laugh off her words. “I bet you haven’t thought about me once.”

“Of course I have.” She stopped walking to gaze up at him. “Haven’t you thought about me?”

“Now and then.” He gave her a smile, but he refused to go down that route. “So how did Prue get hold of a valuable painting?”

Wide-eyed, laughing and looking more relaxed now, she punched him on the arm. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Am I? Perhaps I am. But I’m curious. Where would anyone buy such a thing? Well, no, she couldn’t have bought it. She studied art and design though, didn’t she? It seems as if I’m the only person on the planet who hasn’t heard of Jack McIntyre so I bet she knew exactly what it was.”

“She couldn’t have. She would have sold it.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

They walked past the small lake and to the children’s play area. Maddie pushed a swing back and forth, a wistful expression on her face. He wondered if she wanted children. Perhaps she had a couple. She hadn’t mentioned any and none had attended Prue’s funeral, so he’d assumed she didn’t. He wasn’t going to ask. He wanted to keep things as impersonal as possible.

“I put the meter readings from Prue’s house in the mail to you,” he said, changing the subject yet again. “The landlord signed everything to say the property was in an acceptable condition.”

“Isn’t he a miserable git?”

“Perhaps he has a right to be. He was telling me how some tenants up sticks and leave with rent outstanding. One couple even took all the doors with them. Perhaps it gets you like that.”

“I only spoke to him on the phone and he gave me the creeps.”

Dylan had to admit that Windsor wasn’t the most amenable bloke he’d ever met. “It’s all done and dusted so you won’t have to speak to him again.”

“Thanks. I mean, thank you for dealing with him.”

“It was no problem and I wanted to meet him. Your sister had complained about him. You remember Danny Thompson? The chap with the ponytail who was at Prue’s funeral?”

“Got him. What about him?”

“He was telling me that Prue didn’t like her landlord. Apparently, he used to turn up at the house with no warning. She had to keep reminding him that things needed fixing and he never did anything about it.”

Maddie shuddered. “God knows how she stood living in that hovel.”

“It wasn’t so bad. The house next door is lovely.”

“Yes, but Prue’s wasn’t. It was cold, damp and dingy. The carpets were disgusting.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Come on,” he said, nodding up at heavy black clouds. “Let’s get back before the storm hits.”

“Shall we have dinner together this evening?” Her tone was pleading.

“Sorry, I can’t. As I said, I’m heading back to London.” As she looked set to argue, he rushed on, “I have plans that I can’t get out of. Sorry. Some other time, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Dylan would have preferred to walk more quickly to the hotel but Maddie refused to be rushed. As she was hanging on his arm, he could hardly drag her along behind him. He wanted to be alone, to make sense of his thoughts.

Uppermost at this moment was that he could easily have dinner with Maddie and end up in bed with her. That was so unbelievable that his brain refused to do anything but mull it over and over. Bev wasn’t expecting him, Maddie was needy, and there was no reason why he couldn’t stay in Dawson’s Clough for one more night.

He pushed the thought away and tried to convince his brain to think about Prue and valuable paintings.

Prue’s owning a painting by Jack McIntyre didn’t make sense. It had been valued at a minimum of sixty grand.
Minimum.
If she’d sold it, she could have put down a deposit on a very nice house. She wouldn’t have needed to be beholden to her scumbag landlord. Of course, if she’d had no idea of its worth—

“What about lunch then?” Maddie asked.

“Sorry, I can’t.” He could, but he wasn’t going to. He didn’t trust his reactions to her. Besides, he wanted to be alone and put his thoughts in some sort of order. “I need to check out of my hotel and get moving. If only you’d called me, Maddie, I could have told you I was heading south.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I wanted a break so I’ll book myself in at the spa and treat myself to a couple of days of luxury.”

“Good idea.” They were almost back at the hotel. “How well did you and Prue get along?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Oh, I’m just curious. Thompson, the chap with the ponytail, didn’t think you were close. He was under the impression you didn’t get along too well.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She was irritated now whereas she had been looking more relaxed. “Just because we didn’t see much of each other, people assume we weren’t close. Why did she phone me, hmm? Why would she do that if we weren’t close?”

She let go of his arm and ran both hands through her hair. “We were just normal sisters, okay? We had the usual love/hate relationship. We were close but we didn’t live in each other’s pockets. She had her life and I had mine.”

Dylan nodded, surprised by her outburst. “I get the picture.”

They walked up the hotel’s driveway just as the first fat raindrops fell.

“Right, I’m out of here,” Dylan said. “Enjoy your time at the spa and I’ll call you as soon as I come up with anything.”

“Okay.” She slid her arms around his waist and leaned in close. “Next time, I won’t let you escape so easily. You’ve been warned, Dylan Scott.”

Next time, he might not try to escape...