Fatal Brushstroke (An Aurora Anderson Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter 5

Rory eased the door shut on Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint. She felt guilty deserting Nora, but she couldn’t see any reason to stay. The grieving woman no longer required a truckload of Kleenex to mop up her tears. She’d perked up considerably at the thought of taking over Hester’s class. When Rory finally mustered the courage to go home, her mother and Nora were discussing other ways Hester’s protégé could help around the store.

Rory was heading down the sidewalk toward her car, less than a block away from Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint, when she heard a raspy voice call her name. She turned around to find the advertising sales rep for the local newspaper,
The Vista Beach View
, waving sunglasses at her.

With crimson streaks in her black hair and vibrant eye makeup, Veronica Justice resembled a punk version of the Archie comic strip character. But, unlike comic-strip Veronica, the woman hurrying toward Rory wasn’t the daughter of the richest man in town. Rory knew little about her background. She’d asked once, but after ten minutes of vague statements, Rory still didn’t know what the thirty-year-old had done prior to her arrival in Vista Beach a few years ago.

Today the woman with the two-pack-a-day voice sported a cropped T-shirt with “Too Hot to Handle” emblazoned on it and a bright pink hoodie. A belly button ring peeked over black yoga pants.

Rory forced a smile on her face and waved back. “Come to sell more advertising to my mom?” As distracted as her mother was, Rory worried she would be no match for the saleswoman’s spiel. Who knew how many pages of ads Veronica would convince her to buy. “She’s kind of busy. Maybe you should come back later.”

“Actually, I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Word had gotten around faster than Rory had expected. Of course, Hester’s murder was the biggest news in town since last year’s city council scandal. “I suppose it’s the talk of the office.”

“The subject has come up a few times.”

“What are they saying?”

“Nothing you don’t already know except...” Veronica inched closer to Rory and studied her as if deciding whether she could be trusted. She must have passed the test because Veronica lowered her voice and continued. “Hester’s husband told the police she had an appointment after her class yesterday.”

“Really? Who with?”

“He didn’t say. Know anything about that?”

Veronica might as well have pointed a finger at Rory and cried “Murderer!”

“Me? Why are you asking me?”

“The police did find Hester’s body in your backyard.”

“It’s not my fault some psycho dumped her body on my property.”

Rory immediately regretted her poor choice of words. As unobtrusively as possible, she checked around to see if a reporter from the paper was within earshot. Her relief at finding no one lurking nearby was short-lived.

Veronica dug a miniature voice recorder out of the voluminous tote bag that served as her purse. “Can I quote you on that?”

“Quote me? I thought you sold advertising.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m writing Hester’s obituary. It’s not the news, but it’s a start. The piece was intended to be a feature. You know the type of thing, profile of a local celebrity. But now that she’s dead...”

So that’s why Veronica took Hester’s weekend painting class. At the time Rory had wondered why someone with so little painting experience would subject herself to such a demanding seminar. She tried to recall if Hester had treated Veronica any differently than the other students but, as far as Rory remembered, her teacher had expected the same from everyone.

“Don’t worry. This business will be resolved soon,” Veronica said.

“What have you heard?”

“Just that the police are gearing up to make an arrest.”

Rory looked up and down the street, half-expecting to find the chief himself lurking nearby, brandishing handcuffs. “I won’t keep you any longer. I should get back to work.”

“Where’d you park? I’ll walk you to your car.”

During the short walk, Veronica peppered Rory with questions about the grim discovery. Rory answered politely, sticking to the bare facts, being careful not to voice any opinions. By the time they reached the car, Veronica had run out of things to ask. They parted, leaving Rory relieved the interrogation was over and the aspiring reporter disappointed she hadn’t learned any information that wasn’t already public knowledge.

Later that afternoon, Rory was searching the freezer for the box of Thin Mints she’d stashed away months earlier when she glanced outside and spotted a woman taking pictures of the flowerbed. For a moment, Rory stood immobile, unable to understand why writing an obituary required visiting the scene of the crime.

She rushed outside in time to see Veronica stuff a camera in her purse. “What are you doing here? Someone you know was murdered and you’re taking pictures? What kind of person are you?” Rory itched to confiscate the camera, but couldn’t bring herself to yank the purse off the woman’s shoulder and rummage through it.

A smile flitted across the young woman’s face. “So this is where you found Hester. Helluva day you’ve had.”

“You should leave now.”

“Just give me ten minutes to look around. Can’t be any harm in that.”

Rory unclipped the cell phone from her belt. “Fine. I’ll just call the police and have them arrest you for trespassing.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t want the police to know you invited me here. Wouldn’t look good.”

“But I didn’t!”

“Sure you did. Don’t you remember?”

Rory went over their earlier conversation in her mind, but couldn’t recall saying anything that would give the young woman the impression she was welcome here. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea, but you need to go.”

Veronica shrugged. “Go ahead, call the police. My word against yours. I’m sure someone saw us walking to your car together. Who’s to say you didn’t invite me?”

Every fiber of her being wanted to shove the young woman out the gate and onto the street, but Rory suspected the victory would be short-lived. In all likelihood, Veronica would be back as soon as Rory left on an errand. At least now, she could monitor the visit. And maybe they’d spot something the police had missed.

Rory returned her phone to her belt. “Just a quick look around, then, and no more pictures.”

Veronica nodded her agreement. She glanced around as if searching for answers in the bushes and trees surrounding the yard. “Any idea what Hester was doing back here?”

“Wish I knew.”

“Your front doorbell work?”

“I believe so. What are you thinking?”

“Say Hester rings the bell and doesn’t get a response. So she comes around the side to try the back door.” Veronica hugged the side of the house as she traced Hester’s conjectured path from the gate to the patio. “Then wham! The assailant hits her over the head.” Her hands sliced through the air, bringing an imaginary weapon down on an invisible victim.

Rory recoiled at Veronica’s pantomime of the attack. Clearly, the woman watched too many true crime reenactments on television. “No place to hide back here. She would have seen someone lurking.”

“Maybe not. No streetlights. Last night’s moon was barely a sliver.” Veronica pointed at the back door. “The porch light work?”

“I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.” Maybe if she had taken time to repair the light, Hester would still be alive. Rory stifled the twinge of guilt that nagged at her.

“Would have been pretty dark. She’d be concentrating on the ground in front of her, not the rest of the yard.”

“I would have heard something.”

“Not necessarily. It was windy.” Veronica pointed at several tree branches that hovered over Rory’s house. “You get one or two of those branches slapping against your roof and you wouldn’t hear a thing.”

Rory made a mental note to get the trees trimmed.

Last night was only a vague memory to her. She’d been so exhausted she’d gone to bed early, dropping off to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Between the racket on the roof and her fatigue, she might not have heard a knock on the door—or a scuffle in her backyard. “From what I’ve heard head wounds bleed a lot, but the patio looks pretty clean. Where’d the blood go?”

They both stared down at the concrete slab that stretched from the back door to the far corner of the house.

“Maybe it soaked into the ground. She could have been attacked before she reached the cement.” As Veronica leaned forward to examine the area near the patio, her tote bag slipped off her shoulder, its contents spilling all over the grass.

For a moment Rory thought she was going crazy, hearing voices kind of crazy, but then she spotted the digital recorder lying under a spiral-bound notepad, her own voice coming from the miniature device. Before Rory could ask about the recorder, Veronica scooped it up along with the rest of the spilled items and stuffed them in her purse. “Thanks for letting me look around. I’d better get back to work.” She avoided Rory’s gaze and hurried through the gate.

As soon as the woman disappeared from view and Rory recovered from her surprise, Rory squatted down by the flowerbed, looking for evidence that supported Veronica’s absurd idea. She hated to admit it, but the cigarette butts she’d noticed earlier corroborated the lying-in-wait theory. The police appeared to have collected them along with other odds and ends. Rory scoured the area, looking under nearby bushes and along the fence for anything they might have missed.

Mrs. Griswold’s voice drifted over the wooden barrier. “...I don’t want to speak ill of Miss Anderson. She’s generally a nice, quiet youngster, but...”

Cautiously, Rory peeked over the fence. Her elderly neighbor and Detective Green stood barely five feet away, deep in conversation. Rory ducked down before the policeman could spot her. Abandoning the search, she rested her knees on the ground and leaned against the fence’s rough wood.

“I really don’t know if I should even mention this. After all, it’s not really her fault.”

“This is a murder case. Even the smallest detail might be important.”

“I hear she’s in the software business, whatever that means, but I still think it’s a little strange the way she spends so much time in front of that computer of hers. Nothing but a fancy boob tube if you ask me. What happened to talking to people? And the clothes she wears. In my day, young ladies wore dresses, not jeans all the time. Thank heavens she doesn’t smoke or appear to take the Lord’s name in vain...”

Rory felt winded listening to her neighbor’s nonstop chatter. The seventy-five-year-old woman must have the lung capacity of a bagpiper.

“...don’t recall seeing a parade of male suitors at all hours of the night like some I could tell you about. Where was I? Oh yes, well, it’s probably nothing, but I think it’s a little strange that dog found the body and not her. If the body had been on my property, I’d be the first to find it, though from what I can tell she doesn’t spend much time back here and I know for a fact she dislikes gardening. And then there’s her background. You know she was arrested for that fire, right? Now, I’ve seen no evidence she’s crazy, but—”

The crowing of a rooster drowned out the rest of Mrs. Griswold’s words. Rory yanked her cell phone off her belt and poked desperately at the screen. She silenced the noisy device and looked up to discover Detective Green peering at her over the fence with a less-than-friendly gaze.

Rory clamped the phone to her ear and pretended to be engrossed in conversation. “Much better. Clear as a bell now.” Continuing to listen to her make-believe caller, Rory beat a hasty retreat across an expanse of lawn that all of a sudden seemed a mile wide.

Chapter 6

That evening Rory tossed and turned, too upset to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she visualized Hester’s disembodied arm creeping across the bedcovers toward her. The image was so real she could almost feel the ice-cold hand as it tightened around her throat. Eventually, and to her great relief, the disturbing scene stopped playing in her mind and long after midnight she drifted off to sleep.

When her landline rang what seemed like only moments later, Rory rolled over and glanced at the clock. Three a.m. In her experience, phone calls at this time of night were never good news. She thought of her parents and her stomach tightened. Afraid something had happened to one of them, Rory reached over to grab the phone and became tangled up in the sheets. By the time she freed herself, the caller had hung up without leaving a message on the answering machine. After convincing herself it had been a wrong number and not the bad news she’d feared, she snuggled farther under the covers and was once again on the verge of sleep when a repeated cock-a-doodle-doo jerked her awake. She grabbed the crowing cell phone off her nightstand and answered the call.

“Ms. Anderson? This is Vista Beach Security. Sorry to wake you.”

Relieved that she wasn’t talking to someone from the police or local hospital, Rory was trying to figure out why a security company had dialed her number when the caller spoke again.

“Ms. Anderson? Are you there?”

“Who did you say you were?”

“Vista Beach Security, ma’am. We monitor the alarm for Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint.”

As soon as the caller mentioned her mother’s store, Rory flung off the covers and turned on the bedside light. “Is there a problem?”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid the alarm’s been activated.”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. Shouldn’t you be calling my parents? They own the store.”

“We’ve been unable to reach them. You’re listed as backup.”

“But I saw my mom today.”

“That may well be, but she’s not answering her phone.”

Rory fought down the panic that was threatening to disable her. She’d never known her mother to ignore middle-of-the-night phone calls before. With her dad out of town, all her mother had for protection was Buster, her cat. While the orange tabby had a mean set of claws, Rory doubted he’d be much help if an intruder came after the two of them with a gun.

“Ma’am?”

Rory reined in her fertile imagination. “Sorry. Did you say someone tried to break into the store?”

“We don’t know that yet. The police are checking it out now.”

“What’s the usual procedure? Do I need to go down there?”

“If you would, ma’am.”

“Of course. I’m on my way.”

Rory threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, then rummaged around in a desk drawer, panicking when she couldn’t immediately find the store key her mother had given her eons ago. Once she had it in her hand, she raced out into the darkness.

She shivered when she realized, had she come outside twenty-four hours ago, she might have encountered the murderer. Rory shoved the unwelcome notion to the back of her mind and climbed into her car. As she headed down the street, her headlights picked out an opossum scurrying across the road. The only other sign of motion was the security light that came on as she passed Mrs. Maldonado’s house near the end of the block.

A short while later, she parked her car in the alley behind her mother’s store and hurried to where a police officer was peering into the small window in the back door.

Rory strained to make herself heard above the clang of the burglar alarm. “Evening, Officer. Any sign of a break-in?”

“Not that I can see, Miss. Everything appears to be locked up tight as a drum. Mind if I take a look around inside, just to be sure?”

“Of course.” Rory unlocked the back door and silenced the alarm with a few swift taps on the keypad. While she waited in the alley, the officer checked out the interior. After he signaled it was okay for her to enter, she took her own tour of the store, paying particular attention to the cash register and safe.

“Everything looks fine. My mother would know better, but I don’t think anything’s been disturbed.”

“I’ll have to mark it down as another false alarm then.” He jotted something down in a notebook.

“Have there been many?”

“Seems like I spend half my shift these days responding to them. Had one just last night about this time at the insurance office over on Dewey Lane. At the rate the alarms are failing around here, the city ought to collect a tidy sum in fines. Half the businesses downtown have been affected. We don’t even respond to the alarm at Surfside Deli anymore. Don’t let your mother get into that situation.”

Rory nodded her understanding. When she’d read the item in the
View
about the new alarm policy, she hadn’t realized how pervasive the problem was. According to the article, after two false alarms the police imposed a fine for each one they investigated. Five more and they stopped responding altogether until a security company serviced the faulty system.

She followed the officer out the door and locked up. Before he turned to go, he said, “Be sure to tell your mother to get that alarm checked. This is her second false alarm this month. From now on, we’ll fine her if it happens again. Drive safely now.”

“I’ll tell her.” Assuming I find her, Rory silently added. She headed toward her car, intent on driving to her mother’s house, afraid of what she’d discover once she got there.