Half in Love with Artful Death (20 page)

Benton had been somewhat less impressed than Rhodes, or so he'd said. “The tenor's okay,” he'd told Rhodes. “Not a bad falsetto, but I can't say much for that lead singer.”

Rhodes thought Benton was just upset because he'd been replaced, but Benton claimed that wasn't the case. Rhodes supposed it didn't matter so much now that Benton had an opportunity to perform again, even if it was just a one-shot. Since it was an audience that for the most part hadn't heard him before, maybe it would go all right.

“You'll be there, won't you?” Benton asked.

“Is there going to be food?”

“Major snacks,” Benton said. “Not a meal, though. Isn't the entertainment enough of a draw? I have some new numbers. You'll like them.”

Rhodes doubted it, and he wondered what a major snack was. Whatever it was, it would be better than nothing at all. He hoped.

“I'll be there,” he said. “Ivy, too.”

“Good. She loves my work.”

Rhodes knew better, but he didn't say so.

“Ruth's coming,” Benton said. “Practically the whole department will be there.”

“Are you counting yourself?” Rhodes asked.

“Well, I'm not officially part of the department, as you keep reminding me, but I do feel as if I'm an informal helper.”

“Don't be saying that to anybody,” Rhodes told him.

“The secret is safe with me,” Benton said. “Working undercover is just my speed. I'll see you this evening.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Rhodes said, wondering if Benton could tell he was lying.

*   *   *

When Rhodes went back outside, it was getting close to sundown, and the air was cool. Speedo was still trying to get the frog from Yancey. Every time the collie made a move toward the frog, Yancey would jerk backward, keeping just out of his reach.

“They could keep that up all day,” Ivy said. “Why doesn't Speedo just jump on Yancey and take the stupid frog?”

“That would spoil their fun,” Rhodes said, sitting beside her on the step. “It's such a nice night, why don't we go out for dinner?”

Ivy gave him a suspicious glance. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Rhodes said, trying to look innocent. It wasn't easy to do, as he'd learned from hundreds of interviews with guilty parties over the years, but he thought he pulled it off. “I just thought it would be fun.”

“I was planning to fix chicken meat loaf,” Ivy said.

While Rhodes thought that sounded better than vegetarian meat loaf, it wasn't exactly enticing.

“You could have that some other time. What about going out?”

“I'd like that. Where will we go?”

“I thought the closing event for the art conference might be fun,” Rhodes said. “They're having major snacks.”

He thought it might be best not to mention the extra added attraction.

“This is work, isn't it,” Ivy said.

“But fun, too. Business and pleasure.”

“They don't mix, I've heard.”

“This time they do. Trust me.”

“You're going to shower and put on fresh clothes, I hope.”

“Naturally.” Rhodes stood up and put down a hand. Ivy took his hand and pulled herself up beside him.

“There's still something you're not telling me,” Ivy said.

“It's a surprise,” Rhodes said. “An extra added attraction.”

He went down the steps and across the yard, where he grabbed the frog away from Yancey.

“Go on inside,” Rhodes said to Yancey. “I have to feed Speedo.”

Yancey pranced across the yard, looking back at Speedo a couple of times on the way as if to say, “You didn't get the frog, nyah, nyah, nyah.”

“He's a real caution, isn't he?” Rhodes said, watching Yancey go.

Speedo barked twice.

Rhodes took that for a yes.

 

Chapter 18

There had been a time that still remained in the memory of a lot of people living in Clearview when the downtown area on Saturday night was the place to be if you wanted to see people you knew. The stores were open late, and the streets were crowded. The cotton farmers all came to town on Saturday, and it wasn't easy to find a parking place on the streets in front of the stores.

That had all changed now. The streetlights still came on when the sun went down, but the streets were deserted. The old buildings were dark, and it was impossible to tell now what kind of businesses had been in them. Even the movie theater facades were anonymous, and most of the older residents had forgotten exactly where the Saturday matinees had been shown.

Tonight, however, there was one exception to the darkness. The lights were on in the art gallery, and their glow spilled out onto the sidewalk. Cars lined the street in front of the building. Although the senior center was closed, the outside was lighted. It was almost as if the town had come alive again.

By the time Rhodes and Ivy arrived at the art gallery, the festivities had already begun. The crowd was bigger than Rhodes had expected. Seepy Benton sat on a stool at one end of the gallery, strumming his guitar softly. When Rhodes and Ivy walked in, he was explaining that his next number was called “The Medical Marijuana Song.”

“It's available on my YouTube channel,” he said. “Seepybenton's channel. Seepybenton is one word. You can watch me anytime.”

Rhodes looked around the gallery. People were moving around and chatting. Some of them were picking up food from the long table in the middle of the room. Very few of them seemed to be listening to Seepy.

The lack of interest in what Seepy had to say didn't prove to be a deterrent, however. Seepy launched right into his big number, which sounded vaguely familiar to Rhodes, especially the chorus, during which Seepy sang, “All we are saying … is give weed a chance.”

“What are the chances of that happening?” Ivy asked.

“You mean giving weed a chance?”

Ivy nodded.

“This is Texas,” Rhodes said. “So I'd have to guess the chances are zero.”

“That's what I think, too,” Ivy said. “It might be just as well that nobody's really listening. They might get the wrong idea about Seepy.”

“We wouldn't want that,” Rhodes said.

Ivy laughed. “Let's look at some of the paintings.”

They strolled around, and Rhodes noted some of the works that he hadn't seen before. One of them was of a group of people with umbrellas walking along what appeared to be Clearview's main street. The old buildings looked familiar, but the scene didn't. It wasn't raining rain. Or violets or pennies from heaven, for that matter. It was raining feathers that swirled in the air and pooled in the street.

“I wonder if whoever painted that was giving weed a chance,” Ivy said.

“You have to understand the symbolism,” Rhodes told her.

“Why don't you explain it to me?”

“The local pillow factory exploded.”

“There's no pillow factory here.”

“You have to use your imagination.”

“I see,” Ivy said. “Or maybe not. What about that one?”

Ivy pointed to a painting that looked to Rhodes as if it might just be a solid red square, but when he squinted he saw that there was a fine white diagonal line across it. He wondered if that was one of the defaced paintings, but Ivy said it wasn't.

“It's supposed to be like that. It makes you wonder whether it's two red triangles or a red square divided into two triangles.”

“I see,” Rhodes said, though he didn't.

“I read something about a painting like that not long ago,” she said. “Except that it was solid blue and had a wider white line that was painted down the middle. It was also a lot bigger than that one.”

“I didn't know you read articles about art,” Rhodes said.

“I don't, usually. This one caught my eye because of the picture and because of the price it brought at auction.”

Rhodes looked at the red painting again. He didn't think he'd pay much for anything like that, but maybe someone would.

“How much?” he asked.

“I can't remember exactly,” Ivy said, “but it was more than forty million dollars.”

Rhodes thought he might not have heard her correctly. “Forty dollars?”

“Forty
million.
”

“That settles it,” Rhodes said. “I went into the wrong profession.”

Ivy laughed. “Maybe not. It takes a lot of talent to sell something for forty million dollars. There's Ruth Grady. I'm going to talk to her while you do whatever it is that you came here for.”

“Eating,” Rhodes said, though he was still thinking about the forty million dollars.

“You don't really expect me to believe that.”

“Watch and see,” Rhodes said. He was never going to make forty million dollars, so he might as well eat. He headed for the buffet table.

While the food was an attraction, it wasn't the main one. What interested Rhodes even more was that three of his suspects were standing near one end of the table, talking in low voices. Don McClaren gripped Eric Stewart by his upper arm and leaned in close, saying something Rhodes couldn't hear. McClaren's hand was so big that it easily encircled Stewart's arm. Both men's faces were red. Marilyn Bradley stood beside McClaren as if she were taking his side in whatever discussion was going on. They paid no attention at all to Seepy's singing or to Rhodes's approach.

Rhodes thought that as long as he was by the table, he might as well see what the major snacks were, proving to Ivy, if she was watching, that he'd been telling the truth.

After he'd gotten some major snacks, he could interrupt the discussion. He saw sliced cheese with several kinds of crackers nearby, sliced ham rolled up and secured with toothpicks, little quesadillas, pizza rolls, chicken wings, deviled eggs, celery stuffed with pimiento cheese, and some kind of dip surrounded by raw broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. There were other things, too, but that would do for a start. Major snacks, indeed. There were also cookies.

Rhodes got himself a napkin and a plate. He filled the plate and looked to see if the three suspects were still engaged in conversation. They were. He drifted in that direction. McClaren and Stewart paid no attention to him, so he stopped nearby, hoping to listen in.

He didn't get to hear much, but maybe it was enough. He was sure he heard McClaren whisper something about a head on a shelf. Then Marilyn Bradley saw Rhodes and poked McClaren in the ribs.

McClaren's head jerked, and he saw Rhodes standing close by. Stewart took advantage of McClaren's lapse of attention to free his arm.

“Good to see you, Sheriff,” Stewart said, sounding as if he meant it. “We were just talking about the success of the art conference. The mayor made a wonderful little speech.”

Rhodes looked around and saw Clifford Clement, who was wearing a suit that cost more than Rhodes's monthly salary. The mayor was talking to Ruth and Ivy. Jennifer Loam had joined them. Rhodes wondered if he was charming them. Not a chance, he thought.

“Dr. Benton's quite a singer, too,” Stewart went on.

“I can see you're listening closely.”

Stewart ignored that. “He writes his own songs, you know. A very talented guy.”

“So he keeps telling me,” Rhodes said. He bit into a piece of quesadilla and got a taste of grilled chicken and cheese. “Food's good, too.”

“I have to go now,” McClaren said. His voice was strained. “I need to make sure the guests are all taken care of.”

He walked away. Rhodes didn't see any reason not to let him go. He'd catch up with him later. It was Stewart that he wanted to have a few words with at the moment. Marilyn Bradley, too.

He didn't get the chance to talk to either of them, however, because Lonnie Wallace walked up. Lonnie was wearing Western garb, as usual, but tonight he had on a dark suit with Western-cut jacket and a string tie.

Rhodes bit into a pizza roll. It didn't really taste much like pizza.

“I've been wanting to talk to you, Sheriff,” Lonnie said. “How's the food?”

“Fine,” Rhodes said.

Seepy Benton had begun another song that sounded familiar to Rhodes, like an old Gene Autry song from some movie Rhodes had seen on TV years ago. The chorus was something about being back in the classroom again. Rhodes wondered if it was on YouTube.

Lonnie wasn't interested in the song. Rhodes didn't think Lonnie even heard it.

“Eric told me about the bust you found in the antiques shop,” Lonnie said. “He says you think it's a clue.”

“Could be,” Rhodes said. “It's being checked for fingerprints.”

No need to tell them that it had already been checked and found wanting. That was the kind of information Rhodes didn't like to have floating around.

“It was in my store,” Lonnie said, “but I don't know how it could've gotten there.”

Rhodes waited a few beats to see if Stewart would have anything to say. When he didn't, Rhodes said, “I don't know, either. I was hoping you might have some idea.”

Lonnie took a step backward. “Me? How would I know?” He paused. “You don't think I put it there, do you?”

“I hope you didn't,” Rhodes said, “but you still do consignment sales, don't you? I thought maybe somebody gave it to you and asked you to sell it for them.”

“We don't do many consignments now,” Stewart said. “Too much paperwork.”

“That's right,” Lonnie said. “Someone else put the bust there. I had nothing to do with it. Neither did Eric.”

Rhodes wondered if they thought the bust had simply materialized in the store, but he remembered what McClaren had said the previous morning about locking the place up.

“Did you lock the gallery after yesterday's little episode?” Rhodes asked.

“No,” Stewart said. “Not today, either. We didn't think Burt would come back and spray anything, what with him being dead.”