The Portrait of Doreene Gray (18 page)

Lupita gave a startled shriek, and the rest of them turned to look.

A lovely young woman stood in the doorway to Doreene's room. With her blond hair and large hazel eyes, she could have been the subject of the portrait they had just seen. She wore a black beret.

 

Seventeen

Baumgartner suggested that everyone wait in the conservatory until the police came.

Without extra chairs, the dining table couldn't accommodate ten people. Enrico stood behind Maureene, who occasionally wiped her hand under her eyes. Lupita hovered behind Reynaldo, who let out an occasional sob. Max and Baumgartner stood in the doorway to the rest of the house, speaking in low voices.

Angus pulled out the last chair for the blond woman who had appeared in their midst. “You must be Maureene's daughter, Lyndsay, but I'm afraid I don't know your last name.”

Lyndsay smoothed the skirt of her black sundress before sitting. “Waring, until the divorce goes through, and then it's back to Pinter.” She glanced at Reynaldo and shook her head slightly. “Poor man. Poor Aunt Doreene, for that matter. It looks as though she committed suicide, doesn't it?”

Baumgartner raised his voice. “I know it's difficult, but please don't discuss Doreene's death until the police arrive. Memory is a very unreliable thing. We tend to fall in line with what others say and forget or change details that don't fit the most likely scenario.”

Enrico leaned down and muttered something to Maureene, then straightened and fell silent, arms crossed across his broad chest.

Lyndsay looked up at Angus. “I'm sorry. I didn't ask who you are.”

“Angus MacGregor, of
Tripping
magazine.” Faced with her blank, expectant look, he went on. “We've been doing a story about your mother's portrait of Doreene. Did Maureene not mention all of that?”

“There hasn't been much time to talk since I got here, and she didn't know I was coming.” Lyndsay glanced at Enrico, and her smile turned wry. “If I had called, I'm sure she would have told me I'd be meeting my father for the first time.”

Angus patted her shoulder gently. “That must have come as a bit of a shock.”

“It's been interesting, to say the least.”

The distant chime of the doorbell sounded.

“That will be the police,” Baumgartner said.

*   *   *

The police detective interviewed the staff of
Tripping
last.

An officer led them through the house to the same large room where Doreene had given her press conference.

In the center of the room, a man in his forties or fifties sat hunched over a delicate antique table, typing on a laptop. Deep lines pulled his face down, giving it a weary look. His haircut was typical of a cheap, walk-in salon. Hair, skin, and suit were all gray.

Suki nudged Angus. “There's a trench coat draped over the back of his chair,” she whispered. “An actual trench coat!”

“This
is
the Pacific Northwest,” Angus murmured back. “He needs something to keep off the rain, and I don't think a poncho would inspire confidence.”

Their police escort waved them into a few extra chairs someone had pulled in front of the little desk. “Detective Kroger, these are the people from the magazine.”

The detective looked up and gave them a thin smile. “Thank you for coming.”

“Did we have a choice?” Michael asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Not really.” Detective Kroger picked up a legal pad and a pen. “You've been in the house for how long?”

“A day and a half,” Angus said. “Two nights.”

Kroger made a note. “Did you know Mrs. Gray before this visit, either in person, or through phone calls or any kind of correspondence?”

“No. In fact, we weren't sure she would give us an interview, so we showed up for the press conference unannounced.”

Kroger nodded absently. “What was your impression of Ms. Gray? Was she well-liked in her household?”

Angus cleared his throat. “Reynaldo seemed very devoted to her.”

“All right, let's go through the events of your visit, starting from the beginning.”

They spent the next hour painstakingly detailing their visit. Detective Kroger had an Officer Madison go upstairs with Angus to retrieve the strips of paper they'd found in the soup. He also sent Officer Madison outside with Michael to look at the ladder beside Maureene's cottage.

Once, Kroger excused himself, returning after ten minutes. While he was gone, a different officer came in and took extensive photographs before beginning a thorough search of the room.

Kroger came back and held a muttered conversation with the officer before resuming his seat and taking up his notepad again. “Mr. MacGregor, you said that after the storm woke you, you went into the hall and saw a light under Ms. Gray's bedroom door.”

“That's right,” Angus said.

Kroger flipped to a different page. “Mr. Cruz, on the other hand, said that his wife must have gotten out of bed in the dark, without waking him. In other words, he doesn't remember her turning on a light or he slept through it.” He looked up at Angus. “Are you sure you saw a light under that door?”

“Absolutely,” Angus said.

Kroger turned his attention to Michael and Suki. “Maybe Mr. MacGregor got turned around in the hall and only thought he was looking at Ms. Gray's door. Did either of you turn a light on at around two o'clock?”

Suki and Michael shook their heads.

“Do you think Mr. MacGregor could be mistaken? Maybe he was dreaming, or saw a light on a different night and thought it was last night.”

“I'm not daft,” Angus said.

“I'm not suggesting that,” Kroger said calmly.

“I don't think Angus was mistaken,” Suki said.

Michael nodded. “Or dreaming. He said he stood outside Doreene's door for several minutes, listening, and he got bored and cold. People don't stand around doing nothing in dreams. I wrote an article about it once.”

Kroger turned back to Angus, a slight smile on his gray features. “You didn't mention listening at the door, Mr. MacGregor.”

“I didn't think it mattered, since I didn't hear anything.”

“How long did you listen?”

“Perhaps three minutes.”

Kroger wrote a note. “Did the light beneath the door change in any way? Did you see a shadow, maybe of someone standing or walking inside the room?”

Angus shook his head.

“Did you look under the door or through the keyhole?” Kroger asked. “I'm assuming they have keyholes in a house this old.”

Angus looked chagrined. “I never thought of it. There was no sound, so it didn't occur to me to try to see anything.”

“Why did you listen at the door in the first place? Was there something that raised your suspicions?”

“I listened because I saw a white car across the street that looked like Enrico Russo's, and his behavior has been quite suspicious.”

Kroger flipped back a page in his notes and studied them. “Right. You heard Enrico Russo demand that Doreene give him the painting.”

“It also sounded as though he was trying to blackmail her,” Angus said. “‘Give me the painting and no one has to know…' Any idea what he was talking about?”

“We're checking into that.”

“Where was Enrico last night?” Michael asked.

Kroger stared at him for a moment before answering. “Maureene Pinter says he spent the night with her.”

Angus frowned thoughtfully. “If Enrico stayed with Maureene, it probably
was
his car that I saw. Why did he move it?”

The detective flipped to another page. “Mr. Russo says the storm woke him. He got up and moved his car because he remembered seeing a weak branch in the tree above it, and he was afraid the wind would bring it down. He doesn't remember what time that was.”

“Huh,” Angus grunted, a wealth of skepticism in the syllable.

Kroger put his notepad down. “The three of you work for a magazine.”

“We
are
the magazine,” Suki said. “Except for the guy who pays the bills.”

Kroger nodded. “Most cops don't like journalists, but I'm not one of those cops. You're observant, and that helps me do my job.”

Angus gave him a regal smile. “That means a great deal, coming from a peace officer.”

Kroger nodded. “Thanks. Would you be willing to give me copies of your notes on what you've observed in this household?”

Michael made a reluctant face. “That's kind of problematic—”

“Not at all,” Angus said, interrupting him. “But it won't be now, I'm afraid.” He looked at his watch. “We need to leave right this minute if we're going to make our flight to Colorado, and then there's the drive back to Boulder, unpacking, typing up the notes—mine are handwritten and I doubt you could read them. But I'm sure we could get something to you by the end of tomorrow, or perhaps the next morning.”

Kroger shook his head. “The first forty-eight hours of an investigation are the most important. Also, I'd like you to stay in Port Townsend longer. Not that you're under suspicion, but as witnesses, I'd like to have access to you.”

Angus looked regretful. “There's nothing I'd like better, but we've been staying here at Doreene's invitation, and now that she's gone … The local hotels are full, you see, because of the Wooden Boat Festival.”

Kroger stood. “Give me five minutes. I'll ask Mr. Cruz if you can stay longer.”

Angus smiled. “That would make all the difference.”

When the detective had left, Michael whispered, “No one in law enforcement likes the media, Angus. He just wants our notes.”

“And I want to stay in the house. There's nothing wrong with a bit of mutual back scratching.”

“You got that right,” Suki said.

Michael ignored her. “What happens if Kroger gives an interview to some local reporter, using
our
material? We'll have lost the story.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Angus said. “Police dislike the media because they think we release too much information, so why would he give a tell-all interview to someone else? Also, it won't hurt the article to say
Tripping
helped the police in their investigation.”

Michael snorted. “In case you haven't noticed, a lot of our readers are paranoid anarchists—not the biggest fans of police.”

“That's ridiculous,” Angus said, “and I never want to hear you say it again. The last thing we need is some angry gun nut showing up at the office.”

The cop searching the room answered his cell phone, listened for a moment, then came over to them. “Detective Kroger says he asked Mr. Cruz, and it's okay for you to stay over.”

“Sounds like a slumber party,” Suki said. “Let's order pizza and stay up late, talking and listening to CDs.”

Angus gave her a reproving look before speaking to the officer. “Tell Detective Kroger we appreciate his help, and we'll get those notes to him right away.”

“Will do. You're to wait with the others for now. Detective Kroger says it won't be for much longer.”

The
Tripping
crew followed him. In the kitchen, Lupita was making roast-beef sandwiches. The cop ushered them into the conservatory and left.

Maureene sat at one end of the table, Max and Enrico on either side of her. On the far side of the room, Reynaldo hunched sideways in an upholstered chair, his face pressed against the seat back. Lyndsay was nowhere to be seen.

Angus, Suki, and Michael sat at the unoccupied end of the table. Lupita's sniffles could be heard through the open door to the kitchen, along with the clink of metal on glass as she scooped mayonnaise out of a jar.

Angus took out his pocket notebook, flipped to a new page, and scribbled something on it.

“Taking notes?” Enrico sneered. “I don't see how journalists can live with themselves, making money off other people's suffering.”

Angus continued to scribble. “Actually, I'm jotting down a list of people I need to call to tell them we've been delayed.” He looked down at his note, which read,
Did Doreene Gray fight the mysterious force that sucked the life from her even as youth returned to her portrait?

Michael leaned over and glanced at what Angus had written. “Don't forget to call the orphanage where you volunteer.”

“Right.” Angus crossed out
mysterious
and wrote
malevolent
instead.

“Sorry,” Enrico muttered. “The waiting is making me tense.”

“Think nothing of it,” Angus said graciously.

Suki folded an origami boat from a stray napkin and tossed it on the table with a heavy sigh. “So is that the original portrait of Doreene upstairs, or what?”

“I…” Maureene broke off and dropped her gaze to the table. “I don't know.”

Max gave her a sympathetic look. “The detective had me examine the portrait and asked what I thought. It seems impossible, but I had to admit that it appears to be the original.”

Maureene turned to him. “It does, doesn't it? I could hardly believe my eyes, but it has my signature, my brushstrokes, everything.”

Max gave Angus a bemused look. “I hate to say this, but it seems almost … supernatural.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Or maybe Doreene removed the collage elements. We don't know what she put them on with, after all. They might have peeled right off.”

Max shook his head. “I don't see how you could do that and leave no marks whatsoever. Oil paint would certainly be affected by any kind of adhesive.”

“Maybe she covered the painting with cling wrap and pasted stuff on top of that,” Michael said.

Max gave a bark of laughter. “Someone would have spotted a plastic covering over the painting.”