2 Landscape in Scarlet (12 page)

“Lots of joy. Lots of suspects
, but I don’t buy any
one of them as the killer
. And not a single definite feeling about what really happened to Comstock. Oh no,” she whispered. “Run for your lives!”

The two men looked in the direction of her gaze and saw Carrie bearing down on them.
Her heels sounded annoyed as she tapped her way over, enveloping them in a cloud of some recently reapplied perfume whose base was rancid patchouli.
Carrie was attractive to most men but not to Raphael who tended to speak to her like she was a rather dense child.

It was hard to know what Esteban thought since his public face was one of mild amusement that virtually nothing pen
e
trated.
She had only twice seen his emotions on his face and the last time had been brought about by a bullet in his body.
Not for the first time, Juliet reminded herself to never play cards with him.

“Now, Juliet, you mustn’t keep all the handsome men to yourself,” Carrie cooed. Her red cocktail dress would have been great in July in Las Vegas. Since it was late October in the Santa Cruz
M
ountains her ample flesh was a little blue
and goose-bumpy
.

“I mustn’t? But why? Anyway, Raphael wants to show me his etchings.”

Carries mascaraed gaze turned on Esteban.
She was only interested in Raphael’s fame, not in the man himself
,
so Juliet was welcome to him
.
Or perhaps she didn’t understand the etchings reference.

Raphael did and was amused.

“And I have a commission I must finish before tomorrow,” Esteban said, lying gracefully. “I must depart.”

Carrie pouted but accepted his excuse. Even for her, work came first.

“Will I see you at the Halloween party?” She barely managed to include Juliet and Raphael in the question.

“The one at the inn? Probably not,” Juliet said. “I haven’t had time to work on a costume.”

“And the inn is difficult for me to navigate since they have no elevator,” Raphael said.

Carrie didn’t care.
She waited on Esteban.

“The day of the dead is a religious festival in my country,” Esteban said. “I should go and visit my grandparents that day.
Since they are buried in Santa Barbara, i
t is unlikely that I will return in time.”

They murmured a few polite goodbyes and then made their escape.

“Liar, liar
,
pants on fire,” Juliet muttered
at
Esteban since Mickey Shaw was outside talking to Hans while he had a cigarette
and Mickey tended to gossip
.
“Your grandparents are not buried in Santa Barbara. They aren’t buried anywhere
unless you’ve had a recent tragedy
.”

“What?” Esteban looked startled. “My pants are on fire?”

“They should be
, telling whoppers about your grandma
. Hey, Mickey! Welcome back. Did you catch a big fish?” Juliet asked.

Mickey grinned.
He was wearing the t-shirt she had made for him though he had a flannel shirt on over it.

“Sure, but you should see the one
that
got away.”

“Ha!
You can tell me later.
”

And then they were past the last of the people and letting themselves into the qui
e
t of Raphael’s cottage.
Esteban went at once to build a fire and Raphael opened the old curio that served as a liquor cabinet.
Juliet put down her purse and sketch pad
, feeling weary
.

“So, what
have
you
learned?”
Raphael handed her a glass.

Usually Juliet enjoyed Raphael’s scotch but that night her mouth felt dry and her stomach a little rocky. She decided not to drink until she had some proper food in her stomach. Juliet
passed
her glass to Esteban.

“Do you have some water or juice, or soda?” she asked Raphael.

“
Cert
ainly. Ginger ale?”

“Perfect. I’m going to need a little help if we do an
y amount of talking. The last tw
o days have been more of a mouth workout than I realized. I don’t think I talk that much the rest of the year combined.”

Raphael handed her a highball glass and she stared at the bubbles before taking a sip. Her dehydrated tissues responded gratefully.

“Well, I don’t wish to tax you, but please talk just a little bit more.”

“Xander Lawson is
kind of
creepy and capable of violence, but I don’t think he did it. If Comstock had had his brain beaten in, Lawson would be our guy, but the poison thing is just too indirect for a man who could have snapped Comstock in half with his bare hands.
He’s also religious. And Madame Mimm believes in ghosts. All I had to do was mention Comstock might be haunting me and she fainted. Really. Passed out cold.
” Juliet swallowed some more ginger ale. “And now everyone has left town. I’ve struck out with the obvious candidates and the rest have scattered. Finding out anything is going to be a lot harder
now
.”

“Finding out who didn’t do it is important, yes? Especially to the innocent who
would not enjoy being suspects,
”
Esteban said reasonably.

“Okay, true. Not that any of them were innocent
exactly
. I just don’t think that Lois, Lulu
,
or Xander actually administered the poison. And since the law doesn’t care about the sins of the heart, Garret will have to keep looking.” Juliet finished her ginger ale.
“
I guess there is a small silver lining. The fair went well for me and I think for most of the others in the Woods. And I saw a number of puppets and canvases coming out of the stables, so I am assuming you did well too?”

“Very well. The media came too late to spoil the event.”
Raphael gestured at her sketch pad. Thinking he wanted to see her map, Juliet nodded.

“I wish that I did not need to leave just now,” Esteban said. “But I do have someone I need to see down in Santa Barbara.
I’ll be back on Halloween and free to help if you have any ideas you want to investigate.
”

“Thanks.”

“In the meantime, try not to feel too much guilt.”

She nodded.

“It isn’t guilt so much as frustration. You know, when you cut the body, how the blood starts clotting right away, trying to close up the wound?”

His brow went up.

“Yes.”

“Well, the mind does the same thing, right? Most people stop remembering and move on. They bury their memories. Witnesses become increasing
ly
unreliable.”

“Yes, some people willfully forget.”

“I think Garret may be screwed unless forensics comes up with something.”

“Juliet, these sketches are wonderful. Ar
e they for your shirts?” Raphael interrupted, holding
up the picture of the creepy oak tree
so Esteban could see
.

“Maybe.” Juliet didn’t blush but she was a bit surprised by the praise and unsure what to say. “They would be good on shirts o
r
Halloween trick-or-treat bags.”

“But that wasn’t why you drew them?”

“No
,
”
s
he finally admitted. “It was art for art’s sake.
I just felt like drawing.
”

“Shame on you!” Raphael teased. “Who do you think you are, an artist?”

“Oh shut up. Just because I am mostly practical about my work.”

“I hope you’ll let me buy one of these shirts.”

“You’d wear a t-shirt?” she asked skeptically.

“Certainly not. But I would hang it on the wall.”

“It would ruin the tone,” she said. Then, taking her notepad, she got out a pencil and scrawled her name at the bottom of the sketch and handed it to Raphael. “There you go. Your very own Juliet Henry original.”

Raphael blinked and looked moved though she had meant the gesture flippantly.

“I shouldn’t let you.”

“We’ll argue about it tomorrow. I’m exhausted and Marley will be running away from home if I don’t get his dinner.” Juliet picked up her purse.
“
Vaya con
D
ios
, Esteban. I’ll hope for good weather
for you
.”

“Do not worry. The devil looks after his own.”

Juliet’s cell rang at a little after seven. She was awake but pretending not to be
while Marley walked up and down her body looking for a way under the covers
.

“Hello.”

“Juliet, it’s Garret. Could I interest you in some breakfast?”

“Um
… do I have to cook it?”

The sheriff chuckled. It was a weary sound, but at least it was a laugh.

“No. Come to the station and I’ll have something here.”

“Okay. In an hour.”

“Fine.”

“And there needs to be coffee. I cannot face naked breakfast.”

“There will be coffee.” Garret was sounding more cheerful. “One other thing
, in case you want to dress for it
. There is going to be a memorial service
for Michael Comstock
t
oday at
eleven
.”

“So soon?”

“Comstock’s mother came over from Reno. She wants to get this over with as quickly as possible
and get back to her cats
. We can’t release the body yet, especially since she has made arrangements for cremation when we are done
with the autopsy
, but she wants to go ahead with the service.
And if we do it fast, the ghouls from the press may miss it.
”

“
Amen to that.
Okay
—
where will services be held?”

“At the stables.”

“That’s a little macabre.
I mean, considering
.
…
”

“I know, but it’s our only church. And I don’t propose to take her out and show her where he died.”

Juliet shuddered.

“Good God! No, don’t do that
, not even if she asks
. Look, we need to stop talking or I won’t get there before nine.”

“No rush.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m starving.” Juliet realized that this was true.

Garret chuckled again and hung up the phone.

Juliet debated
the merits of
attending the funeral. There was always the chance of learning something from the attendees when emotions ran high. There was also the chance that she would be stricken with madness if she heard even once more that ineffective spiritual bandage about how death wasn’t the worst thing that could happen and had everyone found Jesus so they could picnic with their loved ones on the beautiful shore of the afterlife?

She hadn’t believed it when her dad died, and no funeral since had convinced her that dying was a good thing.
For her, sentiments of this kind were like trying to stick a Band-Aid on a wound that needed a tourniquet.

A look out the window showed the sun making a concerted struggle against the encroaching clouds. She hoped it succeeded. No one should be
eulogized
in
the
rain.

Sighing, she went to find her black wool dress
and pumps
.

Garret had been to the bakery and picked up breakfast sandwiches. They were good since they steamed the eggs with an espresso machine and it made them fluffy. As promised, there was coffee and this
was
where Juliet began.

They didn’t talk about Comstock until after they had munched their way through the eggy croissants and strong java.

“So, what’s new in the world of murder?”

“I’ve talked to my brothers in blue and there is nothing on Comstock. Not a shred of evidence that he did any of the things people accused him of. However, there were lots of accusations and complaints.”

“Any by the kids he worked with?”

“No, but something was up because the kids have been tight-lipped when interviewed. They don’t accuse him, but they didn’t come forward to plead for him to be reinstated either.”

“Did you get a name on the other kid who overdosed? The one who lived?”