Bad Reputation, A (14 page)

“First, I want to see if there's a button missing off Flora's pink suit.”

We found the master bedroom. Flora had packed a lot of her clothes in suitcases, but her pink suit was still hanging in the closet. No buttons were missing.

“Check Wendall's,” I said.

Wendall's suits had all their buttons, and none were gold. While Jerry looked through the rest of the closet, I went into the study and looked on the desk. A stack of bills had been pushed aside to make room for a cardboard box filled with a few books, a paperweight, a stapler, and other office supplies. The bills were for clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Flora was an expensive little gal. I wondered if she would benefit from Wendall's will, if he had one.

I continued to look through the box, thinking I wasn't going to find anything useful when down at the very bottom was a cell phone. Was it possible this was Wendall's? I turned it on. The phone still had a little battery power left, enough for me to check through the received calls. Most were from Flora, but there was one from Pamela made on Wednesday around seven-thirty p.m.

Jerry came in from the bedroom. “Find anything?”

“I think so. Judging from all the calls from Flora, I think this is Wendall's cell phone. He got a call from Pamela about half an hour before we got to the gallery.” I turned off the phone and put it back in the box. “I need to know what that was all about.”

“The only thing I found was more clothes in suitcases. Most everything in the house has been packed up. She's ready to move on.”

“I'm wondering why Wendall didn't have his phone with him Wednesday night,” I said. “I know the police would've asked Flora about it.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe she lied and said she didn't know where it was.”

“But why pack it in a box if it holds a clue to who killed her husband?”

“You'll have to ask her.”

“I want to talk to Pamela, too. She hasn't said anything about Wendall calling her that night.”

We left everything as we'd found it. Jerry locked the sliding door behind us. “I'm all warmed up now. Why don't we have a look in Bea's house?”

“She might be home.”

“We can drive by and see if her car's there.”

“That could be tricky. Her house is down in a wooded area.”

“Even better. But we need to change clothes.”

“I don't think I have any camouflage wear.”

“Jeans and sneakers will do.”

***

I wasn't exactly sure what Jerry was up to, but we went home and changed clothes. On the way to Bea's, he asked about the house.

“It's a chalet style, right?”

“If Switzerland were bankrupt. It's small and very shabby.”

“A shabby chalet.”

“Yes.”

“With a balcony.”

“A little one.”

“Let me know when we're a couple of blocks from her house.”

I did, and he had me stop the car at the convenience store on the corner. “We'll walk the rest of the way, and if anyone asks, we're out for a stroll in the pleasant October weather.”

It was a pleasant stroll down to Bea's driveway. The gray VW wasn't there.

Jerry looked around. “Okay, we'll wander through the woods and approach the house from the back. She doesn't have a dog, does she? Bea strikes me as a bulldog kinda gal.”

“I think it would've attacked me if she did.”

The house was quiet and dark. Jerry eyed the balcony, and then, using a trashcan, climbed up. I waited below, expecting at any minute to hear the chugging sounds of the VW. Bea could come home at any time. How would we explain? Oh, we were in the neighborhood and thought we'd break into your house. It's a little hobby of ours. We've already broken into Wendall's. Or maybe she and Ferris had gotten home from the funeral, and he had the VW, and Bea was inside taking a nap. Or she knew we were here and was crouched behind a door with a brick. I was almost ready to call up to Jerry and tell him to forget it when he said, “You're not going to believe this.”

“You can't get in?” Maybe that was best. My imagination had us in jail for life.

“No, I can get in. I mean, you're not going to believe what's up here.”

Now I had to see. He leaned over the balcony railing and helped me up. He had removed the screen and unlatched the small window. He stood back so I could look inside. The sight was so unexpected it took me a moment to process what I was seeing. Even though the upstairs room was dark, piles of multi-colored jewels glowed like phosphorus in a cave.

“Wow.”

Jerry bent over and stepped inside. I forgot all my apprehensions and followed, entranced. We stood surrounded by a wealth of bracelets, necklaces, and rings, heaps of beads separated by color and size in bowls and dishes, more of the silver spacers, larger glass pieces shaped like leaves and fish and stars, and finished projects arrayed on black velvet. I'd had friends into jewelry making, and I recognized the trays for organizing beads, the coils of wire, and the little scissors and pliers. Propped in a fancy silver holder was a stack of business cards with “Bea's Baubles and Beads” written in glittery silver letters.

“Jerry, Bea makes these.”

“They're fantastic. Hey, what about this necklace. Look familiar?”

The necklace was a collection of jagged yellow and gold glass crystals, a companion piece to the little leaf bracelet Bea had snatched from Flora.

“Maybe Flora bought the bracelet somewhere, and Bea couldn't stand to see one of her creations on Wendall's newest conquest.”

Next to that necklace was another of chunky pastel beads in frosted glass. Jerry pointed out a red and black pendant slashed with silver and a spiky green and coral bracelet fit for a mermaid queen.

“These are works of art,” I said. “I can't imagine why she keeps this a secret.”

“Maybe she really is a jewel thief.”

“No, as gorgeous as all this is, it's costume jewelry. There may be some sterling silver and some gold, but the beads are glass. Still, she could ask some high prices.” I looked around at the little room filled with a Fourth of July holiday's worth of sparkle. There was another stack of business cards on Bea's desk from various jewelry stores and dealers. “Jerry, here's a card from the TSN, the Television Shopping Network. That's the network that bought Wendall's perfume bottle design.”

“Bea's stuff would look great on TV.”

“Here's another TSN card. There are six of them.” Bea had scribbled dates on the backs of the cards. “My guess is she wrote down each time she contacted them.”

“No luck, maybe?”

“I don't watch the shopping networks, so I don't know, but I would imagine if her jewelry was on TV, the world would hear about it.” I didn't want to push our own luck and stay any longer. “We'd better go.”

We climbed back out onto the balcony. Jerry closed the window and replaced the screen. We'd both gotten down when we heard a car.

Jerry grabbed my hand. “This is why we came through the woods.” We quickly hurried into the safety of the trees. We watched as the VW ambled down the driveway and parked. Bea got out, carrying a plastic bag.

“More loot,” Jerry said.

Ferris drove the VW back out the drive. Bea went into her house, and after a while, a light came on downstairs. We waited a few more minutes then circled around to the main road and walked to the convenience store.

“It's official,” I said. “I have now gone into mystery overload.”

***

We'd managed to grab a quick snack on the way to Parkland, but that had been hours ago, and my stomach was growling. Growling, but not upset.

We decided to eat in the living room. There was one serving of casserole left over, which Jerry heated for me. He preferred a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chips. I sat down on the living room sofa, kicked off my shoes, and tucked my feet underneath me. Jerry put his feet up on the coffee table.
Blue Moon Garden
gleamed from its place of honor over the fireplace, its tones of blue and white complementing our walls and furniture.

I pointed my fork at the painting. “My artwork is out for everyone to see. Why would Bea choose to hide her wonderful creations? She enjoys lording over the other women in the Guild. You'd think she would love to flaunt her jewelry.”

“Maybe she's saving up for a big reveal.”

“Or maybe she's planning some big con. What do you think?”

“I think I will never figure out why women do anything.”

As I munched on the casserole, I thought of something else that puzzled me. “If Honor hadn't known Flora was a con artist, I certainly never would've guessed, but wouldn't you say that was genuine grief we saw at the funeral today?”

“Sure looked like it. You want something to drink?”

“Oh, I forgot my tea. It's on the table.”

Jerry returned with my tea and a bottle of cola for himself. “What's Pamela's part in all this?”

“Sasha Gregory said Sasha left the gallery at four o'clock. Larissa went back around four-thirty, found the door unlocked, went in, decided to smash Bea's pictures, and then apparently went home. Wendall called her around eight, but according to his phone, he got a call from Pamela at seven-thirty.”

“So maybe whatever Pamela told Wendall made him call Larissa.”

“Then Larissa hurries over to the gallery and finds Wendall dead around eight-thirty.”

Jerry dug in the bag of chips for a handful. “That's her story. She could've bonked him on the head first.”

“Wouldn't we have heard that? That's the same time we were there with Nell. We would've heard some sounds of a struggle, voices, something.”

We pondered the mystery for a while. “I wonder what kind of car Pamela drives? The owner of the gift shop saw the dark blue Honda at six o'clock. Larissa said she parked out front, and her car is beige. Wendall drives a black sports car. Bea has that old VW. Someone else must have been in the gallery.”

“Or maybe someone just randomly parked there. Ask Nell.”

“I'll go over to her house and see for myself.”

“Do you need backup? I can skip rehearsal.”

“No, I'll be fine.”

“Speaking of fine, how do you feel?”

“Great. One hundred percent.” One hundred percent confused, I wanted to add. I set my empty dish on the coffee table. “We discovered Bea's secret, but I'm not sure what I can do with the information. People keep a lot of things private. Those things don't necessarily make them murderers.”

“They may lead to something else.”

“And how in the world do you stay so calm? I didn't mind looking around in Wendall's house, but I did a little hyperventilating at Bea's.”

“That's because you are an honest person, Mac. You have what I believe are known as ethics.”

“You have ethics, too.”

“I do now.” He set his sandwich down. “When I ran cons, I never used my name, so I was playing a character. It was easy to get away with things when you were someone else.”

“But you weren't playing a character when you broke into Bea's. You were Jerry Fairweather on her balcony.”

“Ah, yes, but I had a story ready. Always have some reasonable explanation for why you are doing whatever you're doing.”

“Checking for termites?”

“That's good. That might work. I was going to say that our cat had run away, and I thought I saw it on her balcony.”

“She wouldn't have believed that.”

“But she couldn't prove it wasn't true. Have a story ready. Like the Boy Scouts. Be prepared.”

“You are the least likely Boy Scout I've ever known.”

“Are you kidding? I've got five Breaking and Entering badges.” He gathered the empty dishes. “Want anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

“We're all out of snacks, so I thought I'd make a cake.”

“Chocolate, please.”

He leaned over to give me a kiss. “I've also got two Dessert badges.”

I sat for a while, gazing at
Blue Moon Garden
and thinking about the beautiful one-of-a-kind jewelry I'd seen at Bea's. Was there some connection between those creations and Wendall's murder? Or maybe Bea didn't feel her work was ready. Oddly enough, I could sympathize. For a long time, I didn't want anyone to see my paintings. I knew something about rejection, and if Bea had been constantly turned down by the TSN, she might have decided not to show her jewelry to anyone.

Not long after Jerry's cake was done, someone gave him a ride to the theater, and I started my search for Flora's other ex-husbands. My computer search program found long lists of Thomas Rileys and Ryan Hendersons. It was going to take a while to sort through all of them. There were only sixteen Phillipe DuCoeurs in the states, so I started with them. Eliminating the very young, I wound up with ten. Luckily, most of them were home when I called. The fifth Phillipe was the one I wanted. Speaking with only a trace of accent, he informed me that yes, he had been married to a beautiful young blond woman named Lizzie Fountaine. She had been too expensive for him to keep, however, and he divorced her after a year. I had an idea that would be Thomas' and Ryan's story, too.

After a while, my eyes began to cross. I needed to get up and move around. I needed to go to Pamela's house. Besides wanting to see what kind of car she owned, I was curious about her relationship with Big Mike. Was the story of the pink sapphire ring another of Honor's scams, or was it possible Pamela had ties to the underworld—connections that may have led to Wendall's murder?

Chapter Fifteen

The car parked at Pamela's was a white Camry. Parked next to it was a car I was surprised to see: Larissa's beige Accord. As I walked up the porch steps, I could hear their voices raised in argument.

Pamela sounded as angry as I'd ever heard her. “You can't possibly think you are entitled to any of that. You hadn't seen Wendall in years! You objected to everything he wanted to do. There is no way you're going to be involved in the gallery.”

Larissa's voice was even more harsh than usual. “Don't be stupid. Flora will get everything. She's the sole beneficiary of Wendall's will.”

“I don't care about Flora. I only care about the gallery.”

“Aren't you listening to me? The gallery isn't yours! It belonged to Wendall, and now it belongs to Flora. She can turn the building into a skating rink if she wants to.”

“Why are you here, Larissa? What do you want?”

“I want to know what happened to Wendall.”

“You know very well what happened. You were angry with him and you killed him.”

I thought the next sound I would hear would be choking noises as Larissa attacked Pamela, but she became unexpectedly calm. “I didn't kill him. Maybe you were so angry because he hired that Gregory woman that
you
killed him.”

“Wendall was killed with a piece of wood Bea used for a picture frame. I saw you break up Bea's pictures.”

Now Larissa's voice was scornful. “No, you didn't. How could you have seen me?”

“That mirror in the office. It's a two-way mirror.”

There was a long pause. I imagined Larissa staring at Pamela in surprise. “And just what were you doing there?”

“I came back to the gallery to talk to Wendall. I thought he might be in the office. I heard you come in, and then I saw you attack Bea's pictures. You were so angry I thought you might attack me, too, so I stayed in the office until you left.”

Larissa's voice got very intense. “You listen to me, you little sneak. Yes, I broke up Bea's pictures, not that anyone could tell the difference, but I did not kill Wendall.”

“Then why were you seen running away from his dead body?”

“I knew people like you would jump to conclusions, that's why. Maybe you stayed hiding in the office, waiting for him so
you
could kill him.”

Pamela snapped. “Get out of my house! Get out!”

I quickly stepped off the porch and got into my car before Pamela flung the front door open, and Larissa came out. Pamela was so furious, she didn't notice me or my car. She slammed the door shut. I got out of my car as Larissa walked up to hers.

She stopped short. “What are you doing here?”

“Pamela invited me to have a look at some of her paintings.”

“This might not be the best time. We just had an argument.”

“I didn't think you were speaking to each other at all.”

“Not usually.”

I couldn't see Larissa's face very well in the fading light. She shook her head. “All I know is she's crazy to have the gallery. Maybe she'd do anything to have it.”

“You told me when Wendall called that night he wanted to talk to you in private.”

“Yes.”

“You still don't have any idea why?”

She sighed. “I've been thinking and thinking about it, Madeline, and I don't know. If he wanted to say he was sorry for everything he'd done to me, he missed his chance a long time ago. I don't think he'd choose the back door of his gallery to do that, anyway.”

“Would he have offered you a job at the gallery?”

“I would've refused it.”

“Then why did you go, Larissa?”

I didn't think she was going to answer. Then she said, “I never thought he'd come back. I never thought I'd see him again, and I just…I don't know. Even after all this time and all the hurtful things he did…” She broke off. “I hate myself for being so soft, for even entertaining the idea that he'd come back to Celosia to see me. Is there anyway you can understand that?”

The words of the “Willow Aria” went through my mind.
Willow, if he once should be returning, pray tell him I am weeping, too.
Larissa was still very much in love with Wendell and interpreted his phone call as an invitation. “Yes,” I said.

“And on top of everything else, Bea was trying to make something out of that one night she got lucky in high school, parading that boy around, trying to make everyone believe Wendall's the father.”

“She told you this?”

“Why do you think I got so angry? Otherwise, I never would've touched her stupid pieces of wood. How dare she make up such a story?”

I found it oddly sad that Larissa still wanted to protect Wendall's reputation. “According to Ferris, Wendall wasn't his father.”

“In any event, Bea feels entitled to Wendall's money. So do I, but feeling entitled gets me nowhere. It all goes to the little fortune hunter.”

“You were friends with Bea in high school, though, weren't you?”

“She was such a goody two-shoes back then, talking about waiting until she got married to have sex and planning the perfect home and babies. If she spouted that nonsense off to Wendall, no wonder he dumped her.”

Pamela's front door opened, and she stepped out on the porch. She stared at us in an accusing manner. “Are you still here? Who's that with you?”

“It's Madeline,” I said. “I'd like to see your paintings, but if this isn't a good time, I can come back.”

“No, no, come on in. Larissa was just leaving.”

Without another word, Larissa got into her car and drove off.

Pamela greeted me at the door. She was shaking, her hair standing on end. “I suppose you're wondering why Larissa stopped by.”

“She said you two were talking about the future of the gallery.”

“That's one way to put it.” She clasped her hands together to keep them steady. I wondered if the trembling was a reaction to the argument, or if Pamela had other reasons for being so unsettled. “You can talk to Flora, can't you? Tell her she doesn't have to close the gallery.”

“I'm sure she wouldn't mind discussing it with you.”

“After the way this town treated her, I don't think she'd want to have anything to do with us.”

“She's not going to stay in Celosia, but she might want to have the gallery as a tribute to Wendall.”

“Well, she might, at that. Come have a look at my paintings. Watch your step.”

I needed to watch my step as Pamela's house was small and crowded with furniture and knickknacks. Nothing matched anything else: not the chairs, the lamps, the rugs, or the curtains. It looked as if Pamela had bought one of everything that ever existed in the furniture world. The walls were covered with her flower paintings and collages. She quickly forgot her quarrel with Larissa and her concerns about the gallery as she happily explained each one.

“Now these are some of my very first attempts. You can see I didn't have a good grasp of leaves then. This is a Daisy Series, and over here next to the fireplace is my Aster Series. Of course, I had to have a Celosia Series.”

The paintings of celosias showed the feathery flowers in their bright pink, yellow, red, and orange varieties. “Very realistic.”

“You haven't seen any of my collages. This is the holiday group over here.”

The collages were globs of cloth and small objects from Christmas ornaments and tinsel to valentines and lace. The Fourth of July collage sported toy flags while toy spiders dangled from the Halloween collage. The one that caught my eye, however, was the Veterans Day collage. Among the red, white, and blue ribbons sparkled several gold buttons.

I pointed to that collage. “This one's interesting. I like the buttons.”

Pamela straightened the picture. “Those represent the uniforms of our servicemen. It's my newest collage. I just finished it.”

I took a closer look. The buttons were exactly the same as the one the owner of the gift shop found in the back parking lot, the same button I had in my pocket. I recalled Samantha Terrell saying Pamela gave her leftovers for her scrapbook. “You must have a large storage area to keep all your materials.”

“No, I give lots of things away,” she said. “I don't like to use the same ribbons or buttons for more than one picture, and my house is too small to keep everything. I usually keep a bag of scraps in my car in case I run into Samantha or someone who can use them.”

“Well, these are unique. The buttons are a clever touch.”

“Thank you. I got them off one of my uncle's old suits. I didn't need all of them, though, so I gave the rest to Samantha.”

And dropped one behind the gallery.

“Would you care for something to drink, Madeline?”

I followed her to her kitchen, which was just a crowded as the rest of her house. She cleaned off a spot on the small table, moved a stack of magazines off a chair, and invited me to have a seat. “You'll have to excuse the mess. I don't often have visitors. Did you find out who broke the gallery window? Not that it matters that much anymore.”

I was almost certain Bea Ricter was the brick-thrower, but I had no proof. “I'm still working on it. Flora Clarke has hired me to solve Wendall's murder. That may take a little more of my time.”

“Oh, of course.”

“When was the last time you saw Wendall?”

“Wednesday afternoon at the meeting.”

“Did you get to make an appointment with Sasha Gregory?”

She took a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and poured some in a glass. I noticed her hands were steady now. “Yes, of course. She was really very agreeable. I didn't think she would be. Lemon?”

“No, thanks.” She handed me the glass. “You didn't come back later?”

“There was no reason to come back.”

“What about the phone call?”

She looked startled. “Phone call?”

“To Wendall.” I bent the truth slightly. “The police found his cell phone. You called him at about seven-thirty Wednesday night.”

“Oh, that.” She gave a little laugh. “I'd forgotten that. Just voicing some concerns about the gallery.” She busied herself getting another glass of tea. “Making one last plea. Turns out it was the last, wasn't it?”

“What did he say?”

“He said he was certain I'd be happy with the way Ms. Gregory ran things.” She didn't sit down. She leaned against the kitchen counter. “Madeline, I have the awfullest suspicion Larissa killed Wendall.”

“Because he divorced her and married a younger woman?”

“You have no idea how angry that made her.”

“I'm sure she was upset, but it's a big leap to murder. I'm more interested in knowing what you were doing hiding in the office.”

She sputtered a denial for a few moments and then realized I wasn't buying it. “How did you know?”

I took the matching button out of my pocket. “The woman who owns the gift shop behind the gallery found this in the parking lot when she left at six o'clock, and I happened to overhear some of your argument with Larissa. You were at the gallery around four-thirty, weren't you? That's when Larissa said she was there. You were able to get in the back door because it wasn't locked.”

She pulled out another chair and sat down heavily. “Yes.”

“Like Larissa, you hoped to talk to Wendall, but he wasn't there. You heard someone come in, so you hid in the office. You saw Larissa smashing Bea's pictures, but were too afraid to confront her. When you called Wendall to voice your concerns about the gallery, did you tell him this had happened?”

“Yes. He needed to know. He said he'd come over and take care of everything.”

Wendall had then called Larissa and asked her to meet him at the gallery. “Did you see anyone else that evening?”

“No. As soon as Larissa was gone, I got out of there.” She looked at me pleadingly. “Madeline, you don't think I had anything to do with Wendall's death, do you?”

Pamela was a tall woman, too, almost as tall as Larissa. But what was her motive? If she killed Wendall, she killed her dream of having an exhibit. Pamela watched me anxiously, as if she expected me to leap up and declare: “You're under arrest!”

“Pamela,” I said. “If there's anything else you need to tell me, tell me now.”

“I swear I did not kill Wendall Clarke.”

I took a deep breath and tried to organize my thoughts. The Mystery of the Gold Button had been solved, but there was still the Mystery of the Dark Blue Honda. I'd have to start back at the beginning. “All right. I'm trying to cover all the bases here.”

She gave a nervous little laugh. “I believe that's why Flora hired you, isn't it? Isn't she under suspicion?”

“She doesn't appear to be tall enough or strong enough to have struck such a fatal blow.”

But at this point, I wasn't ruling anybody out. I got up to inspect some of the other collages. One in particular had struck my eye. Everything in it was pink, including a distinctive pink jewel serving as the body for a pink butterfly made of pink lace. As I moved slightly from side to side, the light caught the jewel and a white star appeared in its depths. “This is a gorgeous jewel. Is it from a ring, by any chance?”

“Yes, someone gave me a star sapphire ring, and when things didn't work out, I didn't want to wear it anymore, but I hated to put it in a drawer, so I had a jeweler take the stone out. That particular collage is called ‘New Beginnings.' You can tell by the butterflies and all the flowers blooming and the little eggs hatching in the trees.”

“I'm sorry the relationship didn't last, Pamela. Is he still here in town?”

“No, this was when we both lived in Parkland. As it turned out, he wasn't the best choice for me.” She fiddled with her tea glass. “He was a terrible choice, actually, but I didn't see it. Maybe I didn't want to see it.” Then she said something that took me aback. “Madeline, you're so lucky to have a good man like Jerry. You don't know what it's like to love a swindler. I knew Mike was bad news, but I couldn't help myself. I knew his reputation, but I thought I could reform him.”