A Fit of Tempera (14 page)

Up ahead, the Dixons kept the pace at about a half mile. “Have they got kids?” Judith inquired, slowing for the bridge that crossed the river just above the falls that gave the town its name.

“I don't think so,” said Renie. “How could Erica go running around Europe and open up galleries and be so well groomed and self-absorbed? Good grief, her fingernails are all the same length! How could she possibly have children?”

Renie's reply satisfied Judith. The car climbed the Sand Hill, then dipped down toward the river valley. At the Big Bend, the cousins passed the road that led to Ward Kimball's house. A half mile later, the Mercedes turned off at Riley's property. Obviously, Erica Dixon was going to keep her vow to offer condolences.

“Past Wife comforting Present Mistress while Future Bride languishes downriver.” Renie ticked the three women off on her fingers, then swerved in the passenger seat. “Hey, look—Nella's back. The lights are on.”

Judith hadn't noticed; she was too busy concentrating on turning into the dirt drive. “We'll stop by tomorrow,” she said as Renie hopped out of the car to open the gate. “Maybe we can get some ice. Let's chip some off what's left and have a nightcap.”

Five minutes later, Renie was hoisting her bourbon while the Coleman lantern cast dancing shadows on the knotty pine walls. “I wonder if Iris told Costello about Riley giving you that canvas. And if she let him know that Clive had been here.”

Judith sipped appreciatively at her scotch. It had been a long day. Indeed, the past forty-eight hours had been tiring, physically and emotionally. “We don't know—and neither does Iris—if that painting really belonged to the Dixons. Only Erica and Dewitt could be sure of that,
if
they saw the canvas. Clive might have stolen it simply to add to the inventory. Dewitt might have taken it so he wouldn't have to pay Riley's estate.”

But Renie disagreed. “Erica wants ‘Spring River' as the centerpiece of her new gallery. There's no way she could show it off without Clive—or Iris—finding out about it. My guess is that Riley didn't give you ‘Spring River.' If it's missing from the studio, then there are two stolen paintings. Sure, Riley could be impulsive, but nobody hands over a painting worth seventy grand on a whim.”

Judith, however, shook her head. “No, coz. That doesn't wash. Iris seems to know what Riley had in the studio. She definitely said that one canvas was missing. The
more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that Riley gave me ‘Spring River.' But you're right about one thing—it doesn't make sense for him to have done that. So he had to have a reason we can't fathom. He was even willing to let me take the painting off to the B&B. Why did he do such a crazy thing?”

Renie studied her bourbon glass. “Sheer perversity is the only answer I can come up with. But in stopping the sale, Riley was cutting off his nose to spite his face.” She considered her words and shivered. “As it turned out, he did worse than that. He got himself killed.”

A troubled expression crossed Judith's face. “Let's say he told someone what he'd done. Who could he have told? Almost anybody. Iris. Lazlo. Ward. Clive. Dewitt. Even Lark. We only have her word for it that she didn't see Riley yesterday. Now, who is the most likely person among the above? I choose Clive, for a couple of reasons.” She stopped to catch her breath and take a drink. “Clive was Riley's agent and he needed to know where that painting was. Don't you think he came up here to broker the deal with Dewitt? No painting, no deal. And Riley had better explain himself. Also, who shows up
here
but Clive? What if he wasn't really drunk?”

Renie's eyes lighted up just as the single Coleman lantern died down. “You mean he was faking so he could pretend to pass out and stick around? But how could he be sure we'd leave?” She rose from the sofa to pump up the lantern.

“He couldn't. But he had to gamble that we would—and we did. As for Dewitt, he knew Clive had to be somewhere around here. If not at the Green Mountain Inn or Riley's, where else? Nella was gone, Dewitt knew he wasn't over at the auto court, and as far as I know, Clive wasn't acquainted with anyone else in the area.”

“Except Ward Kimball.” Renie sat down again. The lantern glowed brightly. Outside, a chorus of frogs began their nightly serenade.

“That's possible,” Judith admitted, “but Dewitt would
look here first. He said he didn't really know Ward and Lark. Besides, they live a half mile away.”

Renie had to admit that Judith's argument was convincing. “Clive finds out Riley gave you ‘Spring River,' Clive learns Riley is dead, Clive decides to ensure his commission by getting the canvas back. But he doesn't give it to Dewitt. Not yet.”

“Maybe he can't,” Judith said in a faintly distracted voice. “Maybe it's a legal thing, with Riley dead. The estate, or…” Her words trailed off as she stared at Renie. “Clive lied,” she said abruptly as her thoughts snapped into focus. “He told us he didn't talk to Riley yesterday. But if he knew about my gift, then Clive actually saw Riley.”

The cousins gazed wonderingly at each other. An uncertain knock sounded at the door, making them both jump. It was after ten o'clock. Visitors seemed unlikely. But so did most of the things that had happened during their stay at the cabin.

Lark Kimball looked tired and distraught. There were scratches on her arms and leaves in her hair. She all but fell into Judith's arms.

“What happened, Lark?” Judith cried, leading the younger woman to the sofa. “Here, sit down. Yes, you're okay. Oh, my—what's going on?”

Lark struggled to catch her breath. “I…I've never come down the highway this far by myself. I was all right as long as I stayed on the shoulder—I could follow the gravel just fine. But once I turned off onto your drive, I became confused, like I did yesterday. I got off the trail. Then I ran into your icehouse and I heard voices. I knew I was getting close.”

“But…” Judith began, to no avail. Lark kept right on talking.

“That tape—the one Riley made—it's gone!” Her face was pale in the lantern light.

Judith's first reaction was to suggest that she look harder. But Lark's search would be more thorough than
that of a fully sighted person making a cursory perusal. “You're sure?” was all Judith said.

“Yes!” Lark's small hands twisted in distress. “I haven't touched it since you were at the studio earlier this evening.”

Judith signaled for Renie to fetch Lark a beer. “Did your father know you had the tape?” Judith asked.

Lark shook her head. “Riley gave it to me Sunday. Dad hasn't been in the studio for weeks.”

“Did you hear anybody come by after we left?” Judith inquired as Renie handed Lark a bottle of beer.

Again Lark shook her head. “I went into the house. Dad and I played a Bruckner symphony. He decided to go to bed early. Riley's death has upset him. I went back to the studio because…” She paused, gripping the beer can tightly and searching for words. “I wanted to hear Riley speak to me again. Alone. That's when I discovered the tape was gone, so I came down here to see you.” Her face wore a questioning, if not quite accusing, expression.

“We didn't take it,” Judith declared. “There must have been about a two-hour interval, when someone could have gone in and gotten it. Was the studio locked?”

“No,” Lark admitted. “I knew when you left that I'd go back. I would have locked up then, for the night.”

“Was the tape marked?” Renie asked, sitting down next to Lark on the sofa.

Lark didn't know. Her poor vision didn't permit that kind of scrutiny. She doubted it, however. “I'd left it in the recorder, so it was ready to be played again. Why would anyone come to the studio, listen to a tape they didn't know existed—and then steal it?”

“Was there anything else on that tape?” asked Judith.

Lark frowned. “I don't think so. I never fast-forwarded it after Riley's message ended.” She touched her cheek with her hand. “Oh, dear! I suppose there might have been something on it. But what?”

The question baffled Judith as well as Lark. “The point is,” Renie noted, “that someone must have figured the tape was important. Was anything else missing?”

Lark didn't know that, either. She had been so upset over the loss of the tape that she had fled the studio and headed straight for the road. “If the studio had been ransacked, I would have noticed. It felt the same, it smelled the same.” She flushed suddenly, then turned away. “I'm very aware when things are out of place.” Her voice was defensive, her manner strangely awkward.

Judith nodded, though the change in Lark puzzled her. “Maybe you should report the theft to the sheriff,” she said. “It may not have anything to do with Riley's death, but it strikes me as odd.”

Lark, however, refused. The tape was too personal. She wouldn't dream of confiding in a law officer, especially one as callous as Abbott N. Costello. Judith didn't much blame her, but felt the decision was unwise. She kept that opinion to herself, changing the subject to the arrival of Erica Dixon.

“Erica?” Lark was temporarily distracted from her latest loss. “She and Riley got along quite well, considering that they couldn't stay married to each other.”

“They were friends?” Judith was surprised.

“Not friends,” Lark explained. “I don't think they'd met since San Francisco. But last February, right in between snowstorms, Erica and Dewitt came up to see Riley about a painting. I wasn't at the studio then, but later, I met Erica when she came alone. She asked me about buying one of Dad's works, but when I told him, he said he wasn't interested in selling. She didn't press the issue. Besides, the sum Riley asked for his landscape was so high that even a wealthy collector would have had to think twice about another expenditure. Erica has to spend her money on diversity to get the gallery going.”

Renie interjected a question. “You've never met Dewitt, I take it?”

Even before Lark answered, something flickered through Judith's brain. She leaned closer, anxious for the younger woman's reply.

“No.” Lark now seemed more at ease. “That is, not offi
cially. He came by the studio—Riley's studio—one day when I was working, but he didn't come in. I sensed someone was outside; then Riley told me it was Mr. Dixon.”

The odd thought took form in Judith's mind: At the Tin Hat Cafe, Dewitt had said he'd never seen Lark, yet he had mentioned her poor sight. Judith supposed he could have heard from Riley or Erica or even Clive that Lark was blind, yet his manner had not rung quite true. A second realization followed the first, but Judith said nothing for the time being. As ever, she had to let logic take its course.

Judith couldn't judge how much beer was left in Lark's can, but the offer of a refill was a good excuse for bringing up a touchy topic. “Riley enjoyed his beer, I gather,” she remarked in a conversational tone after Lark had turned down a second can. “We had some with him while we were at the studio yesterday.”

“Yesterday!” Lark turned pale. “How can it be only yesterday?”

Judith made sympathetic noises but kept on track. “He wasn't much for the hard stuff, though, was he?”

Lark's attention seemed focused elsewhere. “No,” she said at last, in a vague sort of voice. “He was a beer man. Wine occasionally. I never knew him to drink cocktails.”

Renie shot Judith a curious look. “Did he drink much when he worked?” asked Judith.

Puzzled, Lark turned toward Judith. “Not really. He couldn't handle it, you see. If Riley drank more than three beers, he was out of it. You would never think that to look at him.” She uttered a sad little laugh. “I mean, I couldn't
look
at him the way other people did, but I know he was a big man. Oh, my God,
where is that tape?
” The words tumbled out on a frenzied note.

The cousins commiserated some more. At last, they offered to drive Lark back to the Big Bend. She protested, but without conviction. It wasn't until they had seen her to the front door of her house that Judith remembered something Lark had said that didn't make sense.

“Our icehouse,” Judith told Renie as they drove back down the highway. “We don't have an icehouse.”

“She meant outhouse,” Renie responded. “She was confused, upset. Or maybe she thought it
was
an icehouse.”

“Does it
smell
like an icehouse? We put enough lye in there yesterday to eat up the first six inches of dirt.” Judith noted that the white Mercedes was now parked over at the Woodchuck Auto Court. The Dixons apparently had concluded their visit to Iris. “Lark also mentioned hearing our voices. Now, we may not be a couple of whisperers, but we weren't exactly shouting, either. Have you ever heard anybody inside the cabin when you were at the outhouse?”

Renie admitted that she had not. “So what are you getting at?”

“Lark went the wrong way somehow,” Judith said as they once again turned into the dirt drive. “She ended up at Nella's. How she managed to get back over here, I can't guess. Sheer luck, I suppose. I can't imagine what it's like to live in a world of shadows, but it must take a while to judge distances on unfamiliar ground.”

“I feel as if we're groping around in the shadows,” Renie declared, getting out of the car. “And what's this about Riley drinking only beer? That sounds like a typical alcoholic. Sure, in public he limits himself to a couple of cans, but in private he glugs down a quart a day.”

Judith didn't comment. Renie was right, yet there was something about Riley's drinking habits that bothered her. In fact, everything about Riley bothered her. She was hardly surprised to find Iris Takisaki sitting on the porch steps, hugging a hooded cable-knit sweater around her slim body.