Her mouth dropped open. How could he know she was worried about Ben — about his anger, his penchant for doing the wrong thing at the wrong time?
“I watched the two of you together that night. I know how much you love him, though it was clear to me you were holding back. My advice to you is, don’t. Live your life, don’t analyze it. Take what’s good and hold on to it. And don’t be afraid.”
She felt tears well up behind her eyes. “I love him so much, but sometimes he doesn’t think before he acts.”
“He’s young. He’ll learn.”
“But he’s got himself into terrible financial trouble. Hale promised him he would be the one to photograph the IAI spring catalogue. And then, for some stupid reason, Hale rescinded the offer. In the meantime, Ben went out and bought all this new equipment. He’s in debt up to his ears! He’ll have to file for bankruptcy if he doesn’t get another big job. This morning, he went to talk to Charles Squire. I thought for sure Mr. Squire would see what a swine Hale had been. I was positive Ben would leave with a signed contract. At first, I think their talk went pretty well. Then, out of the blue, Mr. Squire changed his mind and threw Ben out. I don’t know what’s going to happen now.”
Louie sat quietly, staring up at a small painting above his desk. “I agree. That’s pretty bad news.”
“I don’t suppose you have any pull with Mr. Squire?” Rhea wiped her nose with a tissue she’d fished out of her pocket.
“You never know.”
“Oh, would you try? It would mean so much.”
“Of course, but I can’t promise anything.”
“I understand. Really, I do.”
He tapped a pensive finger against his chin and then smiled. “I’ll call you if I have any news.”
She stood.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, stretching out on the couch, “I’ll let you show yourself out. I’m not feeling very well tonight.”
She didn’t want to seem nosy, but she had to ask. “Have you seen a doctor?”
Wearily he nodded. “They’re all quacks.”
“But you’ve seen one?”
“Yes, briefly. Several days ago. He just said to try antacids. What does he know?”
“Maybe you should go in for some tests?”
His face turned stony. “No! None of their snake oil and endless poking. I’ll never subject myself to that.”
She was surprised by his vehemence. Then again, it was his business. “Well, I hope you’re feeling better soon. Come to think of it, my aunt had poor digestion. She always took a little honey and vinegar before bed.”
He grimaced. “Thanks, but I’ve found a better solution.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, do you remember what the apostle Paul said in the New Testament? ‘A little wine for thy stomach’s sake’? I’ve taken a few liberties with the type of alcohol, and I added the pretzels, but all in all, I think I’ve captured the spirit.” He held up his beer bottle. “Have a wonderful life, Rhea. And give my best to Ben.”
Shortly after Bram left for the station on Friday morning, Sophie picked up the phone and called Kate Chappeldine’s home. There was no answer. After the conversation she’d overheard last night, she was convinced they had to talk. John may not have been able to get any explanations out of her, but one way or another, Sophie was determined to be more successful. When she called the gallery, she got a recording that said the business would be closed on Friday due to illness. So, at least for now, Kate had effectively thwarted any attempt at communication.
As Sophie sat at the kitchen table, picking in frustration at a bran muffin, she wondered if it would do any good to go over to Kate’s house. If she was there, all she had to do was not come to the door and that was that. Sophie couldn’t exactly break it down. Or stand outside and shout accusations through the mail vent.
After having some time to think things through, Sophie realized her first response had been the most accurate. She felt deeply betrayed. It was apparent Kate had information she knew could help Rudy, and, still, she was keeping it from the police. The reason for her silence was also painfully apparent. She feared she would incriminate herself if she told them the truth. But what specifically had she done?
John’s concerns centered on a rubber stamp — a phony Soldiers Grove postmark. Did it mean the letters and drawings from Ezmer Hawks were all fakes? Why would Kate tamper with a postmark, if indeed that’s what she’d done? And who the hell was this Ezmer Hawks in the first place? Did he have some connection with the disappearance of Eric Hauley from that arts camp so many years ago? Were he and Eric Hauley one in the same person? It seemed clear that the drawings at the gallery had frightened Hale. And the night of his murder, Hawks had sent him a note threatening his life if he didn’t tell the police the truth about some past transgression. But what transgression? It was a good bet it had to do with Camp Bright Water, perhaps even the disappearance of Eric Hauley, but what had Hale done? And where was this Ezmer Hawks now? Was he someone she knew? Sophie could sit and theorize until the proverbial cows came home, but the only one who could shed light on the subject was Kate Chappeldine. And Kate wasn’t talking.
If John had any further information, he wasn’t saying anything, either. After Kate had left the bar last night and John had come over to her table, Sophie tried to get him to open up. All he would say was that he was sure Rudy had nothing to do with Hale’s murder. Period. End of story. Except, both of them knew it wasn’t the end of the story. Ultimately, John’s reassurances only made her angry. It upset her terribly that he had a better idea of what was going on in Rudy’s life than she did.
After the police had searched Rudy’s room two nights ago, John mentioned that Rudy had come to his apartment in St. Paul. Even more infuriating, he was as tight-lipped about Rudy’s behavior that night as Rudy had been. For the past couple of days, Rudy had been getting up before daylight and leaving the house. He didn’t return until well after midnight. Sophie hadn’t waited up for him because she felt the message was clear. He wanted his privacy. But that understanding didn’t make life any easier.
Rising from the table, she dragged herself over to the counter and poured herself another cup of French roast. As she stirred some cream into it, she tried to clear her mind. Even though Rudy preferred to shut her out right now, she would just have to understand, and have faith that their relationship would continue to grow. But if she was going to get to the bottom of Hale’s murder, there were other aspects of the whole affair she needed to consider.
Yesterday, via the office grapevine, she’d found out that Hale had apparently left Ivy only one dollar in his will. The bulk of the estate had gone to an elderly woman, a Mrs. Betty Malmquist. Sophie was more than curious about why Hale would choose to leave everything he’d worked his entire life for to someone other than his wife. Ivy was no doubt furious. Sophie knew she should make a trip over to her house just to check in, see how she was doing, but this morning, she had another plan in mind. She’d found Betty Malmquist’s address in the St. Paul phone book. Perhaps she could persuade the woman to talk to her. It might lead nowhere, but then again, anything about Hale’s life might prove important.
Switching on Bram’s morning radio program, and being warmed by the sound of his voice, she dumped the breakfast dishes into the sink and began cleaning up. Within the hour, she would be standing in front of Betty Malmquist’s front door, hat in hand, and hoping for the light of revelation to dawn.
Betty led the way into her tiny living room and made herself comfortable in the recliner rocker. Sophie took a seat in a wooden captain’s chair directly across from her. She was amazed at the amount of artwork filling the walls. The hallway, the dining room, the living room, everywhere she looked she saw framed oil paintings. Many were portraits of Betty. Some were of a garden. And still others were portraits of people Sophie didn’t recognize. “Did you do these?” she asked, gazing at them with undisguised admiration.
“No,” said Betty, though her voice carried a note of pride. “I suppose there’s no reason to keep the secret any longer. Hale was the artist.”
Sophie didn’t even try to hide her surprise. “I had no idea.”
“No one did. He wanted it that way. He’s used one of my second-floor bedrooms as a studio for many years. At first, he rented the space, but after we became such good friends, it seemed kind of silly. I loved having him in the house. I couldn’t imagine living here without his visits. So, I refused to take any more money. That’s when he started buying me all sorts of things. A new TV set — anything he saw I needed. He’s been like a second son.”
Sophie was beginning to understand. “But why didn’t he want anyone to see his paintings? They’re wonderful.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I always encouraged him to take them over to one of those galleries he talked about and have a show. But he wouldn’t hear of it. I don’t think he thought his work was good enough. He was embarrassed to show it to people. He didn’t even want my grandkids to know who did them. It was like —” She shook her head. “If he couldn’t be the king of the hill, he didn’t want to play the game. He was a terribly competitive man.”
Sophie knew from firsthand experience that Betty was right. “And yet he spent all these years secretly painting. He must have gotten something from it.”
“Oh, he did. He found a great deal of peace. I don’t think he had much of that in the rest of his life. You know, I told him once that all he needed was a little more confidence. Do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Betty, I’ve got plenty of confidence. What I don’t have is courage.’ “ She shook her head. “I never understood what he meant.”
Sophie was at a loss. “I’d have to think about it.”
“Were you two pretty good friends?” Her voice was tinged with sadness. She held out a bowl of lemon drops.
Sophie took one and smiled. It took her back to her childhood. “We’d known each other for many years.” She thought it best not to add what she really thought of him. “And I went to grade school with Ivy.”
“Such a small world.” Betty leaned her cane against the arm of the chair and then retrieved a handkerchief from her apron pocket and pressed it to her eyes. “Hale was such a dear boy. So many of the things in this room he brought me. But most of all, he brought me his love. Would you like to see the postcards?”
“Postcards?”
“From all over Europe. He made sure I got at least one every time he went abroad.”
“Maybe another time.” Sophie was surprised to find that Hale had such a soft side. In everyday life, he’d hidden it well.
“But you know, it wasn’t the presents that were important,” continued Betty, patting her lap and waiting while her little schnauzer jumped up and made himself comfortable, “though they
were
a delight. No, it was knowing he was happy here. Sometimes I’d fix us dinner. He’d stay downstairs afterward and we’d play Scrabble. Do you play Scrabble, Mrs. — ? I’m sorry. I’ve already forgotten your name.”
“Greenway. Sophie Greenway. Please, call me Sophie. And yes, I love Scrabble.”
“Well, then, you’ll have to come over sometime for a game. I may be moving soon, though I’m not sure where. My eldest grandson says I need to get out of here before the house crumbles around my ears. It’s funny. I’ve lived all my life without much money. It feels silly to make all this fuss now. My needs are small. But, of course, I’m glad for my grandchildren. My son and his wife were killed in a plane crash many years ago. It was a hard road for the kids, growing up.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sophie.
She nodded. “At my age, death is no stranger. But when someone young dies, like Hale, it seems a terrible tragedy. He was such a talented man.” She looked down at her dog, patting his head lovingly. “Oh, I know he was full of the devil, too. I’m not blind. But underneath, he was kind.”
Sophie couldn’t believe they were talking about the same man. Yet, even though Betty’s views weren’t those generally held, it didn’t make them any less valid. “When did you see him last?”
She tugged on her handkerchief. “It was just a week or so before he died. He brought me a shopping bag full of presents. He told me to open one every day — just to keep my spirits up until spring. He knew how much the winter weather gets me down. It’s hard to get out when you’re old, but in the winter, it’s even harder.” She stopped and shook her head, a look of puzzlement crossing her plump face as she glanced at a small cabinet that sat against the wall, just a few feet from her chair.
“Is anything wrong?”
Betty took her cane and pushed the rubber tip against the front panel. The door sprang open. ‘Take out that brown paper box. I want to show you something.”
Sophie knelt down and removed it, closing the door behind her. She handed it to Betty.
“I want you to look at this and tell me what you think.” Betty lifted off the cover. Inside was a small container of rifle shells, a white plastic bottle labeled lasix, and another small glass bottle of a white powder. arsenic was written in red ink on the cover. “What do you make of it? It was at the bottom of the sack of presents, only it wasn’t wrapped in fancy paper like the rest. Why would Hale give me something like that? The more I think about it, the more upset I get.”