The rest of the day was taken up with the normal tasks of the business. Elsie worked on the newspaper framing and got caught up in the old headlines. Her own memories of the Nixon’s resignation in 1974 were rather vague. She’d been busy raising a family back then and didn’t have much interest in politics. Even now her natural reserve meant she seldom expressed her opinions about what was going on in the world, although she knew she held very different views from Sue’s. One of the underpinnings of their relationship was not needing to discuss their differences in the political arena.
She and Sue speculated a little bit about the Berger as they worked. They had no more doubts as to its authorship, so they ruminated on its value. They wondered how much the Rudolphs had paid for it at auction, and if they would permit prints to be made of it. Sue claimed she wanted a print to commemorate their part in its recovery.
“I wonder if it has a name?” Elsie mused.
They toyed with that idea for a while, proposing titles from the somber to the silly. Woodsy Woman? Abby’s Ass? Dame au Naturel? Frog Pond? Pink Lady on the Rocks? Cap’n Billy’s Broad? In the end, they accepted that the heirs, Jerry’s brother and sister, would claim naming rights, although they might take suggestions from Jenna and Bob Rudolph. Still, it was fun to think about.
****
“I wonder why Jemmie had such a reaction to the painting,” Sue said later, as she was pinning a piece of counted cross stitch.
“Didn’t he say she was a customer of his?”
“Yeah, and Ginny said Mike was, too. He started buying Abby’s jewelry from Jemmie, and then she came over here, and came into Brush & Bevel. That’s how she met Jerry. Did you know him, Elsie?”
Elsie stored the newspaper project in the bin where they kept matted items until their frames come in. She wrote the frame moulding number and the dimensions on the order form for the proper vendor while she thought about Sue’s question. “Not very well. I only started working here, oh, about a year before he died. He was nice enough. Ginny liked him a lot. He was kind of a flirt.”
“Really? Did he flirt with you?”
“Oh, a little. Not really a flirt, just a guy who liked to talk. Once you got him started on his work, you couldn’t shut him up. He’d go on all day about it. One time he and Bert Boucher were here at the same time, and you should have heard them! Bert’s an artist, too, you know, and they just went on and on about different kinds of paint, and they argued about giclées. They were just coming out back then, and the ink wasn’t very stable, but the colors were so good a lot of artists put up with it for the sake of the color.”
“Funny how things work. Now they’re telling us giclées are good for at least two hundred years. And they sure do look good.”
Elsie agreed. “Now if they can just figure out how to make digital photos with a stable finish, that would be great.”
“There was a guy in yesterday who said he knows of a giclée printer that can print up to two feet by three feet. I almost asked him about the finish, but he’s a new customer and I didn’t want to overwhelm him. If he ever brings a piece in—” Sue broke off, looking at her co-worker, who had started to frown and tap her finger against her lip. She did that sometimes when she was dredging up a memory. “What is it, Elsie?”
“I’m not sure; I’m trying to remember something. I think…can we get the Berger painting out again?”
“Sure.” Sue went over to the locked cabinet where they kept very valuable pieces and keyed in the locking code while Elsie cleared a space on the work table. Lifting the painting out with her usual care, she set it down like a holy relic. “It sure cleaned up pretty,” Sue said.
Elsie made a noncommittal sound. Sue noticed she was very careful not to look at Abby’s body. Sue didn’t mind tasteful nudes like this one. Abby had struck a graceful pose, leaning on one of the gray rocks, with her back to the viewer. The woman had a rather large bottom, but it was nicely shaped, firm and smooth. Her arm, as she pointed down and to the right, concealed all but a hint of the swell of her breasts. Sue could wish for such a nice shape for herself. She admired the curve of Abby’s back, the rich black waves of her hair, and the lovely oval of her face. The expression on the face was rather troubled. While Sue was cleaning the piece, she had focused on the actual paint to make sure she removed all the dirt and grease. Now that she could step back a bit, she saw things she hadn’t seen before. Abby’s dark eyebrows drew together over her nose, and the corners of her mouth were turned down just the slightest bit. The effect was one of worry or anxiety, very much at odds with the beautiful setting. Sue supposed the patrons of Cap’n Billy’s didn’t bother much with the setting or the model’s emotions, however well they were depicted. No doubt they fixated on—
“That’s it!” Elsie cried, pointing. “I know where that rock is!”
She indicated the boulder that hid Abby’s feet. It was a typical, gray granite boulder, with flecks of sparkly mica and a vein of white quartz. The vein split the rock in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of buttocks, Sue thought with a private grin. “You know where it is?”
“I think so,” Elsie replied, not quite so sure of herself. “I think it looks an awful lot like the rocks where I was hunting with Mac yesterday. I can’t be positive, of course, and there are rocks all over New Hampshire, but when I was there yesterday I remember thinking it looked familiar.”
“Hmm. Could you find it again?”
Elsie dithered. “I think so. It shouldn’t be too hard. We could take one of the photos of the painting to be sure.”
“Was there a lake or a pond in the background? Was the ground boggy?”
“It was boggy. I don’t know if there was a pond, I wasn’t looking. When could we go?”
That was a problem, because Sue and Elsie seldom had a day off together. They were still mulling it over when Ginny came downstairs with some new framing orders. She noticed the Berger painting on the table and the serious looks on their faces.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm.
“Nothing, nothing,” they hastened to assure her. “It’s fine.”
She fanned herself with her hand. “Because if this got messed up…”
“We haven’t touched it, honest. Don’t worry.”
“All right then. So why do you have it out?”
Elsie hesitated, then began, “Well, yesterday I was out in the woods training Maculato, and when he flushed a grouse, he took off instead of waiting for me. We got a little lost, but then we came upon what looked like an old town road the snowmobilers use. So we went along that for a while. It led us to a pile of rocks that looks an awful lot like this.” She gestured at the painting. “Except nobody was there, of course.”
Ginny chewed her lip. “And, of course, you two want to check it out, right?”
Elsie made a tentative suggestion. “Field trip?” In the past, field trips had been scheduled several times a year and always involved some sort of connection with art. Lately, however, the gallery had been too busy to be able to close for an entire day.
“We haven’t done a field trip in a long time, have we? I don’t want to close…could you and Sue do this by yourselves?”
Sue spoke up. “Frankly, Ginny, I’m scared of this one. I mean, you know I hike by myself all the time, but this is spooky. Going to the site of a murdered artist’s last work—well, it makes me nervous.”
“And you’d feel better with
me
along?” Ginny’s laugh held a nervous note. “I don’t want to go tramping through damp woods, with bugs and brambles and all that. I’d probably catch poison ivy or fall into a cellar hole or something. Or the bears would eat me!”
Elsie didn’t catch the humor in Ginny’s voice and responded only to her fear. “Oh, we wouldn’t have to go the way Mac and I did. We could find the other end of the snowmobile trail and walk in from the road. It’s not very far going that way. We could take along one of the photos to compare it.”
“Well, that would be very interesting, but what’s the point?” Ginny asked. “If we knew the site of the work it would add to the promotion, but it’s really not necessary.”
“It’s not just that.” Sue spread the words out as if she were afraid to say them. “It’s the red stuff on top of the paint. I think Jerry was trying to tell us something, something very awful. I don’t think we should go alone.”
Ginny raised her head. “What are you saying, Sue?” Elsie just stared.
“I think we should take the police.”
“The police! Whatever for? If you think it’s that dangerous, why go at all?”
Sue chewed her lip. “Well, aren’t you curious? It’s such a neat puzzle. Besides, I’m always up for a walk in the woods. I just think it’s a little spooky that Elsie found this location. And I have this feeling there’s something else going on, too. I don’t know what, but maybe we’d find the answers in the woods. It shouldn’t be all that dangerous.”
“We could take Mac,” Elsie suggested. “He’s such a goofball, though, he’d probably slobber all over any bad guys.”
The laughter that comment inspired eased some of the tension. Ginny looked at Sue. “What could Jerry possibly have been trying to tell us?”
“If it was murder, did he know who might have wanted to kill him? And why? If it was murder/suicide, what was his motive? Was he having an affair with Abby and she was going to break it off? Was Mike a jealous husband? And why, why, why did Jerry paint that line of red?”
“Those are good questions for the police to ask,” Elsie said.
They looked at the painting again. Ginny drew her finger down the red marks, as if she could read them like Braille. “I think we’d better clean this off.”
“Not now,” Sue insisted. “I want Tom DiAndreo here.”
Ginny looked at her steadily. “All right. I’ll call him. Right now?”
“No time like the present,” said Sue, but her voice shook.
Chapter Fifteen
Tom DiAndreo was relieved to be called to Brush & Bevel again. He sat slouched behind his desk at the Westford police station, deep in a drawn-out discussion with his future in-laws about some small detail of the wedding that didn’t make much sense to him. How could they expect to get a wedding photo framed before the wedding? And why did they seem to think he had such a photo? So he was quite happy to get off the phone with them and attend to police business when the switchboard buzzed him.
“I’ve got to go,” he told Donna’s mother politely but with just enough urgency to convey the idea he was very busy. “I’ll call you when I get off duty.”
He switched to the interoffice phone. “DiAndreo.” He listened for a moment. “In plain clothes? For a painting? What the hell do they think is going on?”
What the desk told him then made him jump to his feet. “The Berger case? You tell them I’ll be there in, oh, less than five minutes. No, wait, if they want plain clothes they don’t want a siren going. Tell them ten, then. Right.”
Standing behind the closed door of his miniscule office, he shucked his uniform and changed into the still-damp clothes he’d worn to work this morning. They exuded an unpleasant aroma, since he’d worn them for his workout earlier, but they’d have to do. He resisted the urge to slap the emergency beacon on the roof of his battered car as he drove out of the historic town center and down the busy highway that sliced Westford in two. It wouldn’t do to announce his arrival if there was a situation going on.
Despite his sense of urgency, he forced himself to keep to a sedate pace as he parked around the corner from Brush & Bevel and strolled to their door, the gun under his arm a reassuring weight. The request for plain clothes roused his sense of danger and self-preservation. He cast a wary glance into the gallery before he pulled open the door. Ginny was seated before her computer, seeming quite unconcerned. He relaxed a fraction and went in, still on the alert. His eyes flicked from her face to the space behind the wing chairs, to the restroom door that stood ajar as usual, to the displays of frame samples.
“That was quick,” Ginny said by way of greeting. “I didn’t expect you here so soon.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, concern making his voice rough.
“What? Oh, yes, we’re fine,” Ginny said without any stress that he could detect. “Didn’t they tell you that? I’m sorry if we alarmed you…”
Tom let out a breath and rotated his shoulders to relax them. “The desk said you wanted me in plain clothes. I was worried about Jemmie Demarais.”
Ginny tsked. “I told them plain clothes would be okay.” She stressed the last word. “I meant there was no call for alarms and sirens and stuff. I guess I wasn’t clear enough. I’m sorry.”
He took another deep breath and gave himself a mental shake. “Everything is really all right?”
Ginny assured him again there was no cause for alarm. “We’ve discovered an unknown painting by Jerry Berger,” she went on to explain.
His interest spiked at the name. “Berger? Isn’t he the guy involved in that murder/suicide years ago? And the model’s husband came here looking for him?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Ginny sounded surprised.
“I looked it up in the files after that meeting we had here. For some reason, I wondered if there was a connection with Jemmie’s Gems.”
“Well, the model used to shop at Jemmie’s, that’s all I know. Anyway, we cleaned it, and there is something rather odd about it. We wanted to have an impartial witness here when we take off the last bit of—well, it’s not really dirt, is it?”
“I think you’d better let me see it.”
She led the way downstairs to the workshop, explaining as she went. “A customer brought this piece in a few days ago. It’s a nude, only the second one Jerry ever completed as far as I know. The model is Abby Bingham. We think we know where it was painted.”
“So?” DiAndreo didn’t have much interest in art, even if it was a nude done by a man thought to have killed the model and then himself. Why would Brush & Bevel call him about where it was made?
Ginny turned to face him when they reached the bottom of the stairs and spoke in a low voice, as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “So, we think it was painted just before they died, and my employees think it might hold some clues to their deaths. We thought you might be interested.”