Summer Reading is Killing Me (Phee Jefferson Book 2) (7 page)

Chapter Fifteen

By the time I made my way to where they stood,
Nicolette had left. I sidled up next to Tessa. I pretended to listen to
Reverend Taylor’s homily, but I watched Tessa from the corner of my eye. She
didn’t even glance at the stage. Instead, she texted someone, her nails flying
across the small screen.

I turned towards her and said, “You were at the
market today, weren’t you?”

Not bothering to look up, Tessa shrugged. “I was
there, but I shouldn’t have bothered. The place is a dump.”

“Were you friends with
Elody
?”
I ignored her snide remark about Abe’s. I had bigger fish to fry.

“Was I friends with
Elody
?
Hmm…let’s see,” Tessa said. She finally looked up and fixed her steely-blue
gaze on me. “I knew
Elody
better than most people
here pretending to mourn her. I knew the real
Elody
.
The one who partied until four in the morning and used everyone in her circle
of friends for money when dear old daddy cut off access to her trust fund.”

I hid my shock at the venom in her voice. “Sounds
like you didn’t care for her too much. Wait a minute. Aren’t you Tessa Brewer?
I read your articles all the time!” I gushed and twisted one of my red curls in
my fingers. I yanked my hand down quickly to stop my nervous tic. “So what was
she like?”

“She was shallow and self-centered. She hung on
Jay Burns and relied on his
caché
with the art world
to keep her face in the news. Kind of pathetic if you ask me. I’m sure daddy’s
staffers are thrilled they don’t have to hide her escapades from us anymore,”
Tessa said with a snide twist of her lip.

“You must be glad to not cover
Elody’s
party circuit anymore. I love your writing. You should write the crime beat.
You would be amazing!” I made my voice high and breathy like I imagined a fan’s
would sound.

Preening like a peacock, Tessa smiled. “I talked
to my editor about a possible move to the crime beat yesterday. Watch for my
name to appear in the byline of the Crime Time column in the near future. It
was nice meeting you…what did you say your name was?”

“
Phee
. It’s an honor to
meet you. I can’t wait to read your column in the crime section,” I gave her a
wide, toothy grin. I’m positive I looked like a rabid raccoon who slammed
caffeine drinks twenty-four seven.

“Got to run. Photo ops abound with Senator
Campbell taking the stage. Ta for now.” She wiggled her fingers at me and
threaded her way to the band shell.

I glanced down at my watch and realized I’d be
late to meet Juliet if I didn’t step on it. I pushed my way through the crowd
to the fountain. Juliet wasn’t there yet. Juliet was tall, so it was easy to
spot her long, blonde hair in the sea of faces. I scanned the crowd and spotted
her talking to Jay Burns. She leaned in close to Jay to tell him something.
From this angle, it looked as if she were whispering in his ear. They stood
talking until a few bright flashes from a paparazzo’s camera startled them.
Juliet stepped back from Jay then sprinted towards me. A few more flashes of
the camera captured her fleeing back.

When she arrived at the fountain, she fumed, “Oh
my goddess! Did you see that jerk photographer take my picture? I could never
deal with this every day. What an invasion of privacy. Makes me rethink my love
of the gossip magazines.”

“You do realize you’ll end up on the front page of
a scandal sheet by tomorrow morning?”  

“I doubt it. Too many other interesting people to
watch. I made contact with our subject,” Juliet said in her best cop voice.

“I saw. I met the Senator. He invited me to dinner
tomorrow night. He wants to talk about
Elody
,” I
reported.

“Cool pickles. We are on fire with our
investigating skills tonight. Jay invited you and me to lunch tomorrow. We’ll
meet him at one o’clock at Odd Couple’s. He wanted to see me alone later
tonight, but I begged off and told him I had to meet with you. It was like
shooting fish in a pickle barrel. He is a man who thinks with his libido, not
with his brain.”

“Good job. I also ran into Tessa Brewer. She
didn’t mince her words when it came to
Elody
. We
should try to talk to a few more people while we’re here. I doubt we’ll have
another opportunity to find this many people who knew
Elody
in one place,” I suggested.

Juliet and I moved into the crowd and eavesdropped
on the surrounding conversations. Jay Burns walked onto the stage and launched
into a rambling tribute about
Elody
and their love.

“
Elody
was my muse,” Jay
said and wiped a tear from his eye. “Her bright spirit and belief in my talent
inspired me and launched my art career. Now she is gone, and I feel I can no
longer paint with the same talent and emotion. I plan to finish my final few
paintings as a tribute to her memory then retire my paintbrushes. You’ll see me
on the big screen instead as I commit myself fully to a career in acting.”

Jay’s announcement caused a furor of camera
flashes and clicks as the reporters surged forward to pepper him with questions
about his sudden decision. He held up his hands for silence. “This is a shock
for the art world, but my heartbreak over the loss of my muse is too painful
for me to continue. Tonight is about
Elody
. I’ll
release a statement to the press after the memorial service. Thank you.”

“I’m surprised he would quit this early in his
career especially since he found a style that worked for him and was
successful,” a woman standing next to us commented.

“Are you familiar with his artwork?” I asked her.
She appeared how I imagined artists would. She wore a long skirt, large chunky
jewelry and Birkenstocks, plus her fingers had paint stains on them.

“I was his art teacher before he dropped out of
high school his junior year. I came here for the artist’s retreat. Imagine my
surprise to see a former student in Miller’s Cove. I didn’t realize he kept up
with his art. He had no ambition as a teenager nor much talent,” she informed
us. “I don’t mean to sound unkind, but his main talent was copying other
students’ styles. He never had an art style of his own.”

“Maybe
Elody
was his
muse and helped him tap into his talent,” Juliet offered. “I’m Juliet
Jefferson. I’ll be down at the community center tomorrow morning teaching a
yoga class for the artist’s retreat if you’d care to join me.”

“Pam
Guynn
. Sounds
relaxing and I love yoga. I hope I didn’t sound too negative. It’s not that I
begrudge Jay his success. I’m just puzzled by how well he’s developed his own
style after what I saw in the past,” Pam said.

“Puzzling indeed,” Juliet bobbed her head in
agreement. “We’d better head for home before it gets too late. Yoga’s at six
sharp. I’ll see you there.”

We walked to the park exit and headed for my
house. I mulled over everything I learned today. The Senator was off the
suspect list. Jay attributed his talent and success directly to
Elody
. Why would he kill the figurative cash cow? With
Elody
gone, he claimed he could no longer paint. Tessa had
nothing but disdain for
Elody
, but did that translate
into murder? I wasn’t sure. My suspects weren’t looking too guilty at this
point. I hoped I discovered more when I met with
Elody’s
father Monday evening for dinner.

“Ah, crud biscuits!” I exclaimed.

“That was random. What’s up?”

“I’m meeting Senator Campbell for dinner tomorrow
night, but I’m supposed to have dinner with Clint and his new partner tomorrow
night,” I explained.

“You couldn’t turn down dinner with a state
senator who wants to speak to you about his daughter,” Juliet said.

“True. I’ll reschedule my dinner with Clint and
Lu. He’ll be fine with it.”

“Of course he will,” Juliet murmured.

“What?” I asked surprised at the negative tone in
Juliet’s voice.

“It’s nothing. It seems to me that Clint isn’t as
invested in the relationship as you are. He doesn’t care enough to get upset.
Just ignore me. I’m probably wrong,” Juliet said with an apologetic grin.

“Clint cares,” I protested. “He’s reserved, but
he’s always been that way. It’s his personality.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Pick
you up at five thirty.
Ciao!
” Juliet climbed into Ole Blue and left.

I thought about what she said. Clint came across
as reserved, but it was how his aunt raised him. My family was demonstrative,
but that didn’t mean every family was. He spent time at our house growing up
because he lived with his great aunt. She didn’t care for rambunctious teens
running around her home. He never talked about his parents and his life before
he came to Miller’s Cove. I never asked because I figured talking about their
death was too painful for him. Juliet was right. Clint did hold back too much
about himself. I was an open, romantic fiction book, but he was a rare,
archival tome locked tightly away in a vault. I wasn’t a huge fan of rocking a
boat that floated peacefully down the relationship river, but I should ask
where he saw our relationship heading; however, that was a conversation for
another day.

I called Clint to tell him good night, but it went
straight to voicemail. “Howdy, lawman. This here is
yer
little lady. Got some bad news. We need to reschedule tomorrow night’s dinner
with Lu. Senator Campbell wants to talk to me at six tomorrow evening, so can
we cook out on Tuesday? I promised Juliet I would go to butt crack o’ dawn
yoga, so I’m going to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”  I stifled a yawn as I
plugged my cell phone in to charge. All the excitement of the past two days,
hauling boxes of books, and crime busting had exhausted me. I slipped on a pale
blue cotton nightgown, brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. I heard Watson’s
little nails click across the floor as he settled down to sleep on his blanket
next to my bed. I drifted off to sleep and didn’t dream of dead girls at all.

Chapter Sixteen

Five o’clock came much too early. My alarm let out
an incessant buzz until my hand crashed down on it. It fell off the nightstand
with a loud crash. This caused Watson to yelp and
Ferdie
to claw her way across my legs. Ugh! Whose bright idea was it to do early
morning yoga? Mine. Well, Juliet’s idea if truth be told. I dragged my
exhausted carcass to the shower and leaned against the shower wall until the
warm jets of water became lukewarm.

Slightly more awake, I toweled off and dug out the
one pair of yoga pants I owned. Juliet gave them to me last year for Christmas.
They still had tags on them. I squeezed into them. Juliet must have forgotten
my short curves required a slightly looser size than her slim, athletic frame.
I pulled a long t-shirt over my damp curls so it could cover my ample rear. I
walked into the kitchen and plugged in my percolator to start my coffee. Watson
and I went out into my small backyard for his morning sniff and potty. His
boundless terrier energy before the birds were even singing made me tired all
over again.

Once he finished his daily doggie duties, I poured
a cup of coffee and waited for Juliet. I contemplated double fisting the coffee
so I wouldn’t have to get up for a refill. I was halfway through my second cup
when Juliet opened the kitchen door, stuck her head in and trilled, “Good
morning, Merry Sunshine!”   

If my glower didn’t scare her, I doubted throwing
my coffee cup at her head would phase her. Groaning, I hoisted myself out of
the kitchen chair and trudged to her convertible. “I don’t know how you do
classes this early,” I grumbled.

“It invigorates me. Once I work through my poses,
I have energy for the rest of the day. Trust me. After this morning, you’ll be
begging to join my six a.m. class every day,” Juliet said. She sipped on a
straw stuck in a bottle of gelatinous green goo.

“What in the blue blazes are you drinking?” I
gagged as she slurped the slimy mixture again.

“It is a spinach, banana, avocado and wheat grass
smoothie. Great for the complexion, and it helps maximize my energy,” Juliet
slurped down another slug of slime and smiled at me. Her front teeth had a glob
of green stuck between them. I didn’t tell her. Paybacks for the early morning
perkiness she refused to tone down to a more pleasant and tolerable level.

We pulled into the community center next to the
lakeshore. Several yoga-panted women made their way into the center ahead of
us. I spotted Willow in the group wearing a tie-dyed shirt and her dreads tied
on top of her head. Juliet bounded behind them. I plodded after her and took my
place at the back of the room.

A chubby girl rushed in right before class
started. With stringy leaf-brown hair, glasses and grubby black velour
sweatpants, she didn’t seem like the type to enjoy yoga. Heck. Who was I
kidding? I wasn’t the type to enjoy yoga.

   “Hi. I’m
Phee
.
I’m new to yoga. How about you?” I whispered as Juliet encouraged us to breathe
in through our noses and “ha” out our mouths.

“Shawna,” she whispered back and lifted her arms
as she inhaled. “Just follow the teacher the best you can. Yoga is about flow
and energy. Don’t push yourself past your comfort level.” Shawna moved with a
litheness that belied her bulky frame. “I’ve practiced yoga for years, but when
I started, I was clumsier than a newborn calf.”

I tried to follow Juliet as she progressed to
something called a sun salutation. I couldn’t keep up because I tried to watch
the people attending the class with one eye and follow Juliet’s movements with
my other eye. As she instructed us to move into downward facing dog, I lifted
my rear and heard a ripping noise. I felt a draft of cool air on my ample
derriere. Holy toddlers in tiaras! My new yoga pants had split. I attempted to
stand from my downward position, lost my balance and tumbled into the
gray-haired woman to my right. This set in motion a domino effect as she
crashed into the anemic girl next to her. As we fell into a jumbled mess of
arms and legs, the rest of the class stopped and watched aghast at the chaos in
the midst of their peaceful asana. I untangled myself and looked up to find
Juliet glaring down at me.

Twenty minutes later and properly chastened, I
wore  a pair of Juliet’s bike shorts which turned into capris on my short
legs. I watched the class finish the last of their poses and bow with hands
together and say, “Namaste.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were new,”
Shawna plopped down on the bench next to me. “I almost felt sorry for you. I
thought the instructor would blow a gasket.”

“She’s my little sister. She has to be nice to
me,” I commented.

“Huh. You don’t look like her at all.” Shawna
squinted as she examined me through her smudged lenses.

“No, I don’t.” Too tired and embarrassed to try to
be polite, I asked, “Are you here for the artist’s retreat?”

“Kind of. I came with my friend. Her family has a
place here, but she didn’t want to stay at their cabin. She’d had a falling out
with her dad, so I rented a place for us on the far side of the lake. She
is…was an artist,” Shawna corrected herself.

“Are you talking about
Elody
Campbell?” I perked up as I realized this mousy girl might be a great source of
information.

“Yeah. She and I were roommates in college before
she dropped out.”

“Really?” I must have looked incredulous because
Shawna scowled at me.

“Yes, really. She wasn’t like the press portrayed
her at all. She didn’t party and act crazy until her mom died. When she and I
roomed together,
Elody
lived for her art. It was her
plan to have her paintings hang in every major gallery in the country by her
thirtieth birthday. When her mom died, she lost her drive and her painting
changed. She stopped caring about anything. She’d paint and then toss the
finished canvases in the trash. After a few months, she packed her bags and
left before the semester was over,” Shawna said.  

“
Elody
was a good
painter?” I asked. It was more of a statement than a question. Nicolette had
said
Elody’s
paintings were exceptional. I wondered
why Jay, not
Elody
, caught the art world’s eye if she
possessed so much talent.  

“Her art was amazing.” Shawna said with the fervor
of a true fan. “I’m a microbiologist. Correction. I’m a PhD candidate in
microbiology. I’m not in the cool, art crowd like the rest of these people, but
Elody’s
talent knocked a nerd like me off my feet.”

“Wow! I’d like to see some of her work.” I hoped
Shawna had access to some of
Elody’s
paintings.

“So would I,” Shawna gave a rueful shake of her
head. “Someone broke into our cabin yesterday. The only things stolen were
Elody’s
paintings. They even stole her unfinished pieces.”

“How horrible!” I exclaimed.
Elody’s
death seemed inextricably entwined with art. Who would steal the paintings of a
talented, but undiscovered artist? Could an obsessed fan have taken them when
they learned of
Elody’s
murder?  Instead of yoga
clearing my head, it felt muddled by my latest discovery.