A Fit of Tempera (10 page)

Iris apparently felt the same way. “Look,” she said, getting to her feet and replacing the bandeau, “I'm utterly worthless right now. If Clive has the painting, he'll see that Dewitt gets it. It's too bad you met Clive when he was…under the weather. He's actually a very astute businessman. Or so Riley always said.”

Judith couldn't resist at least one query. “Then Riley has been doing well lately?”

Iris lifted her chin. Her gaze was level with Judith's. “Clive has handled Riley very successfully. Have you heard otherwise?”

“He changed horses,” Renie replied, putting on what Judith called her boardroom face. “In the art world, that can make a difference in perception by the public. And in sales.”

Iris shrugged her cashmere-clad shoulders. “The artistic community is rife with gossip. There's so much envy of anyone who is commercially successful. Riley dared to go beyond what had already proved profitable. Naturally, he stirred up a few malicious people.” With a trace of her customary tensile inner strength, Iris moved toward the Dutch door.

As Judith went to see Iris out, she felt the crumpled letter in her pocket. “What did Yancey Tobias think of his brother's new style?” Judith met Iris's curious gaze unflinchingly and lied like a rug. “Riley told us about sending Yancey a recent painting for his birthday.”

Small creases appeared on Iris's brow. “That's odd. I don't recall Riley sending his brother one of his works. Yancey's a botanist. He doesn't know the first thing about art. Though,” she added as an afterthought, “Riley somehow prized his opinion. I suppose that's because Yancey is the older of the two.”

Judith was prompted to ask one last question. “Iris, do you know why Lazlo Gamm came to see Riley yesterday? He arrived by helicopter, around one-thirty.”

Gamm's visit obviously wasn't news to Iris. She made an indifferent gesture with her left hand, causing a dozen slim silver bangles to jingle at her wrist. “Mrs. Morton told me about the helicopter. I figured it must be Lazlo. If Riley lived at the beach, Laz would have come by submarine.”

“You know Laz?” Renie asked.

Iris examined the bangles, frowning as if in disapproval of their inappropriately merry sound. “Oh, yes. He's been in and out of Riley's life for years. He's always talking about buying a painting, but he never does. If you want to know the truth, I always thought he liked Riley but didn't like his work.”

Judith hesitated, then put another query to Iris. “You haven't seen him this time, though?”

“No. I gather he left before I arrived.” Iris shoved the bangles higher up on her arm to keep them from jangling. With a thin little smile, she bade the cousins good-bye.

“Well?” inquired Renie after their visitor was out of hearing range. “Do we call Yancey in Old Bennington, hunt down Lazlo, or go see Clive up at the Green Mountain Inn?”

“I wouldn't know what to ask Yancey,” Judith pointed out. “We don't bother the grieving kin, in any event. Lazlo could be anywhere. As for Green Mountain, we were just there.”

“But we didn't see Clive,” Renie countered. “Not to talk to, that is. Besides, it's lunchtime. I'm so hungry I could eat a mole.”

“You can't be hungry,” Judith protested. “You just ate a pound of pie and a pint of whipped cream. I thought we'd make some sandwiches here. There's ham and hot dogs and—” She broke off, struck by a sudden thought. “On the other hand, if we're somewhere else, we can't be here, right?”

“Huh?” Renie looked mystified.

Judith was heading for the door. “Remember what Iris said was going to happen pretty quick? The undersheriff is
coming, coz. He is to be avoided at all costs. Let's be gone.”

 

The cousins didn't get very far. Instead of walking this time, they decided to take Judith's car. But driving out to the road, they saw Ward Kimball's Volkswagen bus turning into the drive. Judith reversed and pulled the compact to one side. Renie got out and wrestled with the sagging wooden gate that deterred casual intruders from the Grover property. Cautiously, Ward drove onto the rutted dirt drive. Lark was next to him in the van.

“Hello there,” Ward greeted the cousins, going around to assist his daughter. “Are we keeping you from something?”

“Nothing vital,” Judith replied, wondering if she spoke the truth. For all she knew, Clive Silvanus could be headed back into the city with a seventy-thousand-dollar painting stashed in his trunk. If, of course, it would fit.

Lark smiled faintly as she held onto her father's arm. They walked slowly over the unfamiliar, uneven ground. “I have to apologize for last night,” she said, turning in the direction of the cousins. “I was very distraught. Riley's death has been a terrible blow.”

Ward patted his daughter's hand. “I agree, Lark, absolutely. Shared grief isn't much comfort, though.” He smiled fondly at her, and though she could not have seen his face clearly, Judith sensed that she heard the warmth in his voice. “Be honest,” Ward urged as they reached the cabin. “You two were on your way out. We mustn't impose.”

Judith and Renie insisted that the Kimballs' arrival was perfectly convenient. Inside the cabin, Ward explained that he and Lark had intended to call on Iris Takisaki, but a sheriff's car had been pulled up by the house.

“Now, that was definitely bad timing,” he said, sitting next to Lark on the old sofa. “Iris must be taking this very hard. That bumbler of a Costello came by to see us first
thing this morning. We can't expect much from him, you know. I imagine Iris feels the same way, poor woman.”

Lark might not have been able to convey much with her eyes, but her face was extremely mobile. At present it registered derision. “Iris! As if she really cared about Riley! The only thing she wanted from him was having fame and success rub off on her. His reputation gave her a certain cachet as an art consultant. I doubt that she'd know Monet from Manet.”

“Now, Lark, that's very unkind. Iris has been devoted to Riley for twenty years. You shouldn't say such things, especially under the circumstances.” Her father's tone was disapproving.

“Devoted to Riley's
work
,” Lark corrected with a smug expression. “That is not the same as being devoted to Riley.”

Judith feared that she and Renie were about to be privy to another father-daughter squabble. “Murder is always devastating,” Judith declared, hoping to strike an ameliorating note. “I'm sure Iris will be glad to see you—once the undersheriff is gone.”

Lark was turned toward Judith. “She might like to see Dad. She won't be so pleased to see me. She never was.” The smug look intensified.

“Stop it, Lark!” Ward Kimball spoke sharply, flushed, and apologized to his hostesses. “You must think we wrangle all the time. That's not so. Riley's death has unsettled us.”

“It's unsettled us, too,” Renie remarked. “After all, there's a killer somewhere around here.”

Judith gave Renie a curious look. It was true, of course, yet it dawned on her that neither she nor Renie had lost a wink of sleep over the possibility of being murdered in their beds. Had they grown accustomed to violent death? Or did they know, deep down where it counted, that whoever killed Riley Tobias had no reason to kill them? The insight made things more clear to Judith. The pot-growing hippies evaporated in her mind's eye.

“Let me make some coffee,” she suggested, then remembered that the fire had gone out. “Or some pop? A drink? Ice water?” She grimaced slightly at the thought of chipping chunks off the ice block.

But both Kimballs declined the offer of beverages. Indeed, Ward was on his feet, fingering his beard and gazing out the window. Mount Woodchuck stood watch over the forest, the clouds dispersed along the river valley.

“I think I'll head over to see Iris,” Ward said, touching Lark's shoulder. “The law should be gone by now, and if not, I'd like to hear what they've found out. If anything. Lark?”

His daughter shook her head. “I told you, I'd rather not play out a farce with Iris. She doesn't like me any more than I like her.”

Ward Kimball sighed with resignation. “As you will, dear heart. I'll amble over there. I shouldn't be long.” He sketched a courtly little bow and was gone.

“Come on, Lark,” Renie urged, “have a beer. A sandwich? A couple of hot dogs?”

Judith heard the hunger pangs and made a face at Renie. “Don't force food and drink on people, coz. Not everyone is a Big Pig.”

But Lark said she would like a glass of wine after all, if the cousins had any. They didn't. She settled for a beer. Judith and Renie joined her, trying to be companionable.

“I suppose,” Judith mused as she sat down next to Lark on the sofa, “that Riley never married Iris because his first bout with matrimony was so unhappy.”

To the cousins' surprise, Lark laughed. “No, it wasn't. Riley just didn't like the idea of the institution. Not when he was young, anyway. It wasn't part of his philosophy then. He was into Kerouac, and all those British Angry Young Men. But he changed. Riley matured late, but fully.” She held her bottle of beer as if it were a case of jewels.

Renie cut to the heart of the matter. “Then why didn't he marry Iris?”

Lark's laughter took on a jagged edge. “He didn't love her.” The beautiful, unworldly face turned from cousin to cousin. For one brief moment, Judith could have sworn that Lark Kimball was not only seeing but studying her hostesses.

“Did he tell you that?” Renie, as usual, had sacrificed tact.

“Of course he did. Why should he love her?” Lark sounded defensive. “She's well connected in the art community; she's supposedly glib, handsome, and articulate. Useful, in other words. But she's also a rapacious conniver. It didn't take him twenty years to figure that out.”

“Yes, it did,” retorted Renie. “They were still together when he died.”

“That's only because he couldn't figure out how to get rid of her.” Lark's voice had risen and her face no longer looked so unwordly. Indeed, she was blushing, and her jaw was set in a hard line. “Riley needed some time to tell her how he felt. How
we
felt.” She flounced a bit on the sofa. “He wasn't merely my teacher, he was my lover. And we intended to be married. As soon as he told Iris to go to hell.” Lark Kimball sat back on the sofa, now smiling serenely.

“S
HUT UP AND
pass the salt,” Renie said as the cousins assessed their order of hamburgers, French fries, green salad, and Pepsi. “I'm sick of all these people. Everybody seems to have a hidden agenda. And nobody seems to be telling the whole truth.”

Judith shot Renie a rueful look. “So when did anybody ever do that except us? In fact, even we don't, all the time. I lied to Iris about Yancey Tobias, and I don't even know why I did it. Stop being crabby. It's just because we're an hour late for lunch and you're out of sorts.”

“Bag the ham and the hot dogs for tonight,” grumbled Renie. “Let's go into Glacier Falls and eat at the Virgin Forest Cafe. They've got a London broil that makes me weep.”

“That was in 1968, and the place has changed hands four times. It's Thai food now, you dope.” Judith bit into her burger.

Renie swore under her breath, ate three fries, two bites of hamburger, and a forkful of salad, then relaxed in the same chair she'd sat in that morning at the Green Mountain Inn. “Face it, coz, Riley was trying to play two fiddles at once. Which one stopped the music?”

Judith tipped her head to one side, chewing thoughtfully. “Neither, maybe. Besides, we only have Lark's word for is that Riley wanted to marry her. It's possible that she's playing out a fantasy.”

Renie stabbed at her lettuce. “So what were Riley and Ward fighting about?”

“
If
they were fighting.” Judith's gaze wandered around the dining room. It was after one-thirty, and the lunch rush was over. But the Green Mountain Inn was still busier than it had been in midmorning. Nine of the twenty tables were full, mostly, Judith judged, with locals. “I'ml inclined to believe there was a row, if only because, when we showed up at the Kimballs' lost night, Ward seemed surprised to see us.”

Renie swigged down about half of her Pepsi at once. “So? I haven't seen Ward in years.”

“That's not what I meant,” Judith explained as an elderly couple tottered past. She smiled, recognizing them as longtime occupants of a mobile home in the stretch of road between Nella Lablatt's and Ward Kimball's. “If Ward had merely dropped by to visit Riley probably would have mentioned that we'd been there, too. But Ward didn't know we were at the cabin, so I have to conclude that he and Riley weren't engaged in chitchat.”

“Ward didn't know we'd been with Iris when she found the body,” Renie pointed out.

“True” Judith agreed. “He hadn't yet talked to Iris last night. He and Lark were probably given only the bare bones by the neighbors who called on them. I suppose the news of Riley's murder spread like wildfire. The bottom line is that Clive may be right about Ward and Riley having a quarrel.”

“Speak of the devil.” murmured Renie, looking beyond Judith to the dining room entrance. “Here comes Clive now.”

Clive Silvanus could not avoid the cousins. nor did he try. “Mah soul and body,” he exclaimed. coming directly to their window table, “Ah'm surprised to see you two
charmin' ladies here. Ah thought Ah'd have a bit of luncheon.”

“Pull up a chair,” Judith offered. “Have you heard anything new about Riley's death?”

Seating himself in the same place where Dewitt Dixon had joined the cousins earlier in the day, Clive expelled a heartfelt sigh. “Ah spoke with the sheriff's people within the hour. They stopped by before goin' to call on poor Iris. Naturally, there was very little Ah could tell them.” Graciously, he beckoned to Dee Johanson to bring him a menu.

“Did you tell them about the argument between Riley and Ward?” Renie asked.

Clive looked affronted. “Ah did not. Why make trouble?” He gave Dee a grateful smile as she handed him the plastic-covered menu.

“This afternoon,” Dee said, mainly for Renie's benefit, “we have boysenberry pie, fresh-baked.”

But this time Renie demurred. Dee took Clive's order of chicken fried steak and again retreated reluctantly.

“You never did say what they were quarreling about,” Judith remarked, willing to leap into the fray now that Renie had broached the subject.

Clive brushed at his mustache and looked pensive. “Ah didn't mean to eavesdrop. Still, Ah couldn't help but overhear a snatch or two. It seemed to be about that lovely child, Lark. Ah gathered her daddy thought Riley was takin' advantage of her. You know how daddies can be.”

Judith tried to picture her own father in a similar situation. The rational, even-tempered, intellectual Donald Grover would no doubt have turned the discussion into a debate on morality and ethics. On the other hand, his brother, Cliff, who appeared to be such a quiet sort, would have quelled any man who forced his attentions on Renie by breaking his skull with a coal shovel. Perhaps Ward Kimball fell somewhere in between.

“It wasn't a violent quarrel, was it?” Judith asked as Clive lighted a cigarette.

“Not while Ah was in the vicinity,” he replied. His expression was conspiratorial. “Ah know what you're thinkin'. But Ah've known Mr. Kimball for a very long time, and upon sober reflection, Ah know he wouldn't hurt a bug.”

Judith agreed with Clive's reassessment—as far as it went. But she knew all too well that under certain circumstances, almost anyone could be driven to violence. Ward Kimball, who had been both father and mother to his handicapped daughter for twenty-five years, might react more strongly than most men. He had a right—and a reason—to be protective of Lark.

Judith let the point ride. “What time were you at Riley's?”

Clive cocked his head. “Oh—about three. Or was it four? Ah forget. The day's a blur.”

Judith grimaced. “Did you tell the undersheriff when you
thought
you were there?”

Clive gave Judith a coy little smile. “Ah did mah best. Oh, Ah know—if Ah could be more precise, it would give me an alibi. Knowin' Ah'm innocent isn't enough for the law. But there's no point in makin' things up just to please, is there?”

Judith allowed that there probably wasn't. Maybe Ward had fixed the time of his own visit more accurately. But Clive wasn't finished yet.

“That Hungarian fellow and Dewitt were there before me. Maybe before Ward, too. Ah'm sure that Costello lawman must have asked.”

“Dewitt was at the studio, too? Before he came to the house after Riley was killed?” Judith stared at Clive.

“He said he was,” Clive asserted as Dee arrived with his chicken fried steak. “Why, thank you, darlin'. That looks just delicious. Like my momma used to fix.” He gave Dee a big smile. “Ah had breakfast here this mornin' with Mr. Dewitt Dixon, didn't Ah, sugah?” His admiring gaze was lifted up to Dee's plain face.

Dee laughed, a bit uncomfortably. “You had breakfast
with
someone
, Mr. Silvanus. I thought the two of you were going to stay on and have lunch, too.”

“Well, Ah am doin' that now. Mr. Dixon has gone into Glacier Falls to the bank. He won't find better home cookin' in that town, Ah assure you.” Clive turned his attention to his plate.

Judith and Renie finished their meal in silence. Judith's brain was spinning. The window of opportunity was slowly closing. Lazlo Gamm seemed out of the running; his copter had lifted off before three o'clock. Clive Silvanus must have shown up at the studio after Gamm's departure and Ward's arrival. The art agent hadn't stayed long, but Ward Kimball was still there when he left. Had Ward gone off to brood and returned later? Judith couldn't picture the elderly, infirm Ward Kimball overcoming the strapping, middle-aged Riley Tobias. Which, she realized, also ruled out the women involved in the case. Even if the cousins hadn't been with Iris at the time, she would have been ill-matched against Riley. And Lark was not only small, but her vision was exceedingly poor. Judith realized that left only two known suspects—Dewitt Dixon, and the man who was sitting between the cousins, complacently eating chicken fried steak.

Pushing herself back from the table, Renie broke the silence. “Say, Clive, what's this we hear about Riley losing his audience with his new style?”

Clive used his paper napkin to wipe a dab of gravy from his upper lip. “That's poppycock. Oh, it takes folks a while to get used to something new, no matter who does it. But Ah'm willin' to wager that those portraits would soon become all the rage.”

“Is that what Dewitt bought?” Renie asked, trying to look guileless.

Clive soaked a biscuit in honey. “No, he got himself a landscape. Or got it for his wife, Ah ought to say.”

Renie darted a quizzical look at Judith. “So it was an earlier work that Riley's ex-wife wanted.”

Briefly, Clive Silvanus seemed genuinely puzzled. “His
ex…oh, Erica. Ah never knew her when she was married to Riley. Ah don't think of her as anything but Missus Dixon. That is,
Miz
Dixon, which she prefers.”

Clive hadn't precisely answered the question. Judith pressed on. “Let me get this straight. Riley showed us one of his portraits, ‘The Nerd,' I think he called it. Is that still in the studio?”

“It is, though, alas, it will now be called ‘The Unfinished Nerd.' Still, it ought to fetch a fine price.” Clive sighed heavily. “Riley's last work. Such a sad thought.”

“Not so sad for Riley's estate,” Renie remarked. “Who gets it?”

Clive was still looking morose. He brushed at the strands of hair that lay limply over his bald spot. “Riley wasn't much of a businessman, but Iris saw to it that he made provisions. He set up The Riley Tobias Foundation for Disadvantaged Minority Youth. The money is to be used for study and just plain ol' appreciation.”

“That sounds very worthy,” Judith said, wondering why she should be surprised at the artist's humanitarian spirit. Indeed, it occurred to her that it wasn't Riley's humanitarianism that she was questioning, but the fact that he'd done something practical about it. Of course, he had acquiesced to Iris's urging. Still, Judith thought the foundation was an admirable concept. “I don't suppose you know why Lazlo Gamm came to see Riley yesterday?” Judith asked, changing the subject.

Clive rubbed his mustache. “Well, now, Ah couldn't rightly say, since Ah didn't talk to poor Riley after Mr. Gamm had called on him. Mah guess is that he was canoodlin'.”

Renie grimaced. “Canoodling? As in
to canoodle?
”

Clive nodded solemnly. “That's right. Lazlo Gamm is a great canoodler.”

Gazing at the beamed ceiling, Judith found not only inspiration but memory. “Grandma Grover used that word, coz. It means to romance someone. Right?” She lowered her eyes to seek Clive's confirmation.

“It means to snuggle,” Clive agreed with a sage nod. “Or cuddle or what you will. Perhaps there are regional differences in the doin' of it, but you get the idea, Ah'm sure.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a lascivious manner.

Just then a pair of forest rangers walked past the table, carrying their hats in their hands. Fleetingly, Judith thought of Mike, and wondered if he would someday join their ranks. But her attention quickly went back to the matter at hand.

“With whom is Lazlo canoodling?” Judith inquired.

But Clive couldn't enlighten the cousins. “His fancy moves quickly. Indiscriminately, too. Ah will say that he is very discreet. Those European counts are like that, Ah'm told.”

Renie evinced surprise. “He's a count?”

Clive shrugged. “Or a no-account, some might say. He claims to be of noble birth, goin' way back. No doubt it helps his cause with the ladies.”

Having run out of food as well as questions, the cousins took their leave of Clive Silvanus. During the brief drive back to the cabin, Judith reviewed her chronology of the previous afternoon.

“We show up about one,” she said to Renie. “We stay half an hour or so. Lazlo Gamm flies in circa one-thirty, leaving about an hour later. Dewitt Dixon comes along next, let's say around two-thirty. Then Ward Kimball, with Clive Silvanus lurking in the background. Clive comes and goes around three, Ward leaves later. How much later, we don't know. Iris shows up before five, comes to our place, gets us, and we go over to Nella's. Then we find the body. It could be any of the above, on a return visit.” She signaled for a left-hand turn, noting that the sheriff's car was still parked by the road in front of Riley's house.

Judith pulled the car into the little clearing next to the cabin. When they got out, Renie headed for the riverbank. The afternoon was warm. The sunlight sparkled on the rolling water. Up on Mount Woodchuck, the outline of the fire-watcher's hut could be seen against the blue sky. A
few feet away, two young cedar trees gave shelter to a bluejay, a pair of cedar waxwings, and several robins. Judith took a deep breath of the unspoiled country air and smiled.

“You saw that, too?” Renie said with a nudge.

“Huh?” Judith was jarred out of her reverie.

Renie gestured at the river. “That trout. He must have been ten inches. Remember how we used to catch that size all the time when we were kids? When was the last time you had a ten-inch trout for breakfast that didn't come from Falstaff's Market?”

Judith drifted back in time to summer mornings when she'd awaken to the caw of the crows, the rumble of the river, and the aroma of fresh fish in butter, of buttermilk pancakes on the old cast-iron griddle, of sizzling eggs, purchased just out of the nest at a farm on the other side of Glacier Falls.

“If you saw a fish, it's probably an orphan,” Judith declared. “Your father gave up on this river twenty years ago.”

“Not exactly,” Renie replied. “He literally died with his boots on. Fishing boots, that is.”

And so he had. Judith had not been at the cabin that Memorial Day weekend when Uncle Cliff had succumbed to a heart attack at a favorite fishing hole down by the Green Mountain Inn.