A Fit of Tempera (13 page)

Renie peered at her watch in the darkness. “It's after seven-thirty. There's a big NBA play-off game on tonight and Bill will probably ignore the phone. Mother has her pedicurist coming this evening. I guess I'll hold off, too.”

The cousins were waiting in front of the auto court to cross the highway when they heard someone calling to
them. It was Carrie Mae Morton, followed by four children, one of whom Judith and Renie had never seen before.

“Yoo-hoo!” shouted Carrie Mae, bouncing down the driveway. “I thought it was you! There was a phone call here for Mrs. Flynn about half an hour ago.” She caught her breath as she pulled up next to Judith. “My goodness, have you been
fishing?
”

“In a way,” Judith replied vaguely. “Who called?”

Carrie Mae shushed the children, among whom were numbered Velvet, Giles, Rafe, and a girl of about eight Judith didn't recognize. “I sent Thor and Jade here over to your place with the message. They put it on your door. But I got it written down someplace in the parlor. Come on in, I was changing little Fabio. Shanna is watching him for me.”

Shanna turned out to be the girl with the satin bow who had been with her father and brother that morning. Judith mentally toted up eight children—so far. The so-called parlor was jammed with Morton offspring, a-tumble and a-jumble on furniture, appliances, and the floor. In the midst of the cramped confusion, Kennedy Morton sat in a well-worn recliner, watching a
Star Trek
rerun. He lifted a hand in salute, then immersed himself in outer space. Judith didn't much blame him.

“Right here,” Carrie Mae said over the din of the TV, the screeching children, a barking dog of mixed ancestry, and the howls of little Fabio. She extracted a slip of note-paper she'd been using as a bookmark in a dog-eared historical romance. It dawned on Judith where all the unlikely names for the children had been found.

“Arlene,” said Judith with a little gasp. “Oh, dear—I hope nothing's happened to Mother.” Thanking Carrie Mae, and grateful to escape the Morton parlor, Judith hurried out to the phone booth. Renie trailed, carrying both fishing rods and the creel.

After the usual telecommunications difficulties had been surmounted, Judith got through to the Rankerses' house,
next door to Hillside Manor. Arlene answered on the second ring.

“Hi,” said Judith, a little breathless. “What's happened? Is it Mother?”

“Mother?” Arlene sounded puzzled, then laughed. “Oh, no, your mother is fine. We had her over to dinner. She'd won the quarters at bridge today and we thought she should celebrate. I made chicken breasts in a white wine sauce with fresh asparagus and brown rice. She enjoyed it very much. Carl and I get so tickled with her when she pretends to be so crusty. What a tease she is!”

Judith collapsed against the phone booth. “Yeah, right, a real tease, like Hitler kidding around with the Sudetenland. Well? If it's not Mother, what is it?” A sudden lurch of her heart caused Judith to put a hand to her breast. Joe? Mike? Sweetums?

“Nothing to fret over,” Arlene replied in her breezy manner. “Who carries your homeowners' insurance? I would have asked Joe, but he's out tonight at some meeting.”

“My—wait a minute, what's going on? Did a guest have an accident?” Judith flung open the phone booth door so that Renie could try to listen in.

“Not a guest,” Arlene answered, then apparently turned away from the receiver. “Carl—put down that sledgehammer! I've got a perfectly good nutcracker in the kitchen, third drawer down on the left from the stove.” She made an exasperated little noise in Judith's ear. “Honestly, men are so impatient! That's the last time I ask my husband to help me make a dessert for the Altar Society luncheon up at church. Did you hear about Father Hoyle? Somebody hit his car while it was parked in front of Moonbeam's, where he was having coffee with—”

“Arlene,” Judith interrupted firmly, “I'm sorry about our pastor's problems, but it sounds as if I've got some of my own. What on earth is happening at the B&B?”

“Oh.” Arlene seemed vaguely offended. “Well, it's
nothing to worry about, now that the water in the living room has gone down.”

“What?”
Judith closed her eyes; Renie practically fell on top of her.

“It was the main-floor bathroom,” Arlene explained calmly. “The Rooter man said it was Gabe Porter's weeping willow across the street. Personally, I think it was that couple from Walla Walla who were here night before last. She tried to stuff her wig down the toilet after you left yesterday morning. Anyway…”

While the vast majority of visitors to the B&B were considerate, well-behaved people, Judith was accustomed to a few who did peculiar things. Explanations for erratic deportment were unnecessary. Since she was sixty miles from Hillside Manor, they were also futile.

“So what happened?” Judith asked in a limp voice.

“It flooded,” Arlene said as if Judith ought to know. “Into the entry hall, the dining and living rooms, and just a little bit in the kitchen. Luckily, these old houses are crooked because of all the earthquakes. Yours must slant to the north. I think ours goes west. Anyway, it's fine now, or will be when everything dries out. But I did want to call your insurance company. The repairmen and the cleaning crew and the people with the big blower will come in the morning. The fellow with the pump turned out to be a classmate of Kevin's from Our Lady, Star of the Sea. He's living out in the North End now and got married last November to a dental hygienist who works for…”

Judith held her head and let Arlene rattle on. Not that any of it was her neighbor's fault: There was no accounting for strangers—or sprawling tree roots. Visions of damaged Oriental carpets, matching beige sofas, the grandfather clock, and every other treasure in the old Edwardian saltbox house danced in her head. Arlene couldn't have prevented the disaster any more than Judith could have if she'd been home. Indeed, Arlene Rankers wasn't just a cherished friend, but an extremely capable woman.

“Carl,” Arlene barked, “take that baseball bat back downstairs this instant!” Carl Rankers's impatient rejoinder was heard in the background, but Judith couldn't make out what he said. “I told you, the
third
drawer, on the
left
. Honestly,” Arlene continued, now speaking into the receiver once again, “men can never find
anything
. And they don't
listen!
”

Dutifully, Judith gave Arlene the information about the homeowners' insurance policy. Thanking her lucky stars that she had increased her coverage in the past few months, Judith hung up. After hearing a detailed explanation, Renie commiserated. Her sympathy was cut short by Iris Takisaki, who was dashing across the road.

“Well, hello,” Iris said, surprised to see the cousins at the auto court. “Have you been fishing?” She looked dubious.

“You could say we've been practicing,” Judith replied. “How are you getting along, Iris?”

Iris gazed down the road, where a large sedan was cautiously passing two bicyclists with reflectors on their spokes and helmets. “Maybe I'm still numb,” she admitted. “I don't feel much of anything right now. The funeral is Saturday morning at the community hall in Glacier Falls. Riley's brother, Yancey, is flying in Friday night. Clive will meet him and his family at the airport and bring them up here.”

It occurred to Judith that she and Renie should drive back for the services. But the B&B was full over the weekend. It was also at post-flood stage. To make up for their absence, Judith impulsively asked Iris to join them for dinner in Glacier Falls.

Iris, however, had already eaten. “I had some soup and crackers,” she said. “I came over here now to check on my messages in town. It's a nuisance that Riley hated the phone so much. Usually, I use Nella's.”

At that moment four of the Mortons burst out onto the tarmac. All were now clad in pajamas of varying hues, their red curls dancing and their voices piping:

“Sweet-Stix! Sweet-Stix! We want Sweet-Stix now!”

The cousins took the cry as their cue to be gone. Iris barricaded herself in the phone booth while the foursome continued chanting outside. Judith and Renie scurried across the highway, relieved to escape the din.

Inside the gate, Judith paused, then ambled over to a grove of cascaras and vine maples that shielded the Grover property from the highway. “Remember how we used to peel off the cascara bark and sell it in town?”

“Right. We got as much as nine bucks for it once,” Renie replied impatiently. “Come on, let's get these fish put away before a game warden shows up in a bear suit.”

“And the swamp back there,” Judith mused, ignoring Renie. “Quicksand, we called it, but it wasn't really. It was just very marshy.”

“And dangerous. I had to pull you out once and you were no small thing. You lost your striped canvas shoes, which were exceedingly ugly anyway.” Renie was humoring Judith, but without much grace.

Judith grinned at Renie. “You saved my life.” She spoke with a trace of awe.

“Yeah, well, what else could I do? I'd have caught hell from our parents if I'd let you squelch around and sink in there. It would have put a real damper on the weekend.” Renie was looking faintly embarrassed.

Judith resumed walking up the dirt road. “We've had some interesting adventures, coz.”

“Life's interesting,” Renie remarked, her patience restored. “That is, if you're paying attention. A lot of people aren't. I guess they're like Riley's nerds—just passing through.”

“Maybe Riley had something there,” Judith said, leaning her rod up against the porch. “It's too bad he had to convey his sentiments in such an ugly style.”

Renie removed the trout from her leaf-lined creel. “Mainly, it's too bad he's dead. He might have changed some more, but for the better.” She eyed the dead fish and frowned. “Poor Riley.”

“Amen,” said Judith.

 

After they had cleaned their fish, Judith put them in the icebox. “It was so warm today that this block really melted quite a bit. Maybe we should get some more in Glacier Falls tonight.”

But Renie reminded Judith that the creamery where they bought the ice would be closed. “We're leaving in the late afternoon,” she pointed out. “We'll have enough until then.”

Judith was dubious, but didn't argue. “We're going to go home and leave this mess in Costello's inept hands,” she grumbled as they changed into clean clothes for dinner. “I feel like a flop.”

“Come on, coz,” Renie said, pulling a Marquette University sweatshirt over her head, “nobody expects you to be the Queen of Crime. How many murders do you read about every day in the newspaper? Do you have a wild urge to solve them all?”

“Of course not,” Judith replied from in front of the unadorned oval mirror above the bedroom dresser. “I never even give Joe advice about his investigations. But when I practically stumble over a body, especially of someone I know, I feel an obligation.” She brushed her hair with a vengeance.

“You might as well forget this one,” Renie said. “It's going to turn out to be somebody we never heard of, like maybe an outraged patron who felt he or she got stung buying a five-figure painting that looks like cat tuna. Or an aspiring artist who was fiendishly jealous and thought Riley stood in his way. Or hers. In these days of equality, you've got to give everybody a fair shake at being a homicidal maniac.”

Judith looked in the mirror, seeing Renie's reflection behind her. “What if the killer is never caught?”

“That happens,” Renie allowed, but she lowered her eyes.

“That's wrong,” said Judith.

“That's life,” said Renie.

“That bothers me,” said Judith.

“I know,” said Renie. “And
that
bothers
me
.”

T
HE
T
IN
H
AT
Cafe in Glacier Falls wasn't the newest eatery in town, it didn't aspire to excellence, and the tired waitresses acted as if they were doing their job as a penance. What atmosphere there was came from the clientele, rather than from the decor. The menu was limited, with six entrees that never changed. The special was always the prime rib. But the food was wholesome, the prices were modest, and the tables were clean. The floor was another matter.

The cafe was located at the corner of the only stoplight in town. The Tin Pants Tavern was next door, and the booths built against the wall that divided the establishments were known to rock on a Saturday night. Judith and Renie recalled one such occasion in their youth when they had driven into town with their parents, and a fist had come through the wall right next to Uncle Cliff's ear. Uncle Cliff had slowly turned around, gazed at the fist, and buttered it. The waitress had given him a free piece of apple pie.

Judith ordered the prime rib, medium rare; Renie went for the hamburger steak with mushroom gravy. Both dinners were complete, with soup, salad, roll, des
sert, and coffee so strong that Renie attempted to stand her spoon up in it.

At almost nine on a Wednesday night, the cafe was nearly deserted. A pair of older men sat at the counter, drinking coffee and eating pie while they exchanged gripes about the decline in the logging industry. A young couple in the opposite booth held hands across the table and gazed into each other's eyes. At the front of the restaurant, three middle-aged women stood at the cash register, trying to sort out their bill.

Judith was studying their own bill when Renie hissed at her. “Look who's here—Dewitt Dixon and Mrs. Dixon. I recognize her from someplace—a gallery opening, maybe.”

Judith tried to turn around and stare without being obvious. She failed. Dewitt waved and approached the cousins. Erica Dixon greeted Renie graciously and acknowledged the introductions to Judith with a bright smile. In her Escada separates and thigh-high Spanish boots, she looked as incongruous as a Rolls-Royce at a demolition derby.

“I just came from the airport,” Erica announced in a piping voice that didn't go with her designer appearance and chic blond good looks. “I flew home this morning, as soon as I heard the news about Riley. It made all the papers in Europe, of course. He was highly respected over there, particularly in Italy and France.”

Judith wasn't sure what protocol demanded when giving condolences to an ex-wife. “It's a terrible tragedy,” she said, hoping to cover all the bases at once. “Won't you sit down?”

Dewitt glanced over his shoulder at the waitress, who was eyeing him as if she thought the Dixons were Bonnie and Clyde out on a holdup spree. “Maybe we'd better. I think they're about to stop serving. I haven't had dinner, but Erica ate on the plane.”

“That was hours ago,” Erica said, sitting next to Judith. “They served right after Greenland. We came the polar route.”

Reluctantly, the waitress approached. Somewhat glee
fully, she announced that the kitchen was out of everything but the salmon and the prime rib. Both of the Dixons requested salmon. Their soup arrived before Erica could shed her red-and-green-plaid jacket.

“I thought you'd checked out of the auto court,” Judith said to Dewitt. “We didn't see your car around this afternoon.”

Dewitt tasted his soup, which was chicken vegetable with thick noodles. “I had some business matters to attend to, here in Glacier Falls and also in town. But when Erica notified me that she was coming home immediately, I knew she'd want to call on Iris, so I kept my motel reservation. I picked Erica up at the airport around seven-thirty and drove straight up here. It's too late to go back to the city tonight.”

“I'm exhausted,” Erica declared, proving the point by going limp against the back of the booth. “It's been so hectic since I heard about Riley. Good heavens, it's already morning in Rome. I've been up for twenty-four hours straight.”

Their salads arrived, and the Dixons had to fight to hold onto their soup bowls. The waitress stomped off to the front door and turned the cafe sign to “Closed.” She shot a look of triumph at the four late diners, who were now the only customers left in the restaurant.

“By the way,” Judith said as the Dixons tried to keep pace with their waitress, “we've got your cigarette case, Dewitt. You must have dropped it at the cabin when you stopped by last night.”

Dewitt Dixon's imperturbable air was momentarily nettled. “My…? Oh! Yes, I wondered where that had gotten to. It seemed like a small matter in the wake of Riley's death.” Tackling his salad, he had again become in control. “I'm sorry I missed you two last night. I heard someone inside the cabin and assumed you were home, but it turned out to be Clive Silvanus. I hope he wasn't much of a bother. Clive took Riley's passing very hard. I felt obli
gated to see that he got back to the Green Mountain Inn safely.”

The explanation was smooth. Judith decided against mentioning the peripatetic painting. If Erica's pride and joy was really missing, it wouldn't do for Judith to say so now.

Ironically, it was Erica who brought the artwork into conversational play:

“I was telling Dewitt on the way up here that I was so glad we'd purchased Riley's last landscape. It will be a fitting memorial. You know,” she continued in her piping voice as the waitress removed the soup bowls and hovered over the salad plates, “I'm tempted to name the gallery after Riley. What do you think, darling?”

“Darling” looked like he was thinking of thunder. But his voice was calm. “Give yourself some time, my dear. You're reacting to the shock of the tragedy.” With a sigh, he surrendered his salad plate. The waitress stalked off. “It would be appropriate to have at least one of Ward Kimball's works, you know. I've no objection to hanging his ‘Summer Storm' from our private collection.”

Erica looked mildly interested. “That's not one of my favorites. I wonder if he has anything tucked away I'd like better.”

Renie was waving for coffee refills. The waitress ignored her. “Do you know Ward Kimball?” she asked, a covetous eye on the coffee carafe which sat on a hot plate behind the lunch counter.

“No,” Erica replied, taking a tortoiseshell compact from her suede handbag and examining her eye makeup. “Ward was never one to exhibit himself along with his paintings.” She closed the compact and turned to Dewitt. “You've met him, though, haven't you, darling?”

Dewitt's expression was blank. “Have I? Perhaps. Yes, some years ago, at an arts festival. He has a daughter, I understand. I've never seen her. She must be grown up by now.”

“She's a lovely young woman,” Judith remarked. “She paints, too.”

Dewitt's eyebrows lifted. “Really? How extraordinary for a person with so little sight. Ward's talent must flow strongly in her veins.”

“Actually,” Renie put in, giving up on the prospect of more coffee, “Riley had been giving her lessons.”

“How generous of him!” Erica exclaimed in her high voice. “And how typical. But that was Riley, great of heart, great of temperament. No one has had a greater impact on my life than he did,” she asserted with fervor. “I was hardly more than a child, trying to sell sketches of Alcatraz in North Beach, when he came along and told me I wasn't an artist. He was right, of course.” She let out a trilling little laugh. “I had an eye, but no talent. He urged me to become a critic, so I started writing articles for underground publications. Amazingly, people in the art world took me seriously. Then I met Dewitt.” She gave her husband an arch smile that might or might not have been affectionate. Judith couldn't be sure. “He showed me a whole new world, from the collector's perspective. My family bought only what their decorator recommended. Dewitt educated me about the buyer's mind. I suppose you could say I've covered the gamut of the artistic community.” With a self-satisfied air, she twirled a blond curl at her ear.

The salmon steaks, complete with baked potato and broccoli, arrived along with dessert, which was vanilla ice cream.

“I say,” Dewitt called to the waitress, “if you please, miss, the ice cream will melt before—”

But the waitress had slammed back into the kitchen. Erica Dixon seemed undismayed at the prospect of mushy dessert. “Perhaps you're right about the gallery name, Dewitt. It would be different if I'd acquired a lot of Riley's work while we were married.” She paused, glancing at the cousins. “How very rude. Did you know that Riley
and I were married years and years ago? I'm not sure I made that clear.”

The cousins acknowledged that they were aware of the brief marital interlude.

“Fourteen months, to be exact,” Erica said, checking her salmon for bones. “Had I not been young and impulsive, I would have had the foresight to make off with all sorts of Riley's paintings. But at eighteen, all I wanted was out. What a pity. His early efforts were crude but compelling. Think how marvelous it would be to have just one or two—and then the contrast of the last landscape.” She quivered at the mere idea.

“Contrast?” Dewitt curled his lip. “If you ask me, he regressed. ‘Spring River' is all charm but lacks technical merit. The most I can say for it is that it's not ugly, like those wretched so-called portraits he was working on when he died.”

“‘Spring River' is stunning,” Erica declared, her gray eyes flashing angrily. “It's a departure for Riley. Yes, you might call it a regression, but I consider it a retrospective—it goes back to his earlier days, when everything about him was softer and more vulnerable. The technique is different, but it's exquisite. Honestly, Dewitt, you refuse to appreciate what's really there. When we look at that painting together, I'll show you the values I see.”

Dewitt gave Judith and Renie a wry look. “Pardon us, ladies. My wife and I are engaged in a squalid artistic and domestic debate. We shouldn't air our differences in front of you. But in our defense, we've been apart for several weeks.”

“That's okay,” Renie said with a wave of her hand. “We're married, too. The important thing is that you're communicating. My husband, Bill, says that the trouble with most marriages is lack of intimacy. Now, he's not talking about physical intimacy, but—”

“Gosh, coz, look at the time!” Judith interrupted in a feigned panic. Fascinating as Bill Jones's theories might be, Judith didn't care to hear them secondhand from
Renie. “We'd better scoot before they throw us out. I mean, we finished eating a long time ago, and they probably think we're not going to pay the bill.”

Pay they did, receiving no word of thanks from the grumpy waitress, who accepted their money at the cash register. A moment later, the cousins were out on the sidewalk.

Judith and Renie took advantage of the mild spring evening to walk off their dinner. Glacier Falls was tucked in a valley among the mountains. Logging had built the town, farming had sustained it, and tourism kept it alive. A brief flirtation with gold mining some thirty miles up the highway and sixty years in the past had brought glittering promises that were soon broken. Yet Glacier Falls continued to grow, albeit slowly, as families tired of urban congestion and preferred to commute.

Within two blocks, the cousins were out of the commercial district. The small, aging houses had the look of a company town, no doubt built by the logging firms back in the heyday of tall timber and high prices.

“I smell a sawmill,” Renie said, sniffing at the fresh mountain air. “Is that one about a mile out of town still operating? We got some cedar shakes there years ago.”

“I think so,” Judith replied. Except for an occasional car and the barking of a dog, the night was very quiet. “I wonder if Riley wanted to move away because he intended to marry Lark. Maybe he was going to sell his place and divvy up the profits as a consolation prize for Iris.”

“Why not just give her a couple of paintings? His property isn't worth more than one-fifty,” Renie pointed out. “Real estate is still relatively cheap up here.”

“True.” Judith stepped into the street. There was no curb, nor had there been a sidewalk for the last block. The forest began beyond the next row of houses. Turning left, the cousins headed toward the small frame Catholic church. “Did you get the impression that Erica thinks Dewitt has Riley's painting in his possession?”

“It seems to be a given,” Renie allowed. “Maybe he
does have it. Maybe Clive has ours, which isn't theirs after all.”

“Maybe that's not our problem,” Judith replied. “Maybe I didn't want a Riley Tobias in the first place. At least not an ugly one.” But a little sigh escaped her lips.

The cousins strolled past the Catholic church, the Methodist church, and the foursquare gospel church. Each stood on a different corner of the same intersection. The local funeral home was situated on the fourth corner lot. Briefly, Judith thought of Riley Tobias, lying inside. She grimaced, then picked up the pace. Past the local Ace Hardware, the Bank of Glacier Falls, the John Deere outlet, and Buzzy's Burger Barrel went the cousins, making the loop back to Judith's car. They were about to get in when the Dixons pulled out just ahead of them. Judith could see the outlines of Dewitt's and Erica's heads through the rear window of the white Mercedes.

“I don't think they ate their ice cream,” Judith remarked as she got behind the wheel.

The half-dozen large, handsome older homes of Glacier Falls were located in the last two blocks before the turnoff to the cabin. A local lumber baron had decorated his mansion with the Victorian gingerbread typical of the era. Another had gone in for the log-cabin look, which had weathered beautifully over the years. A third home, also constructed at the turn of the century, had undergone a complete renovation, and looked as if it belonged in a southern California cul-de-sac. Judith smiled to herself at the differences in taste—and in people.