A Fit of Tempera (22 page)

“That's not true, Lark. There
is
someone to take Riley's place.” Judith paused, watching Ward's puzzled reaction and Lark's defiant face. “It's you, Lark.
You
are the new dean of the Northwest school. Take it and run.”

 

Lark Kimball wasn't convinced, but at least her hostile attitude disappeared. Judith didn't mention Lazlo Gamm's name or press her point about Riley's duplicity. Recalling
her annoyance with Lark for failing to see Riley's flaws, Judith realized that what had really angered her was the younger woman's poor judgment of character. She had once made the same mistake. The important thing now was for Lark to learn from experience and look to the future.

Lark had loved Riley. But she also loved her work. She knew that it was good. The passion so evident in Riley Tobias was also obvious in Lark. Her goals were nebulous. She had never considered exhibiting her paintings, and was incredulous that anyone would pay money to own a Lark Kimball canvas. She was sure that Judith was mistaken about the collector. And she was adamant in her belief that Erica Dixon wouldn't give seven cents, let alone seventy thousand dollars, for a “Spring River” signed by Lark Kimball.

“There's one way to find out,” Ward asserted, no longer on the defensive with Lark. “Take Erica to Nella's and let her see if the painting in the safe is the one she bought.”

Lark, however, remained dubious. “When Erica finds out Riley didn't paint it, she'll change her mind.”

“At least you'll know if that's the canvas she viewed when she visited Riley's studio,” Judith pointed out. “If she says it isn't, then she's stuck with the one he gave me.”

The Kimballs got into their Volkswagen van and followed the cousins back down the road. Ward and Lark went directly to Nella's; Judith and Renie pulled into the auto court. A man with a tow truck was grappling with the Mercedes. His audience consisted of Dewitt Dixon and all eight Morton children, including little Fabio, who was sitting in a red jump seat.

Dewitt did not look approachable. He was grim-faced, trying to ignore the squeals and shouts of the Mortons in general and of Thor in particular, who was shooting at him with suction darts. Two had already stuck to the seat of Dewitt's tailored trousers, and another had lodged on the back of his head. He seemed not to notice.

Parking at the edge of the driveway, Judith waited while Renie went in search of Erica Dixon. Less than a minute passed before Erica came out of the motel unit, her toilette rejuvenated.

“I don't get this,” she said, leaning in the open window on the driver's side of the car. “Your cousin says you have a painting to show me.”

Judith nodded. “We do. You want to drive or walk across the road to Nella's?”

Erica frowned. “Nella's? Since when did she start peddling pictures? Is it something she crocheted?”

Judith had no opportunity to answer. Erica turned on her heel and started for the road. Renie got back in the car and the cousins drove the short distance to Nella's.

Nella Lablatt had Lark's painting in the middle of the living room. Lark was pale; Ward looked proud; Nella was mixing margaritas at the wet bar.

“If you feel a tequila, you'll feel just fine,” said Nella by way of greeting. “Hey, Erica, you want a cutting of dogtooth violet?”

Erica gave a start, not at Nella's offer, but at the sight of Lark's canvas. “My God!” she exclaimed. “It's ‘Spring River'!” She rushed across the room and knelt to examine the painting. Or, it occurred to Judith, to pay homage. Except for Nella's swizzle stick stirring up a storm, the room was silent. It was Ward Kimball who spoke first.

“Riley Tobias didn't paint that, Erica. Lark did.” His voice was very quiet.

Erica whirled on her haunches, almost upsetting herself. “What? That's crazy! I saw Riley working on this!”

“Working?‘' Judith asked, also speaking softly. “Or looking?”

Awkwardly, Erica stood up. “What do you mean?” Confusion enveloped her face. “Oh! Well—I didn't actually see him apply brush strokes, if that's what you're saying. But Dewitt did. He told me so, and he wouldn't…” Her voice trailed off in perplexity.

“I assure you,” Ward said, assuming the dignity of ven
erable artist as well as proud parent, “Lark painted this. I will also attest to the fact that”—his voice caught and his gaze flickered at his daughter, who remained motionless—“Riley inspired as well as taught her. In that sense, this painting is indeed a legacy of Riley Tobias.”

Erica stopped staring at Ward and looked again at the painting. She sighed. “It's stunning. I said so before it was completed, and I'll say it again. But I couldn't think of paying seventy thousand dollars without the Tobias imprimatur. I want a refund.”

“From who?” Judith interposed. “Clive? Iris? The estate? Who made that check out, Erica? And who was the payee?”

Erica tore her eyes from the canvas and stared at Judith. “Dewitt wrote the check. I assumed it was made out to Riley.” Suddenly she looked confused. “But it was dated yesterday…and Riley was already dead…”

“You'll have to sort that out as best you can,” Ward said calmly. “As for Lark's painting here, we didn't say it was for sale.”

Erica's face fell. “Now just a minute, Ward! I made an offer on this picture, and even if I did it under false pretenses, I still want it. How about seven thousand?”

Ward's eyebrows lifted imperceptibly. He gazed at Lark, who was still immobile. “That's a considerable difference,” he said mildly.

“It's also one hell of a price for a newcomer,” Erica snapped. “Take it or leave it.”

Ward was still watching Lark. She must have sensed his eyes on her, for at last she moved. “We'll take it if you agree to buy the rest of the series,” Lark said quietly. “There will be three more, though the first one seems to be owned by an anonymous collector. Riley and Clive sold it for sixty thousand dollars.”

Erica gulped, but to her credit, she didn't fall down foaming at the mouth, which Judith would have done in a similar situation. “I'll have to see the other works in progress,” she said.

“You can see ‘Midday' right now,” Lark replied. “It's halfway finished.”

“All right.” Erica waved her hands. “I'm not agreeing to buy them all, not with the first one God-knows-where. But I would like a chance to view the companion piece to ‘Spring River.'”

“It's not ‘Spring River,'” Lark said stiffly. “It's ‘Morning.' Don't confuse me with Riley.”

Nella had come from behind the bar and was handing out margaritas. “No chance of that, kiddies. Your stuff is a lot prettier than Riley's, Lark. His last few pictures looked like bird doo to me. Drink up, we're celebrating.”

Resignedly, Judith accepted her drink and licked at the salt on the rim of the glass. Ward and Lark were now seated on the love seat. Erica was pacing the room, her eyes glued to Lark's canvas. Judith wondered if she was calculating the value of her investment.

“To Lark,” Nella said, hoisting her glass. “And to Erica, too. You're a smart cookie, kiddo. You won't be sorry you bought Lark's pictures.” She beamed. “Just think, I almost replaced Ike with that masterpiece. I'm glad I didn't. I'd have missed the old geek.”

Lark suddenly looked guilt-ridden. “Oh, Nella! I forgot I offered to give you that painting! I'm sorry! I'll paint you a special one, of your garden.”

Nella sat down in the rocker. “Now wouldn't that be nice? I'd like that. We'll spend an afternoon going over all the flowers and leaves, and the rocks, too. I've dried and pressed some of the special ones over the years, so you can study those. Maybe you can paint it to size, so I won't have to worry about where it'll fit.”

Judith pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at Nella's concept of creativity. She sought out Renie to see her reaction—but Renie wasn't there. It dawned on Judith that her cousin had been among the missing for several minutes.

No one else seemed to notice that Renie had disappeared. Under the influence of Nella and the tequila, the
little group had grown quite matey. For all of her material trappings and self-assurance, Erica Dixon showed a proper respect for Ward Kimball. Lark warmed to the topic of her painting and described “Midday”—not in color and perspective, as a fully sighted artist might have done, but in texture and perception.

Judith went over to the window by the wet bar to check on the tow truck's progress. There was no sign of either truck or car, so she assumed the Mercedes had been hauled away. She was about to rejoin the others when she tripped over Renie. Judith stared.

“Hi,” said Renie in a small voice, struggling to get up. “I was looking for my purse.”

“Your purse is next to the potted fern. The potted fern is next to the potted guests. Have a drink and join us. Yours is sitting on the bar.”

“I'll pass,” Renie replied, dusting off her sweatshirt. “We'll talk more later.” Casually, she strolled over to the footstool and sat down.

“Well, where have
you
been?” Nella asked brightly. “You didn't get your drink.”

“Sorry,” Renie responded. “I have to watch my salt intake. I tend to bloat.” She gave Nella a wide smile. “I was admiring your crewelwork by the bar. I've no knack for that sort of thing.”

“Don't be crewel, as Elvis used to say.” Nella burst into laughter. “Now
there
was a singer,” she went on, doing her own bit of rock 'n' roll in the rocking chair. “These new groups are well and good, especially Pearl Jam, which is my favorite, but how they dress! Grunge, they call it. As far as I'm concerned, they look just like three out of my five husbands. I forget which.”

The talk turned to fashion, music, hair dos and don'ts, and, eventually, Riley Tobias. After a second margarita, the mood became maudlin. Judith and Renie offered their excuses. They had to pack up and get ready to head home. Nella insisted they have “one for the road,” but the cous
ins declined. One had been enough for Judith, and Renie was quite satisfied with none at all.

“Well?” Judith inquired when they reached the car. “Lucky you—Nella left the safe open when she got out Lark's canvas. What did you find there, coz?”

In the passenger seat, Renie was looking smug. “No passport,” she replied.

“Okay,” Judith said, humoring her cousin as she made the tricky reverse out of Nella's drive. “What, then?”

“Five marriage licenses. Birth certificates for all of her children. Three divorce decrees. Two death certificates for the husbands who died. I forget which.” Renie gave Judith an impish look. “And Nella's birth certificate.”

“And?” Judith drove through the open gate to the family property.

Renie now gazed straight ahead. “That's it.”

Judith glared at Renie. “So why the cat-in-the-cream look?”

Turning in her seat as Judith pulled up next to the cabin, Renie rolled her eyes. “Oh, coz, come on! You're the super sleuth! But there,” she added in mock reproach, “I'm being unfair. I forgot to mention the part about Nella's birth certificate. She was born in Revelstoke, British Columbia.”

Judith turned off the ignition with an impatient, jerky motion. “Big deal. It's a crime to be a Canadian?” She opened the car door and gave it a kick. “Are you sure you weren't under the bar swigging tequila?”

“Coz.” Renie was wearing her aging-ingenue look again. “It
is
a crime. At least if you're impersonating a United States postal official.” Over the roof of the car, she blinked four times in a row.

“Oh!” Judith's hand flew to her mouth. Then she laughed. “Oh, oh! Nella took FDR's appointment under false pretenses! Oh! That's funny!” She laughed even harder.

“Right,” Renie agreed with a grin. “What do you bet Nella's big secret about her trip was visiting relatives up in
British Columbia? Maybe some of her kids moved back there. Whatever, she doesn't want anybody to know she isn't an American citizen.”

“Maybe she was naturalized,” Judith argued.

“Then why weren't her papers in the safe? Everything else was.”

“But she hasn't been postmistress for years,” Judith said.

“She gets a Federal pension, I'll bet. Social Security, too. Somehow Nella must have fallen through the immigration cracks. With all her changes of husbands and names, it probably wouldn't be hard to do,” Renie observed. “And what's the big deal? I'm sure she did as good a job for the Stars and Stripes as she would have done for the Maple Leaf.”

Bemused, Judith started toward the front porch of the cabin. “You're right, it does explain her reticence. Maybe we were wrong about Erica not being in Europe.”

“Maybe
you
were wrong,” Renie declared. “I'll bet Erica brought Nella those postcards as a souvenir, in thanks for starter plants or something. And the Dixons didn't want anyone looking in their trunk because…they didn't want anyone looking their trunk.” She lifted her hands in an offering to the obvious.

Judith gave Renie a pat on the shoulder. “Match point, coz. I liked the part about your purse. Nice ruse.”

“It was all I could think of. Anyway, none of them heard me.” Renie chuckled as they went inside the cabin. “I might as well have been out in the icehouse stealing Nella's rhubarb juice. But a lost purse is always a valid excuse.”

“Right,” Judith agreed. Suddenly she froze, one hand on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. She stared at Renie. “What did you say?” But before Renie could reply, Judith waved a hand. “Never mind, I just had a weird idea. Let's get our stuff together. It's going on five and I want to get out of here before I decide I'm going crazy.”