A Fit of Tempera (3 page)

“What is it?”
Renie demanded.

Judith swallowed hard. “It's picture-hanging wire, I'd guess.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He's been strangled.”

Iris's head jerked up. She stared at Judith. “What are you talking about?” Her words were thick, almost incoherent.

Judith closed her eyes for just an instant. “There's some kind of wire around Riley's neck, Iris. He's been strangled.”

Iris shook her head, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until Judith thought her neck would snap. A high-pitched cry tore from her throat and seemed to ricochet off the big panes of glass that illuminated the studio with the light of the dying day.

“Crazy!” Iris shrieked. “That's crazy! You're crazy!”

Renie had a hand on Judith's arm, as if to assure her not only that she wasn't crazy, but that, as always, she—Renie—was there to support her cousin in an hour of need. Judith silently acknowledged Renie, but her first concern was for Iris, who was bordering on hysterics.

Then Iris stopped shrieking and grew very still. She turned a drawn, horrified face to the cousins. “But that is crazy,” she said in a not-quite-normal tone. “It has to be. You mean we're talking about murder?”

 

It was always murder
. Or so it seemed to Judith. It was a violent world, it always had been, yet unnatural death seemed to dog Judith's footsteps. The B&B brought her into close contact with hundreds of strangers every year, most of them decent, kind, gentle people. But occasionally there was the volatile guest capable of smashing up the furniture, jumping out of a window, or committing murder. To make matters worse, some of Judith's travels had brought her face-to-face with malicious mayhem. Now the rustic tranquility of her longtime sanctuary at the cabin had also been invaded. It was no wonder that her husband rarely confided in her about his routine homicide investigations. He knew she was already too well acquainted with violence.

Judith's feet felt like lead as she held a hand under Iris Takisaki's elbow to guide her along the gravel drive that led to the highway. They could see for a half mile in each direction, from the easterly curve in the road where the Green Mountain Inn and Grocery was located, to the west where the highway followed the Big Bend in the river.

The Woodchuck Auto Court was situated across the road from Nella Lablatt's little house. Indeed, Nella and her fifth—and final—husband had once owned the auto
court, back in the thirties. Then Franklin Delano Roosevelt had nominated Nella for government service, and the Lablatts had forsaken their commercial enterprise for the federal pork barrel.

It seemed to Judith that subsequent owners hadn't done much to bring the original complex out of the Depression era. The half-dozen cabins that formed a U-shape around the small parking lot were all one-room affairs with small, square windows and weathered shake roofs. They were clean, they were neat, they were
old
. The office was housed in the filling station; the front desk also served customers who wanted gas, oil, soda pop, cigarettes, and bait. Just outside the door stood an old-fashioned wooden phone booth, blistered by sun, wind, and rain.

A pickup truck with a golden retriever in the back was just pulling out from the gas station as the three women set foot on the tarmac. A tall, thin man of about forty was leaning against the ancient glass-topped pump, counting money. Judith tried to remember who owned the Woodchuck now. There had been several changes over the years, and she didn't recognize the man in the dirty denim coveralls.

“There's been an accident,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder in the direction of Riley Tobias's cabin and studio. Only the rooftops could be seen beyond the thick stand of trees. “We need to call the sheriff.”

The tall, thin man's gray eyes snapped to attention. He pocketed the money and regarded all three women with suspicion. “What kind of accident?” His voice had a nasal quality.

Renie, who wasn't encumbered by Iris's flagging figure, marched briskly to the phone booth. “A bad one,” she replied. “As in dead.”

The man in the coveralls swore under his breath and spat on the tarmac. “That does it! I'm sellin' this place! I told Carrie Mae we'd have to put up with a lot of guff, like customers and such.” He stomped off into the tiny office and banged the door behind him.

Judith rolled her eyes, while Iris chewed on her lower
lip. “That's Kennedy Morton. He and his wife have been here only a few months. Oh, my! I didn't mean to upset him! And I don't even have money for the pay phone! I left my purse at the house! Oh!” She began to weep anew.

“Don't worry about it,” soothed Judith, watching Renie cope with the antiquated telephone. “We'll handle the phone. As for Mr. Morton, I gather he isn't the sensitive type.”

Renie was giving the interior of the phone booth a swift kick. Obviously, things weren't going well. Judith's gaze roamed around the little parking lot. There were three vehicles pulled up in front of the cabins, which wasn't as amazing as it might seem: The Woodchuck Auto Court and the Green Mountain Inn were the only hostelries on the ten-mile stretch of highway between Glacier Falls and the entrance to the national forest. What did amaze Judith was that one of the three vehicles was a handsome new white Mercedes-Benz sedan. It looked as out of place as a Ming vase at a Tupperware party.

The phone booth was shaking. Renie appeared to be hopping up and down inside, screaming into the receiver. Judith grimaced, then glanced at Iris. She was regaining her composure, smoothing her black hair, wiping her eyes, pressing the swan pendant against her breast.

At last Renie emerged from the phone booth. “What century is this?” she shrieked. “That damned phone must have been the first model after the crank!”

Judith bit back the urge to tell Renie
she
was the crank. Instead, she inquired as to what would happen next, as far as the county law-enforcement officials were concerned.

“They're sending somebody,” Renie replied, simmering down and brushing bugs off her T-shirt. “It'll take a while, though. After all, the county seat is thirty miles away, and they don't have anybody in the Glacier Falls area at the moment.”

Judith was about to suggest that they go back to wait at Riley's cabin when a chubby redheaded woman bounded out of the house behind the gas station. “Yoo-hoo! Wait! Stop! Hoo!” She bounced down the gravel path, waving a
dish towel. “Mort says somebody died. Who? Nella? She must be a hundred and ten!”

Before the cousins could respond, Iris finally relinquished Judith's arm. “It's not Nella, Mrs. Morton. She's still away. It's Riley Tobias. The sheriff is coming.” Iris's voice was very thin.

Mrs. Morton moved closer, bosom straining at her coral polyester blouse. “Riley? Riley!” She put her hands to her head and let out a little squeal. As if responding to the sound, three small children came tumbling around the corner of the filling station. Judith thought they were all boys, but couldn't be sure: Their curly red hair, smudged round faces, and rumpled playclothes could have belonged to either sex.

“Now why,” demanded Mrs. Morton, batting ineffectually at the children, who were hanging onto her tight green polyester pants, “would the Lord take somebody so young? Riley Tobias couldn'ta been more than fifty.”

“Fifty next month,” murmured Iris, apparently equally dazed at the thought.

The youngsters were neither dazed nor distressed. “Sweet-Stix! Sweet-Stix! We want Sweet-Stix now!” They spoke in unison, hopping up and down on the tarmac, tugging at their mother, and waving their arms.

She ignored them and reached out to Iris, enveloping the taller but much slimmer woman in her arms. “There there, you poor thing! Why, you must feel just like a widow!” Mrs. Morton crushed Iris to her coral bosom. The children kept on hopping and shouting.

Judith and Renie eyed each other with pained expressions. Iris allowed herself to be comforted for a minimal moment, then drew somewhat awkwardly away from her benefactress.

“I feel numb just now,” Iris said in a hollow tone. “Maybe I should sit down.”

“Sweet-Stix! Sweet-Stix!” The children were still jumping, though the oldest, who appeared to be about five, turned to glare at Iris. Obviously, Judith thought, he—or
she—recognized Iris and her sad news only as a deterrent to childish pleasures.

At last Mrs. Morton made a serious attempt to shush her offspring: She planted both feet firmly on the ground, gave a tremendous heave of her chubby body, and shook off all but the oldest child. “That's it! You behave now! You, too, Velvet,” she said to the five-year-old.

Velvet let go, though her face had turned sulky. She immediately led her two younger siblings out toward the edge of the road, as if organizing a mutiny. Mrs. Morton watched the trio with narrowed eyes. “Not another step, Velvet. You hear? Rafe! Giles! Don't you dare cross that road again! You'll get killed.” Her gaze was now ferocious, and her voice could have been heard not only on the other side of the highway, but across the river as well. The children seemed unaffected, but they stayed put. Their mother turned back to Iris and the cousins. “Now, as I was saying—or about to, before those little imps tried to get the better of me—why don't you come inside and take it easy on our couch? I'll clear off the laundry and the diaper pail and the dog and the baby and we'…”

But Iris had raised a slim hand in protest. “You're so kind, Mrs. Morton, but no, thank you. We should go back over to Riley's.”

Mrs. Morton looked disappointed but undaunted. “Well—if you say so. But come along later, and I'll fix you a nice wine cooler. Bring your friends, too.” She nodded at Judith and Renie. “Peach, mango, grape—what's your favorite wine, Iris?”

Iris almost succeeded in hiding her look of dismay. “Uh—I—er, a cup of tea would be fine.” She forced a smile. “Thank you.” Practically backpedaling straight into Renie, Iris fled in the direction of the road.

Half a dozen cars, a flatbed truck, an RV, and three motorcycles passed before the women could get to the other side of the road. A few yards away, they could hear the chant resumed:

“Sweet-Stix, Sweet-Stix, Sweet-Stix…
please!
”

 

Iris Takisaki had steered the cousins into Riley Tobias's living room. Judith was seated in an uncomfortable teak chair from Denmark; Renie had commandeered a soft leather armchair that practically swallowed her up. Iris, who had insisted on pouring the brandy despite her trembling hands, was perched at the far end of a colorful futon sofa.

“If only I'd gotten a better look at whoever was at Nella's.” Still berating herself for not being more observant, Iris paused to take a sip of brandy.

Judith tried to console her. “You can't be certain that whoever you saw was the killer. And you certainly can't beat yourself over the head, because you had no way of knowing that it was important at the time.”

Iris was nervously plucking at the fine fabric of her coffee-colored slacks. “It must have happened very quickly,” she said, almost in awe. “How long were we at Nella's? Five minutes? Ten?”

“No more than ten,” replied Renie, who had an astute knack for judging time. “Maybe what happened was that the killer sneaked in back of the studio while you were getting us. Then, as soon as we came along and continued to Nella's, whoever it was dashed into the studio and…uh…ah…” Succumbing to an unusual fit of tact, Renie faltered and fumbled with her brandy snifter.

Attempting to steel herself, Iris took a deep breath. “It doesn't seem real, does it? It's as if we're talking about a movie or a play. You can read about murder every day in the newspaper or see it on TV, but when it actually happens—” Iris stopped, a hand to her mouth. Tears welled up in her eyes. Setting the brandy snifter down on a side table, she frantically scanned the small, untidy living room. “My purse…” she murmured. “A handkerchief…”

Judith spotted the leather shoulder bag at the other end of the futon sofa. She crossed the room to fetch it for Iris, who failed in her effort at a grateful smile.

“Damn,” Iris said in a shaky voice. “I don't seem to have any self-control! This is so awful!”

Judith and Renie both offered sympathetic expressions. Patiently, they waited in silence for Iris to marshal her composure.

“We couldn't see him at first because those big windows don't come all the way down,” Iris went on in a rush. “If only we
had
stopped to ask him to come with us! I'd have rather put up with a tantrum twenty times over than sacrifice Riley to our silly feminine pride!”

“Regrets are useless,” Judith asserted flatly. “You—and Renie and I—would do the same thing again. It's very rare that, when we talk about might-have-beens, any of us would actually change what we did in the first place. We act instinctively and in the context of the moment. You've nothing to regret, Iris.” Seeing a resigned expression creep over Iris's face, Judith continued. “What's important now is to move on and try to help the sheriff find Riley's killer. Where did that wire come from, by the way?”

Iris nodded jerkily. “Riley kept some picture-hanging wire in the studio. I don't know why—he never actually hung any pictures there, he just propped them up or put them on easels.” The brief resignation was erased by another look of dismay. “Did you see how tight that wire had been pulled? It had cut into his skin and—”

Iris's vivid description was mercifully interrupted by a pounding at the door. Relieved at being spared a recollection of the gruesome details, Judith leaped to her feet. “I'll get it. It must be the sheriff.”

It wasn't. A distinguished middle-aged man wearing a khaki safari suit stood on the small, square back porch that faced the highway. Before Judith could say a word, he pushed past her and entered the house.