A Mew to a Kill (2 page)

Maisie turned her puckered look on George. She wore a white blouse, buttoned up high with her usual silver pin clasped at her throat—a fancy letter 'B'. It must have been a family heirloom as she wore it often. Her gray-streaked hair was fashioned into a tight bun at the top of her head, giving her an even more severe look than she normally had.

“What do you mean she’s submitting her work for the art show? Her work is not anything we would want to show,” Maisie huffed in her usual abrasive manner.
 

“I think we should at least consider her,” George said. “I believe her work is quite innovative.”

“Innovative?” Maisie scoffed. “Are you kidding me? It’s not even good enough to be classified as amateur.” Maisie gestured toward the portfolio. “You can barely even make out the subject matter.”

“Why, that’s no different than some of your paintings, Maisie. Some of those are pretty obscure.” Opal Winters snapped her gum at Maisie, eliciting a sharp look from the artist.
 

“My paintings are not
obscure
,” Maisie shot at her. “Some of them are impressionist art. Not that you would know much about art. Besides, we have an application from Neil Lane and his work is much more appropriate for the show.”

I looked at Opal, who was busy studying her blue, sparkly fingernails. Maisie had a point. What did Opal know about art, anyway? I wasn’t sure what Opal was doing judging an art show … my guess was that it had something to do with her job on the town council which, rumor had it, she’d secured in an unorthodox manner.
 

Her eyes slid over to the portfolio Brenda was still leafing through. “I like Paisley’s work better. It’s new and fresh. I think we should consider her.”

Maisie and I stared at her incredulously. Was she serious?
 

Then I remembered that I’d seen Opal and Paisley together quite a few times. They were friends. My mind replayed Paisley’s words about doing what she had to do to get what she wanted. Did she and Opal have some sort of scheme going? Maybe Paisley was planning on splitting the money with Opal if Opal got her into the show and then voted for her work to win first prize.
 

Opal turned to Nina, who had been silently listening. “What do you think, Nina? You’ve seen both applicants’ work. Who do you think we should award the slot to?”

Nina squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Her eyes went from Opal’s face, to Maisie to the binder that Brenda was still studying.

“Yeah, Nina. What
do
you think?” George stared at her and I could sense Nina getting more uncomfortable.
 

“I … ahh … well … they both have merits.” She looked uncertainly at George and I remembered that Nina worked for George’s real estate firm in the summers. He was her boss. But surely that wouldn’t sway her opinion.
 

“I guess we could give her a try,” Nina said finally.

Maisie flapped her hands against her sides.
 

“I don’t know what is wrong with you people. I think we need to pick a new set of judges since some of you are obviously biased.” Maisie glared at Opal, Nina and George. “It’s a big responsibility to choose the finest examples of art from our town. Not to mention the grand prize of twenty thousand dollars. We can’t bow down to
favoritism
.”

I nodded my head vigorously. Beside me, Brenda had been quietly scanning the photos in Paisley’s portfolio. She slammed the book shut.
 

She looked up at us, seemingly distraught. “I agree with Maisie. This work is not worthy of the artist festival. Surely we have other entries?”

George straightened in his chair, his ample stomach jutting out over the top of his belt. “I don’t think there’s anyone that fits the need we have for this particular type of work.”

“And what particular type of work is that?” Maisie asked.

A red stain crept across George’s face. He loosened the tie constricting his thick neck. A layer of sweat plastered his comb-over against his forehead. “Something different. Unusual. We can’t fill the whole art festival with stuff like yours, Maisie.”

“Well, I hardly think it’s filled with my stuff. I’m just one of the artists. There is a huge variety. Oil painters, watercolorists, wood carvers, stained glass artists and even another photographer. But they are all
artists
.” She narrowed her eyes at George suspiciously. “Just why are you so fixated on getting Paisley Brown’s work into the show?”

“I’m not.” George drew himself up indignantly. “I’m the head judge here and I think I know what kind of art we should have. I think we need to put it down to a vote.”

We all looked at each other and murmured our agreement.

“Okay, all in favor of including Paisley, say Aye.”

Opal’s hand shot up. “Aye!”

George raised his hand. “Aye.”

Nina’s hand hovered in mid-air. Her top teeth worried her bottom lip. She turned her head to avoid Maisie's glare and looked uncertainly at George, who nodded. She raised her hand.
 

“Aye,” she whispered.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” Maisie blew out a breath. “All in favor of giving the spot to Neil, raise your hands.”

Brenda, Maisie and I shot our hands up.

Maisie turned to George. “It looks like we’re tied.”

“So it does.” George rubbed his chin. “And if I remember correctly, in the case of a tie, the head judge decides. That’s me … and I decide the spot goes to Paisley Brown.”

“What?” Brenda slapped her hand on the table. “You can’t do that!”

“Unfortunately, he can.” Maisie shot up from her chair and stood directly in front of George, glaring down at him. “You don’t fool me, George Witt. I know what’s going on and I’ll tell you right now I won’t have you
ruining
the Mystic Notch art show.” She stomped toward the door, whirling around to face George as she reached for the knob. “Paisley Brown’s work will be included in the artist show over my dead body.”

Chapter Three

The rest of the meeting ran into overtime despite Maisie’s absence and I was late getting to my shop. Along with my inheritance of the bookstore and the cat came a group of regulars who had been gathering at the shop in the mornings for decades to discuss current town events with Gram. Even though Gram was gone now, the tradition continued and I found the four elderly citizens standing outside my door with Styrofoam coffee cups in hand. I noticed Josiah Barrows, the retired postmaster, had an extra cup in his hand and I hoped it had my name on it.

I pulled past them into the little parking lot behind the building. I got out, then noticed Paisley’s portfolio, which I was supposed to return to her, on the passenger seat. I was already late opening the shop—I’d have to return it to her later. I left it on the seat and trotted out front, the keys to the shop dangling in my hand.

“Geez, Willa, we thought something happened to you.” Bing Thorndike’s bushy, white brows were raised over concerned blue eyes.

“Sorry, guys. I was at an emergency art show meeting and it ran into overtime.” I pushed my way through them to the door, taking the Styrofoam cup gratefully from Josiah. “One of the artists canceled and we had a last-minute opening that we had to vote on,” I explained, slipping the key into the lock. I pushed the door open, gesturing for twin sisters Hattie and Cordelia Deering to precede me into the store.

“So, who’s getting the spot?” Hattie asked.

“I heard Neil Lane was a shoo-in,” Cordelia added.

“Unfortunately, there was a little bit of controversy about that.” I shut the door as the four of them took their places on the purple micro-suede sofa and chairs I’d added to the front of the store for book browsers to read in comfort. Glancing at the window, I noticed my cat, Pandora, sleeping peacefully in the soft cat bed, her kinked tail folded over her pink nose. She didn’t so much as slit an eye open to greet me. She must really be mad that I’d locked her in the shop and gone to the meeting. “We had a tie between Paisley and Neil. George used his power as head judge to vote in Paisley’s favor.”

Josiah’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Paisley Brown?”

All heads turned to look out the window at Paisley’s photography store across the street.

“I didn’t know her stuff was of that … umm … caliber.” Bing tried to sound diplomatic, but having seen Paisley's work before, we all knew what he meant.
 

“Well, I guess some people feel it is.” I made my way behind the counter and that’s when I saw it. Pandora’s wrath. I should have known by the way she was glaring at me through the window earlier when I was in Paisley’s that she would punish me somehow and here it was. A whole roll of toilet paper streamed out of the bathroom and ribboned its way around the area behind the sales counter. I could just picture her standing on her hind legs, front paws working maniacally to turn the roll and free the paper which she then spread around the store with gleeful abandon.

I glanced over at the window. Pandora still slept peacefully in her fluffy cat bed with what looked like a satisfied smirk on her face. I’d deal with her later.

“Who voted for her?” Cordelia’s question dragged my attention from the vindictive cat. Cordelia was sitting on the couch beside her sister, Hattie. The two women, identical twins, had to be in their mid-eighties, but they were sharp as a tack with the energy of women half their age. They were cute as a button, too, often wearing matching outfits which today was an orange polyester pantsuit. Identical except for the tee shirt—a pastel yellow for Hattie and hot pink for Cordelia.

“Opal, George and Nina voted for her.” I kicked toilet paper aside and came out to join them in the sitting area. “I think Nina only voted because she was afraid George might fire her from the real estate office. She seemed uncertain about what to do.”

“Paisley and Opal are friends,” Hattie said. “The two of them are as thick as thieves. And they both have a you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours philosophy, so I’m sure Opal was either trading that vote for a future favor or she already owed Paisley one.”

“That’s how Opal got on the town council in the first place. She scratched someone’s back.” Cordelia’s blue eyes sparkled over the rim of her cup. “So it makes sense Opal would vote for her. I don’t know why George would vote for her, though.”

“Maisie Beardsley implied George and Paisley might have something going on.” I made a sour face. The thought of anyone having a ‘thing’ with the balding, overweight real estate agent was repulsive. “That can’t be true, can it?”

Josiah shrugged. “Who knows? People are strange and George does have some clout in this town. Maybe Paisley thought his clout could help her out.”

We all turned to look at Paisley's store again. She was inside with a customer, her bleached blonde hair bobbing up and down as she pointed animatedly to various framed pieces of her work. I couldn’t picture her with George, but given what Hattie had said, she might have been ‘scratching his back’ for reasons other than love.

“But even so, would George risk his reputation for her? He’s married and he strikes me as the type that’s very concerned about his reputation. I’m surprised he would want to be involved in anything that might be considered underhanded,” Bing said as we all turned our attention back to our coffee.

“Maybe he didn’t think anyone would question him voting for her. I mean, art
is
subjective, so he could argue he really did think her work should win the spot in the show,” I suggested.

“Who voted against her?” Cordelia asked.

“Me, Maisie Beardsley and Brenda Parrish.”

“I didn’t realize Brenda was on the judges’ committee for the art show,” Josiah said

“Oh, yes.” Cordelia swirled her tea bag around in the cup. “Her family has long been patrons of the arts and she donated a lot of money to the art society after the fire. She’s on the town art council.”

Josiah’s face turned grim. “I’d almost forgotten about that fire. Such a shame that she lost her sister
and
her business.”

“Indeed.” Cordelia’s voice trembled. Her hand sought that of her twin sister sitting next to her on the couch. The two women clasped hands and we were all silent for a minute, thinking about the tragedy.

Brenda’s family had owned Parrish Lumber for generations. Brenda and her twin sister Amanda had taken over the business after their parents had retired. A huge fire had destroyed the lumberyard and the business last summer, but the worst part was that it had also claimed Amanda’s life. Not only that, but the lumberyard site still sat in devastated, burned ruins as a constant reminder.
 

“It’s taken Brenda almost a year to get on her feet,” Hattie said. “She felt terribly guilty that she was out of town and her sister was the one that was killed.”

“Thankfully, they had good insurance.” Josiah’s comment earned a sharp look from Hattie.
 

“No amount of money can make up for a lost loved one.” Hattie looked at Cordelia. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

Cordelia’s eyes misted. She patted their clasped hands with her free one. “Nor I, you. And the way she was found … it was so sad.”

“How was she found?” I’d heard Brenda’s twin Amanda had been caught in the fire but didn’t know the details.