Case of Imagination (25 page)

“Good grief.”

It was impossible to tell what the old Chevy’s original color had been. The car was now sky blue with paisley patterns of yellow and red.

Jerry laughed. “Looks like something you’d drive to an Indian wedding.”

We parked beside a row of silver reflecting balls and got out. The house was a low structure with a panoramic view of the Blue Ridge. Without the garish zoo, it would have been a nice mountain retreat.

Jerry rubbed the head of a huge stone owl. “This is so neat, Mac. I’m having acid flashbacks.”

“Do I dare ring the bell? The whole place might vanish.”

“Hello,” a voice said. “Come on around.”

Jerry and I cautiously made our way through the menagerie to the back yard, which was surprisingly free of kitsch. A man stood at an easel, putting the finishing touches on a fantastically accurate landscape of the mountain scene.

“May I help you?” he asked.

I was still trying to clear my head of the front yard. “Are you Tully Springfield?”

“Yes.”

Although Tully Springfield’s hair was gray, his face was unlined. His eyes were a brilliant blue. He had on jeans and a faded blue shirt streaked with paint.

“I’m Madeline Maclin, and this is Jerry Fairweather, Val Eberlin’s nephew. We were told you had Val’s car.”

He looked at Jerry, alarmed. “Was it supposed to come to you? It, uh, looks a little different now.”

“No, we’d just like to have a look,” Jerry said. “We’re trying to find a package that may have been left in it.”

Tully Springfield relaxed. “Oh, that. You know, I’ve been meaning to get that back to Averall. Is it something important?”

“It could be. Do you mind if we take it?”

“Not at all. Save me a trip.”

I couldn’t keep my eyes off his painting. “That’s a wonderful landscape.”

He shrugged. “Pays the bills. Let me show you my real masterpieces.”

I couldn’t imagine what he meant by real masterpieces. Jerry and I followed him into the house. The entire back room facing the mountains was a well-stocked artist’s studio. Brushes filled jars of water and turpentine. Canvases were stacked in every corner. Tully Springfield led us past rows of remarkable landscapes. I kept expecting him to stop and point to them. Instead, he paused at a hideous collection of painted clowns and sad-eyed children surrounded by more of the lurid yard creatures.

He beamed. “Here.”

“Oh,” I said. “Um. These? They’re very nice.”

Behind Springfield’s back, Jerry made a horrified face at me and mimed throwing up.

Oblivious to more than Jerry’s opinion, Tully Springfield said, “The landscapes are okay, but this is what I really enjoy. I don’t understand why they don’t sell as well, though.”

What could I say? “Well, critics, you know.”

“Mac’s an artist, too,” Jerry said.

I could’ve kicked him. Tully Springfield’s face brightened. “Then you know all about how difficult it is to be taken seriously. What was your name again? I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten.”

“Madeline Maclin. Madeline is fine.”

“Please call me Tully. What sort of things do you paint, Madeline? Do you like clowns?”

Now Jerry crossed his eyes at me. It was hard to keep a straight face. “I’ve never attempted one.”

“Clowns are such a challenge. So many people get them wrong, which is why you see so many bad imitations. The colors, for one thing, and then there’s the expression. No two can be alike, you know. Each clown has his own distinctive makeup. Let me show you.”

He showed us about fifty different paintings of clowns. Clowns holding dinky little umbrellas, clowns spilling out of little cars, juggling clowns, pie-faced clowns, clowns in the rain. Jerry kept modifying his snorts of laughter into sneezes. Tully didn’t notice.

“And over here is my Lost Carnival Series.” He started through another stack of paintings and stopped. “My goodness, I’m a terrible host. You came for the package, didn’t you? Not to see all this. I’m sorry. I rarely have visitors, especially fellow artists. I guess I got carried away.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I enjoyed it.”

“Let me get the package for you. I think I know where it is.”

He disappeared into the depths of the house.

I turned to Jerry and held up my finger. “Don’t say one word.”

He let out the laughter he’d been trying to suppress. “I’m going to buy one and hang it in my room. It’ll scare the ghosts away.”

I walked back to the lush mountain landscapes, surprised by the feelings that rose up in me. Since college, I hadn’t wanted to even sketch, but now I wanted to grab a brush and fill in the green shadows of trees. I wanted to see if I could capture the blue haze that settled over the mountains and the way the sun’s slanting rays sent searchlights of gold through the forest. Tully Springfield could do it. I could, too.

“These are gorgeous. Why can’t he see that?”

Jerry had on his most innocent expression. “Oh, you know these artist types. They never think their work is any good.”

I glared at him and didn’t answer.

He picked up a paintbrush. “We’ll never see him again. He’s already forgotten we’re here.”

“Don’t mess with his stuff. He’s got some of the best materials I’ve seen. Top quality.”

“I bet he’d share.”

“You need to shut up now.”

Jerry replaced the paintbrush and sat down in one of the wooden folding chairs by Tully’s desk. “Seriously, if things don’t work out with Ted, this guy’s not bad. Sure, he’s a little absent-minded, but think what you could do with a studio like this.”

Why did he feel the need to fix me up with everyone else? “I have to admit this studio’s really nice.”

“And Tully’s looking at you like he thinks you’re really nice, too.”

“Will you quit playing Cupid?”

“Now that I’ve got Olivia, we’ve got to find somebody for you.”

“So all four of us can live happily ever after in the Eberlin House?”

“Why not?”

Because I can’t live in the Eberlin house with you and Olivia, you dope. Ted’s offer of office space in his building was sounding better every day. Maybe I could live there, too, get a cot and a coffee pot. But I’d still be in Celosia. I’d still be near Jerry.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. We’ll see what happens.”

Jerry left the desk and inspected a family of plastic ducks. “I kind of like this shade of pink. Do you suppose he was going for the flamingo look?”

“I knew something was missing. No plastic flamingoes.”

“Whoops.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Some of the paint came off. It’s an improvement, really.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Is it ruined beyond all reason?”

I checked the duck’s head. “It’s okay.” We straightened just as Tully Springfield returned with the package.

“I didn’t open it,” he said. “I set it aside to take to town the next time I went, and with one thing and another, I never went. My apologies.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “It was safer here with you.”

He smiled. “Well, that’s good news. Usually, I make things worse. Could I offer you some lemonade? Apple pie?”

I needed to know more about Tully Springfield. “Some lemonade would be nice.”

“This way, please.”

The rest of Tully’s house was surprisingly bare and decorated in Mountain Cabin. The furniture in front of the fireplace in the den was made of logs and draped with striped Indian blankets. The lampshades had pictures of moose. A tree stump with a piece of glass on top served as a coffee table. The only thing out of place was the clown portrait hanging over the mantel, all sad eyes and turned-down mouth.

“One of my favorites,” Tully said.

I could tell Jerry was trying not to laugh. He looked around the room and saw something in the window that caught his attention. “Great crystals.”

“Ah, yes, they catch the morning sunlight. I believe quite strongly in crystal healing.”

“I’ve done a little research into that, myself.” Jerry reached for one of the crystals. “Do you mind?”

“No, go right ahead. The amethyst is my favorite.”

“This is a nice chunk of rock.”

Tully handed me a glass of lemonade.

“Did you know Val well?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not. I’d see him every now and then at the drug store.” He tapped his chest. “We had the same heart condition, so we’d discuss how we were getting along, medications we were trying, things like that. I was a bit surprised to hear he’d died. I thought he was doing pretty well, but I didn’t see him every time I went to Celosia. I’m usually in Virginia for the art shows.”

“When’s your next show?” I asked.

“I’d have to check my calendar.”

“Would you mind checking?” I gave him my best smile. “I might like to go.”

“One moment.”

Jerry was still playing with the crystals. “That’s more like it, Mac.”

“More like what?”

“Ted Stacy better watch his back.”

I shushed him. “I’m working.”

He almost dropped a hunk of rose quartz. “You think Tully’s a suspect?”

I kept my voice down. “Not if he can prove he was in Virginia Friday night.”

“But he’s a nut. He paints clowns.”

“And maybe Juliet made disparaging remarks about his work. We artists are sensitive, remember?”

He set the rock back on the window ledge. “I think you just want to find something wrong with the guy so you don’t have to date him.”

“Here we are,” Tully said. He brought in a large calendar with dates circled in red. “The Bayport Gallery had a showing last Friday, so the next show I’ll attend is week after this at Steamboat Falls. I’d be very happy to have you come along. Perhaps it would inspire you to take up your work again.”

If he was telling the truth, Tully was nowhere near the theater on Friday night.

“So you haven’t heard about the trouble in town?”

He shook his head. “What trouble?”

“One of the Miss Celosia contestants was murdered.”

I watched his eyes. He seemed genuinely puzzled. “Murdered? Who would want to kill a beauty queen?”

I found it odd he didn’t ask who the victim was. “That’s what has everyone talking.”

“Do the police have any idea who did it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You must wonder what sort of place you’ve moved to. I don’t think there’s been a murder in Celosia in years. More lemonade?”

Did he really not care, or was he just in his own little world out here? “No, thanks. The victim was Juliet Lovelace. Did you know her?”

He shook his head. “This was a young lady, I take it?”

“Seventeen.”

“I wouldn’t know anyone that young. It’s been thirty years since I was in high school. A real tragedy, I’m sure.”

I couldn’t tell by his tone of voice if he meant the tragedy was Juliet’s death or the fact he was no longer young enough to be a teenager.

He turned to Jerry. “Can I get you some more lemonade, Jerry?”

“No, thank you.” Jerry picked up another piece of glittering rock. “Which of these crystals do you find the most receptive?”

“The amethyst is reliable, but I’d say for the best effects, I use the obsidian.”

“Oh, yeah? I never thought of that.”

“Although it isn’t truly a crystal, obsidian is excellent for blocking and reversing harmful rays.”

Jerry’s likely to talk for hours about this kind of thing, but something had occurred to me. “Tully, you say Val’s medicine was working for him.”

“Yes, he often said so, and he was never without his nitroglycerin pills.”

In searching the house for videotapes, Jerry, the kids, and I had found lots of things, but we hadn’t found any pills, not even a bottle of aspirin.

Tully patted his shirt pocket. “Like me, he always had some in his pocket. And I remember him telling me he kept some in a little table by the door so he wouldn’t have to run all the way to the bathroom or kitchen cabinets. Guess he was out.”

Maybe. I wouldn’t know anything more about this or about Tully Springfield until I asked Nell or Denisha. I set my glass on the tree stump table and stood up.

“We appreciate your hospitality, but Jerry and I need to get back to town.”

“Please come again soon. I’d love to see some of your work, Madeline.”

“I’m out of practice.”

He gestured to the studio. “I have more than enough here. If you want to get started again, you must feel free to use whatever you like.”

I didn’t dare look at Jerry. “That’s very generous.”

He insisted we take a birdbath, so Jerry chose one that didn’t glow in the dark. Tully helped him put it in the trunk.

“I don’t have a phone, Madeline, but I’m nearly always here. Please consider my offer.”