Half in Love with Artful Death (21 page)

Sarcasm didn't really become Stewart, Rhodes thought.

“What about stealing from the antiques store? Did you lock the door between here and there?”

“No,” Stewart said, with a glance at Lonnie.

“Who'd want to steal anything from there?” Marilyn asked. “It's not really valuable.”

“Nobody, maybe,” Rhodes said, “but somebody must have put something there today.”

“Not necessarily,” Lonnie said. “We have some artsy stuff back there. Maybe the bust had been there for a while and nobody noticed.”

“A bust of a NASCAR driver isn't art,” Marilyn said as if insulted by the very idea. “There must be hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. Art is unique and irreplaceable, the single product of the creative mind.”

“That's right,” Stewart said. He gave Marilyn a glance. “About how easy it would be to put it there or how long it could've been there, I mean. We discussed that this morning, Sheriff. Remember?”

“I remember,” Rhodes said. “By the way, what was Don McClaren so upset about?”

“Upset?” Stewart said. “Don?”

“I thought he was going to pull your arm off a minute ago,” Rhodes said.

“Oh, that,” Stewart said. “I'd just told him and Marilyn about the bust being in the back, and Don was upset, all right. He said that if word got out that there was a clue to the murder hidden here, people would all walk out of the party and go home. The conference would be ruined and we'd never have another one. He said that the college would be the one to suffer because it was helping to sponsor this, and that might affect his job. I can sympathize. Jobs teaching art are hard to find.”

“I can vouch for that,” Marilyn said. “Even a part-time job is hard to find. I know. I've tried. I thought winning a ribbon here might help my chances, but now that's not going to happen, thanks to the terrible Collins man.”

“I don't like to have my store associated with a murder,” Lonnie said. “It's bad enough at the Beauty Shack.”

“It hasn't hurt your business there,” Rhodes said.

“People like to look good,” Lonnie said, “no matter what they have to go through. Sitting in a place where someone died won't stop them, maybe, but buying antiques is different.”

Seepy Benton was now singing something about opening up your heart. Nobody much cared. Rhodes wished that the people he was talking to would open up their hearts and tell him something helpful. Maybe they already had and he just didn't know it yet.

Clifford Clement walked up before Rhodes could ask anything else. Rhodes didn't mind. He couldn't think of anything else to ask anyway.

“You were right about the meth bust, Sheriff,” Clement said. “Everybody's talking about it. Good work.”

“He's right,” Lonnie said. “I saw it on Jennifer Loam's Web site before I came tonight. She says that you took on three armed meth cookers and a pack of dogs, single-handedly.”

It took a second for that to sink in.

“That's not anywhere near the truth,” Rhodes said when it did.

“Well, your deputy was there, too,” Clement said. “She mentioned that, but you're the one who led the charge. Dogs barking, bullets flying, the meth house about to explode…”

“Just like a chapter in a Sage Barton thriller,” Lonnie said.

Rhodes suppressed a groan.

“Those are wonderful books,” Marilyn said. “Everyone knows you're the model for Sage Barton, Sheriff.”

“Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental,” Rhodes said. “It says that in every book.”

“They have to say that,” Clement said. “Lawyers can cause all kinds of trouble if you use real people. But we all know the truth.”

“Isn't there going to be a Sage Barton movie?” Lonnie asked. “I think I heard that there was.”

“I heard that, too,” Clement said. “I hope it's true. It would really put our little town on the map. Maybe they'd even film it here, put Sheriff Rhodes in a small role.”

“Why not have him play himself?” Stewart asked.

“They'd need a big-name star to carry the picture,” Clement said. “George Clooney, maybe.”

“Did you ever wonder about Sage Barton's initials?” Rhodes was desperate to change the subject.

“No,” Lonnie said. “Why should we?”

“I know the answer,” Marilyn said. “Shall I tell them, Sheriff?”

“Please do,” Rhodes said.

“His initials are S. B.,” Marilyn said. She looked around, saw Seepy, and pointed discreetly. “Just like his. He says he's the model for Sage Barton.”

That wasn't exactly what Benton had said, as Rhodes recalled, but he didn't see any reason to correct things. The conversation was going in a much better direction now.

“Seepy Benton as Sage Barton?” Lonnie said. “You must be joking.”

Marilyn shrugged. “I'm not the one who said it. You could ask him about it.”

“I don't think so,” Lonnie said as Ivy, Ruth, and Jennifer walked up.

“How's the food?” Ivy asked Rhodes, who wondered why people kept asking him that.

“My plate's empty, so I must like it,” he said.

“You deserve some good food,” Ruth said. “I've just been hearing about how you took on a big gang of meth cookers all by yourself.”

Rhodes looked at Jennifer. “You didn't really tell her that, did you?”

Jennifer smiled. “Not exactly. I showed her the Web site, and she read it.” Jennifer took a smart phone out of her purse, punched a few buttons, and handed the phone to Rhodes. “Here, you can see for yourself.”

Rhodes took the phone. Jennifer had called up
A Clear View for Clearview
on the phone's Web browser, and the headline at the top said, “Sheriff Shuts Down Meth Lab, Battles Miscreants.”

That was all Rhodes needed to see. He handed the phone back to Jennifer.

“Miscreants?” he said.

“You could look it up.”

“I know what it means. I just thought it was a fancy word for those knotheads.”

“Just good journalism.”

Rhodes wasn't convinced. “Besides, I didn't battle anybody, and if I did, I had help. Did you read my report?”

“Yes, and I talked to your deputy, so the article is accurate. He's mentioned in it. I just shortened the headline so it would sound good. The facts are all there in my story.”

“Possibly a little slanted, though.”

Jennifer looked around at everyone. “Do I seem like the kind of person who'd slant the facts?”

Everyone except Rhodes agreed that she didn't.

“You can't slant facts, anyway,” Jennifer said. “They're the facts. They speak for themselves.”

“Sometimes the way you present them can slant them,” Rhodes said.

“I'd never do that. I leave that kind of thing to unprofessional Web sites.”

Rhodes knew when to quit arguing. Besides, how many people outside the county even looked at
A Clear View for Clearview
? There couldn't be many, and everybody in the county already seemed convinced that he was the model for Sage Barton. Some of them, Mikey Burns being at the top of the list, wished that Rhodes would try to live up to the character of Barton, who'd never have hesitated to wipe out a few meth dealers with an M-16 or to bomb their meth house with a drone and leave a crater the size of an oil storage tank.

Rhodes was trying to think of a good way to end the conversation with Jennifer when he heard raised voices at one end of the gallery. He looked in that direction and saw that Don McClaren was having some kind of discussion with Dr. King, the dean of the community college. Marilyn Bradley was standing near them, looking as if she wished she were somewhere else.

Rhodes, on the other hand, wanted to be right there, listening in, so he excused himself to Ivy and the others, put his plate on the buffet table, and walked over.

Rhodes had seen Dr. King in stressful situations before, but he'd never see her lose her composure. Even when one of her faculty members had been killed on the college campus not so long ago, she'd remained in control of herself and the situation. Now, however, she was so upset that a strand of her black hair was out of place, something else Rhodes had never seen.

Rhodes couldn't hear all of what was being said because Seepy Benton had begun a particularly loud version of “Gandhi Wore a Loincloth,” a number that Rhodes had heard him sing before. Maybe he thought it was appropriate to the situation and would calm things down, and maybe it would have if anybody had been listening. Nobody was, however, least of all Don McClaren and Dr. King.

The gist of what Rhodes heard led him to believe that Dr. King had mentioned to McClaren that the college was in enough trouble already, what with that recent murder of a faculty member, and that another murder connected with that school, especially one that involved out-of-town guests, was the kind of thing that was likely to bring down the wrath of the board. The wrath, Dr. King had made clear, wasn't going to fall on her, or if it did, it wasn't going to remain there for long.

“I was trying to save the college,” McClaren said as Rhodes got closer, “not to cause it any more trouble.”

Rhodes was quite interested to hear that sentence. It sounded almost like a confession, but McClaren immediately qualified it. He hadn't been talking about killing Collins.

“Several of us tried to have Collins arrested. If the sheriff had just followed through, Collins would be alive now, and everything would be fine.”

Rhodes didn't feel a bit guilty for not having arrested Collins. Nobody had yet proved to Rhodes that Collins had vandalized the paintings. He was, no question, the most obvious suspect, but that didn't mean he'd done it.

Rhodes stepped up to McClaren and said, “Are you claiming I didn't do my job?”

“I'm sure he doesn't mean that, Sheriff,” Dr. King said. “He's upset because of the whole situation. You can hardly blame him. Some of the people whose paintings were damaged have complained to me about the art conference, and I've passed on that information to Mr. McClaren. It was his idea to get the college to help sponsor it, and he's a bit upset, as you may have noticed.”

“Damn right I'm upset,” McClaren said. “I think you're blaming me. None of this is my fault. I couldn't have done a thing to prevent any of it. I can't believe I've been singled out.”

“So you singled me out instead,” Rhodes said.

“No, I—” McClaren paused. “Okay, maybe I did single you out, but you have to admit that if you'd just arrested Collins, he'd be alive now.”

“Maybe,” Rhodes said. “Maybe not. He'd have been released as soon as he made bond, and that wouldn't have taken long. He'd have been back at home last night, no matter what I did or didn't do.”

“Also no matter what I did or didn't do, then,” McClaren said.

“True enough,” Rhodes said. “Dr. King, who were the people who complained?”

Dr. King looked around. “I'd rather not mention any names. I don't believe they have anything to do with your investigation.”

She didn't have to name any names. Rhodes thought he knew who at least one of the complainers was without having to be told. Marilyn Bradley had disappeared.

 

Chapter 19

Rhodes thought it was possible that Marilyn was one of those people who disliked being caught in an awkward situation, standing beside two people who were arguing and maybe being a little embarrassed by what was happening. What seemed more likely, however, was that she'd been one of the complainers that Dean King was talking about.

The crowd had thinned considerably, and it was easy enough to spot Marilyn. Her orange hair would have made it easy even if the place had been packed. She was standing near Seepy Benton, who'd set his guitar down by his stool. She was talking to him about something, so Rhodes decided he'd join the conversation. McClaren and King didn't seem sorry to see him go.

Rhodes passed by the buffet table on his way, so he picked up a clean plate, snagged a napkin, and loaded the plate with major snacks and a couple of cookies before walking over to Seepy and Marilyn.

Benton was explaining to her that while he knew far more than three chords on the guitar, most of his songs did happen to employ about that number.

“It makes them easy to sing along with.”

Rhodes was tempted to say that he hadn't noticed anybody singing along, but he refrained. Instead, he ate a quesadilla and listened to Marilyn tell Seepy what a nice voice he had.

“You don't think it's too low for a lead singer?” he asked. “I'm normally a bass, but when you're doing a solo act, you can't sing everything in the low ranges.”

“Your voice is fine,” Marilyn said. “It's … rough-hewn, that's what it is. It's what you need more of in your art. What you did was all right, but it was too obvious and polished. You need to put more feeling into it.”

Rhodes ate a deviled egg and pondered what she'd said. It didn't take him long to conclude that he had no idea what she was talking about. To him there was just as much feeling in Seepy's cross-sectioned seashell as there was in some upside-down stairs. It was clear that he wasn't cut out to be an art critic. He knew his deviled eggs, though, and the one he'd just finished was a good one.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I need to ask Marilyn a couple of questions.”

“Oh,” she said. “What about?”

“Art,” Rhodes said. “We can move over there so Seepy can sing another number.”

“I think it's time to close the show,” Seepy said. “I have a new love song I'm going to try out for the first time tonight. I think it's great.”

Seepy thought everything he sang was great. Rhodes said, “I'll be right over here, listening.”

He had no intention of listening, but it wouldn't hurt to let Seepy think he was. He planned to be too busy talking to Marilyn to hear the song.