The Deadly Art of Love and Murder Read online

  “It’s heavenly. Pity you can’t have any.” Mel smiled and her hand went to her midsection. Bent leaned over, kissing the top of her head as she blushed.

  “You said she was frozen?” asked my father, pulling my attention back to Mrs. Nash.

  “The window was broken.” Away from that house, surrounded by my family, it was getting easier to talk about it. “She was half buried in snow.”

  “Thank goodness for small favors.” Mom shuddered. “Otherwise, it would have been a horrible scene.”

  “It was plenty grizzly as it was, thank you very much.”

  “The snow started at the end of the season,” said Mel. “Maybe she’d assumed you’d find her right away.”

  “She may have been dead longer,” said Bent. “Anybody remember the last time you saw her?”

  The phone rang before we could answer and he went to pick it up. I devoted myself to my cocoa while the others talked. Mom and Dad were going to convert the unfinished space upstairs to a guest room, second bath and family room. They planned to stay until Mel’s baby was born, then help out in the first few months, when sleep can be a precious commodity for new parents.

  Mel and Bent weren’t too thrilled, but they told themselves it was only temporary. Our parents loved their log house, even if it was five miles out of town and they hoped once spring came, they’d be helping them move back out there. I couldn’t picture my mother being content to be so far away from her first grandchild, but I’d stopped teasing Mel about them building on the vacant lot they owned next door to her restaurant. I don’t want to bite the hand that feeds me and Bent is a wicked good cook.

  “Jack thinks he and Frank can finish our order by the end of next week,” Dad was explaining to Mel. “He had some lumber on hand so we took what would fit in the truck. Frank’ll deliver the rest when he gets through for the day.”

  Frank Baker had moved to Coho Bay from Seattle last year to pilot a tour boat for cruisers, but he’d bonded with Jack Lennon and had started working at the mill with him when the season ended. Frank was good looking, tall and confident about his appeal to women. He’d flirted with me a bit during the season and I’d mostly blown him off. By the time I realized he was genuinely interested, I’d been too sick to care. Mom told me he’d stopped by several times while I’d been sick but after taking one look in the mirror, I’d threatened to kill her if she let him see me. I’m already unusually tall, rail thin and have flaming red hair. Add in puffy eyes, runny nose and the aroma of mentholated ointment and any hope of romance would fly right out the window.

  Bent came back into the dining room, interrupting my thoughts. “That was Dan.”

  “Was it a suicide?” I asked.

  “He’s not sure, little sister.” He walked over to where our coats hung by the door and shrugged into his. “He’ll give you the details when he gets here. He wants to talk to you. I’m going to go secure the house for him until the state gets here.”

  Mom and Mel fell into a discussion about baby names and Dad went to finish unloading lumber. I should have offered to help, but I sat staring into my mug, trying to remember the last time I’d spoken with Mrs. Nash. I closed my eyes and pictured her, not as I’d just seen her, but as I’d always known her. She’d been a pixie of a woman, with wrinkled cheeks and wispy white hair who always smelled of vanilla and arthritis cream. She wore cotton blouses over polyester pants and always carried a brown purse over one arm. No matter how warm it was, she’d worn a yellow sweater she’d knitted herself.

  She’d been funny and showed an interest in everyone and everything. There might have been a whiff of loneliness about her, but she never seemed sad or depressed. It was hard to imagine her taking her own life, especially in such a brutal way. Still, Mayor Solokov was right. You don’t know what’s going on inside someone. I doubted she would have opened up to me if she’d been struggling with depression because in spite of the years I’d known her, we hadn’t had that kind of relationship. I suddenly felt very tired.

  The bells on the door jingled and I looked up to see Dan stomping the snow from his boots. His expression was grim and it didn’t lighten when my sister brought him a slice of apple pie. He nodded his thanks and sat down in the chair across from me. My mother rose to get him coffee and he thanked her, harsh words forgotten. In a small town, it doesn’t pay to hold grudges.

  “Bentley told us you think Mrs. Nash might have been murdered.” Thank goodness my mother could speak because a lump had risen in my throat and I was having trouble breathing.

  “Possibly.”

  “Did you find a note?”

  “Lots of suicides don’t leave notes.” He grunted as he forked another piece of pie.

  Mom sat down next to me. “Daniel, are we going to have to drag it out of you word by word?”

  He put down his fork. “Would it do me any good to tell you I can’t talk about an open investigation?”

  “No, it would not. Caribou is going to be seeing Mrs. Nash’s body every time she closes her eyes, possibly for the rest of her life. Our interest is hardly idle curiosity.”

  Dan returned to his pie. “It looks like suicide.”

  “But you aren’t sure?” I asked.

  “Suicide seems the most likely answer, but I want to be sure. I’m suspicious by nature.”

  I swirled the dregs of chocolate in my mug. “Why would anyone want to kill such a sweet old lady?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Burglary?” suggested Mel.

  “I didn’t see any jewelry, but I don’t know what she might have had. There weren’t any credit cards in her purse, but she still had two hundred dollars in cash.”

  “She always paid cash for her meals,” Mel explained. “I don’t think she approved of credit cards.”

  “Still, if the killer left the cash behind, Melody, it couldn’t have been a robbery.”

  “Maybe he broke in when she was gone and she came home and caught him rifling the house,” I offered, but even I didn’t believe it. “Maybe he shot her then got scared and ran away.”

  “He left the gun behind,” said Dan. “Besides, she was sitting on the couch. That’s not where I’d be if I’d startled a burglar.”

  My mother squeezed my hand. “I know we don’t want to believe Mrs. Nash would kill herself, Caribou, but the condition of that house would not inspire someone to break in thinking he would find something of value.”

  “Was the window broken from the outside, Dan?”

  “State boys will have to dig the snow out to know that.”

  “What kind of gun?” I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I knew the answer.

  “Snub-nosed .357.”

  Mel’s eyes widened. “That’s an awfully big gun for an old woman. It had to be murder, Dan.”

  “Melody is right, Daniel. I can’t picture Mrs. Nash having a gun at all, let alone a monster like that.”

  “The gun was hers.” I felt like putting my head down on the table and crying. “She liked to go for walks. She’d go out early in the morning before the ships got here or later, after the tourists left. She said it kept her young. After Johnny was attacked by that bear, she asked me what she should do.”

  “And you advised a little old lady to buy a gun?” asked Dan.

  I flinched as though he’d slapped me. “I sent her to Bear Tooth to get a can of bear spray. The next time I saw her, she told me she’d bought a gun instead.”

  “Daniel, with all you’ve told us, I’m puzzled why you are not satisfied that her death was a suicide. Didn’t the wound appear self-inflicted?”

  “It’s hard to tell with the body being in the condition it’s in, Mrs. King.”

  My mother made a face. “You’ve been calling me Marcie for years. There’s no reason to start ‘Mrs. Kinging’ me because you’ve decided you’d like to date my daughter.”

  “Mother!” I kicked at her under the table. Where on earth had she come up with the idea that Dan wanted to go out with me? I put
my head on my hands and willed the floor to open up and swallow me.

  Dan went on as if he hadn’t heard. “Tell me about Mrs. Nash.”

  “What do you want to know?” Mel asked.

  “Where was she from?”

  “Originally Minnesota but she and her husband moved to Arizona after he retired.”

  “I don’t remember her having a husband.”

  “He’s been dead, how long would you say, Mother, twenty years?”

  “About that long, yes. He passed the year after Mrs. Tilamu died. That was the first year she rented from us. She and her husband used to stay with the Tilamus but after both her husband and his wife died, she thought tongues would wag so she rented one of our cabins.”

  “Only Doc was too much of a gentleman to let her stay in a dry cabin so every year, she’d pay the rent, but he’d move out to the cabin and let her have the house,” I finished, glad to be talking about anything other than my non-existent love life. “I thought it was sweet.”

  “Like, how sweet?” asked Dan, one eyebrow raised.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” said Mel. “Her husband went to med school with Doc. The men went fishing and hunting while their wives hung out together.”

  “But she kept coming up after both her husband and Doc’s wife died. Didn’t you think that was strange?”

  “Actually, I did,” admitted my mother. “I asked her about it. As I remember, she told me that when summer came, she found herself packing up as usual and coming here. She didn’t know what else to do with her summer, they’d been coming for so long. Doc was happy to see her, though. I think their mutual grief brought them some measure of comfort.”

  “How did her husband die?” I asked.

  “He was killed in a car accident, I believe.”

  “I always thought she and Doc would get married.”

  “They never had that kind of relationship, Caribou. They were friends. That’s all.”

  “What about family?” asked Dan.

  “Yes, I suppose you will need to contact her next of kin.” Mom tapped her fingers on the side of her teacup as she thought. “I don’t remember her mentioning anyone. You could always start calling the contacts on her cell phone.”

  “She didn’t have a cell phone,” said Mel.

  “How do you know that?” Dan asked.

  “She told me she hated cell phones and wished people would spend more time talking to the people who are right in front of them. It amazed her when cruisers would come in and everybody at the table would be buried in their phone. She used to borrow our phone whenever she needed to make a call.”

  “Was that often?”

  “No, not really. Maybe a little more so this year than in the past, but don’t quote me on that. We get so busy, I can’t be trusted to remember.”

  “Did she make any interesting calls?”

  “You mean like, Help, someone’s trying to kill me?” Mel giggled, then stopped. “I’m sorry. That isn’t funny. I heard her say she was looking forward to seeing the person she was talking to. I never heard her mention having kids though.”

  “I don't understand,” I said. “She was three weeks late coming home and nobody called to see if she was all right. That’s crazy. Someone back home must be missing her.”

  “Maybe they left a message at the gallery,” suggested Mom. “That’s the number on the rental agreement, though I assume if they left a message and no one called them back, they’d think to call someone else.”

  “I have an off-season message asking people to call my cell.” I dug my phone out and checked the missed calls. “Artists, mostly. A couple of long-time renters. No numbers I don’t recognize, but I’ll listen to the voice mails and let you know, Dan.”

  “Do you have an emergency contact number for her?”

  “I might. I ask for one, but her rental application would have been filled out years ago, if Dad even asked her to do one. He’d known her for a long time by then. I don’t remember ever asking her to update it.”

  “You up to taking a look?”

  “I could go,” Mom offered, starting to get up.

  “No, it’s okay. I want to go home and take a nap anyway. You and Dad could figure out how I’m going to break all this to the Tilamus. Oh, what about the water, Dan? I can’t believe I forgot to ask.”

  “Still flowing. I turned it off and drained the system before I left.”

  I put my hand on my chest. “Thank goodness. They’re gonna flip out as it is.”

  “Why? They didn’t know her, did they?”

  “The Tilamus are never happy to hear bad news,” said Mom. “Maybe this will convince them to sell. I’d like to see someone begin to care about that property again. It was a house full of love once.”

  “Mother, that’s so romantic,” said Mel with a sigh.

  Mom looked embarrassed. “It’s simply the truth, Melody.”

  “You know, on my way over there, I was thinking at this point, there’s so much wrong with that house, you’d be better off to tear it down and start over.”

  “Nonsense, dear. All it would take is for someone to fall in love with it.”

  “Well, that someone had better have a bucket load of money, Mom.” I pushed myself out of my chair and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry if I sleep through dinner.”

  Dan helped me into my coat. I was relieved to see the wind had died down and in spite of the snow on the ground, it felt almost warm. Dan’s mind was still on the deplorable condition of the Tilamu house. “Why don’t the kids put any money into the house?”

  “They’re hardly kids, Dan. They’re all in their fifties. Aggie might even be sixty by now. You’d have to ask Mom. They were all gone by the time I was born.”

  “Kids or not, I don’t get it. That house is twice as bad inside than out. I was shocked anybody was living there.”

  “I know, but Mrs. Nash always insisted. It’d break Doc’s heart to see the house now, that’s for sure.”

  “Are they just too greedy to spend the money? You’d think they’d want to protect their investment.”

  “When you split the rent three ways there’s not enough money to be greedy about. Truthfully, Dan, I get the impression they don’t even like that house.”

  “Why don’t they sell it then? I suppose they wouldn’t get much for it.”

  “Not for the house, but the land is valuable. It’s a beautiful location and Doc owned two lots next to the house that he left undeveloped. You could build a great big house that took advantage of the view and it would be worth way more than it is now.”

  “Why don’t you do it? You can’t live over your gallery for the rest of your life.”

  “I like my apartment.” I unlocked the door and led Dan inside. “You could buy it and move out of that dump you’re living in.”

  “That dump has been in my family for generations.”

  “Yes, and you’re a fine one to criticize the Tilamus for not putting money into their house. When was the last time you did any improvements to yours?”

  “It always looks sad in here off season,” said Dan, changing the subject. He looked around the empty exhibit room. Only two paintings remained, huge landscapes by Jack’s son, Jonathan Snow, who’d been making a name for himself when he died. I’d shipped everything else back to the artists before I’d been too sick to function.

  “It’ll fill up again next spring.”

  “Gallery doing well?”

  “We did gangbuster business this year. Johnny’s death drove up the value of his paintings and all the extra traffic drove sales of other artists.” I felt tears sting my eyes. I’d have given up every dime of profit if it would have brought him back. I shook off the grief and walked briskly toward the office. “I can’t imagine next year will be anywhere near as big, but that’s all right. I make a decent living and so do the artists I work with. That’s saying something.”

  “What about these?” Dan hadn’t moved. He nodded toward
the landscapes.

  “The one on the left is going on loan to the Alaska State Museums. I’ll need to negotiate terms now that I’m feeling better. They’ll send a transport company to pick it up.”

  “Too valuable to ship with Kenny?”

  “And way too big. The other will be on permanent display here in the gallery.” My voice caught. “Jack didn’t want people to forget what a great artist Johnny was.”

  Dan looked at me, his eyes gently probing. “You miss him.”

  I spun on my heels, pushing away the pain that made it hard to breathe, and went into my office. Digging through my files steadied me, pulling me back to the safety of my everyday routine. I gave myself more time than I really needed to find the file. But my eyes were clear again when I pulled out a folder and handed it to him.

  “Not much here for someone who’s been renting from you for so long,” Dan observed.

  “You know Dad. Working for the state where everything’s in triplicate––if it isn’t documented, it didn’t happen––turned him into a minimalist long before everybody else started worrying about all the trees we were killing in the name of paperwork.”

  “What made you think she had a thing for Doc?”

  I leaned against my desk. “I don't know. Maybe just because they were both alone.”

  “Couple of old folks in love?” There was a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

  “I was a kid, Dan. I was much more interested in my love life than theirs.” I stared down at the floor, trying to remember the two of them together. “You’d always see them sitting on one of the benches looking out at the bay. This was way before the cruise ships came, you know. They’d sit out there and watch the fishing boats.”

  Dan sat down on the couch I keep in the office. “I only knew Mrs. Nash to say hello. Tip of the hat. That sort of thing.”

  “You really should work on your social skills.”

  “Very funny. Your family seems pretty convinced she didn’t kill herself.”

  “We’ve known her forever, that’s all. I’m not sure anyone ever thinks someone they know would kill themselves.”

  “You have a point there. I’ve been called out to a fair number of suicides and people will tell you how depressed the person was, but they never thought they’d go that far.”