A Palette for Murder, page 16
With reluctance, the detective let me show him the employee files. “That should do it,” Detective Seastrom said. “We can take it from here. You should go home now.”
I didn’t realize how exhausted I was. “What about Carone Merryweather?” I didn’t want to break the news of Clyde’s death to her.
“As I said, we’ll take it from here. Thank you for your cooperation. And by the way, next time don’t stick around after hours. You might get hurt.”
I wished Clyde had been here to get that same advice. “Thanks, I’ll remember that.” Despite Detective Seastrom’s mockery, I knew he was right.
Marny and Rodney were at the front desk when I came in. They looked downcast. I had read the article in The New Mexican this morning. In a police statement, Carone claimed Clyde associated with unsavory people and that she had warned him not to have them in the gallery. While expressing sorrow for Clyde’s death, Carone insisted his murder had nothing to do with the gallery. Damage control was in full swing here. The article didn’t mention me by name, just that a part-time employee had found the body. I was safe. Charley would never know, but I didn’t feel like celebrating.
“I guess you heard about Clyde,” I said.
Rodney’s eyes were red. “Really sad, love. I liked him.”
“Yeah,” Marny said. “It’s shocking.”
“Nobody knew he was hanging around addicts,” Rodney said.
“Is that what it was?” I said.
Marny nodded. “Carone said she warned him. She gave him another chance, but I guess he didn’t listen. We didn’t know anything about it.”
“I thought I knew him, but I guess I didn’t,” Rodney said. “Well, I’m handling the funeral arrangements, since there’s no one else.”
“What about Patty’s funeral?” I asked.
“Her family is having her body sent to Florida. They’re going to have the funeral there,” Marny said.
“So sad,” Rodney murmured. “I don’t care what anyone says, I always liked Patty. Well, my lovelies, I guess I’ll be off.”
“Rodney,” Marny said. “If you need some help . . .”
“I’ll be all right, love. By the way, what happened? Carone said you found him.”
“I—don’t—exactly know,” I stammered. “I heard a noise and called out, but no one answered. I got scared—I was alone—I hid in the broom closet. Then someone locked me in. It may have been Clyde . . . before he was killed. I thought I heard fighting. Maybe Clyde saw me and locked me in—to protect me.”
It sounded plausible. Otherwise, why lock a closet door? Unless the killer did that, to make sure Clyde didn’t have a hiding place. I didn’t know what to believe. Poor Clyde.
Marny and Rodney stared at me.
“Wow,” Marny said. “What made you come to the gallery at that time?”
“Yes, love. Why were you here? You could have gotten yourself killed.”
“I know that . . . now. I forgot some files I was working on . . . I heard a noise in the stacks and peeked in. Uh, is Carone here?”
“This isn’t a good time to see her,” Rodney said. “After Clyde . . .”
“I’m not going to bother her. I just need a few minutes.”
A few minutes to find out what happened to . . . my mind went blank. What was I supposed to do? Okay, I could ask her about Amanda and Jason. If Amanda was no longer working here, did that mean Jason was no longer with Carone?
“I’ve got to be going,” Rodney said. “Take care, my lovelies.”
Rodney left by the front door. He must not have planned to stay long, or he would have parked in the back.
“If Carone isn’t in her office, she and Bentley are probably in the stacks. That’s where she said to transfer her calls,” Marny said. She leaned forward on the reception counter. “Are you here to pick up your last check? Did you quit already?”
“No, why?” Did she hear Carone talk me into staying?
“I know if I quit, I’ll have Carone mail my last paycheck. The way things go around here, I don’t think it’s safe to stay around for it. You must be horrified. I would be if I found someone dead. I mean, I didn’t like Patty or Clyde, but—”
“I feel terrible about both of them. I did like Patty. It’s hard to believe they’re both . . . dead.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Marny said. “But at a time like this, you’ve got to think of yourself, Lana.” She gave me a conspiring look. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not going to be here much longer.”
“You found something else? Where?”
“I can’t say yet. I’ll let you know.”
“Is Carone going to put the fire on your record?”
“That wasn’t my fault. Someone took one of my cigarettes and stuffed it in that wastebasket. I put my cigarette out.”
“But you did walk into that room, didn’t you?”
“Bentley saw me go in there with a cigarette, so I couldn’t deny it. I know there’s no smoking here, but I didn’t start any fire.”
“Why did you go in there?”
“I was just curious. Amanda complained that the front desk was too noisy for her to get any work done. Of course, she and Jason just wanted a room to themselves. And Patty . . . let her get away with it.”
“It’s hard to believe Patty would put up with that.”
“Jason told her he needed to dictate some letters to Amanda—some new project he wanted to start for the gallery. That’s a lie. He never works in the gallery. But what could Patty say? Jason’s married to the boss.”
“So what did you find out?”
“Nothing. They weren’t in the room when I walked in. It would have looked strange if they locked the door, so they didn’t. But someone stole my silver cigarette case out of my desk drawer. It was expensive too. Art Deco—I bought it in an antique shop. Someone must have taken it when I walked into the back office. It’s no use accusing anyone. Everyone thinks I started the fire because I’m the only one who smokes. The firemen found traces of a cigarette in the wastebasket. It was my cigarette. But I never smoked it.”
“Someone wanted to make it look like you started the fire. But why?”
Marny snickered. “Someone who didn’t want me to find out something.”
“Amanda and Jason?” I whispered.
“You didn’t hear it from me.”
“How long were you in the back office?”
“I wasn’t in there very long, before everyone smelled the fire, maybe ten, fifteen minutes later. I didn’t smell smoke when I was in there. And I didn’t light my cigarette. I was on my way out to smoke it in the alley. I smoked it and went back inside.”
“But you left your cigarette case in your drawer?”
“I did. I didn’t think anyone would take it.”
“So you went straight back to your office after you came in?”
“No, I—why are you asking me these questions? I feel like I’m getting the third degree.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful. Two people have been murdered. Maybe if you go over everything, you’ll remember something that could be important. It sounds like someone took one of your cigarettes and set the back office on fire.”
“I guess you’re right. I think I went into the break room to make a call—I didn’t want anyone to hear me. I didn’t want to talk in the parking lot. Too noisy out there. I never knew when Patty would walk into my office. She was always checking up on me. It’s weird to think she’s dead. She was never nice to me. But I didn’t want her to die.”
“I know. Did you see her when you went into the break room?”
“No. I didn’t see anyone. If I were you, I’d get out before—”
“I hear you. Well, let me know where you end up.”
“I will. You’re brave to want to talk to Carone today. I’m staying out of her way. What do you think she and Bentley are looking for?”
“It could have been a robbery. Maybe there’s a painting missing.”
“Somehow I doubt that. I don’t think drug addicts are into art.”
I shrugged. “You never know.”
“I wouldn’t go into the stacks. Wandering around this place makes me nervous.”
“Carone and Bentley are there. Nothing can happen.”
“I guess. Safety in numbers.”
But Marny’s recollections got me wondering. Had Amanda or Jason set the fire to cover up their real activities—like stealing another painting? If so, why didn’t they take anything? Did Amanda fake her reaction to the smoke? She didn’t want to go to a hospital. Well, regardless, I didn’t think Marny started the fire.
On my way to the stacks, I noticed Carone’s door was open. She wasn’t there, so I went in and looked around. I clicked her computer mouse, taking it out of the screensaver mode. An image of an amazing-looking realistic landscape painting displayed on the monitor, done in a style similar to the old master painters of the Renaissance. I scrolled the mouse on the image. Donald Walker was the artist.
“Lana?”
I looked up to see Carone staring at me. I moved away from her desk. “I wanted to talk to you. I noticed the paintings on your screen. What an incredible artist. I just—”
“I didn’t know we were meeting today. I have to run an errand.”
Somehow, I couldn’t picture Carone running errands. It must have showed on my face.
“I need to put some money in the account—for the gallery. I make those deposits myself, Lana.”
“Oh. I’m sorry about Clyde.”
“Yes. The police told me you were there.”
“The newspaper article said—”
“That was a cover. Marny and Rodney—”
“I know. They told me. Clyde was into drugs. Poor Clyde.”
“I had to say that. I can’t have anyone thinking the gallery is involved. Now tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know. I think Clyde locked me into the broom closet. I heard fighting and a shot. When I got out, he was on the floor. Dead. What about Amanda? You said she no longer works for you.”
“She’s . . . I don’t want to discuss it. Amanda had nothing to do with it. I fired her. Insubordination. I caught her rifling through my desk.”
Insubordination? Carone believed what she wanted to believe, regardless of the truth staring at her in the face. “Carone, two people are dead. Maybe more. Max Beely could have been killed for the same reason as Clyde and Patty—”
“It’s not your concern. Max—he was a handyman. He didn’t know anything about art.”
Or maybe he just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“When I get back,” Carone continued, “you can help Bentley and me check the stacks. We need to make sure nothing is missing. And don’t come into my office when I’m not here. In the meantime, sit in your office and look busy.”
Look busy. I laughed to myself. How many times had I sat at my desk at First Century Life, trying to look busy when I was daydreaming about something else? If Charley could see me now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Fifteen minutes into my look-busy assignment, I got bored. Having someone tell me to look busy, instead of thinking of that on my own, took the fun out of it. I got so bored I dozed off.
My office phone rang, jolting me from my nap.
“Lana. How’ve you been?”
“Darlene. Hi. Hey, I’m kind of busy right now. I’ll have to call you back.”
“Please, just tell me you got me an invitation to the auction.”
“Darlene, haven’t you heard the news?”
“About the guy getting shot? Yeah, I heard. But the gallery is still having the auction. It would be great if you could introduce me to Carone. Come over tonight. I’ll show you my work. We can go to El Casita afterward. It’s a great club. Maybe Tyler will be there.”
“I—”
“Come on. After ten, you can get in for free. They have a good band tonight. I want you to see my work. It’s perfect for Carone.”
Maybe I did need some fun, and the music would drown out Darlene’s constant demand for an auction ticket. I didn’t know whether I’d even be here for the auction. But with my concussion, was I up for loud music? I’d have to see, minute by minute. I hadn’t thought of Tyler in a while. After the deaths of Patty and Clyde, I hadn’t thought of much else.
Carone stopped in, having come back from the bank. “I need you in the stacks,” she said.
I hung up from Darlene, cutting her off in mid-sentence because she kept talking even when I said I had to go, and followed Carone.
Carone, Bentley and I picked through the stacks. A very slow process the way they did it. At the rate we were going, we’d be here all night.
Suddenly, Bentley called out, “What have we here? The Modigliani is in the wrong spot. Someone screwed up. They put it where a Zalez should have been.”
“Well, that’s great,” Carone said. She took the painting from him. “The number on the back corresponds to the right number on the chart, but it’s the wrong painting. You’re right. It should have been the Zalez.”
Carone held up the Modigliani, and we paused to admire it. The elegant woman in the painting, with her elongated neck and almond-shaped eyes, looked back at us as if surprised by the fuss we made over her. I once saw a movie about Modigliani. Considered one of the greats, he didn’t live long. His paintings were rare, especially since, as the story went, he destroyed many of them before his death.
Carone checked where the Modigliani should have been and found a Klatzen. She found the Zalez where the Klatzen should have been. “What a big mess this is,” she said.
“I’m sure Marny is responsible for this one,” Bentley said. “She screwed me up last week on a painting I needed. She had it misplaced.”
“I did not.” Marny stood in the doorway. “And I didn’t put the Modigliani back. Patty insisted on doing that. So if it’s not in the right place, it’s not my fault.”
“I thought you were at the front desk,” Carone said.
“I was, but I went to my office for another cup of coffee. I thought maybe you could use some help. Anyway, I always put everything back in its rightful place. I’m a professional.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Bentley said. “You’re the professional around here.”
“Please, let’s not argue about it. Marny, I need you at the front desk. I don’t like leaving the gallery unattended.”
Marny left. But the smirk on her face showed she thought she had won this argument. So much for her being too nervous to wander around this place. Had she shown up to make sure no one discovered any of her thefts? Or to find out whether we found the Modigliani, because she tried and couldn’t? Or maybe Patty had put it in the wrong spot.
We didn’t discover any other misplaced paintings, or missing ones. After we finished in the stacks, Carone let us go home. She closed the gallery for the rest of the day. Whether to give her employees time to mourn, or because staying open after an employee died here made her look uncaring, I didn’t know.
Poor Clyde. He didn’t have the best reputation, and his death further soiled it. Just like Carone to make him the fall guy.
Carone laughed. “Lana, you’ve got to be kidding. Bentley’s harmless. Go home, already. Come on, I want to lock my office.”
Maybe, or maybe not. Other than the tiff with Marny and the misplaced Modigliani, Bentley hadn’t said much while we worked in the stacks. He never said anything about Patty or Clyde. Carone did, murmuring how sorry she was. Even Marny talked about it, and she hadn’t been at the gallery as long as Bentley had. Yet Bentley had worked with them for some time and seemed to get along with them.
Maybe I quit my surveillance of Bentley too soon. While I was looking up his records in the file room, he could have driven to the gallery. It wouldn’t have taken him long. Did Bentley overpower Clyde and shoot him? Did he knock me out and push me into the closet the day I started working here? He was the first person I saw when I came out. But would he have told us where the Modigliani was if he was the killer? Was it a coincidence that Marny appeared just when Bentley discovered where the Modigliani was? Bentley and Marny didn’t get along, but was that a ruse?
“Well, how does he afford such an expensive house? Not on the salary he earns here, I bet.”
“Lana, he’s an artist. His paintings do quite well. He could exist on those sales alone if he lived in a less expensive place.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Both he and Rodney made only part of their incomes from the gallery.
Although I didn’t expect Carone to put stock into anything I said, I gave her my take on the Modigliani. “It could be the next painting stolen.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“It’s valuable and rare.”
“I’m having a security company install another alarm system tomorrow. It’s not going to be a problem.”
“But Carone, who else knows you have a Modigliani? Does it belong to you, or to someone else?”
This time Carone considered what I said. “A collector brought it in the week before you got here. I showed it in the resale gallery for a few days.”
That did it for me. Money or not, Carone was either too lax or too stupid for me to work for. “I hope your new security system works out,” I said. “But I can’t do this. I’m sorry. You fired me and now I quit.”
“What? We have a contract. You can’t quit.”
“Then sue me. Three people are dead.”
“Only two.”
“I can’t believe you said that. Even one person killed is one too many. And yes, three people are dead. Angelica Ortiz knew Lefty Chavez. He disappeared—I saw him at her funeral and he ran off—too scared to show his face after his girlfriend was killed. He has a connection to your gallery. She was his girlfriend and she referred people here. So yes, three people are dead. This job isn’t worth my life.”
“Please,” Carone pleaded. “Just hold on. I’ve got to find the Picasso.”
“You need to tell the police the truth.”
“I will. Just give me a little more time.”
