Fatal Brushstroke (An Aurora Anderson Mystery Book 1) Read online

  “You were wrong before, and you’re wrong now. I’ll prove it.” Rory injected a note of confidence in her voice she didn’t really feel.

  “We’ll see about that.” The chief hitched his trousers over his paunch and settled down behind the steering wheel of the car.

  As she watched him drive away, Rory longed to go back inside and bury herself under the covers, but she’d promised her mother she’d help out with the paint-a-thon. Figuring a little exercise would do her good, she started to walk the half mile from her house to Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint. As she headed down the block, the neighbor who was gardening stared at her. When Rory said hello, the woman turned away without saying a word. Rory squared her shoulders, determined not to let the unexpected reaction get to her. By the time she arrived at the store, she’d shaken off the conversation and was ready for work.

  As they reviewed the website updates she’d made and put together the flyer, Rory told her mother about the present for Samantha. Arika suggested applying flocking to the back of the wood piece so it wouldn’t mar the wall when it was hung. During a break in work, they searched the sales floor for an appropriate-colored flocking kit for the project. Rory grabbed a Post-it off the desk, jotted down a few tips on using the kit, and stuffed the note in her wallet.

  By the time they finished for the day, it was still light outside so Rory decided to take the long way home via the beach. Carefully wrapping the package of brown flocking fibers and bottle of special adhesive her mother had given her in paper towels, she stowed the materials in her tote bag before heading outside into the comforting bustle of the beach community.

  Rory pushed all her cares to the back of her mind as she wended her way down the hill toward the sand. More people were headed up the hill than down, though the crowd was smaller than in summer when the traffic swelled to include those trying to escape the much hotter temperatures inland. Halfway down, she dodged a young woman carrying a surfboard and a group of teenagers too engrossed in texting to pay attention to their surroundings.

  Weekend warriors, getting in that last bit of exercise before returning to work the next day, filled the two paved pathways that ran along the sand. South of the pier, walkers, joggers, bikers, and skaters shared a single trail. To the north two paths paralleled each other separated by a waist-high concrete wall. The one closest to the ocean was reserved for skaters and bikers, the other for slower-moving pedestrians and joggers.

  Rory had just reached the area near the base of the pier where the walk and bike paths converged when she saw the accident unfold, close enough to see what happened but too far away to do anything about it.

  She watched in horror as an unattended toddler wobbled on chubby little legs across the pavement toward a terrier sitting on the beach with its owner. The inline skater who suddenly found the tot in front of her had little time to decide what to do. She veered to the left, straight into the path of a bicyclist headed in the opposite direction.

  Amid a chorus of shouts and barks, an alert jogger vaulted the concrete wall and snatched the tot out of harm’s way. The bicyclist swerved onto the sand, narrowly missing a lamppost. Almost as soon as its wheels left the pavement, the bike toppled over and flung its rider to the ground. The skater skidded to a halt a few feet down the road.

  The world seemed to hold its breath as the biker remained motionless face-down in the sand. When he finally began to stir, everyone moved at once. By the time Rory reached the scene the man was sitting up and taking off his helmet. She almost didn’t recognize Detective Green without his coat and tie. He slowly got to his feet and, with a wave, indicated to the knot of people around him he was fine.

  The man certainly kept himself fit, Rory thought. Her gaze strayed to his muscular legs and backside. As the crowd dispersed, she glanced up and caught the eye of an amused onlooker. She blushed and hurried over to the biker to see if there was anything she could do. “Detective, are you all right?”

  “Ms. Anderson. I didn’t expect to see you here. Just bumps and bruises. Nothing to worry about.” He brushed the sand off his face and stared down at the black Bad Boy Ultra lying on its side. “I’m not so sure about my bike, though.”

  When he righted the bicycle to check it for damage, Rory noticed a bloody scrape on the off-duty detective’s calf. Bits of sand clung to the ugly wound.

  “You’re bleeding.” Rory dug around in her tote bag for the paper towels she’d wrapped around the flocking materials. She wet one with water from a bottle she’d put in the bag, then handed the damp cloth to the injured man. “Here, clean it with this.”

  “Thanks.” Detective Green leaned his bike against the lamppost and hung his helmet on the handlebar. He sat down facing the ocean and began cleaning his wound. Rory sank down on the sand next to him. Her gaze landed on the shore where a gray-haired man wearing swim trunks emerged from the freezing water. She shivered. No one could get her to take a dip in the ocean this time of year, not even wearing a wetsuit.

  Rory glanced over at Detective Green. The wound didn’t look so bad once it was free of the sand and most of the blood.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any Band-Aids in that magic bag of yours, would you?” he asked.

  “Sorry. Only painting supplies.”

  “Did you just come from your mother’s store? Isn’t she closed today?”

  Rory opened her mouth to ask how he knew so much about her mother’s business, but then she realized he probably knew every detail of her family’s life by now—the good, the bad, and the ugly. “Don’t believe everything Chief Marshall says.”

  “I form my own opinions.”

  “My mom didn’t do it, you know. I don’t see why you had to question her for so long yesterday. She can’t tell you anything.”

  “Everyone—” The detective looked pointedly at Rory. “—and I mean everyone, is a suspect right now. We only have your mother’s word Ms. Bouquet left the store after her class.”

  “You’re better off looking at Hester’s husband. He seems to be bent on erasing any trace of her from his house.”

  “You mean the painting supplies? From what I hear, your mother’s benefiting as well.”

  “But she’s not the one having an affair.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Julian and Trudy.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Rory took a sip from the water bottle she’d opened earlier. “You must have seen them at the golf course the other day.”

  “Anything concrete?”

  “I haven’t seen them coming out of a hotel together, if that’s what you mean. I’d search Julian’s condo if I were you.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t?” He eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re thinking of investigating on your own, don’t. Leave it to the professionals.”

  With a finger Rory traced the outline of a flower in the sand. “I didn’t say anything about investigating.”

  “You didn’t have to. No investigating, okay? Same goes for your friend. The one with the blog.”

  Rory looked up from her artwork, puzzled. Except for Liz, who contributed the occasional article to a real estate blog, no one she knew had the time or inclination to express their opinions on the web. “Who are you talking about?”

  “The journalist you gave the crime scene tour to.”

  “Veronica? I didn’t even know she had a blog.” Rory didn’t know which was more surprising: that Veronica had written about the case online or that the detective was aware of it.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I’m not a total idiot when it comes to technology. I even contribute to the police department’s Facebook page.” Detective Green studied the darkening sky. “It’s getting late.” He winced as he stood up and limped over to his bike. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  “Thanks, but I�
�ll be okay.”

  “You sure? It’s no problem.”

  “I’ll be fine. This is a safe city.”

  “Bad things happen even in safe neighborhoods. You, of all people, should know that.”

  Rory didn’t think she needed to worry. Vista Beach numbered among the beach cities of L.A. County, some of the safest in Southern California. If someone did attack her, she could always bop the assailant over the head with the flashlight she carried in her bag. Or at least shine the light in his eyes and run away as fast as possible.

  Detective Green put on his helmet. “Remember, no investigating,” he said before he pedaled away on his bike.

  Rory took the flashlight out of her bag and hurried home to check out Veronica’s blog and find out what the reporter had written about Hester’s murder.

  Chapter 17

  From the moment Detective Green mentioned Veronica’s blog, Rory knew she wouldn’t like what she saw, but she didn’t realize how upset she’d be.

  Vista Beach Confidential had been easy to find. A quick search on Veronica’s full name and the blog had appeared near the top of the search engine’s result list. Half gossip column half news, VBC reported on events around the city.

  Ever since Hester’s death, Veronica had been airing her thoughts on the first murder to occur within Vista Beach city limits in decades. With some trepidation, Rory read the entries in the order in which they’d been posted. The first contained nothing that hadn’t already been published in the paper. She felt optimistic the rest would be equally benign until she saw the pictures of the front of her house and the garden where she’d found Hester’s body. Rory’s name and address weren’t mentioned, but, between the description and the photos, anyone remotely familiar with the area would have no problem finding the crime scene.

  That explained the increased traffic on the street, Rory thought. Even now, lights pierced the darkness outside her window and a car slowed to a crawl as it passed her house.

  Apparently, Veronica hadn’t walked straight home after her crime scene visit, but had spent time interviewing Rory’s neighbors. The blog entry contained quotes from several of them, including one who complained about Rory’s “suspicious” activities although he didn’t elaborate on just what those were. Even though no name was given, Rory was sure the source was the banking executive across the street who was always parking his BMW in front of other people’s driveways. She’d politely asked him to move it once when he’d parked in front of hers, and he’d almost bitten her head off. She could only imagine what he and the rest of her neighbors thought about her now after Chief Marshall’s tour of the neighborhood.

  Rory closed the blinds, leaned back in her chair, and took several deep breaths to calm herself. She’d been naive to believe the press would respect her privacy, but complaining about the photos and articles might cause even more unwanted attention. She was better off monitoring the postings to see if Veronica discovered anything useful. The aspiring reporter might dig up a tidbit of information that would help solve the case.

  Rory steeled herself to read the rest of the blog, steering clear of the comments section. She didn’t really want to know what her neighbors thought.

  She hated to admit it, but Veronica had a way with words. Besides the crime scene “tour,” she’d also published a wicked account of Hester’s memorial service complete with pictures and hints about the “happy widower” and his inappropriate relationship with a “friend of the family.” Rory wondered if Kevin was angry enough to break up with his secret girlfriend or, given his turbulent relationship with his father, if he was privately applauding her outing of Julian’s affair.

  By the time she finished reading the last entry, Rory was ready to think about something else. She turned her attention to the work that had piled up since her painting teacher’s murder, debugging code and answering emails from clients until it was time for bed.

  She tossed and turned most of the night, finally giving up on sleep at four a.m. With the help of a six-pack of lime Diet Coke she went back to her programming tasks, getting more done in a few hours than she had in the last week. She even squeezed in a short nap so that, by the time her mother called in the late afternoon, she was alert enough to head downtown to learn all about the new alarm system H & J Security was installing in her mother’s store.

  Arika was talking on the phone when Rory walked in the door. As far as she could tell from the little she heard of the conversation, one of her mother’s friends was ill and wouldn’t make it to class that night. Almost as soon as the store owner hung up the phone, the bell over the front entrance tinkled.

  Clad in a navy blue suit, Nora entered exuding a business-like manner. “Julian asked me to stop by to make sure everything’s going okay. Is Phil finished yet?” she said, referring to the technician who was installing the alarm.

  “He’s about ready to show us the new system,” Arika replied. With a wave of her hand, she invited them to join her in the back room. The bell over the front door tinkled once again, more wildly this time. Rory smiled at the whirlwind that burst through the door.

  Liz tagged along as Rory followed her mother and Nora into the room where the alarm technician was waiting for them.

  While Phil started his explanation of the different alarm functions to the group, Liz tugged on Rory’s sleeve and whispered, “I need to talk to you.”

  “Shh! I can’t hear what he’s saying.”

  “It’s important.”

  “After this is over.” Rory stepped forward and tried to follow what the H & J Security employee was saying. Moments later a faint chime sounded. As unobtrusively as possible, Rory unclipped her cell phone from her belt and read the text message on its screen: Found out something interesting about Keen.

  She turned her head to look at her friend who was leaning against the desk, her head bent over her own cell phone. Rory turned off the text alert sound on her cell, then replied: Keen?

  The two young women exchanged a flurry of text messages while the technician continued explaining the new system.

  Kevin, I meant Kevin.

  What about him?

  Found mirth verified. Doesn’t make sense.

  I’ll say.

  Birth certificate! Stupid autocorrect!

  Arika held up her hand to stop Phil from continuing, then whipped around to face the texters. She grabbed the cell phone out of Rory’s hands and turned it off.

  “Enough! You...” Arika pointed at Liz. “Make yourself useful out front or leave. And you,” she aimed an accusatory finger at her daughter, “Pay attention! This is important.”

  Liz scooted toward the front of the store while Rory hastily mumbled an apology and directed her attention to Phil who was trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement at the scene unfolding before him.

  Arika turned back to the technician and said sweetly, “Sorry about that. Could you start from the beginning, please? We’re all ears.”

  Rory kept her attention focused on the technician, pretending to be engrossed in what he was saying, even though she knew her brain was making little sense of the words coming out of his mouth. All through his presentation, part of her mind wondered what her friend had found on Kevin’s birth certificate that had puzzled her so much.

  Chapter 18

  After Phil finished his presentation and Arika had given Rory back her cell phone, Rory checked to see if Liz had sent any more text messages, but her inbox remained strangely empty. By the time Rory turned in that evening, she still couldn’t get hold of her friend.

  With everything that was bothering her, Rory expected to toss and turn all night, but she was so tired she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  The simultaneous crowing of her cell phone and br-r-ring of her landline dashed all hopes of an undisturbed sleep. This was getting to be a b
ad habit, Rory thought, as she decided which phone to pick up.

  Given the choice between the cell phone that lay within arm’s reach and the landline on the nightstand on the other side of the queen-sized bed, the cell phone won out. When she answered, she heard the voice of the man who’d been plaguing her dreams.

  “You need to get down to your mother’s store right away,” Detective Green said. A siren wailed in the background.

  “What’s wrong?” Rory said, determined to remain calm no matter what he told her.

  “Sorry, I need to go. Get down here as soon as you can.”

  Before Rory could ask any more questions, Detective Green hung up.

  The landline had ceased ringing long ago. She briefly wondered who had called, but didn’t want to take the time to find out in her rush to get out the door. Somehow, she managed to make it to her destination without forgetting a key article of clothing or damaging anything along the way.

  The scene was worse than Rory had imagined. Finding the store engulfed in flames would have been preferable to what she discovered in the alley behind Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint.

  Rory choked back a sob. “Mom?” She rushed over to where paramedics were wheeling her mother out the back door of the store on a gurney. For one awful moment, she thought the side of her mother’s face was covered in blood but, when she moved closer, she realized it was only red paint.

  “Is she all right?” Rory asked the nearest paramedic.

  “I’m fine, dear,” a weak voice said. Rory barely recognized it as her mother’s.

  Several emergency workers milled around the ambulance and police car that blocked the alley. Detective Green detached himself from the group and hurried over to where Rory was interrogating the paramedic. “She’s in good hands. Let them do their job,” the detective said.

  “What happened?” Rory asked, her voice pitched an octave higher than usual.

  “Officer Clark...” The detective pointed to a policeman she recognized as the one who’d handled the false alarm call a week ago. “...found the back door open. When he went inside, he discovered your mother unconscious on the floor.”