Fatal Brushstroke (An Aurora Anderson Mystery Book 1) Page 5

  “I know, I know.” Rory leaned on her club and stared down at the ball in front of her. “Remind me why I’m doing this.”

  “Think of it as therapy. Helps reduce stress, vent frustrations. Cheaper than a shrink.”

  Might work, Rory thought, if only she could hit the dang ball. “It just sits there. Taunting me.” She took a few practice swings, modifying her stance each time. “I think my boobs are getting in the way.”

  “That’s not your problem. Here, let me show you again.”

  Once more Liz demonstrated the proper grip and swing. Then she poked and prodded Rory’s arms, back, and legs with her club, adjusting body parts until Rory felt as if her bottom was sticking way out and her chest was pointed at the ball.

  “This feels awkward, to say the least,” Rory said.

  “Good. That means you’re doing it right. Now try swinging.”

  Rory put her shoulders and arms into the movement. By some miracle, the ball left the tee and landed in the field a dozen yards away.

  Liz tucked her club under her arm and clapped. “I knew you could do it. Try another one.”

  After Rory pummeled four more balls into submission, Liz returned to her station. “What alarm company does your mom use? Wouldn’t be Vista Beach Security, would it?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve heard a lot of downtown businesses complaining about them lately. The last I heard, at least half a dozen have switched over to H & J Security, Julian Bouquet’s company.”

  Rory stopped in mid-swing and turned to face Liz. “Hester’s husband? I didn’t know he owned an alarm company.”

  “Been in the business for years.” Liz took the last ball out of the tray and placed it on the tee. “I think I saw him at the clubhouse earlier. I’m sure he’d be happy to give you some advice.”

  What an odd place for a grieving husband to be, Rory thought, then immediately chastised herself for judging him. Maybe playing golf helped him deal with his wife’s unexpected death. “Remember, you were going to introduce me to him. Now might be a good time.”

  Liz glanced at her watch. “He’s probably still on the course. We can check once we’re finished here.” After sending her final ball onto the field, she picked up her empty bucket. “I’m going to get more balls. Keep practicing.”

  Once Liz was out of sight, Rory stretched her shoulders and back, then peered down into her own bucket, trying to estimate how many more swings would be required before her torment was finally over. Raised voices from one of the stations at the far end of the driving range captured her attention.

  She turned and watched what appeared to be a frustrated husband giving tips to his equally frustrated wife. “How many times do I have to tell you? Keep your head down!” The man repeated the advice several times, each time slapping his club against the ground for emphasis. Rory feared for a moment he was going to hit the woman over the head with it.

  Rory examined her own club, what Liz had called a driver, weighing it in her hand and tentatively whacking it on the ground. She was swinging it as she supposed Hester’s assailant might have done, using a golf ball as a substitute for Hester’s head, when she heard a voice behind her.

  “I’m not much of a golfer, but I’m pretty sure you don’t hold a club that way.”

  Rory’s grip slipped and the golf club slammed into her leg. Gasping in pain, she dropped the errant driver and turned to discover Detective Green standing behind her.

  She rubbed her shin. “How long have you been there?”

  The hint of a smile flashed across the detective’s face. “Long enough. We need to talk. You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve told you everything.”

  “Your phone records tell me otherwise.”

  Oh, crap, Rory thought. The detective had found out about the phone calls.

  Chapter 8

  “Thirty phone calls in less than ten days seems excessive. What was going on between you two?” Detective Green crossed his arms in front of him and appeared willing to wait until eight-track tapes came back into vogue for an answer.

  Rory wished she knew what was happening behind those expressionless eyes of his. Dealing with uncooperative golf balls was sheer bliss compared to this eyeball-to-eyeball interrogation. The detective’s gaze bore into hers, never wavering, even when the angry husband she’d noticed earlier threw his golf club onto the grass and stalked past, muttering something about hiring someone to take care of his wife.

  Rory bent down to pick up the golf club she’d dropped, her long hair shielding her face from the detective’s prying eyes. She arranged her features into what she hoped was an innocent expression before straightening up and meeting his stare. “We played phone tag for a while, that’s all.”

  “You’re holding something back. Whatever it is, you’re better off telling me about it now before I find out from someone else.”

  Rory fiddled with her club while she decided how much to tell him. She couldn’t lie to the man’s face, but she saw no need to expose every skeleton in her closet, either.

  “It’s a bit embarrassing. The first day of that weekend class I took from Hester, I got an urgent call from a client. They needed me to look at a problem so Hester let me borrow her computer. I only used it for an hour or so. All day Sunday, she kept looking at me strangely. Then after the class she started calling me, saying I’d sabotaged her machine. Completely untrue, of course, but I don’t want it to get around. My clients might not understand.”

  The detective jotted something down in his notebook. “I can see where that might be bad for business. What did she say was wrong with it?”

  “That was never clear. I know I didn’t screw anything up, but I offered to look at it anyway. She refused. I never really understood what she wanted from me, so I just...stopped taking her calls.” That’s all he needed to know. She saw no reason to tell him the rest.

  Detective Green stared at Rory as if trying to decide if he believed her. Finally, he put his notebook back in his pocket. “That’s it for now. I’ll let you get back to your...practicing.” He headed toward the exit but, after only two steps, casually turned around and said, “Just one more thing.”

  Never a good sign when a homicide detective pulled a Columbo on you, Rory thought.

  “Did Ms. Bouquet stop by Monday evening?”

  Rory sensed the detective had meant to catch her unawares, but his timing was way off. News of the alleged visit seemed to be making the rounds. Several people had already told her about it, though Rory didn’t really believe the scuttlebutt. “If she did, I didn’t hear her.”

  He nodded his head and turned to go. He was halfway to the driving range exit when Rory remembered a question she’d forgotten to ask. “Wait! Any word on my gardener?”

  “Javier? He’s not a suspect, if that’s what you mean, though I doubt you’ll be seeing him any time soon.”

  “Oh?”

  “There seems to be a dispute over his immigration status. Deportation was mentioned.”

  No wonder he hadn’t come back, Rory thought. “What about his family?”

  Detective Green shrugged. “Didn’t ask.”

  As the detective walked away, Rory thought about her gardener’s problem. She wished her father were in town to give Javier advice or, perhaps, even take over his case. While immigration law wasn’t her father’s specialty, he could protect her gardener’s rights until a more suitable advocate could be found. She was wondering how Javier’s wife would react to such an offer when Liz returned with a distinguished-looking middle-aged man she introduced as Julian Bouquet, Hester’s husband.

  Rory uttered appropriate words of condolence and shook the recent widower’s hand. As diplomatically as she could, she tried to pose a question or two about his wife�
�s death, but the man danced around the subject, changing the topic every time she brought up the murder investigation. Eventually, the conversation turned to the flurry of false alarms plaguing downtown Vista Beach.

  “The world is full of inferior products. It’s hard for the average consumer to know who to trust. I’m proud to say none of has had any problems recently. Sorry to hear your mother’s been affected, Rory.” Julian drew a business card out of his wallet. “If she’s interested, I can set her up with a more reliable system at a rock-bottom price. She’ll have no more alarm problems. Guaranteed. Tell her to call me personally.”

  Rory took the proffered card and murmured her thanks.

  “Feel free to call me yourself. I hear there have been a number of break-ins on your street recently.” Julian cleared his throat. “In case you haven’t heard, Hester’s memorial service is scheduled for Friday at the house.” His voice cracked, the only indication Rory had of the intense emotions he must be feeling. “My assistant, Nora, has all the details. I hope you both can come.”

  “How is Nora doing?” Rory asked. When Julian hesitated, she felt compelled to add, “She was so upset when I saw her yesterday.”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure. I told her she could take time off, but she insisted on working and even volunteered to make all the arrangements for the service. I hope after it’s over I can convince her to take a break.”

  A few minutes later, Julian excused himself and headed back to the clubhouse.

  Once he was out of earshot, Rory said to Liz, “Did you know Nora worked for him?”

  “She’s been his assistant for years. He even let her cut down her hours so she could devote more time to painting.”

  Sounded like a nice arrangement, but Rory couldn’t help wondering how Nora managed on the reduced salary. Her painting business had barely gotten off the ground, and she couldn’t have made much, if anything, helping out Hester. “How does a busy executive manage with only a part-time assistant?”

  “He has more than one, of course.” Liz looked down at Rory’s bucket and frowned. “Didn’t you practice? The Dashing Detective wasn’t here the entire time, was he?”

  “How did you...? Oh. You saw him leave, didn’t you?” Julian must have pointed the detective out to Liz when they crossed paths on the way to the driving range.

  “I don’t think Julian likes him much,” Liz said.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised, considering the circumstances.”

  “I thought he was cute, myself, but that bargain basement suit has got to go.” Liz picked up her club and poked Rory in the ribs with it. “Finish off the bucket so we can go to dinner. I didn’t have time for lunch.”

  “I thought you went to get more balls.”

  “Changed my mind. Get to work!”

  Rory took a deep breath before contorting her body into the proper position for the exercise that had ceased to be fun about a hundred swings before. She closed her eyes and visualized herself sending the ball flying across the field. When she felt ready, Rory started the swing she was sure would prove to be her best.

  “Oh, I almost forgot! You’ll never guess what Julian told me about that detective.”

  The ball plopped off the tee and landed inches away from Rory’s feet. She stared down at it, then turned to face Liz. “Do you want me to finish or not?”

  “Sorry, but this is too good to wait. Apparently, Dashing D left his last job under a bit of a cloud. The police department was so corrupt over half the officers were brought up on charges.”

  Might explain why the man never smiled, Rory thought. “Are you sure he’s got it right? I doubt Chief Marshall would’ve hired Detective Green if he’s corrupt. Maybe Julian’s making it up because he’s afraid the detective is on his trail. What did your contact at the police station say? Are they investigating him?”

  “They seem to be mainly interested in you,” Liz reluctantly admitted. “I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to upset you. I’m sure they’ll come to their senses soon.”

  Rory wasn’t surprised to hear she was the prime suspect. She planned on staying out of jail this time. She’d keep closer tabs on the investigation than she had a year ago and find out as much as she could about her painting teacher who she knew little about. Maybe then she’d discover evidence that pointed to the true culprit. “I wonder where Julian was when his wife was murdered.”

  “You think he did it.”

  “You saw how he avoided my questions. Plus, a golf club’s a handy weapon.”

  “We don’t even know what kind of weapon was used or how she was killed.”

  “I’m not likely to forget her bashed-in head. That image has been permanently burned into my brain.”

  “A golf club’s not the only possibility. We need to find out what the autopsy report says.”

  Rory leaned on her club and considered the problem. Liz’s job brought her into contact with people from all walks of life and, as far as Rory could tell, the petite real estate agent kept in touch with every single one of them. “You know tons of people. Couldn’t one of them get us a peek at the report? How about your police contact?”

  “I doubt he’d do that. I might know someone else, though. Let me think about it.” Liz peered into the bucket. “This is taking too long. I’ll waste away to nothing before you finish.”

  Rory dropped her club on the ground. “That’s it. I’m done.” She grabbed the bucket, holding it over her head so Liz couldn’t reach it. After dumping its contents onto the grass, she shoved the bucket into her friend’s hands. “It’s empty now. Satisfied?”

  Liz grumbled about wasting golf balls all the way to the rental office, but by the time they returned Rory’s borrowed clubs and reached the parking lot, she seemed to have recovered her good humor. While Liz stowed her own clubs in the trunk of her car, Rory glanced around the lot and spotted Julian with a woman she didn’t recognize. His hand on her waist, he guided the redhead toward a late model Mercedes parked a dozen spaces away from where Rory and Liz stood.

  Rory tugged on Liz’s sleeve and pointed toward the couple. “Who’s the knockout?”

  Liz shielded her eyes from the setting sun and glanced in the direction Rory had indicated. “That’s just T & A.”

  Rory smiled. Even at this distance, she could tell why Liz had chosen that particular nickname for Julian’s companion. A woman with a figure like that must have left quite a few accidents in her wake. “I hope you don’t call her that to her face. What’s her real name?”

  “Trudy Appelbaum. Old friend of the Bouquets.”

  “So that’s Trudy.”

  “I take it you’ve heard of her.”

  “Nora mentioned her yesterday. I’m surprised she’s here after what happened. Weren’t she and Hester good friends?”

  “I got the feeling they’d drifted apart.” Liz closed the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat. “Once upon a time they were inseparable at painting conventions. As Kevin’s godmother, Trudy often substituted for Hester at school events.”

  Rory folded her long legs into the passenger seat. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure, but they didn’t spend as much time together after Trudy gave up tole painting.”

  Rory scrunched down so Liz could see to back out. When they drove by Julian’s car on the way to the exit, Rory caught a glimpse of the widower brushing his hand against Trudy’s cheek in an intimate gesture.

  Liz pulled out of the parking lot onto the busy street. “Valentino’s for pizza?”

  “Sounds good, I’m starving. Now, let’s talk about how we’re going to get access to that autopsy report.”

  Chapter 9

  The next day, after a morning spent wrestling with uncooperative code, Rory headed downtown. She stood on the sidewalk in front of
Main Street Squeeze, Trudy’s restaurant in Vista Beach, and pretended to study the specials on the menu board next to the entrance while she tried to come up with a plausible excuse to go inside and satisfy her curiosity about Hester’s longtime friend. She’d gone through a number of unsuccessful scenarios in her mind before she spotted the alarm sticker prominently displayed in the window.

  Rory took a deep breath and stepped inside. The lunch rush appeared to be over. Only a handful of people milled around the pickup counter while one green-and-black-uniformed employee prepared smoothies and another replenished supplies from the walk-in freezer. Rory handed her business card to the senior citizen manning the cash register and asked to speak with the owner.

  When Trudy approached the counter less than five minutes later, Rory found herself staring down into some serious cleavage. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what female body part Julian Bouquet favored. Rory pulled her gaze away from Trudy’s chest.

  “You don’t look like a murderer,” the restaurant owner said.

  Rory’s mind went blank at the unexpected greeting. “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind. You wanted to see me?”

  The conversation had barely started and Rory already felt it slipping out of her control. She launched into her cover story before their chat could take another unexpected turn. After explaining about her mother’s problems with Vista Beach Security, Rory said, “We were wondering what you thought of your alarm company. My mom’s fed up with hers.”

  “Seems to be going around.” Trudy glanced at her watch. “I can spare you five minutes. Let’s talk over here.” She grabbed a tiny paper cup filled with green goop off the counter and led Rory to a table in the corner. “Have some wheatgrass on the house. You look like you could use it.”

  Rory cautiously sniffed the vibrant green liquid. The smell, a cross between freshly cut grass and gasoline, made her queasy, but she managed to choke it down without throwing up all over the table.