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

  “Lots of nutrients in that little cup. Drink one every day and your complexion will clear up in no time. Now, what did you want to know?”

  Rory folded her hands in her lap and launched into a series of questions about H & J Security, only half-listening to the answers. After she’d asked everything she could think of, she said, “Thanks for your time. Sad about Hester, isn’t it? I understand you two go way back.”

  Trudy stared out the window, but Rory sensed the woman wasn’t seeing the sun beating down on the pavement or the cars navigating the crowded street. “Seems like only yesterday we met. I talked to her on Monday, you know. Hard to believe less than twenty-four hours later she was dead.” She turned to look accusingly into Rory’s eyes. “But then, you know all about that, don’t you?”

  Rory was trying to figure out how to respond when Trudy continued, “How did you know Hester? You don’t look like one of her minions.”

  Rory didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. “About Monday—”

  An angry voice coming from the direction of the pickup counter interrupted their conversation. “This tastes like dirt. How can you sell this crap?” the voice said.

  “Sorry, I need to go.” Trudy picked up several brochures from a counter behind Rory and shoved them into her hands. “Nice meeting you. Good luck with that alarm problem.”

  Taken aback by the abrupt end to the conversation, Rory stared dumbly at the pamphlets on proper nutrition and exercise the restaurant owner had given her. She hadn’t even had the chance to ask Trudy why she believed Hester had planned to visit Rory the night she was killed. Disappointed in how little she’d learned, Rory crumpled the brochures and tossed them into a trashcan on her way out the door.

  Less than ten minutes later, she was standing next to her car in the city’s only underground parking structure when a black Lexus screeched to a halt in the aisle behind her. Instinctively, she looked for an escape route, but a concrete wall and parked cars hemmed her in. She was on the verge of flinging herself over the hood of her own car when she recognized the madwoman hurtling toward her. Rory had forgotten how fast Liz could move in high heels.

  “You could have called me on the phone instead of scaring me half to death with your action-movie theatrics,” Rory said after her breathing returned to normal.

  “This is too important for a phone call. Besides, I wanted to see your face when I told you,” Liz said.

  Whatever the news was, it must have been earthshaking if Liz had taken the time to hunt Rory down. She hadn’t seen her friend this excited since she sold her first million-dollar home. “Is everything okay?”

  “You’ll never guess what was in the autopsy report.”

  Liz must have hit pay dirt with the medical transcriptionist she knew who worked for the coroner’s office. Rory wasn’t surprised her friend had gotten the woman to talk. “Hester’s head was bashed in after she was dead?” she ventured.

  “No, this is something else entirely. Something way more interesting.”

  “I’m all out of guesses. What is it?”

  “Hester had never had a baby.”

  Rory couldn’t help wondering who had given birth to Kevin and what, if anything, did it have to do with Hester’s death?

  Chapter 10

  “That’s certainly interesting.” Rory looked around the underground parking garage to make sure no one was within earshot before continuing. “We should definitely look into it, but I’m not sure what Kevin not being Hester’s biological son has to do with her murder.”

  “Don’t you see?” Liz shot Rory a look of exasperation as she stood next to the trunk of Rory’s car where she’d settled after her mad dash across the pavement. Her own car idled nearby, blocking half the aisle. “This could be the key to everything. She kept this secret all these years. Maybe she stole Kevin and his real mother just found him.”

  “That seems a little farfetched. It’s more likely Hester adopted him. Just because it’s not public knowledge doesn’t mean it’s illegal or even suspicious. The only people who know I’m adopted myself are close friends or those who need to know for legal reasons.”

  An SUV the size of Mount Everest backed out of its parking space and came within inches of smashing into the front of Liz’s much smaller sedan. The driver sped toward the exit, apparently oblivious to the near accident.

  “I’d better move my car before someone runs into it,” Liz said.

  After parking her Lexus in the next aisle, Liz returned and continued the conversation as if they’d never been interrupted. “I asked about the weapon. I didn’t understand all of the jargon my contact spouted, but it sounded like a rounded object would fit the bill.”

  “So a golf club could have been used.”

  They discussed possible murder weapons for a few more minutes before going their separate ways. Rory was about to pull out of her parking space when her phone rang. After a short conversation, she put more change in the meter and headed back up the stairs. Within minutes she was opening the door to her mother’s store.

  After Arika finished waiting on a customer, she turned to her daughter and said, “That didn’t take long.”

  “You have good timing. I was in town on an errand.”

  “Thanks for doing this. I wouldn’t have asked except Jolene called in sick and I really need to keep this appointment.” Arika picked up her purse from where she’d stashed it underneath the counter. “The alarm repairman should be here soon.”

  Rory spent the next half hour straightening shelves, answering the phone, and ringing up the occasional purchase. She was helping a customer select the appropriate varnish for a painting project when the bell over the front door tinkled and a young man with the body of a swimmer—broad shoulders, tiny waist, and an almost non-existent behind—entered the store. She excused herself and headed over to greet the uniformed man carrying an official-looking clipboard. Kevin Bouquet’s spicy-scented aftershave clung to his work clothes.

  “Can I help you?” she said after recovering from the surprise of finding Hester’s son standing in front of her.

  “I’m looking for Arika Anderson,” he said.

  Rory noted the Vista Beach Security logo on Kevin’s shirt. Curious. “You’re here about the alarm, right? She told me to expect you.”

  He extended his hand. “Kevin Bouquet. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  After they shook hands and Rory introduced herself, she led him through the empty classroom to the back room where the alarm control box was located and left him to his work. He periodically passed through the sales floor on his way to get supplies from his truck parked out front. On one of his trips she ventured to ask, “How’s it going?”

  Kevin shook his head. “This one’s got me stumped. I’ve worked with alarms for a lot of years and I’ve never seen anything like it. But, don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

  “You can’t have that many years of experience. What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?”

  “Don’t let my boyish good looks fool you.” Kevin grinned and leaned against the counter. “Spent a lot of time following the techs around at my dad’s company when I was growing up.”

  Rory refilled a display of gel pens that stood next to the cash register. “Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why don’t you work for your dad’s company? I would have thought he’d be grooming you to take over some day.”

  Kevin’s face darkened, and he fiddled with the display Rory had just straightened. “Let’s just say, V.B. Security has given me more opportunities.”

  And a lot more freedom, Rory thought.

  “Better get to it.” Kevin pushed himself away from the counter and headed back to his repair job.

&nbs
p; A short time later, Rory was dusting the shelves filled with sample projects when he emerged from the classroom grinning from ear to ear. “You should be all set now. No charge, of course.” His smile faded when he saw the mailbox Rory held in her hand. “My mom painted that, didn’t she? Can I see it?”

  While Kevin examined the metal box, Rory said, “Sorry about your mother. She was a good teacher.”

  “I’m a bit of an artist myself. None of this paint-by-number stuff, though. Real art. Photography. Dad says I got my artistic talent from my mom. The only decent thing she ever gave me.”

  Rory’s hands tightened around the dust rag she was holding. As soon as she heard him criticize her favorite hobby, she had trouble focusing on anything else. She kept on smiling even though she wanted to march him into the classroom and force him to reproduce the design he held in his hand. Maybe then he’d think twice about judging the difficulty of an art form he’d never tried. Instead, she let go of her annoyance and said in a sympathetic voice, “Must be hard with all those reminders of your mother around the house.”

  Kevin placed the mailbox on the shelf. “I don’t live with my parents. I have my own place here in Vista Beach. Better for the ladies, if you know what I mean.” He handed her his clipboard and pointed at a spot near the bottom of the page. “Sign here, please.”

  Rory scanned the document and signed where he’d indicated. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” When he looked puzzled, she added, “At your mother’s service?”

  Kevin flashed a noncommittal smile and gave her the store’s copy of the paperwork. “Have a nice day, now.”

  Rory was still mulling over their conversation when her mother walked in the door ten minutes later. “How’d it go?”

  “Should be fixed now.” Rory handed Arika the signed paperwork along with several messages she’d taken while her mother was out. “It was Hester’s son.”

  “Who, dear?”

  “The alarm repairman.”

  “Really? Speaking of Hester, she made page one of the View.” Arika pulled a copy of the weekly newspaper out of an eco-friendly shopping bag and passed it to her daughter.

  Articles related to Hester’s murder covered most of the front page. Her obituary had even made the cut. Veronica must be pleased about that, Rory thought, even if the aspiring reporter’s work hadn’t made it above the fold. Rory was relieved to note the only photo the paper had printed was a headshot she recognized as the one Hester used in her instruction books.

  Rory scanned the newspaper for any mention of her own name or address. Finding none, she perched on the stool behind the counter and read the articles in more detail. Without directly saying so, the writer of the lead story portrayed the local police as bumbling idiots, ill-equipped to deal with such a violent crime. The article also included several quotes from the grieving husband who sounded a little guilt-ridden over not knowing his wife hadn’t made it home Monday evening. Because of the rash of false alarms around town, Julian had spent the past two nights at his condo in Vista Beach. He claimed he hadn’t known anything was wrong until the police informed him of his wife’s death.

  Nothing was far apart in this town. No matter where Julian had stayed, he could have killed his wife after her class and disposed of her body. Although Rory didn’t understand why he would choose her garden as the dumping ground. As far as she knew, he hadn’t even known of her existence until she met him at the golf course. Rory refolded the paper and placed it on the counter. She had no idea what was going on, but she intended to find out.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Rory and Liz traveled north on Pacific Coast Highway toward Malibu, an hour’s drive north of Vista Beach, accompanied by what seemed like half the population of Los Angeles County. They’d given themselves an hour and a half to get to Hester’s service but, even with the extra padding, Rory worried they wouldn’t arrive on time.

  As Rory maneuvered her sedan through the steady stream of traffic, the two young women discussed how many people would be at the memorial service they were about to attend and if the murderer would be among them.

  A few bends down the road, Liz cried, “Watch out!” A young couple carrying beach towels and a six-pack sized cooler held hands as they darted across the highway in front of the car.

  Rory slowed down to avoid hitting the reckless pedestrians. “I didn’t expect this much traffic. I hope we’re not late.”

  Liz consulted her watch. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there in plenty of time.”

  Rory twisted in her seat, trying to stop her above-the-knee skirt from turning into a micro-mini while driving. After vetoing the khakis and dark blue blazer Rory had planned on wearing, Liz had pulled out her extensive phone list and found someone who owned a dark-colored suit Rory could borrow. Rory appreciated the loan, but the skirt was a bit shorter than she was used to.

  For the next several miles, Liz commented on the age and market value of the houses they passed. As they neared Malibu city limits, she pointed to a two-story mission-style structure on the inland side of the highway. “That one reminds me of Granny Griswold’s place. What do you think she was doing up at three a.m. the night Hester was killed?”

  Rory suspected her elderly neighbor didn’t sleep very well. At least once a week, she saw lights on inside Mrs. Griswold’s home in the wee hours of the morning. “Maybe her arthritis was bothering her.”

  “Lucky it was, I guess. Otherwise she wouldn’t have spotted that car.”

  Rory first heard about the suspicious vehicle the evening before when her neighbor stopped by to report on what she had seen the night of the murder. When Rory asked if the police knew about the car, Mrs. Griswold had said she’d left a number of messages—based on past experience Rory suspected they numbered in the double digits—but no one had bothered to return the calls. Something told her Detective Green wouldn’t be hearing from his neighborhood informant any time soon.

  “I’m not sure her description was detailed enough to be helpful. She only saw the car when it tripped Mrs. Maldonado’s motion-sensor light at the end of the block,” Rory said.

  “We should still check out the cars at the service to see if one of them matches her description.”

  “There must be dozens of light-colored sedans out there. We don’t even know if it had anything to do with Hester’s murder.”

  “A strange car appears near your house in the wee hours of the morning on the night someone dumps a body in your garden and you don’t think they’re related?”

  “It probably belonged to someone on the block and Mrs. Griswold didn’t recognize it.”

  “She’s the Neighborhood Watch block captain. She probably knows the make, model, license plate, and odometer reading of every car your neighbors own.”

  Given Mrs. Griswold’s enthusiasm for her position, Rory had to admit that was probably only a slight exaggeration.

  When they reached their turnoff, Rory headed up the twisty canyon road at a fast clip, easing off on the accelerator when she heard a whimper coming from the passenger side of the vehicle. She glanced over at Liz who had closed her eyes and appeared to be mouthing a silent prayer. By the time they reached the pocket of houses where Hester had lived, Liz had loosened her white-knuckle grip on the armrest and shed all other signs of terror.

  As she searched for a parking space, Rory felt as if she’d stumbled upon a convention of nondescript silver sedans. Without a distinguishing characteristic, any one of them could have been the vehicle her neighbor had seen the night of Hester’s murder. Several hundred yards beyond the Mediterranean-style house Hester had treasured, Rory slid into a parking space.

  Liz was out of the vehicle almost before the car had stopped. Rory slipped on her heels and, after a few tentative steps to get used to the unaccustomed balancing act, followed her eager passenger up the stairs to the terrace wh
ere a sea of chairs was filling up fast. In her three-inch pumps, Rory towered over most people including Detective Green who, looking even grumpier than usual, nodded as he passed by them. She waved to her mother who was sitting with Veronica in the row behind Hester’s family. Kevin slouched in his seat and, from the hostile looks he shot at his father, she could tell Hester’s son resented being there.

  As they made their way to seats near the back, Rory intercepted several curious glances cast in her direction. Nora waved shyly at them as they passed by her row. Draped around the woman’s shoulders was a hand-painted scarf held together by a wooden pin shaped like a rose. Rory remembered seeing the scarf design in Hester’s first pattern book.

  Not long after they sat down, the minister stepped to the front, signaling the beginning of the service. Rory scrunched down in her seat so the people behind her could see. When she lifted her head after the opening prayer, she noticed Detective Green observing the group from a position near the back of the terrace.

  Throughout the hour-long service a respectful silence fell over the crowd, punctuated by the occasional sob or sniffle. The grief became more pronounced during a particularly heartfelt remembrance by one of Hester’s fellow docents at a local art museum. Rory found herself dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue she pulled out of a borrowed clutch.

  At the end of the service, Julian thanked everyone for attending and directed the guests to one side of the terrace while the catering staff whisked away the rows of chairs and set up the food for the reception. By the time Rory and Liz had paid their respects to Hester’s family, chairs dotted the perimeter of a large open area and the waiters were circulating with plates of hors d’oeuvres.

  “You know, Julian wears suits that come from Donald Trump’s signature collection,” Liz said in a low voice to Rory as they joined the line at the bar.