Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The (19 page)

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Authors: Krista Davis

Tags: #Murder, #Winston; Sophie (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Dwellings

BOOK: Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The
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Nolan jerked upright, and hid the key in his pocket.
“I don’t think it’s locked.” I walked over to the trunk and lifted the lid.
“Just what I was looking for.” Nolan helped himself to an old bedspread. “Thank you.” Holding his head high, he swept past us.
Francie laughed out loud. “What a phony.”
So much for his lack of interest in the bequest. He was clearly snooping around just like his former classmates.
I collected a few old sheets, hoping they wouldn’t be moldy or stinky, and we returned to the family room, where Bernie had managed to coax Mars into helping him wash the walls. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw Mars at work, since he was virtually useless around the house when we were married. Natasha spied him from the doorway to the kitchen, and I could see the ire in her expression.
She pulled me aside. “Did you see what Mike and Ted have planned for the kitchen? I was counting on it to impress the Guild judges, but I can’t put my name on this kitchen. It’s not at all what I requested or envisioned.”
I felt a little bit guilty for even thinking it, but this was my chance to get her to call Earl and find out if Kurt had turned up. “Why don’t you phone Earl one last time to see if Kurt is doing the kitchen? You wouldn’t want a conflict if he showed up tomorrow.”
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. Her assistant, Beth, worked diligently emptying drawers of cutlery, her hair shielding her face from view.
Although it was wrong, I intended to eavesdrop and drifted toward the butler’s pantry. A shout of laughter came from the dining room, and I couldn’t help sticking my head in to see what was going on.
Posey, Mike, and Ted noshed on pizza around the grand dining room table. The gleaming, polished top had all but vanished under a pile of puzzle pieces. A mound of pieces rested in the center of the table, and all around it they had begun to group similar pieces. Frankly, it surprised me that they took on the daunting task with such enthusiasm. “Looks like you’re making progress.”
Ted chuckled. “It’s like being in Mordecai’s class again.”
“I’d forgotten so many of the wacky things we did.” Mike helped himself to another slice of pizza. “I never thought I would have so much fun coming down here for Mordecai’s bequest.” He stopped grinning. “Sorry, Posey. I know Tara was your friend and that you’re hurting.”
Posey moved two pieces of the puzzle to another section of the table. “It’s okay, Mike. You didn’t know Tara.”
“But you did?” I asked.
Posey focused on the puzzle. “I run an after-school art class for underprivileged kids once a week. Tara used to come by to help.” Posey’s voice trembled. “She’d just made some major changes in her life and finally had everything on track.”
Posey collapsed into a chair and rubbed her forehead, while Ted and Mike shared a look. I wanted to find out more, but Posey seemed too fragile to question, and at that moment Natasha burst into the dining room.
“You won’t believe this! Earl has officially filed a missing person report with the police for Kurt.” Natasha clasped her hands under her chin. “What on earth could have happened to him?”
Official report? I couldn’t help thinking of what Wolf had said last night. A police officer in Tara’s position wouldn’t normally be pursuing a missing person. So how did she know about Kurt if a report had only just been filed?
Mike blew a mini raspberry. “Kurt missing? Give me a break.”
“I thought all of you were friends,” said Natasha.
“Once. But I learned the truth about Kurt the hard way,” said Mike. “He’s a conniving thief who robbed me of my share of the business we built together. Trust me, if he’s missing—it’s because he wants to be missing. He probably killed somebody and is hiding out.” He bit into his pizza with a vengeance.
Posey threw him a dark look. “That’s not funny.”
Mouth full, Mike held a hand over it and said, “Sorry. I was just speaking hypothetically. . . .”
Natasha launched into a dull discussion of their kitchen demolition schedule, so I headed back to the family room. Bernie had pried the lids off a couple of paint cans and it looked as though we were finally ready to paint.
Francie took on the tedious task of painting around trim work with a brush. Her dexterity surprised me, and I said so.
“It’s not like I’ve never painted a wall before.” She concentrated and produced an immaculate line of paint along a window frame. “They used to call this street ‘Decorators’ Row’ because of Bedelia and Mordecai’s wife, Jean. I wasn’t really a decorator, of course, but back in those days, none of us had much money, and we helped everyone paint their houses. I painted walls in your house, Sophie.”
I rolled paint onto the wall near Francie. “So you knew Mordecai before he retreated from society.”
“He was one miserable human being. He was so sour, I’m surprised he made it as long as he did. Most people recover from their problems, but he just never did get over losing Jean.”
“Was she ill?” asked Bernie.
I painted in an X, pleased by how well the paint covered the dingy walls.
“Jean? She was strong as an ox. Ran off with another professor. One of Mordecai’s colleagues. It was quite the scandal back then. The talk of the neighborhood.”
“You’d think he’d have gotten over it eventually,” said Bernie.
“He took it hard. He won some kind of fancy prize for excellence in teaching, and we all thought that would bring him around, but it didn’t. He withdrew. Didn’t want to come to our parties anymore. Just kept to himself.”
“
Awwk.
” Hank flew across the room and settled on a high shelf in Mordecai’s bookcase. “Your cheatin’ heart.”
Nina stood in the doorway.
“He better not poop up there,” I warned. “Or get in the paint.”
And then, to my complete surprise, Mochie scampered in.
“What’s he doing here?”
Nina ditched her jacket. “I had to bring Hank. I’ve been out all day, and he was so agitated when I got home that I didn’t have the heart to leave him alone again. And I brought Mochie over because Ted’s wife wants an Ocicat. We were talking about them at the banquet, and I thought if he saw what a cool cat Mochie is—he might be persuaded to get one.”
She scooped him up and paraded into the kitchen to show him off to Ted.
Bernie and Francie paused to admire Hank, who thrilled them by calling, “Pick up the phone!”
On her return, Nina sidled over to me. “I’ve been following Earl.”
“Did you find out anything?”
“Well,” she murmured, picking up a paint roller, “if my husband were missing, I don’t think I’d be at the mall shopping.”
NINETEEN
From
“Ask Natasha”
:
Dear Natasha,
I’m an avid watcher of your show, and I know better than to forget the sixth wall—the ceiling. White paint is boring, but I’m positive I can’t talk hubby into doing a mural. Are there any other clever options?
 
—No Michelangelo in St. Michaels
 
Dear No Michelangelo,
Use wallpaper. Bribe hubby to help you wallpaper the ceiling one weekend. You can use a mural-type wallpaper or a simple pattern, whatever suits you. The results will be fabulous.
 
—Natasha
“What do you think that means?” I asked Nina.
“What are you two gabbing about?” demanded Francie.
“Kurt is still missing. His wife put a sign on the door of his business that says it’s closed due to illness, but she’s been out shopping.”
“I don’t think I know his wife.” Francie continued her precise edging with the paintbrush.
“Sure you do. She was at the dinner last night, wearing the, uh, revealing dress.” Mars grinned.
“You know her?” I asked.
Bernie, hard at work, laughed. “Even I heard about her. She made quite an impression on a number of chaps in attendance last night.”
“Oh, the one who needed a bib to cover up the saline Boobsey Twins.” Francie continued painting. “I wondered who she was. The Guild doesn’t attract many women like that.”
“It attracted you.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Bedelia assessing the family room.
“Did you buy all the necklaces they had at the secondhand shop?” asked Francie.
Bedelia fingered one of the many bulky beads hanging around her neck. “You never developed a sense of style, Francie. Pity.”
“I hope you don’t think that getup is haute couture.”
“You wouldn’t know haute couture if it sat on you.”
Fortunately, Hank flapped his wings and landed, rather elegantly, on Bedelia’s shoulder. “Hank couture. Hank couture.”
“Now that’s a smart bird.” Francie snickered.
Bedelia seemed quite agreeable to Hank sitting on her shoulder until he tweaked her giant glasses with his beak.
Bedelia shrieked and batted at Hank.
Nina ran to the rescue. Devilish Hank screamed, extended his wings, and tried to grab Bedelia’s glasses again. This time Bedelia wisely protected her face with her hands, and before Nina could grab Hank, he flew back to his spot in the wall unit. Bedelia adjusted her glasses and appeared to take it all in stride. I noticed, though, that she kept a wary eye on Hank as she skirted the paint trays on the floor to get a closer look at Mordecai’s woodwork.
Bulky rings adorned the hand she ran over a carved scroll. “This is so ornate. I never would have expected it of Mordecai. Then again, he and Jean had exquisite taste.” She paused and stared around the room. “I wonder what Mordecai did with all those wonderful things they had? So many beautiful paintings and architectural pieces from their travels. Do you remember those, Francie?”
“Yeah. Did you find any masks or pottery, Sophie?” asked Francie.
Bedelia opened a drawer and peeked inside. “Even the artwork in the house seems wrong. Didn’t they have a bunch of Russian icons?”
“Maybe Jean had the eye for the good stuff and demanded it in the divorce,” said Francie.
“Divorce?” Iris loomed in the doorway. “What a dreadful choice of paint,” she said, gazing around. “Nana, I thought you said Mordecai killed his wife and hid her in the house.”
“That was the rumor at the time.” Bedelia slid the drawer shut.
“That’s baloney, and you know it, Bedelia.” Francie sounded angry. “There was never any such rumor. Mordecai adored Jean.”
With an odd glance at Francie, Bedelia steered Iris toward the door. “We’d better hurry if we’re going to that fabric store you mentioned.”
Bedelia escorted Iris out rather quickly with Francie watching them. “That old coot. Still lying about everything.”
“I gather Bedelia didn’t care for Jean.” I rested my paint roller, and stepped back to check out the transformation.
“Actually, everyone loved Jean. She had such style and class. The kind of person who would never slight anyone—unlike Bedelia. She saw the best in everything. Small wonder that Mordecai was so crazy about her.”
Nina applied one last stroke of paint to the wall. “So how come Bedelia didn’t like her?”
“Most wives don’t think much of the women who steal their husbands.” Everyone in the room focused on Francie. “What?” she said. “It happens.”
“You’re saying that Bedelia’s husband left her for Mordecai’s wife?” asked Bernie. “And that’s what sent Mordecai into such a tailspin that he never recovered?”
“That’s the way it happened.” Francie appeared unaware that she’d handed them a bombshell.
We hadn’t known Jean or Bedelia’s husband, but their infidelity years before somehow came as a shock. “That’s why Bedelia moved to Florida?” I asked.
“Yes. They sold the house up here. It’s across the street a few doors down, the off-white one with the pale blue trim on the windows and the gate. I imagine she couldn’t afford to keep it when he left her.”
Nina checked her watch. “Four a.m. in Hong Kong. I believe I’ll go home and place a call to my husband.”
“He’ll be asleep,” said Bernie.
“Precisely.” Nina collected Hank from his perch in the bookcase. “If anyone else happens to be sleeping in his cabin, I might catch her unaware.”
As Nina left, without Mochie, I noted, Natasha poked her head in. “Mars, you’re still here. And with the ladder, too. Good. I’ve decided to take on the foyer because it will be the first and last room all the visitors see. I’ve bought the most gorgeous wallpaper in hues of gold that would go nicely with these walls, actually, and touches of teal that should brace everyone for Nolan’s living room. But I need help putting it up, dear.”
It was an enormous request of anyone, but asking Mars to wallpaper was like asking me to sing opera. I envisioned a broken leg in his future.

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