Throw in the Trowel (15 page)

“If you are not here for an appointment, I have no time for you,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“We'll take up only ten minutes,” Marco said, bestowing upon her his most earnest expression, guaranteed to melt the heart of even the coldest female. “I promise.”

“Pah!” she said with a curl of her lip. “Your charm has no effect on me. ‘Once burned, twice shy' is my motto. Now, go!”

I'd never seen a woman who was impervious to Marco's magnetism. I glanced at him in surprise, and he merely raised his eyebrows. He was flummoxed, as Grace liked to say, but in true Salvare spirit, he wouldn't go down without a fight. “We think the remains may be those of Kermit Cannon. I understand you and he—”

“You understand
nothing
,” she cried dramatically. “If you did, you would see that I am leaving this room right now.”

Without waiting to see what we were going to do, Parthenia stormed toward the door in the back. For once Marco seemed at a loss for words, so I had to think of something quickly or we were sunk.

“Would you like to sculpt Seedy?” I called out.

Parthenia stopped shy of the doorway and swung toward me, a look of disbelief on her face. “Did you just ask me if I would sculpt
seedily
?”

“No,
Seedy
,” I said. “That's my dog's name. Would you like to sculpt her?”

“What a terrible name.” The Duchess had a scornful look on her face, but she was listening.

I handed Marco the leash and walked toward her, holding out my hand. “Abby Knight Salvare. You know my mother, Maureen Knight. She takes lessons from you.”

“I know who Maureen is.”

“Then you should also know that she can't say enough about your talent. And after seeing your work here?” I paused to sweep my arm around in a wide gesture. “I understand why. And that's why I'd be thrilled and honored if you'd sculpt my little See— um, marvel.”

And the little S'marvel, being the intuitive dog that she was, began to tug Marco toward me, hobbling on three legs, her long pointed ears straight up, her plumy tail wagging anxiously.

C
HAPTER FOURTEEN

P
arthenia tapped her chin as though weighing her options. “You will let me sculpt her?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding excitedly—until an image of the Egyptian cat's price tag flashed in my mind. “You're not expecting us to buy it, are you?”

That earned me a frown of displeasure. “Don't be a peasant. This is my sculpture to do with as I see fit. And in exchange I will answer ten minutes' worth of questions. That
is
your offer, is it not?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, then at Marco, and finally at the dog, whom she began to circle. Seedy was still tugging on her leash trying to reach me but, wisely, Marco wasn't letting her because he knew she'd hide again.

“Will we start today? Now?” Parthenia demanded. “This minute?”

“That would be great,” I said.

“Endaksi,”
she said, which I was pretty sure meant
Okay.
“You will ask your questions while I take photographs and sketch her. Then you will bring this animal, who shall have a proper name, back to sit for me tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow's Saturday,” I said.

“Does an artist create only from Monday until Friday?” she cried. “No. We create all the time, every minute. What am I doing while I'm talking to you? I am sculpting you in my head. Unfortunately, I don't do freckles. Now let us begin.”

“We can't make it tomorrow,” I said. “We have a full day.”

She frowned at me, thinking. “I suppose I could see you at noon on Monday.”

“That would work,” I said.

The Duchess marched grandly from the room. Marco picked up Seedy and we trooped through the doorway behind her like obedient subjects. Just inside I paused to whisper to Marco, “Looks like I'm handling this one. What's my strategy?”

“You know what information we need, so let your instincts guide you. She seems to trust you. Give me your pen and pad. I'll take notes.”

Parthenia's workroom took up the back half of the building and had large, multipaned windows on three walls, allowing in a lot of natural light. Through the back window I saw that she had a nice-sized garden bordered by railroad ties, though the plants were long gone now. “Do you grow flowers?” I asked.

“Flowers and vegetables,” she said proudly. “The flowers are nourishment for my mind, the vegetables are fuel for my body, and this,” she said with a sweeping gesture that took in her entire studio, “is sustenance for my soul.”

I glanced around the room and saw freestanding wooden shelves filled with sculptures in varying stages of development, a pottery wheel, a drafting table, an easel, a stack of blank canvases, and a slate-topped worktable positioned close to the north wall of windows. An incense burner in the center of the table emitted a thin trail of smoke, the aroma of patchouli hanging heavily in the air. Most of the floor was draped in tan drop cloths that were crusted with dried clay and splattered with all colors of paint.

“Place her here,” the Duchess said, tapping one end of her worktable. She removed the incense burner, took a small camera from the drawer beneath the table, and prepared to photograph Seedy, who sat on the table looking at me with her head tilted, as though to say,
What are we doing here?

“Good girl,” I said, and stroked her head until Parthenia gave me the okay. Then I stepped back, and she began to shoot. Seedy kept her gaze on me, as though the Duchess frightened her. Marco leaned against the wall nearby, the notepad at his side.

“Now,” Parthenia said, putting away the camera, “I must sketch her. You may ask questions while I work.”

Seedy started toward me, so Marco stepped up to keep her on the table, talking to her softly and rubbing her head while I took over the interview.

“As we mentioned before,” I said, “a skeleton was found in the basement of Down the Hatch Bar and Grill, and we're trying to identify it.”

“I have heard my students discussing it.”

I took out the photo and showed it to her. “This is a key chain that was found near the bones. Do you recognize it?”

She glanced at it, then returned to sketching. “I have never seen it before.”

“It's a Cannon Construction key chain.”

Her hand slowed briefly, but that was her only reaction. “And?”

“And that leads us to believe the bones may be Kermit Cannon's,” I said.

At that she stopped. “You truly believe Kermit is buried in that basement?”

“We believe he might be,” I said. “If it's true, then he was most likely murdered.”

She studied me for a long moment, her eyes narrowed, as though she was having a hard time absorbing the information. Then she said, almost to herself, “That would explain a lot.”

“What would it explain?” I asked.

She waved her hand. “What does it matter now?”

It mattered a lot, but I didn't want to press her for details just yet. “We're waiting for the police to investigate, but that may take weeks, so we're trying to find out as much about Kermit's disappearance as possible.”

Parthenia's pencil scratched against the paper as my marvel dog's features took shape. “And you are here to see me because you have heard the old rumors?”

“Yes.” I glanced at Marco, who was watching from the other side of the table. He gave me an encouraging nod. “So what we need to know,” I said, “is whether Kermit actually did leave town with you. And”—I knew the next question could be touchy, so I paused for a breath—“whether you were carrying his child.”

She sketched for a moment before she spoke, and then it was in a sarcastic voice. “If I tell you the truth, will you believe me? No. That is what the rumors have done to my reputation. And I have no proof to offer you.”

I rushed to assure her. “Really, Parthenia, those rumors—”

“
Duchess
,” she cut in, “if you please.”

“I'm sorry, Duchess. Anyway, those rumors are so old, Marco and I hadn't even heard them until we started investigating. Your reputation now is that of a highly acclaimed and very successful artist. So we have no reason not to believe you, and we'd really like to hear your story.”

She huffed, but it wasn't an angry huff. “Very well. To answer your questions, it is
not
true that I was carrying Kermit's child. I would never be so stupid. As for the other, I did
not
leave with Kermit. We were supposed to meet at my apartment before dawn but he never showed up. I waited hours and finally left without him.”

“Where were the two of you going?” I asked.

“South, wherever the wind led us.”

“Without Kermit, where did it lead you?”

“Nowhere for a long time. I was adrift, lost, disoriented, no family to turn to, no friends . . . I finally took a room in a small artists' colony and stayed there for many years.”

“Where was the artists' colony?” I asked.

“Does it matter? A small town in southern Indiana.”

Seedy began to whine. She was tired of sitting on the table, and Marco had stopped petting her to take notes.

“Not long now, my darling,” Parthenia cooed, her hand flying across her paper.

Not long? We'd just begun! “Did you try to find out what happened to Kermit?”

The Duchess put down her pencil to fix me with her piercing gaze. “From whom? His wife? His children? Who would tell me?
Me?
The woman people said had broken his marriage?”

She let that sink in for a moment, then went on. “What was I to do but assume Kermit had chosen to remain with them? So I made my way alone—heartsick, my spirit crushed—but as you see, I rebounded, resolved to rebuild my life, and determined that no man would make a fool of Parthenia Eugenie Pappas ever again!”

Her initials spelled PEP, and she was certainly full of that. I was a little intimidated by her, but I had to admire her spirit. “Did you ever meet Kermit's children?” I asked.

“Pah! Silly question. What man would introduce his children to his mistress?”

Good point. “Did you know that Kermit's son, Doug, spied on you?”

“Oh, I knew all right. I saw the boy following along after us on two occasions, and then I saw his face at my window several times after that. I warned Kermit not to come back to my house during the day, but he was a reckless man. He feared nothing, not even his children finding out.”

Her gaze wandered to the window, and in a melancholy voice, she said, “It made me wonder if he wouldn't treat me the same way he treated them.”

“Whose idea was it to leave town?” I asked.

“Mine. I knew I couldn't live any longer under such a cloud, and believed, foolishly, that Kermit loved me. So why not leave town together and make a new life for ourselves?” She tapped her head. “Do you see the thinking of a young, smitten woman? Love can solve everything.” She shrugged. “I knew no better, sadly.”

“Was Kermit ready to leave his family or did you have to convince him?” I asked.

That earned me a fierce scowl. “Of course I did not have to convince him! I could not keep Kermit away from me. I was young and beautiful and fiery . . . Oh, how he loved my fire. My passion! Unlike that mouse he was married to. Pah!”

She shuddered. “I will never forget the look on Kermit's son's face as he stared through my window. Such hatred. Such contempt. When we made eye contact, he didn't even look away. It frightened me, and I am not a woman who frightens easily. That was another reason I wanted us to leave. But Kermit didn't seem to care.”

“When you say it was a reason to leave—do you mean that you felt you were in danger?”

“Yes, for myself as well as for Kermit.”

In the background, Marco flipped the page and continued writing.

“Wasn't his son just a teenager?” I asked.

“And do teenagers not commit horrible crimes? Do they not shoot up classrooms for lesser reasons?”

She made a good case for it. “And what about Henry Greer?”

“I heard through Kermit that Henry was quite unhappy. He wanted to split up the partnership.”

I glanced at Marco to make sure he caught that. “How close was that to when you had planned to leave?”

She paused to think. “Perhaps a week—two—it's hard to remember now.”

“Did Kermit say why Henry felt that way?”

“‘Henry wants to run things,' Kermit said to me, but he wouldn't tell me why. Me, I believe it had to do with Kermit's drinking. I knew his work was suffering from it because I overheard Rusty Miller complaining about that very subject. But when I questioned Kermit, he pushed me away. He had everything under control. That was his answer always. ‘Everything is under control, my Duchess. Don't worry.' Pah!”

“What were Rusty's complaints?” I asked.

“Rusty complained that Kermit was showing up late in the mornings and drinking in the afternoons,” Parthenia said. “He was angry, naturally, because the work wasn't being completed.”

“How did you happen to overhear them?” I asked.

Seedy whined again and tried to climb off the table. Marco put down the notepad to hold her.

“Two minutes, my sweet,” Parthenia called. “How did I hear this? At the time, I worked for the Lincoln Avenue Furniture Company, which had been hired to refurnish the second floor of the New Chapel Savings and Loan. One day I went upstairs to draw a design plan and saw Rusty talking to Henry while he was doing remodeling work there. Naturally, I did not show myself. I knew what everyone thought of me and didn't want to be subjected to their scorn.

“I hid myself in another room and listened as Rusty complained about Kermit to Henry. I told Kermit about it later and said I didn't blame Henry for wanting to split, but Kermit just laughed it off. He said Henry was too much of a girl to strike out on his own.”

“That's what he called Henry?” I asked.

“Yes. A girl.” She lifted one eyebrow. “To his face, also.”

Ouch. That Kermit must have been a real prize. Whatever had Parthenia seen in him? “Do you think Henry's frustration made him a danger, too?”

She pursed her lips. “Partly.” She finished her sketch, held it up to study it, and proclaimed it done. Rising, she said, “I would say our ten minutes are over, yes?”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, startling her. “You have to explain your answer. Do you think there was more to it than frustration?”

Parthenia put her hands on her hips and looked at Marco for the first time since we'd entered her workroom. “What would you do if someone called you a girl?”

Marco gave me a look that said,
Is she serious?

“I don't think anyone would call Marco a girl, Duchess,” I said. “He's way too male.”

“So you would laugh it off, eh?” she asked him.

“Something like that,” my macho man replied.