1 Portrait of a Gossip (6 page)

Marley stared at her with wide eyes, the tip of his tail
twitching.

“Well then. You’ve got your litter box and the water dish.
So … goodnight.”

Marley waited until she was in bed with an open book and
then rejoined her. He kneaded the blanket at her side for a minute then curled
his back into the curve of her body.

“So that is a definite no to sleeping on the chair?”

The cat purred and Juliet gave in.

Sleep was in short supply, though she found Marley
comforting even if the foreign presence sometimes forced her into odd positions.
Her nose also felt a little burned and she vowed to wear a hat the next day
since she would probably be out with her easel again. Being outside made it
much easier for her neighbors to stop by for a casual visit and tell her all
the things they wouldn’t say to the sheriff, but thought that he should be made
aware of.

Part of her sleeplessness was being unable to expunge the
image of the dead man dropped into his lounge chair. Why there?
Because he was shot in situ?
It didn’t seem likely that
Harvey would be sitting around watching the storm come in. Like Juliet, Harvey
was not a child of nature. In fact, an artists’ compound in the California
mountains
was a strange choice for either of them. Juliet
was there because it was as far from Washington D.C. as she could get and not
set off alarms in high places that didn’t like former employees to indulge in
foreign travel for at least a year after they left government employment.
But what about Harvey Allen?
Had he chosen the place for its
peace and quiet as he wrote his book? Or was it
a place where
he could hide out and see everyone who approached the compound and evaluate
them for threat?

So, if he wasn’t nature watching, why was he outside? Was he
taking down his shotgun mike, making himself an easy target for the murderer as
he stood on a bench with his back to the trail? And was he put in the chair after
he was shot because it was easier to hoist a body into a dead man’s carry if it
wasn’t lying flat on the ground? Or was this just some deviant, artistic
personality at work? If so, Juliet wasn’t sure if she could understand the
killer enough to discern any patterns. The people she hunted—or, more often
their work—were
all sane, smart, and operating under rules
that she understood. In spite of what she had said to the sheriff about artist
and craftsmen, what did she really know about her neighbors and what motivated
them?

The thoughts circled for hours, doing endless laps around
the same block and not producing any answers. Increasingly she felt the burden
of death and knew she had a responsibility to discharge, even if the task
seemed almost impossible in the dark hours.

Eventually dawn poked its nose through the one small window
in the bedroom, signaling that it was time to be up and doing. Knowing the
devastation a sleepless night wrought, Juliet brushed her teeth and combed her
hair without looking in the small mirror over the sink. Over the years the
cottage’s artistic occupants had made
improvements
.
One stonemason had laid the bathroom floor in some kind of marble that looked
like withered salami. Then in an effort to distract the eye from the
abomination, he had compounded his sin by painting the walls barn red, which
left everyone looking like they had a bad case of rosacea.

Juliet rarely wore makeup, but when she did, she used a hand
mirror in her studio. Experience had taught her that foundation and blush
applied in the red room always needed drastic modification when seen in the
light of day. She hadn’t the hardihood to see her reflection in any light
before coffee.

Marley had no such qualms. He was happy to walk up and down
the sink’s narrow ledge, patting at his reflection in the glass and trying to
chew on her toothbrush and getting drinks from the faucet.

He felt no guilt about the circle of pumpkin-colored fur
left on the previously white bedspread either. Juliet decided that perhaps
chenille was not the best choice of materials for a bedcover with a feline in
residence.

After offering Marley the last of her tuna, and armed with a
thermos of coffee, Juliet took up her hat, the easel, and a fresh canvas and
set out to find some light shade where the reflected light would be good for
painting but not so bright as to add to her sunburn. She decided to tackle the
lupines again. They were a popular choice for t-shirts.

“Lovely,” she said to herself, finding a place at the base
of the trail. The stalks of blue jewels rising out of the rocks and dirt were
unmoving. The air just hung there, heat latent but not yet realized. Juliet
peered through the branches at the sky, which remained blue, though the sultry
air made her wonder about thunderstorms.

She was careful in the arrangement of her stool and easel.
There were young redwoods pushing out of the debris-covered ground, looking
like baby fingers gripping an old tree limb. The largest redwoods were
awe-inspiring and even a little frightening in their size and age, but the
little ones just looked vulnerable.

Juliet hadn’t been working long before she was joined by
another early riser. A quick look at Mickey’s face told her that hers had not
been the only sleepless night.

“Miss Juliet.” The voice was quiet, his manner unusually
subdued. Mickey was a morning person.

“Good morning. It is a little sultry though.”

“This is a bad business,” he said abruptly, taking a seat on
a nearby bench. “I can see that you are troubled too.”

Juliet wondered if she should have put on some makeup.

“It is indeed troubling.”

“I have been thinking, trying to reason…. It has to be one
of us who killed him, hasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. We were cut off by the storm so it doesn’t
seem possible that it could be an outside agent.”

“And you are not a Levite.”

It took Juliet a moment to place the reference.

“No. I can’t just walk by on the other side of the road and
pretend not to see.
Especially not since I found him.”

Mickey nodded.

“He was a bad man, did you know? He tested my resolution to
turn the other cheek.”

Juliet hadn’t expected anyone to just come out with anything
so direct.

“Was he spying on you?”

“Spying?” Mickey looked surprised.
“Not
exactly.
But he did find out about something I did a long time ago. It
was during the Vietnam War. I evaded the draft. And I am not sorry for it
either. I have family in Canada and my being at the dairy farm helped my aunt
and uncle stay there until Uncle Robert died.”

Juliet, who had mixed feelings about being the recipient of
this confidence, said, “Was he asking for money to keep quiet about this?”

“No. What he wanted was a lookout, an extra pair of eyes.”

“What for?”

Mickey shrugged.

“He was a bad man and probably knew he had enemies, the kind
who would find him no matter where he hid. I said I would watch for strangers
on the condition that he stopped playing stupid tricks on Rose. She has stored
up enough nightmares from her old life. She does not need anyone else playing
on her nerves. It was also not right of him to kill that snake and leave it on
her bed. Snakes are good creatures who eat rodents.”

Juliet digested this. She wasn’t fond of snakes but wouldn’t
kill one to use as a prop in a joke.

“Have you told Sheriff Garret about any of this?”

He shook his head.

“I plan to do it this morning. Will he…?” His voice trailed
off.

“I don’t think he’ll care about your long ago activities.
Or
inactivities
.
Garret is … not
your typical law enforcement person. In any event, it would be better to tell
him than have it come out during the investigation. And he needs to know that
Harvey expected trouble.” It could explain the mike. Maybe he wasn’t spying for
the sake of nosiness, but instead actually looking for an enemy.

Mickey nodded and stared at his knotted hands.

“I know this. I am off to town now. Can I bring you
anything?”

“Yes—if you have time,” Juliet added. “I need some cans of
cat food and some kitty litter—the kind you can dump out. It’s made of sawdust
or something. And a pet brush, if the market has one.”

Juliet unzipped the wristband where she kept a lip gloss and
a twenty dollar bill. She handed the money to him.

“Let me know if this isn’t enough.”

“You have inherited Marley?”

“Yes—at least Marley has moved house. I don’t think there is
any question of ownership. He pretty much does as he pleases.”

Mickey finally smiled.

“That cat was the only thing good about Harvey Allen.”

Thinking of the checks on his wall and how he had gotten
them, Juliet could only agree.

“If I’m not here when you get back, just leave the stuff in
the community room and save yourself a walk up the hill.”

Mickey shook his head at her and Juliet knew he would toil
up the hill if it killed him. She therefore resolved to spend the day painting
where she could see the compound gate and intercept him before he made the
effort.

Mickey waved goodbye and Juliet smiled back. He might have
had a motive for killing Harvey—and heaven knows religious people had killed
before—but she just didn’t see him in the role of murderer.

Rose Campion didn’t seem a likely killer either, but people
had snapped before, and if anyone was living on the edge of snapping, it was
poor Rose.

Juliet turned and looked up the hill. The sun was getting
higher. Maybe it was time to switch locations.

Before Juliet could gather up her supplies and get settled in
her chosen location on the second tier where there was a plausible clump of
poppies that she might want to paint, Robbie Sykes came to tell her that the
garage had called and her car was ready. She had just missed Mickey Shaw
pulling out of the lot, but Robbie said he needed to go into town and could
drop her at the dealership where they had towed her filthy car after getting it
out of the mud.

Juliet asked him to wait while she got her purse and toiled
back up the hill as speedily as her knees would allow. The effort was not as
tiring as the day before, but she was perspiring more because of the building
humidity. She quickly wrapped her watercolor and slipped it into a mailer.

Marley looked up from his nest in her pillow.

Juliet pointed a finger at him.

“We are going to talk about this when I get back.”

Marley dropped his head and started to snore.

“Have you heard if another storm is coming?” Juliet asked
Robbie after she slammed the old pickup’s door. The one on the passenger side
was yellow. The driver-side door was white. The truck smelled of cigarettes,
though Robbie was good about emptying the ashtray and not smoking around
others.

“Yep, this evening—with light and music
too.
If you want some advice….” The leathery face grinned at her.

“Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again,” Juliet
muttered, wondering how Marley would react to the storm. She hoped he wasn’t
afraid of lightning. Two sleepless nights would be more than she could stand.
Did they make kitty tranquilizers? Maybe Darby would have something if he was
too frantic.

“A bad business, Harvey Allen getting killed like that,”
Robbie said suddenly. “And just when I’ve gotten word to start repairs on the
old cottage and we’ve had half a dozen mudslides by the east fence that need
clearing off.”

“True enough, though I don’t think there is much mourning going
on around here for the late Mr. Allen. Has anyone even suggested a memorial?”
she asked.

Robbie snorted. Juliet felt in a vague sort of way that people
who were near death should be solemn, respectful, perhaps horrified, but so far
she hadn’t encountered any respect or horror for Harvey Allen’s killing. And
only Mickey had been solemn, a fact for which he got little credit because it
was due to his having to talk to the sheriff, and not respect for death in
their midst.

“Nor is anyone likely to.” Robbie glanced sideways at her. This
time he wasn’t smiling. “The sheriff seems to think it was one of us who killed
him. He’s been asking everyone to account for their movements from about three
to six.”

Dr.
Hyder’s
estimated time of
death.

“I am afraid he may be right about that.”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve got an alibi because it is no secret
that I hated the bastard.
He was always calling Mr.
Biggers
and complaining that I wasn’t doing things right.
Like I can control cellphone reception or when his Internet went down.”

Mr.
Biggers
owned the compound and
a few of the properties in White Oaks. Juliet had never met him.

“Have you an alibi? I haven’t.”

“Yes, I was helping Mister James install some track
lighting. We were at it all afternoon. He’s not real friendly, but at least he
never complains and is willing to pay for what he wants.” Robbie’s head
swiveled her way again, but only briefly. The road was very narrow. “You don’t
think the sheriff really suspects you, do you, Miss Juliet? You haven’t been
here long enough to work up a real good grudge against the snoop. And—well,
you’re just too much of a nice lady to kill anyone.”

“Thank you. But it is the sheriff’s job to suspect everyone
until they produce an airtight alibi. I think he is looking for someone younger
and stronger though.
Someone—or a couple
someones
—who
could move a body.”

“I guess that lets out a few people,” Robbie muttered,
making a mental review of the residents.