Royce declared it illogical to call that a coincidence. We all agreed.
“Fact two. Anyone at the brunch could have killed Laura. Charlotte and Brodie left right after she did, and who knows where they went. Then Isak, Clay, and Shasta left. Supposedly, Isak and Clay went to talk to Dalton, but they couldn’t have been together the whole time. That left Shasta and Mary alone for a period of time.”
“You don’t think Mary killed Laura?” Holly asked.
“At this stage we can’t leave anyone out,” Royce said.
“Fact three,” I continued. “At someone’s request Taylor made a secret addition to Hidden Little Town Number 8 on December twenty-eighth. Fact four. Since Laura had seen the painting at least twice before, that addition must be what angered her.”
Royce pronounced that eminently logical. “Julia said she left the table to look at the painting. Someone mentioned the change to her, do you think? She was stewing over it, and she decided to have a look for herself.”
I took a bite of donut and washed it down with coffee. “Who among the guests had the power to talk a snobby artiste into changing his brilliant work of art? Holly, these donuts are a very close second to your cream puffs, I’m telling you.”
Her face lit up with a smile. It was funny how uncertain my friend could be about her own baking skills. “What about the gallery owners?” she asked.
I pointed out that Dalton had made it clear to me that Clay and Isak were neither friends nor colleagues. They were nothing more than means to an end. “It must’ve been someone whose opinion mattered to him. Though if the addition was specifically meant to infuriate Laura, he would’ve been more willing to go along.”
“Other than Dalton, who disliked Miss Patchett?” Royce asked.
I thought a moment. “No one that I know of.” Then I typed her name into a search engine and scrolled through the paltry results. “Not much here. She sells greeting cards through Blooms and a shop in Loveland. Here’s her website.”
Holly and I perused the site and browsed the cards and stationery Laura sold on it while Royce considered what had prompted Dalton to change his painting. “From what Julia’s told me, the man was antisocial. I do wonder why he showed up at the brunch at all. Maybe to see Laura squirm.”
I piped up. “Everyone was squirming, especially Mary and Clay.”
Royce stood, went to the whiteboard, and studied Mary’s blackmail items. His eyes came to rest on the photo of Shasta and Dalton. “Could this have been more of a business arrangement than an affair?”
“Men are so sweet,” Julia mumbled.
I chuckled. “I don’t think so, Royce.”
“Royce, dear, look at their hands and faces. You don’t carry on business like that.”
“Point taken. But this photograph . . . when I look at it I can’t help but think they’re mismatched. In age if nothing else. Why would they have an affair?”
“A question for the ages,” I replied. “Holly and I wondered if they met while Shasta was working on his website.”
Hands clasped behind his back, Royce pivoted toward me. “Shasta might be the one person at the brunch Dalton would alter his artwork for.”
“Could be,” I said. “Trouble is, they don’t like each other now, and that change was made a week ago.”
“What about this Charlotte Wynn?” Royce asked. “Maybe she was his latest conquest.”
“Charlotte and Brodie are together now,” I said. “If she was with Dalton as late as one week ago, she’s a fast mover.”
Holly clicked off the search engine. “No red flags on Laura’s website.”
“It’s a professional-looking site,” I said.
“Shasta created it.”
“Really?”
“And she created the online store so Laura could sell direct.”
I tilted my head and stared at the ceiling. Shasta, artists, websites. Then it hit me. “Dalton’s website!” I seized my keyboard and started to type in the URL for his site. “He painted his addition three days after Christmas, right? I’ll bet the old version of the painting is still on his website. We can compare the photo I took on New Year’s to that.”
Julia bounded out of her chair and unstuck the printout of the Laura Painting from the whiteboard. “This could be a breakthrough!”
I found the image on the website, enlarged it a little on screen without pixelating it, then printed it out. Julia laid her printout side by side with the new printout, and we gathered on my side of the desk.
“I don’t know what to look for,” Holly said.
“Some small difference. It has to be small.” I took a bite of donut, sending crumbs over the desk.
“Don’t get chocolate on them,” Julia said.
I ignored her and took another bite. Sugar helped me concentrate.
“Let’s start with Laura in both paintings,” Royce said.
Holly pulled a printout closer. “What’s this white stick?” She pulled the other printout closer. “Look, it’s only on the new painting.”
I snapped up both printouts. Annoyed, Julia huffed.
“You’re right,” I said, “it’s a white—no, it’s a cane. White with a red stripe. The kind of cane a blind person would use.”
I flopped back in my seat and Julia snatched the printouts from my hands, holding them up so she and Royce could see.