“Until Isak had Charlotte dig up the Volunteer Aid Program record and Charlotte sold the information there to Dalton.”
“But I’m convinced Dalton didn’t know Laura was heading toward complete blindness. When I talked to him about her being blind, he was still speaking artistically, metaphorically.”
“That’s how he viewed the world.”
“So many secrets and betrayals. It wasn’t just Dalton and his Hidden paintings, it was Mary, Isak, Brodie, and Charlotte.”
“Taylor and his forgeries.”
I laid down my fork. “Both Clay and Isak knew he painted forgeries. I’ll bet they knew before they bought the gallery, and they bought it anyway, even knowing it could blow up in their faces. Anything for an exclusive showing of the great Dalton Taylor’s paintings.”
“The Blackwells and Karlsens were in danger of losing everything, and in his own way, so was Brodie Keegan.”
“Brodie had a motive to kill Dalton, but not Laura.”
“Gossip about Keegan’s DUI was going to spread in Juniper Grove, no matter what he did. I don’t know what killing Taylor would’ve achieved.”
“Revenge, James.”
“We forgot the wine.” Gilroy rose and fetched a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from our meagerly stocked wine cabinet.
“Back to the Blackwells and Karlsens,” I said. “Dalton was their future, so why kill him? And there was no reason for any of them to kill Laura, who was actually making brochures for the gallery’s opening.”
“Charlotte told Dalton about Laura and the aid program,” Gilroy said, popping the cork. “Did she ask him to add the cane?”
“No, she was firm about that, and I believe her. She was in no position to ask him to do anything, but Dalton told me he added the cane ‘on request.’ His exact words. Someone talked him into it.”
Gilroy handed me my glass and sat again. “Or someone forced him into it.”
“Are we talking blackmail again?”
“Maybe. Just before she left the brunch, Laura talked about payback and said, ‘Suddenly I can’t stand the company.’ Remember? She said, ‘suddenly.’ I think she knew the why and the who of that cane. She knew Taylor painted it, of course, but she realized then that someone at the brunch had told Taylor about her eyesight.”
I nodded. “Someone she’d trusted. Who could’ve been that cruel?”
Gilroy gave me one of his Did You Really Ask That? looks. Sadly, we had both learned that most of the guests at the Blackwells’ brunch were capable of being cruel.
“Cruelty is one thing, but Taylor hated Laura Patchett,” Gilroy said. “But I’m positive he didn’t kill her. I can’t figure out the motive for murder, in either case. One conclusion I’ve come to, though. Our landscape thief is a Blackwell or Karlsen. It had to be someone invested in that gallery.”
“It’s still hard to believe Dalton would risk giving me that painting. His practice for a Dumont forgery.”
“Would we have known it was a forgery if he hadn’t been murdered?”
Thinking it over a moment, I said, “No, and I’m sure he didn’t plan to be murdered. Point taken.”
I took a sip of cabernet, and my thoughts drifted back to my conversation with Shelly Todd. No one had known Laura—a very private person, by all accounts—better than she, and though Shelly had been open and honest with me, she’d only answered my specific questions. Aside from her belief that Dalton had killed Laura, she hadn’t volunteered information.
“Clay or Isak, or both of them, knew Dalton was a forger,” Gilroy said.
“Makes sense.”
“Maybe their wives too.”
What had Laura said to Shelly about Dalton? The guy’s a fraud. Original is the last thing he is, and one day it will come out. And after that, Shelly had said something about Laura knowing who Dalton was. With hindsight, Laura’s remarks didn’t sound like appraisals of Dalton’s artistic worthiness.
Could it be?
My back went straight as a rod and I set down my glass. “James, I think Laura knew Dalton was a forger.”
CHAPTER 19
It was just before eight o’clock, still a reasonable hour, when I phoned Shelly. Before I could bring up the subject of forgeries, she told me she’d been thinking about Laura’s murder, wondering about some things. Then this afternoon she’d heard interesting news from one of her neighbors, and the more she thought about it, the more she knew it was important. She’d been planning to visit the station and speak to Gilroy, in fact.
No need, I said. Gilroy would come to her.
In a small town like Juniper Grove, most people’s houses were a five-minute drive from Finch Hill Road, and Shelly’s house was no exception. As we pulled to the curb, she opened her front door and stood in the light of her porch, waiting for us to make our way up her walk.
Just before I popped the SUV’s door handle, I turned to Gilroy. “If she offers you tea, say no.”
Shelly led us past her living-room Christmas tree, motioned toward a two-seat gray couch, and then sat opposite us on an identical couch. The woman went all out when it came to Christmas decorations—loads of caroling figures, stuffed bears with Santa hats, gingerbread houses, and the like. A little cartoony for me, but I admired her enthusiasm.
“Let’s get right to it,” she said.
I admired that too.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Gilroy said. “You’re not being questioned officially. Rachel and I were talking—”
