I sat next to him. “How are you doing?”
“I’m tired. I sent Clay home after booking and interviewing him. Karlsen was sleeping like a baby at home, completely unaware. Underhill and Turner arrested him without incident and we interviewed him at the station. He confessed to both murders, and he’s spending the night in a cell.”
“Was it Underhill or Turner who pulled all-night desk duty?”
“Underhill.”
“Lucky man. How is Shasta?”
“I think she was devastated. She never suspected her husband could kill.”
“She still loves him, in spite of what he did in Minnesota and in spite of her having an affair. I hope she can get out of the gallery deal somehow and keep her house.”
“The victims never thought Karlsen was a killer, either. Karlsen described what he did—how easy it was to approach Patchett and Taylor, even holding a palette knife in front of him.”
“Sounds like he’s proud of himself.”
Gilroy nodded. “I think he is. He said that when he threatened Patchett with the knife, she was indignant and insulting, which made him angrier, and Taylor, even worse, mocked him. He told me he was surprised he’d killed Patchett but not at all surprised that he’d killed Taylor. He said he’d do it again, that Taylor was such a horrible excuse for a human that people would thank him when they found out he’d killed him.”
“Isak’s a horrible excuse himself.” I took a sip of my lemon tea, relishing the warmth of the cup, a counterpoint to our January-chilly living room. “Taylor wasn’t all bad. I think he made a wrong turn somewhere in life and never got back on track. He believed a monumental lie.”
“About?”
“About life being short and art being forever.”
“You liked him.”
“Not liked exactly. I felt sorry for him. In a sad way, he had life all backwards. He may have started to realize that.”
“He was cruel.”
“He was. I still wish I had the landscape he gave us. It was practice for a forgery, yeah, but it was beautiful.”
“Isak confessed to stealing it and shredding it.”
“I can’t believe he broke into our house.”
“He stole two other forgeries from Taylor’s studio, the covered one on the easel—partially finished—and another one Taylor had finished.”
“Did he break the Buddha statue?”
Gilroy gave me a small smile. “He told me he’d dropped a bug into its mouth on a visit to the studio. He broke it after he killed Taylor so he could retrieve the bug. His prints were on it, unlike the wired bugs we found earlier.”
I leaned into Gilroy, laying my head on his shoulder. “All the lies. People lying about themselves and lying about other people. I still can’t believe Mary lied to me—and used me without a second thought.”
“Can I tell you a secret, Mrs. Stowe-Gilroy?” He angled his head my way, his blue eyes twinkling. “I never liked the Blackwells.”
I chuckled. “Your cop’s instinct warned you off them?”
“No, I just never liked them much. I didn’t dislike them, but I was never gung-ho on making friends with them. Too many paintings on their walls.”
“Nice kilim sofa, though.”
“We’ll get one of our own.”
“It’s that blasted agreement we made to meet with other couples once a month.”
“In the future we’ll be choosier.”
I sat a little straighter. I touched his chin and drew his face toward mine. Then I kissed him. “Let’s never lie to each other, James.”
“We never have,” he said. “We never will.”
Also By Karin Kaufman
JUNIPER GROVE COZY MYSTERY SERIES
Death of a Dead Man (Book 1)
Death of a Scavenger (Book 2)
At Death’s Door (Book 3)
Death of a Santa (Book 4)
Scared to Death (Book 5)
