light and a magnifying glass…’ We know now that Laverne was following a script created by her husband. There was a reason for each and every comment she made. We wondered at the significance of the description of this specific painting. Of course, we know that Miss Hume”—he nodded toward Evelyn—“requires aid to view paintings.”
Evelyn Hume stiffened. Her strong-boned face appeared wary.
“However”—the chief’s voice was smooth—“there would be nothing remarkable about Miss Hume observing this work with a magnifying glass. Yet Laverne’s comments suggest that Ronald Phillips saw someone with a magnifying glass and light at this painting. What if the person at the painting was not Miss Hume, but her brother Jack? Why would Jack Hume investigate this painting?”
Footsteps sounded on the staircase. “Oh, perhaps the man is here who can answer all of our questions.”
Everyone looked toward the stairway.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Professor Leonard Walker, who teaches art at Goddard College and is a local artist.”
Walker looked uneasily up and down the hallway. “I’m always willing to be helpful to the authorities. I’ll be happy to tell you what I know about the painting in question. I understand that you found my fingerprints on the back of the canvas. Let me take a look.” He strode confidently to the painting, studied it. “Of course, I recognize it now.” His tone was hearty. “This is a copy I made of the Willard Metcalf original. I understood the family wished to raise money with a private sale of the original. Certainly, when I paint copies, it is always with the understanding that the recipients have ordered a copy.”
Evelyn Hume bristled. “There are no copies in the Hume collection.”
“Ma’am.” The artist’s tone was shocked. “I assure you this is a copy I produced on the understanding you had ordered it.”
Alison Gregory took a step forward. Her face was a hard mask of emptiness with burning eyes.
A police officer moved to stand on either side of her. Johnny Cain rested a hand on his holstered gun. The older officer watched Alison intently, rocking a little on the balls of his feet.
Alison darted swift looks at them.
Walker turned away from Alison. “I’m glad I was able to be of service. If that’s all you need—”
Chief Cobb took a step toward him. “Who directed you to paint the copy?”
The artist never looked at Alison. He spoke quickly, the words tumbling. “Alison Gregory ordered the copy for Miss Hume.”
Evelyn Hume’s face was cold. “I did not order a copy.” She slowly turned toward Alison. “Where is the original?”
A pulse flickered in Alison’s slender white throat.
Evelyn looked both angry and bereft. “You were my friend. You have betrayed me and stolen from me. How many paintings”—she gestured at the paintings on the walls—“are copies made by him? How much money did you make selling the originals?”
Alison whirled toward Walker. “You fool. You complete fool.”
Walker took a step back. “I know nothing about what happened to the original of the Metcalf painting, or”—his eyes flickered—“any of the other paintings. I thought I was creating copies for Miss Hume.”
“You knew better than—” Alison broke off. She turned, tried to run.
Officers surrounded her.
Chief Cobb took two quick strides, faced the woman who no longer appeared suave and cool and confident. “Alison Gregory, you are under arrest for the murder of Jack Hume, pushed to his death on the night of June sixth, and Ronald and Laverne Phillips, shot and killed the early morning of June seventeenth, and the attempted murder of Kay Clark, the night of June fifteenth.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kay folded clothes, stacked them on the bed next to an open suitcase. Her fine dark brows drew down in a frown. “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to Jack that Alison was dangerous.”
I hadn’t known Jack Hume, but I had a memory of the photograph of a man who had stood by Victoria Falls, fully aware of danger in his African home. He had never expected danger in Adelaide. “I imagine he threatened her with prosecution. Unfortunately, she was willing to do anything to protect herself.”
Kay’s face was hard with anger. “I should have known she was lying when she claimed he came to see her to talk about Evelyn.”
I nodded. “That was Alison’s effort to put us off on the wrong track. He knew art and he realized some of the paintings were forgeries. She probably promised to make restitution. Instead, she came back after dinner that night and pushed him down the balcony steps.”
Kay slipped shoes into plastic bags. “Then I came to The Castle and she knew I was suspicious. She set a trap for me. If you hadn’t been there, the vase would have hit me, and my death would have gone down as another unfortunate accident.”
I happened to glimpse myself in the mirror above the dresser. I smoothed back a vagrant red curl. “Happily, I was on the job. Although”—I am always ready to admit my mistakes—“I missed a chance to find out what had happened. I’m sure Ronald was somewhere in the vicinity and saw Alison. Later, he put that together with his glimpse of Jack looking at the Metcalf painting. Laverne used Ronald’s information at the seance and Alison realized she was facing blackmail. She didn’t have time to arrange an accident for Laverne and Ronald. She knew about the gun in the office and was easily able to take it.”
I was rather proud of my summing-up. Hopefully, I would be as cogent when I reported to Wiggins. It was essential that I focus his attention on the good outcome of my efforts and not on my, as he would see them,
