Kill Them with Canvas Read online

  Kill Them With Canvas

  A PAINT BY MURDER MYSTERY

  Bailee Abbott

  To my sister, Joanne Naragon, whose strong belief in me as a writer helped give me the courage to take this journey and never quit.

  Chapter One

  “Hush, Max. You’re scaring away the ducks.”

  I tugged at his leash and led us both to a bench situated in the shade underneath an oak tree. The view of Chautauqua Lake calmed me in ways few places could. Sailboats floated across cobalt blue water that glistened with the sun’s rays. In the distance, trees sketched in splashes of green, gold, red, and orange bordered the shoreline. Both local folks and tourists rushed to soak up the sunny days and mild temperatures of late October before winter forced them to store their vessels and switch their recreational activities to cold weather sports like skiing in Ellicottville’s Holiday Valley Resort.

  Max stuck his nose in a pile of dry leaves and sniffed. As if satisfied with his search, he lay down at my feet. He was twelve pounds of fluffy white fur with a sassy, energetic personality that matched his Maltese and poodle breeds, and the perfect pet for me. After coming back home to Whisper Cove and feeling anxious about my new venture, I depended on Max for the kind of support only a dog could provide. Lots of cuddles, wet kisses, and unconditional love, no matter how bad my day turned out to be, always cheered me up.

  “Here you are.” Izzie plopped down next to me on the bench. She leaned her head against my shoulder. “So beautiful, right? I love Whisper Cove this time of year. I think our town has the best fall view in all of western New York.”

  Since Izzie was only a year younger than me, it always seemed like we were twins. She and I told everyone we were as close as siblings could be. Though sometimes, I think we worked too hard to prove that claim. We were opposites in so many ways. She was tall and willowy with long brown curls while I possessed a short, curvy figure and black hair that was cut in a straight bob. Izzie tended to be a worrier. She wanted everything to turn out perfect, and she carefully calculated her every move. When opening up the paint party shop this summer hadn’t gone as smoothly as expected, she had turned into a tangle of frayed nerves, and her cranky, bossy nature snuck up and took over. Planning the events and pushing the agenda to the point of micromanaging had become obsessive. I took her mood swings in stride because I knew she never meant to hurt anyone. Mom advised her to take up yoga or seek guidance from a spiritual counselor. Izzie had given both those ideas a thumbs-down. Besides, since the business was doing well now, and there wasn’t a murder investigation to put a snag in it, she had mellowed and relaxed, at least somewhat. She was trying. The need for validation and praise overwhelmed her at times. I knew that. No doubt, insecurity was her Achille’s heel.

  I, on the other hand, was impulsive, ready to take risks and make mistakes. Obviously, praise for my efforts rated low on my list of concerns. Sure, I felt great when someone complimented me, but I wouldn’t worry or think less of myself if no one did. I was constantly changing or giving up on my goals, like my attempt to become a successful artist in the Big Apple or my colossal breakup with a guy who wasn’t perfect, but then again, who was? Maybe avoiding commitment was my Achille’s heel.

  “Aunt Constance will be arriving any minute now.” Izzie tapped her watch.

  I scratched Max behind one ear. “You know this is overkill. She’s checked the agenda for tonight’s event five times. I worry about her. No one in their sixties should stress so much.”

  “Please.” Izzie rolled her eyes. “Dad told us she’s been going to her fitness center three times a week, and recently she bought a bicycle to ride every morning. I wouldn’t worry about her.”

  I pointed. “That’s because her doctor advised her to get in better shape.”

  Constance Abbington was Dad’s widowed sister-in-law who got on his nerves at times. Spoiled, self-centered, and obnoxious were a few of the words he used to describe her, but only in his moments of frustration. She spent money, her share of the Abbington family trust she’d inherited, like there was no end to it. When pressed, though, Dad admitted she had made his brother happy and proved time and again to be a loving aunt who showered us with praise and attention.

  Right now, that attention leaned toward irritating rather than loving. Like Izzie’s worry over her business venture, Aunt Constance felt pressure to succeed. She was counting on this event being a success. She was, after all, the president of the Chautauqua Sisterhood’s local chapter that covered towns from Mayville to Whisper Cove.

  In truth, we had a lot riding on this venue too. As Izzie had stated more than once, in order to succeed, our painting event business had a reputation to uphold. I had to agree. Afterall, I’d become an equal partner. I was counting on this career choice being a success because I was tired of do-overs. Maybe my risk-taking days were over. Twenty-six might be young, but I was determined not to rely on a trust fund inheritance. Izzie felt the same way. We both had something to prove and accomplish on our own.

  Even though our parents lived comfortably in their unconventional, carefree lifestyle, it hadn’t always been this easy. In their younger days, they had worked hard on their art careers, making a name for themselves. They’d struggled to earn a living. After Granddad Abbington died over a dozen years ago, the trust fund had passed down to our father Joe and his older brother, our uncle David. Only then had the lives of both our families changed and become much easier.

  “Yoo-hoo! Good morning, my favorite nieces. What a fantastic morning! I don’t blame you for getting outside to enjoy the weather.” Aunt Constance pressed a hand to her chest and caught her breath. She squeezed her ample form in the tight space to sit on the bench next to Izzie.

  “Hi, Aunt Constance. You’re right on time.” Izzie smiled, but her voice strained just a bit. “Let’s go to the shop. I’ll show you that everything’s in order.” She stood, then led the way across Artisan Alley.

  Our shop was at the end of the Alley, along with several craft businesses that skirted the lake. The inviting cottage structure was painted a cheery yellow, and sketched above the door in bright blue letters was the name “Paint with a View.” A huge picture window faced the lake.

  I tugged at Max’s leash and quickened my pace to catch up with Aunt Constance and Izzie. “I’m sure the event will run smoothly. You’ll be on the front page of the Chautauqua Sisterhood’s newsletter.” I wrote in the air with my finger: “President of local chapter is praised for her efforts raising money for charity by arranging a paint party event with Whisper Cove’s very own Paint with a View.” I grinned. “A sure bet, Aunt Constance. You’ll see.”

  Constance fanned her flushed face with the paper she was holding. “Let’s hope so. I haven’t told you, but the pressure is on me more than ever. The director of the Sisterhood’s northern district, Viola Finnwinkle, called me this morning. She plans to attend our painting event to observe how things go.” Her brows curled. “Come to think of it, the visit is unusual. She’s never attended any of our functions before, even though I’ve invited her. She’s a very busy lady with all her duties as director.”

  While I held open the door, both Izzie and Aunt Constance passed through into the shop. “Maybe she wants to see firsthand the great job you’re doing. Or could be she loves the idea of a painting event and wants to recommend it to other chapters. A win–win for your chapter and our shop.”

  “I’m all for that happening,” Izzie said.

  Constance sat in the closest chair. “I don’t mean to burst our party bubble, but Viola never drops by on a whim unless she has a more serious agenda. She’s up to something. I can feel it in my bones.” She squirmed in her seat. “I swear. It’s bad enough she’s coming this evening, but she insists on taking the ferry across the lake to Whisper Cove and leaving her car at the dock while I play taxi driver and take us to the lodge. Why she makes things so difficult is beyond me.”

  I set a bowl of water on the floor for Max, who immediately lapped up most of it. I ignored Aunt Constance’s complaints because feeding her sympathy only made things worse. “Would you like something to drink? We have water, soda, or maybe you’d enjoy a cup of chamomile tea. Nothing like the soothing, medicinal power of chamomile.” I pulled out of the cupboard a metal tin filled with tea bags. I sensed Aunt Constance was headed into either a downward spiral of depression or overwhelming anxiety.

  “Tea would be nice. Thanks.” Bending her neck side to side, she then lifted her chest and breathed out. “There. That’s much better. Now, Izzie, sweetheart. Let’s go over my list.” She pressed a hand to smooth out the creased folds of the paper she held.

  I shoved the mug of water into the microwave and pressed “Start.” It was the same paper with the same list she’d brought with her the last several times. By tomorrow, the check-ins with Aunt Constance would be over, and once the word got out, they’d hopefully be replaced with phone calls from others wanting to schedule events. We did a decent amount of business with the paint parties that took place here in the shop, usually two or three times a week, but Izzie’s idea to expand by offering on-site events like the one at the lodge had been brilliant. That’s why this evening was so important. Word of mouth to spread news proved successful in small towns like Whisper Cove and Mayville.

  Izzie opened boxes filled with supplies for the event while Aunt Constance peered inside each one and counted.

  “Check, check, and check.” Aunt Constance drew marks on her list with a pen. She shoved both paper and wr
iting utensil in her bag. “Now, you’ll arrive at the lodge an hour early like we discussed?”

  Izzie and I both nodded, and Max let out a sharp bark.

  “Excellent. I’m thinking it’s wise in case you get a flat tire or something that makes your drive longer, you know. Call me if there’s any problem.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ll come right away. Nothing can go wrong this evening.”

  Max bit into one of our supply boxes and chewed.

  “Good grief. Please get your poochie away from our precious cargo. Why is he here at the shop, anyway?” Her voice took on an edge.

  I snatched Max up in my arms and set him behind the counter with me. “Mom scheduled to have their new furnace installed today. Max freaks out over strangers and loud noises.” The microwave dinged. “Tea’s ready.”

  “Maybe next time, dear. Sorry, but I need to scoot. My Silver Sneakers class starts in an hour, and I have to change before heading to the fitness center.” She waved while stepping outside. “Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  Izzie plopped down in the chair next to the wall. “Thank goodness. Do you know how many times I’ve had to stop myself from saying things that would’ve struck a nerve?”

  I sat on the bar stool and sipped the tea meant for Aunt Constance. “I do know. I was repeating ‘patience is a virtue’ over and over in my head to keep from snapping at her. What’s wrong with us? We’ve always known Aunt Constance is like this. Why is it bothering us now?”

  “Because we’re as anxious as she is about this event. It means everything to all of us. Like I’ve said, we have a—”

  “Reputation to uphold. Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” I laughed.

  “Well, it’s true.” Izzie lifted her chin.

  “I agree.” I set the mug aside and hopped off the stool. “I need to let Max out. Do you want to start loading the Rover with these boxes? I can carry one outside now.”

  “How about taking the painted canvases out first while I tape the boxes shut?”

  I walked to the rear wall of the shop and stepped onto the stage. Though our space was small, we made the most of it. We had three long tables and places for at least thirty customers. A large projector screen hung above the stage, and one of us would sketch drawings as we gave step-by-step instructions for people to follow. Nearer the front and next to the register, we’d added a display of small items such as painted bookmarks, miniature picture frames, and brush sets. Izzie had come up with that idea to take in more profit. Along the side walls, several hand dryers hung from hooks. They helped to dry the canvases quickly. Scents of turpentine, linseed oil, and paint filled the shop. I loved those smells. Like everyone in our family, I wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t doing something with art. This craft was part of my existence.

  I picked up one of the paintings and studied the ghostly image. The Lady of Chautauqua Lake, as she was known, floated above the water while ominous clouds darkened the sky. In the distance, candlelight shone with an eerie yellow glow through the eyes and mouths of jack-o’-lanterns. I turned and held up the canvas. “Do you believe in the legend?”

  “I do believe the part about Abigail Bellows dying tragically over a hundred years ago. But the idea that she haunts the lake every Halloween is nonsense.” Izzie shook her finger. “Please say you agree. I can’t handle another fan with a ghost story. Not today or this evening.”

  “Why? If you don’t believe in the haunting, then you shouldn’t be scared.” I teased. Covering my mouth with one hand I groaned. “Wooo. I’m the ghost of Abigail Bellows. Beware on Hallows Eve. If you wander outside, I’ll drown you in the lake and steal your soul. Wooooo.”

  “Stop it, Chloe. You’re being silly. I’m not scared of ghosts. I just don’t want any distractions this evening.” She shrugged.

  “Uh-huh. We’ll see in a couple of weeks.” I juggled the three paintings in my arms and headed toward the door. “Come on, Max. Time to scoot.”

  Izzie zipped around me and opened the door. “Try not to trip over any ghosts on your way to the car, please.”

  “Not a chance. They only come out at night.” I shifted the paintings to one side so I could see the path leading to where we’d parked the Land Rover. With eyes on my feet rather than straight ahead, I bumped into someone’s solid chest. One by one, the canvases slipped from my arms and tumbled to the ground. “Crap.”

  “You shouldn’t be so clumsy, Miss.”

  I heard the familiar voice and deep laugh that followed and snapped my head around. “And you should’ve stepped out of the way. Or maybe your reflexes are too slow.” My face split into a wide grin. I tapped my lip and tipped my head. “Hmm. Now what’s your name? I can’t seem to remember, since it’s been so long.” I studied the familiar muscular frame, tanned skin, and warm brown eyes while Max sniffed at his shoes before hurrying next door to explore our neighbor’s property.

  Detective Hunter Barrett had investigated a murder in Whisper Cove this past summer. In a short time, we’d gotten to know one another. Since most of our encounters had dealt with his case and my snooping, I had no clue what our relationship meant to him on a personal level. Friends, maybe, but I got the feeling he thought of me as a pain in his behind. Someone who interfered with his investigations had to be on his naughty list. There had been a brief moment, though, at the party to celebrate me becoming Izzie’s partner. An exchange that hinted at something more. I wasn’t sure, though, because I’d only heard from him once since then. A short call to ask how I was doing. He’d left the conversation with a suggestion to meet for a drink sometime, but that’s where it had ended. Until now.

  He picked up the canvases. “I’ll carry these to your car, if that’s where you were headed.”

  “Sure.” I dug my heels into the sand-covered path and led the way. Reaching the Rover, I popped open the tailgate, then moved several steps away as he placed the canvases inside.

  “I just closed a murder case up in Jamestown. Double homicide that took up every ounce of energy I had to give. Lots of footwork and so much time involved …” His voice trailed off into silence.

  “I was only teasing. You don’t owe me an explanation.” I closed the tailgate.

  “I know I should never have suggested meeting, not if I wasn’t going to follow through. I meant to. I’m really not the kind of guy to say—”

  “Stop. It’s fine. Trust me.” I touched his arm, then quickly pulled away. “So, what brings you to Whisper Cove?” I led the way back to the shop.

  “Robbery. A couple of store owners reported thieves broke in last night and stole items. One of them was along Artisan Alley. No damage to their shops, which is a good thing.” He cleared his throat. “I came here to warn you to be on the lookout. You should make sure your door is locked in the evening, especially if you’re here alone.”

  “That’s awful. Who was robbed? I should stop by and see if they need anything.” My heart raced. The weeks following the murder this summer had been without incident, and peaceful in a reassuring way. Now this.

  “Your neighbor at Go Fly a Kite, for one.” He opened the door of the shop for me to step inside.

  “Poor Gwen. She doesn’t handle stress very well. I can imagine how upset she must be.” Gwen was a divorced, older woman who tended to be a bit flighty. She’d nearly suffered a nervous breakdown earlier this year over trouble with a few unsavory residents. Thank goodness she had found someone to bring joy into her life. Winston was kind and gentle, the opposite of her ex-husband.

  “Who’s upset over what?” Izzie walked out of the storage room. She brushed stray Styrofoam bits off her shirt. She nodded at Hunter with a smirky grin. “Hello, Detective. It’s been a while. Must be bad news if you’re here.”

  I winced and moved the conversation along before she could add another teasing jab. “Gwen was robbed.” I turned to Hunter. “What did they steal? I hope nothing too valuable.”

  “That’s the thing. There was a bank deposit bag full of cash from the previous day’s sales left in a drawer underneath the counter. Gwen says she planned to deliver the money to the bank the next morning. The robber took kite spools, string, and a bolt of white kite material.” He sat in one of the chairs and crossed his arms. “The other robbery happened at the general store on Whisper Cove Boulevard. Rope, tape, nails, wire, and a hammer were stolen.”