The Purloined Paintings

Two-2

DAN SHOWS UP ABOUT 5:30 p.m. with a wonderful smelling chicken and broccoli casserole, fluffy rice, and freshly baked peanut butter cookies. I carry the food into the kitchen, then come back to listen while he fills Helen in on the case.

After all, Bethany was a friend. And I want to know what happened to her.

The fact I’m still disquieted about her office has nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all.

Dan says, “So, Chief, it looks for all the world like she walked in on the wrong person at the wrong time. Dr. Maycord says he got to the gallery a little before noon, letting himself in through the front door.”

“So, the front door was locked?” I ask.

Dan glances at me, a slight look of irritation on his face, then turns back to Helen. “Yes, to answer the Father’s question, Maycord claims the front door was locked. He heard what he thought were muffled voices coming from the direction of Bethany Grable’s office. As he got closer, he thought he heard someone say, ‘Tell us where the money is, you old b***h!’”

“So there were two of them?” I ask.

Dan looks at me full on and is about to say something when Helen says, “Tom, can you get me a glass of tea, please?”

Feeling dismissed—because that’s what she’s doing—I reluctantly go in the kitchen.

Of course, I can still hear every word.

“Did Maycord hear two people?” Helen asks.

“He wasn’t sure. He thought maybe. Look, the guy was distraught. I’m lucky I got as much out of him as I did. I’m going back in a couple of days to get a fuller statement.”

“So, ‘they’ were after money,” Helen muses. “Does Maycord have any idea how much Bethany had on hand?”

“You’re really not going to believe this, Chief,” Dan says, shaking his head. “According to Maycord, Bethany kept between five and ten thousand dollars in cash on hand at any one time.”

“What the—”

“No cursing in the—oh, sorry Helen, forgot where I was for a moment,” Anna yells from Helen’s bedroom. “Carry on.”

“Why would Bethany have so much cash in her office?” Helen asks incredulously.

“I can answer that,” I yell from the kitchen.

I’m greeted with silence from the other room, but say nothing more. Finally, Helen yells, “Well?”

I bring Helen her tea. “Here you go, darling,” I say as I hand her the glass. Dan mutters, “No, just never getting used to that.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Now, why did Bethany have so much cash on hand?”

“Several reasons, actually,” I say. “Bethany was a shrewd businesswoman, but she was also very generous. Everyone in the Fine Arts department at Myer knew that if you were short and needed a little help, you could go to Bethany. She’d hand out hundreds of dollars at a time to needy students. On occasion, she’d buy a student’s painting for the gallery and pay cash for it. Not everyone has checking accounts, and check cashing places take a percentage of the amount as a fee.”

There is another reason, but I hesitate to mention it. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, especially when she was a friend.

“There’s something else, isn’t there, Tom?” Helen says, looking at me like I’m a suspect she’s questioning. Even lying in bed with a hole through her shoulder, my lovely wife-to-be is as intimidating as hell.

“Yes,” I sigh. “Joan once told me she was at the gallery helping Bethany with something when two men came in carrying a briefcase. They went into her office and came out about 15 minutes later with two wrapped paintings. Joan wasn’t sure which ones they were, but later noticed that two of the more valuable works were gone. Not long after they left, Joan said, Bethany told her she had to run to the bank and make a deposit.” I pause. “She was carrying the briefcase.”

Dan and Helen look at each other. “Money laundering?” Dan asks.

“Sounds like it to me,” Helen says. “Tom, did Joan happen to say what they looked like?”

“It’s been over ten years,” I shrug. “I really can’t remember anything else beyond what I told you.”

“Did Joan know if this happened often?”

“She never mentioned any other time, but I can’t believe it was a one off. Joan said Bethany didn’t look surprised or anything.”

“I’ll ask Maycord if he knows anything about that,” Dan says.

“I seriously doubt a man of Martin’s reputation would be involved in money laundering, Dan,” Helen says.

“Still,” Dan says, “I need to follow up. But don’t worry, I won’t do anything to piss off the man responsible for saving your life.”

Helen nods. “Anything else?”

“Maycord heard the shot, then the sound of footsteps running out the back door. He ran to the office and found Bethany. He says he tried to stop the bleeding, keep her alive, but he was too late. She was probably dead before she hit the floor.”

“Maycord would have known that,” I mutter to myself. “Why try to save her if she was already dead?”

“What, Tom?” Helen says.

“Nothing, nothing,” I say, shaking my head.

“Anything other than the money missing?” Helen asks,

“No, just the money,” Dan answers.

“No paintings? Nothing else.”

“Not that Maycord could tell.”

“Forced entry?”

“That is the weird thing,” Dan says, crossing his arms. “Both the front door to the gallery and the back door to her office had no signs of being tampered with. Best we can tell, Bethany let in her killer.”

“Which means she either knew the person or was expecting them,” I say.

“Not necessarily, Tom,” Dan says. “They could have passed themselves off as workmen or something.”

“What about her neighbors? Did they see or hear anything?” Helen asks.

I can tell she’s getting tired and I become anxious for Dan to wrap things up. “Helen,” I say gently. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Just this one last question, Tom,” Helen says, waving me off. “Well?”

“I’m having Hallstead conduct the initial canvas of the neighborhood,” Dan says. “So far, no one noticed anything unusual. Except for hearing the shot.”

I look at Dan. “Someone heard the shot?”

Dan nods. “The bookstore owner. His office shares a wall with Bethany’s. It’s an old brick building, so it was muffled, but he heard it clearly. He also heard what sounded like arguing, but he couldn’t be sure.”

“Thanks, Dan, for coming over,” Helen says. “I appreciate it, especially after I was such a b***h to you at the scene.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Dan says with a dismissive wave. “I was just glad to see you getting back into fighting trim. I’ll keep you posted, but please rest, Helen. We all want you back where you belong.”

Helen smiles at this, and after assuring us of their continued prayers and promising Helen he’ll give Miriam her love and Catherine a hug from her, he leaves us. I bring Helen a tray with her plate and an iced tea, then return to the kitchen for my own plate. I pull a chair close to her, and we dig into the wonderful offering of love and flavor given to us by the Conways.

“Satisfied?” I ask.

“Mmm, well, I guess,” Helen says. “I appreciate Dan coming over to fill me in, but it’s not the same, you know.”

“I know, honey,” I say. “But it’s the best you’re going to get right now. Look at it this way. The more you rest, the more you concentrate on healing and rebuilding your strength, the sooner you’ll be back out there chasing bad guys and roughing up perps.”

She smiles, and says, “Oh, Tom. You do know what to say to make a girl’s heart go pitter-patter.”

We share a laugh, one of the few we’ve had recently. Anna wanders in from another room and, I guess deciding Helen and I have had enough time alone, sits with us.

We have almost finished when Anna asks, “Do you think people have premonitions of their deaths?”

Helen and I look at each other in silence until I finally reply, “Why do you ask?”

“It's just something Bethany said the other day when she was at the church. She asked if you were there, Tom, and I said you were out and asked if there was anything I could help her with. She acted like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. She mumbled something like, ‘Probably too late to confess now anyway.’ Then she looked at me and said that she had never had any sort of interest in the afterlife but that there came a time in life when you began to think about making preparations for the inevitable. I asked her if she’d like me to have you call her but she told me not to bother. Frankly, after that it slipped my mind, but ever since you told me she was dead, I have been wondering if maybe she had some sort of sense that something bad was going to happen to her.”

“Well, certainly, if she was experiencing some serious health problems, she might have felt the need to prepare for death,” Helen says thoughtfully.

“Or she could have been concerned that someone was going to kill her,” I say quietly.

Both Anna and Helen look at me. “Oh, Tom,” Anna says, standing up. “Stop talking nonsense. Who would want to kill Bethany?”

“I’m not saying anyone would. It’s just—”

“Tom,” Anna says. “Leave. This. To. Dan. I know Bethany was a friend, and I’m sorry she died so violently. But you have this woman right here to take care of. You don’t need to be running off playing Father Brown again.”

“But I—”

“I need to go clean up the kitchen. Then Tom, I think you should go. You’ve had a long day, and Helen needs her rest,” Anna says as she walks out of the living room.

I watch her leave. “Tom?” Helen says.

Turning to her, I say, “What?”

She has a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye. “You saw something, didn’t you? At the crime scene?”

I’m about to open my mouth to protest, then decide there’s no real harm. “I told Dan that Bethany’s office looked like she was packing to leave, which considering she didn’t mention anything like that when we saw her a few weeks ago, struck me as rather sudden.”

“OK, but maybe she decided suddenly,” Helen says. “Bethany was an artist, and creative types can be a little flaky.”

“Maybe others, but not Bethany. Then, there’s the fact that it looks like she let the person or persons who killed her in. And, having so much cash on hand, which I know I explained, but when you put it together with what Joan told me—”

“—over ten years ago, Tom—”

“OK, ten years ago,” I say. “But what if Bethany was still involved with something shady? I mean, I liked her, but I can imagine her getting involved in something not entirely above board.”

“Something like money laundering?” Helen says thoughtfully. “Well, if there’s anything, I’m sure Dan will uncover it. He’s a good detective.”

I don’t tell Helen about Dan snapping at me when I pointed out the problem with the office. Instead, I say, “Did Dan look OK to you?”

“No,” Helen says. “He looked tired and overworked. Which isn’t surprising, considering he’s doing my job and his.”

“I should check on him,” I say. “Maybe I’ll visit the station tomorrow.”

“Not a good idea, Tom,” Helen says. “Dan’s busy and needs to focus on this. I’m sure if there’s something wrong, he’ll come to you. He has in the past.”

I sigh. “OK. You’re right. Until then, how about I tuck you in so you can get some rest?”

She yawns and says dreamily, “Have I thanked you for taking such good care of me?”

I grin. “Darling, I assure you, I’m just getting started.”