I stepped back, scanned the wall. Across the top of the wall was a series of studio photographs. The pictures were evenly spaced except near the end of the row, where three of the frames hung several inches farther apart.
I glanced behind me. The pensive pianist was focused on the keys, the slow music continuing.
I moved nearer the wall and quietly lifted several frames in turn. There were nicks from previous nails a few inches from the current hooks. The photographs at the end of the line had been moved to hide a missing frame. At one time, another picture had hung there.
I gently straightened the last frame and gazed at the woman. Her lovely face appeared troubled. She half turned toward the wall of pictures, perhaps sensing my movement, perhaps seeking solace. For an instant, sheer misery made her face forlorn. Her hands came down, crashing into a discordant chord.
Now was the time to confront Gwen Dunham.
On the front porch, I glanced around. No one was about. I swirled into place. I took no pleasure in what I was about to do, but someone had pushed Jack Hume to his death and I might be near to knowing why. I pushed the bell.
In a moment, the door opened. The smooth social veneer that keeps misery hidden molded her face into polite inquiry. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Dunham, I’m assisting Kay Clark with her book about Jack Hume. I would like to speak with you—”
“I can’t help you.” Her voice was thin. “I hardly knew him.” The door began to close.
“Jack Hume took your son’s hairbrush.”
“Oh God.” She clung to the doorjamb as if all her strength were gone.
“Hey, Gwen?” The robust call came from down the hall. A burly man with thinning sandy hair and a sun-reddened face strode up the hallway. “Ready to go?”
Violet eyes huge in a blanched face, she held out a beseeching hand to me. “It’s my husband. I can’t talk to you now. I can’t.”
“Three o’clock in the gazebo at The Castle.”
She nodded jerkily and the door swung shut.
I disappeared. Inside the house, I watched her turn to meet him.
The smile slid from his face. “Gwen, what’s wrong?” He darted an angry look at the door. “Who was that woman? What’s happened?”
She reached out and spread her fingers on the tiled top of the side table in the foyer. She tried to smile, but her face was paper white, her eyes staring. “The woman?” Her voice was uneven, breathless. “I don’t know.” There was a ring of truth to her voice, truth and puzzlement. “I shouldn’t have opened the door. I have a terrible headache. I’m going upstairs. I’ll lie down for a while. Go on to lunch without me. Tell Ted and Tracy I have a headache.” She turned and moved blindly toward the stairs.
He came after her, reached out to take her arm. “I’ll help—”
She pulled away. “No. I need to rest. Everything will be all right. I’ll take some medicine. Please, go on without me.”
He watched as she climbed, using the banister to pull herself from one step to another. His face held uncertainty. He moved toward the stairs, stopped, shook his head in frustration. He walked down the hall, a man deep in thought. Clearly the thought was not pleasant.
The terrace room at The Castle reflected a taste for Moorish architecture. A long wooden table near the French windows apparently served the family for lunch. Evelyn looked remote and unapproachable. Diane’s sundress was too youthful, exposing bony, freckled arms. Jimmy’s square face looked set and hard. Kay’s dark head was bent toward Diane and Kay seemed to hang on every word. Laverne and Ronald Phillips weren’t in evidence.
Diane’s face glowed with eagerness. “…Laverne gives so much of herself. She is absolutely drained after a séance. I worry about her…” Her praise continued.
Jimmy ate stolidly, his face drawn in a frown.
Evelyn ignored the conversation except for an occasional disdainful glance.
Obviously Kay hadn’t shared her information about Laverne and Ronald with Diane. I wondered if Kay had spoken yet with Laverne. But that could wait until later. At the moment, I was impatient to talk to Kay.
I dropped down beside her, bent to whisper in her ear. “Remain calm.”
Kay stiffened. Her expression became glazed.
“Meet me downtown at Lulu’s in twenty minutes.”
I sat at the counter and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I no longer felt the need to appear businesslike, at least not for lunch. A jade green cotton top with a square neck and cap sleeves made my eyes look even greener. Green is good for redheads. A short white skirt with green-stemmed daisies and white sandals completed my ensemble.
I took a last bite of hamburger as Kay slid onto the next stool. Providentially, the space was open, even though Lulu’s was at the height of the lunch crunch.
The waitress filled up my tea glass, cast a professional eye. “Dessert today?”
“Lulu’s special.” After my successful morning, I deserved fresh apple pie with melted Cheddar and a scoop of homemade vanilla.
“Coming up.” She glanced at Kay. “What’ll you have?”
“Key lime pie and coffee.”
When our desserts arrived, I forked flaky crust first.
Kay slid here eyes toward me. “Where have you been?”
She gave the distinct impression she would have been happier had I never reappeared. Fortunately, I wasn’t sensitive. “I had an instructive chat with Alison Gregory.”
Kay looked bored. “So Alison’s sinking her piranha teeth deeper into the Hume fortune. What else is new?”
“Not so fast. Evelyn wasn’t interested in a partnership, nor was Alison. Jack wanted Alison’s help. He made a special effort to be charming to her at The Castle one evening, asking her to describe some of the paintings to him.”
Kay looked puzzled. “Describe the paintings to him? Why? He was as much a connoisseur as Evelyn. Jack’s wife was an artist and they often spent time at galleries in Europe.”
I shrugged. “I suppose it was a way to be friendly with Alison. In any event, it wasn’t art that brought him to her gallery. He wanted to talk to Alison about Evelyn.”
As Kay listened to my report, her eyes widened and her fork with a mound of key lime pie remained on her plate. When I finished, she sat silent for a moment, then shook her head. “Paul was Jack’s best friend. Why did Jack lie to Paul about Evelyn planning to go into a partnership with Alison?”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe Alison Gregory lied.”
Kay looked efficient. “There’s a quick way to answer that.” She pulled out her cell, dialed. “Evelyn, this is Kay. I may have misunderstood Jack in a phone conversation before he died. We were talking about Gregory Gallery. Are you considering becoming a partner with Alison?” She listened, then said smoothly, “Actually, I was on my cell and there was static. He must have said something about you and Alison working so closely together in your art acquisitions, a real partnership.” She ate a bite of pie. “I understand. It’s a minor point, but I wanted to clear it up. Thank you.” She clicked off the cell. “Jack lied to Paul. Why?”
I hadn’t known Jack. I didn’t know how closely—or not—he hewed to truth, but there could be an explanation. “Paul and Jack were old friends, but would Jack necessarily want to discuss Evelyn with him? Instead, he made up a story to give Paul a reason for his curiosity.”
“I suppose.” Kay didn’t sound convinced. “The whole conversation seems off-kilter to me. Jack might dissemble with Paul if there was an important enough reason, but I don’t see Jack asking a woman he barely knew for advice about his family.”
“He’d been gone a long time. From all accounts, Evelyn and Alison are very close. There was real affection in her voice when she spoke of Evelyn.” I finished the last delicious scrap of apple pie. “We can be sure it’s never occurred to Alison that Jack was pushed or she wouldn’t have told me what Jack said about Evelyn.” I quoted, “‘My sister hates me. If she had the chance, I think she’d shoot me.’”