“You don’t think he killed Dylon just so he could make his paintings go up in value, do you, Max?” asked Dooley.
“I doubt it, Dooley. For one thing, I don’t think Dylon’s work is all that valuable to begin with. And a hundred percent increase of nothing is still nothing.”
“Rumor has it that Dylon was doing more for you than merely decorating your restaurant, Tyrone,” said Chase.
“Oh, that’s right. He worked the kitchen from time to time. Dishwasher, you know. The kid couldn’t cook, but he could wash a mean dish.” And he grinned widely, as if he’d just told the funniest joke.
“You know what I mean.”
Tyrone quickly sobered.“Look, Detective, suppose just for a moment that Dylon did work for me in the capacity I think you’re implying, now why would that be relevant to the way he died?”
“Because your line of business isn’t exactly without risk, is it, Tyrone?”
“The restaurant business?” he asked innocently. “No, I guess you could say there’s some risk attached to what I do. Plenty of competition and a fickle clientele.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Tyrone. You know perfectly well what I mean.”
The restaurateur smiled a fine smile.“Okay, so suppose I do know what you mean, now why would I be implicated in that young man’s death?”
“You tell me.”
“No, you tell me. Give me one good reason why I would want Dylon dead.”
“Maybe he owed you money?”
“And why would I murder a man who owed me money? Dead men don’t pay, Detective. So that would be a very stupid thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Okay, so maybe he stole from you? Took more than he was owed?”
“Once again, what would I gain by killing a man, even if he did steal from me? Wouldn’t it be a lot smarter to make him pay up?”
“You could be sending a message to some of your other… collaborators. To discourage them from doing the same thing?”
“Look, I know what you’re driving at, Detective,” said Tyrone, rubbing his rather rotund belly, “but I can assure you, this is no way to do business. At least it’s not the way I do business. If someone steals from me, I don’t go around bashing their brains in. It doesn’t work like that. Do I make sure they compensate me? Of course. But I do so in a civilized manner. Not with murder!” And he laughed, as if the mere notion was ludicrous, which perhaps it was to him.
He certainly didn’t look like a vicious killer. More like a fun Santa Claus.
“Look, I can see that you’re stuck, Detective,” said Tyrone finally. “Which is why you came to me. Because if you weren’t stuck, you’d know that I couldn’t possibly be involved in this nasty business. And now I hear a second man was murdered.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not mystyle. So I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to give you the name of the person I think might be involved.” And he took a piece of paper and wrote down a name and slid it across the table.
“Bronson Shagreen?” asked Chase. “Who’s he?”
“An artist, like Dylon. And from what Dylon told me, not his biggest fan.”
CHAPTER 32
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We found Bronson Shagreen, the artist, at Town Hall, where he was instrumental in creating a unique work of art to enliven the main atrium, the place most citizens see when they pay a visit there for Town Hall business.
When we arrived, Charlene was there to welcome us, and introduce us to Bronson. The young man was standing on a scaffolding, which covered the entire atrium wall, and was painting something near the ceiling. It was hard to see what it was, but once it was finished, Charlene said it was going to blow us all away.
“I probably shouldn’t say this,” said Charlene, “but originally Jay Green won the competition, but when he died we decided to give Bronson a chance. And his work is just amazing. I actually thought he was far superior and more suitable than Jay, but I wasn’t the only member of the jury, and the majority always decides. So in a sense Jay’s death was a blessing in disguise.”
“What competition?” asked Chase.
“The town council organized an art competition,” Odelia explained, who had written about it. “To find the most promising local young artist. The winner gets to create an art installation right here at Town Hall, and his work will be publicized in the council newsletter.”
“Great publicity for the artist,” said Charlene. “And for Hampton Cove, of course, since it will put us on the map as the artistic capital of Long Island.”
“And so Jay originally won the competition?” said Chase, exchanging a look with his wife.
“Yeah, some people thought he was great, but I wasn’t one of them. I always thought his work was too pat. Too slick. Of course it’s all a matter of taste, isn’t it?”
Bronson, who had climbed down from his high perch, greeted the newcomers with a pleasant grin. He was clean-cut and athletic, and didn’t look like any artist I’d ever seen. More like a sportsman. Though of course one didn’t exclude the other.
“Chase and Odelia are with the police department,” Charlene explained, making the necessary introductions. “And they would like to ask you a couple of questions about the death of Dylon Pipe and Jay Green.”
Just then, Gran walked in, carrying a large portfolio folder under her arm. When she saw Charlene, she made a beeline for the Mayor.“Glad that I caught you,” she said. “I want to apply for that new grant.”
“Oh, that’s… great,” said Charlene, reluctantly accepting the large folder from her boyfriend’s mom. “What is it?”
“A nude,” said Gran. “I think you’ll like it,” she added with a wink.
Charlene swallowed a little convulsively when she saw that it was actually a nude portrait of Odelia’s dad. “Did you paint this?” she asked.
“Of course I painted this. What do you think?”
Charlene touched her hand to the painting.“It doesn’t feel like an original.”
“Well, it is. I had another one ready to go, a real masterpiece, buther daughter ruined it.” At this, she directed a disapproving glance at her granddaughter.
Charlene grimaced, and quickly tucked the painting away again.“Well, thanks, Vesta. I’ll certainly take your candidacy into consideration.”
“What are you talking about? You can see this is an excellent piece of original art, so you can give me my grant right now. I could use the money.”
“It doesn’t work like that and you know it, Vesta,” said Charlene. “But I’ll certainly add you to the list of candidates. Thelong list of candidates,” she added.
Gran grumbled something that wasn’t fit for print, then stalked off.
“What grant is this?” asked Chase.
“Oh, it’s a new project we’re launching in conjunction with Bronson’s art installation. We’re integrating the work of local artists all across town, in many different locations, and so we’re looking for candidates to put their work forward. Auditions run for three months, and a dozen artists will be chosen who can pick a spot, in consultation with a panel of experts, of course, to display their work.”
“I think it’s so great you’re doing this,” said Bronson. “A very novel approach.”
“It’s important that we keep trying to make Hampton Cove stand out as the jewel in the Hamptons crown that it is,” said Charlene with a touch of pride. “Okay, so I’ll leave you to it, then,” she added, and started to walk away. But just when she did, Scarlett walked in, also with a large portfolio folder under her arm, which she handed to the Mayor. Charlene opened the wallet, caught a glimpse of yet another partially nude Tex Poole, blanched, and closed it again. She plastered a polite smile onto her face. “Thanks, Scarlett. I’ll be sure to add you to the list.”
“That’s all I ask,” said Scarlett. “Though I think you’ll find that I’ve created a unique work of art that really captures the spirit of Hampton Cove perfectly.”