“Yes. Yes, I can see that,” said Charlene, though she seemed a lot less sanguine about the uniqueness of this spirit than the artist in front of her.
“Well, see you,” said Scarlett, and gave us all a cheerful wave and was off again.
Finally Charlene walked away with some difficulty, since she now had to carry two large portfolio folders, both containing what I was almost certain were the same reproductions that were for sale all over town right now. One person had apparently snapped a picture of Tex two nights ago, had turned it into a painting, and was selling prints of the doctor’s portrait to anyone who wanted it.
“Bronson,” said Chase, as he directed his attention to the young artist.
“Detective?” said Bronson anxiously. No one enjoys a police interview, and Bronson Shagreen was obviously no exception.
“What are you painting?” asked Odelia, trying to break the ice a little.
“Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” said the artist with a smile.
“I wonder if he’ll do the ceiling, too,” said Dooley. “Like Michelangelo? He did a fine job at that Sistine Chapel, didn’t he?”
“What do you know about Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel?” I asked.
“Well, there was this documentary about him. Gran saw it, too, and she said if a useless dauber like Michelangelo could attract so much attention by splashing some paint across some ceiling, she’d have no trouble blowing him out of the water with her own work. Which I guess she just did, with her contribution to this grant business.”
“I think her contribution won’t blow anyone out of the water,” I said dubiously.
“So we have it on good authority that you and Dylon were great friends?” said Chase, opening proceedings.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Bronson. “More acquaintances. We met in art school, you see. Me and Dylon and Jay were all in the same class, and we also applied for this same installation,” he said, gesturing to the ceiling-high scaffolding.
“So you and Dylon and Jay were in competition over this art installation?”
“Yeah, but it was a healthy competition, I can assure you.”
“Which Jay Green won.”
“Which Jay won, with Dylon second and me third.”
“Plenty of prestige associated with such an installation, I imagine?”
“Oh, absolutely. When you can show your work to such a large audience, it’s always interesting for a new artist. And of course we’re hoping the media will turn up en masse for the big opening.” He directed a hopeful smile at Odelia, our resident reporter. But then the meaning of Chase’s words registered. “Oh, you’re suggesting I killed Jay and Dylon so I could take first place in the competition?”
Chase didn’t respond but merely crooked a meaningful eyebrow.
“But that’s simply absurd,” said Bronson. “I wanted to win, sure, but I would never murder my friends.”
“But you just told us they weren’t actually your friends.”
He wiped away a bead of perspiration from his brow.“Look, I’ll be honest with you, Detective. Me and Jay didn’t get along very well. I admit that.”
“And why was that?”
“Jay was… I want to say, a grifter? Always looking for an angle, you know. Always looking for a way to get rich. All he talked about was becoming rich and famous one day. While for me art isn’t a way to get rich quick. It’s more a way of life. Of course I would love it if I could create thekind of art that is appreciated by a large audience, but if it isn’t, that’s all right, too. But to Jay the only reason he became an artist was to be fabulously wealthy, and that didn’t sit well with me.”
“And Dylon?”
“Dylon was all right. I liked him. Though he did have substance abuse issues, which caused him to disappear from time to time, and which had a big impact on his capacity to be creative, as you can imagine.”
“Okay, so you admit you were in competition with Jay and Dylon.”
“Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s the nature of these competitions. I wanted to be selected for this opportunity, and so did Dylon and Jay. But at the end of the day, the best person won, and I was fine with that.”
“Jay was the victim of a harassment campaign,” said Odelia. “He was being sent all kinds of stuff that he didn’t order, but that he was expected to pay for. And his name was being used to create online dating profiles on different websites, causing complete strangers to call him and bombardhim with messages.”
“And let’s not forget about that burning bag of dog doo-doo,” said Chase. He gave the young artist a penetrating look that made the kid wilt. “Did you have anything to do with that, Bronson?”
The kid blinked, a droplet of sweat falling from the tip of his nose.“Well… yes, I may have had something to do with some of that.”
“Which part? The packages? Or the dating profiles?”
“The bag of doo-doo?” he said weakly.
“Oh, so you thought it would be a good idea to leave a burning bag on Jay’s doorstep, did you?” said Chase sternly.
“Well… I thought it was a good joke, yes,” the kid said, in a sort of quiet voice. He glanced down at his feet, his face flushed. “Okay, so look, I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I was drunk, and upset that Jay had won the competition, so yeah, I left that bag there, and watched as hetried to put it out.” His face flushed even more. “And I’m sorry, okay? It was very childish and very stupid of me.”
“What about the packages? And the dating sites?”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Or the blackmail?” asked Odelia.
The young man looked up.“What blackmail?”
“Jay received a letter trying to blackmail him.” She produced a picture of the letter on her phone.
Bronson read it and shook his head.“‘I know what you did?’ I don’t even know what that means.”
“So you didn’t send this letter?”
“No, of course not. All I did was the burning bag, that’s all. I didn’t send any packages, or sign Jay up for any dating sites, or send him this letter. And I most definitely did not murder him or Dylon.”
“Okay, Bronson, tell us where you were last night, and the night before.”
Bronson claimed that he was Skyping with his mom on both nights, which was admirable, of course. And since his mom lived in Alaska, not something that was all that easy to verify. He didn’t strike me as a killer, though, and he was a lousy liar, as his sweaty and flushed face could attest. Then again, he did have an excellent motive for killing both men.
The moment Bronson was back up on his scaffolding, slaving away on his big assignment, Charlene returned to have a chat with us.
“I really hope you clear up this murder business soon,” she confessed. “We’re being bombarded with complaints by angry citizens from the Cobblestone Committee. Now they’re accusing the town of gross negligence, and somehow have made the assumption that we had something to do with these murders.”
“How do they figure that?” asked Odelia.
“I have no idea! But since they got wind of the fact that both men were probably murdered with cobblestones, it’s more grist to the mill for these people.”
“Are you going to drop the cobblestone and go with asphalt?” asked Chase.
“You don’t understand,” said Charlene. “It was the neighborhood who asked us to redo the street with cobblestone. They wanted to create a more upscale feel, and discourage traffic from passing through their street. But once they realized that cobblestones are noisy, they changed their minds, and now a majority is against the plans. But we can’t pivot like that. The budget was approved, plans were made, a contractor selected, materials bought and paid for, so abandoning the project would cost us a lot of money—would cost the community a lot of money.” She sighed. “It’s not always fun to be mayor, let me tell you.” But then another person showed up to show their work, and we said our goodbyes.