Behind the Frame Page 16

  “The artist is Nina McCullen.” Savanna pointed to the corner, which bore the contact information, watching the woman’s face.

  The corners of her mouth turned down, and her shoulders visibly slumped. “I resign.” She looked up at Savanna. “I’m dropping out. She’s obviously talented. You can’t disqualify her,” she pleaded.

  Savanna sat back, frowning. This was so…tawdry. When she’d won the Art in the Park event for Carson, she’d never once imagined she’d have to confront a cheater, especially not a grown woman and well-known artist.

  Talia closed the folder and pushed it back across the table to Savanna. “Nina is my niece. I swear I didn’t know she’d applied.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t know?” Sydney took a bite of breadstick. Her gaze was bouncing back and forth between the women as she took in the exchange.

  Talia scowled at Sydney for a second, and then rearranged her expression into something more benign. She looked back at Savanna. “I had no idea until last weekend that Nina had submitted this.” She tapped the folder.

  “Last weekend,” Savanna said. “When John—Councilman Bellamy—told you?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Honestly. She and I aren’t close. You know I live in Mackinac City, up north. Nina is my brother’s daughter. They’re at the southern end of the state, at least six hours from me. We see each other on holidays, if that.”

  “You’re telling me your niece, this very talented artist, didn’t know you were signed on as a judge in the statewide contest she decided to enter? Your niece knows who you are, doesn’t she?”

  Talia scoffed. “You mean, who I was? That era is long over, Ms. Shepherd. I was a one-hit wonder. I made a couple of feeble tries at a follow-up collection, but nothing was any good. I burned it all.”

  Savanna gasped. “You burned it? How could you do that?” She knew the energy she poured into one of her own pieces of art. Even with the ones she was less than happy with, she still felt a kind of connection; there was no way she’d ever destroy her own work.

  “How could I not do it? I’m much better as a critic. I’ve always known that. Anyway, by the time Nina was getting into art, I was already freelancing and working for the magazine. She doesn’t think of me as an artist. I don’t think she knew I was judging. And I had no idea she was an applicant. Please,” she said, “don’t disqualify her. I’m out. No one else knew about this besides me and Councilman Bellamy.”

  “What did he say to you that night? You know, I saw the two of you arguing.”

  Talia took a sip of her wine. “When he told me about Nina’s submission, I was shocked. I told him the same thing I’m telling you—to let me step down so she could be accepted.”

  “You were pleading with him.”

  “Yes, I was. He wouldn’t listen. He was convinced we were in it together, plotting so she’d win. He wanted me out, and he refused to consder her submission. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

  “He died before he had the chance.” Sydney daintily patted her mouth with a white linen napkin, then smoothed it on her lap.

  The server appeared with their food, distributing their meals on white square plates: the salmon platter, the pierogis, and a Michigan cherry salad for Talia. All conversation halted until he was gone.

  Talia’s expression registered full understanding now. “You cannot think I had anything to do with his death.” She leaned in toward them, her words sharp and hushed. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  “We don’t know what happened to John Bellamy,” Savanna said. “We’re trying to find out. How did the two of you leave things the night of the banquet?”

  “You should know,” she answered. “You interrupted the end of it. He was totally unreasonable, and I don’t think he even cared that he was being unfair. The next day, I tried to bring myself to call Nina and tell her what had happened, but I just couldn’t. I figured she’d get a rejection like the rest, and maybe she’d never know it was because of me.” She looked down.

  “But then the councilman turns up dead, and now maybe you’re thinking your niece will get in,” Sydney said. She speared a bite of fish with her fork, looking at Talia.

  The woman was quiet. She pushed the food around on her plate.

  “That’s why,” Savanna spoke, “you never came forward with the information yourself, isn’t it? You hoped Britt and I didn’t know about Nina being your niece.”

  “I planned on telling you,” she said, the waver in her voice betraying her uncertainty about that. “I called my brother yesterday. I made up a reason, and he ended up telling me about Nina applying for Art in the Park. She was upset she hadn’t been notified yet either way, this far past the deadline. So I guess I knew I had to talk to you. If you hadn’t reached out, I would have.”

  Savanna believed her. She looked tortured, weighed down by all that had happened in the last week. But she still had to ask her last question. “Talia, where were you last Sunday night? The night the councilman was killed.”

  Talia picked up her purse from the empty chair beside her, and for a moment Savanna thought she was going to storm out. She rummaged around and pulled out a long, white, heavy-weight card stock, folded in half vertically. “I was working in Detroit last Sunday, from 4 p.m. until very late.”

  “Detroit Institute of Art Charity Ball, Renowned Art Critic Talia M. DeVries,” Savanna read.

  Next to Savanna, Sydney had pulled out her phone and was typing on the screen. “She was there.” She showed Savanna a photo of the panel of judges, a tiny thumbnail picture but still clearly Talia DeVries.

  Now Talia stood. She set three twenty-dollar bills on the table and slung her purse over a shoulder. “Let me cover lunch. I’m sorry, I just don’t have an appetite. Ms. Shepherd,” she said, meeting Savanna’s gaze. “Please consider allowing my niece the chance to participate, if you feel she’s good enough. None of this is her fault. I’d offer some names of other art critics who might be willing to step in for me, but I’m sure that wouldn’t be appropriate; you should select someone on your own.”

  “I promise I’ll talk it over with my colleague, Britt Nash.” Savanna was earnest. “Thank you for being candid with us.”

  Talia DeVries nodded. “I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner. And I’m sorry you lost the councilman; it’s a tragedy, no matter how I felt about him.”

  Later that afternoon, Savanna turned onto Main Street and headed toward Fancy Tails to drop Sydney off.

  “Ugh, I’m so full,” Sydney said. “Why did you let me order the carrot cake?” She rested one hand on her belly.

  Savanna laughed. “Let you? Like I could stop you.” She parked in front of the grooming salon. “I’m going to take Fonzie for a quick walk, and then I’ve got to call that reporter from the Allegan County paper back; he left me a voicemail.”

  “Just leave me here,” Sydney moaned. “I’ll be in when some of this food settles.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll tell Willow you’re in a food coma and can’t come back to work.”

  Sydney pushed the car door open with a foot and climbed out. “It’s okay. I’ll suffer through.” She followed Savanna into the shop.

  A huge bouquet of daisies sat in the center of Sydney’s desk, tied with a bright, peach-colored ribbon.

  “Oh! So pretty!” Sydney pulled a card from the small white envelope sticking up from the bouquet.

  “Someone must be really happy with their beautifully groomed pooch,” Willow called in her lilting voice from the back of the shop. “Those arrived about an hour ago.”

  Sydney perched on the edge of her desk, frowning at the card.

  “What’s wrong?” Savanna joined her.

  She handed it over, and Savanna read aloud:

  Sydney-

  I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.

  Would love a redo.

 
Finn Gallager

  Chapter Sixteen

  The bell over the door of Fancy Tails jingled, and Skylar poked her head in, making both sisters look up from the card.

  “Good, you’re both here. I got a meeting at the station with Nick Jordan tomorrow morning to sit down and go over our recent discoveries. You should both be there. You are now officially on my defense team for Chef Joe. Pretty flowers.”

  Sydney held up the card from Finn. “Aidan Gallager’s brother sent them.”

  Skylar stepped into the salon, glancing down at her watch. “I’m meeting a client in four minutes. What’s going on now?” She read the message and cocked an eyebrow at Sydney. “What’s this about?”

  “It wasn’t a big deal. He made a rude comment, and I didn’t appreciate it; I didn’t know he was Aidan’s brother at the time.”

  Savanna said, “He just mentioned that Syd didn’t look old enough to have her own business.” She added to Sydney, “You could’ve taken it as a compliment.”

  “You’ve always had a chip on your shoulder about being the youngest,” Skylar said, giving Sydney an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders. “Look how sweet this is. It’s a lovely arrangement.”

  Sydney sighed and placed the pretty card back in the bracket among the daisies. “You’re right. It’s very sweet. All right, you have your meeting, and I’ve got to get back to work.” She made shooing motions at her sisters.

  “Actually, we’re caught up,” Willow spoke from the doorway, holding a newly washed and groomed fluffy Pekingese in her arms. Sydney’s young assistant wore her brown hair in a short, spiky pixie cut with long bangs, several earrings adorning each ear, and she always had the brightest neon manicure. Her sunny attitude complemented Fancy Tails & Treats sunny atmosphere.

  Savanna scratched behind the little dog’s ears. “You’re so cute!”

  “I’m out,” Skylar said. The greenish, clammy tinge of her skin from this morning was now replaced with a rosy glow and her eyes were bright. “I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.” She was out the door before Sydney could reply.

  “How did he know daisies are my favorite?” Sydney looked at Savanna.

  “It’s a small town, with one flower shop. I’m sure Libby knows your flower preference by now. Finn probably just asked.” Her phone rang; she didn’t recognize the number, but it was a local area code. “Hello?”

  “Savanna, this is Landon King. From the newspaper? I’m glad I caught you!”

  “I was just about to call you back,” she said, grabbing Fonzie’s leash from the hook on the wall and clipping it to his collar.

  “No worries. Are you free right now?”

  Savanna put a hand on the door and motioned at her sister, indicating she’d be back shortly. “I am. Sort of. Why?”

  “I’m in town, and I have the files you asked for—I put my photographer’s photos on a flash drive for you. I can meet you at the coffee shop if that works for you.”

  “Actually,” she said, sidestepping Fonzie as he excitedly sniffed the base of a tree, “I have my dog with me. Could you meet me in the park?”

  “Of course. I’ll head over there now.”

  “See you in a few.”

  She sat on a bench under the maple trees, near the center of the park this time, where she unhooked Fonzie and granted him playtime. He sprinted over to the couple of other dogs. Raising Fonzie from a pup in Chicago had given him a clear sense of his boundaries. He never got too far away from her, and he always obeyed immediately whenever she called him back.

  Before long the reporter crossed the green lawn toward her, carrying a canvas messenger bag and a cup of coffee. She guessed him to be in his mid- to late-thirties; he was of medium build, his wavy hair with hints of gray at the temples. Today he wore a tan sportscoat and brown loafers.

  Fonzie came bounding over to them as King reached the park bench. The man bent down and put a hand out to the Boston terrier. “This must be your little guy.”

  “That’s Fonzie,” Savanna said as her dog retreated and took off again. “Lots of energy,” she said, laughing.

  He joined her on the bench, pulling a silver-and-black flash drive from the bag and handing it to her. “This is everything my photographer got at the banquet. There are a lot,” he cautioned. “He always takes more than he needs. Maybe you’ll see something useful in one of them.”

  “Thank you so much. I’m not sure there’s anything to see, but we’re just trying to cover all angles.”

  “Right, right.” He crossed his legs and took a drink from his coffee cup. “So, you said you don’t believe they’ve got the right man. You must have a theory,” he said, tipping his head toward her and lowering his voice. “Who do you think the killer is?”

  She was a bit taken aback. She looked at him, and he immediately sat up straight, moving back into his own space.

  “I’m just curious; I’m not thinking of writing anything about the case, don’t worry. Off the record.” He gave her an apologetic smile.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Savanna hesitated, frowning at him. He was a reporter. He probably knew more than he let on. “My sister’s representing the man the police think did it. My family has known him a long time. Skylar feels the facts don’t add up, and I believe her. So I’m doing what I can to help.”

  “Makes sense. I’ve covered a lot of our county’s more…unsavory events. Maybe I can be a resource for you. Typically, investigations take into account who might’ve had something to gain with the victim’s death. You said Councilman Bellamy was a friend, so you knew him pretty well? Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt him?”

  “I thought I knew him. But as I’ve been talking to people, I’m not so sure.”

  “How’s that?”

  She thought for a moment. “How long have you worked for the paper?”

  King looked up at the sky, exhaling through pursed lips. “Let me think. Eleven—no, twelve years.”

  “And you’ve covered the Art in the Park event for most of that time?”

  He nodded. “That I have.”

  “Do you recall anything odd about Paul Stevens, or his family? He runs the Lakeside Pier hotel up in Grand Pier.”

  Now King frowned. “Not really. Though, I did think it was a strange choice of his to attend your banquet. Of course, I don’t know for sure what that little scuffle was about, between him and your councilman that night, but I think we can make a pretty good guess.”

  “I’ve already spoken to him. He confirmed he was trying to convince John to decline the event so it would go to Grand Pier.”

  “Did he now? Has Carson’s investigatory team talked to him?”

  “He has an airtight alibi,” Savanna said. “But his son might be another story.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  Savanna shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t actually believe he could’ve hurt John—he’s still a kid. We also caught some potential fraud, within the festival, but I think we’ve ruled that person out as well.”

  “You don’t appear to be having too much trouble on your own with this investigation,” he said. “Your sister’s lucky to have you on her team. Or, should I say, Joe Fratelli is.”

  She looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?” Joe’s name had been withheld from public record during the arraignment.

  Landon King sighed. “It’s a pitfall of my profession. Even when I’m not on a story, I still hear things. I have sources, and they pass information to me. Sometimes it’s information I can’t officially use, like the fact that Fratelli’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. But…” He met Savanna’s gaze. “Do they even have a motive for him?”

  She bit her lower lip. She’d been trying to keep things vague, but all the messy details seemed to be scattered out in the open, between what she knew and what this reporter knew. “I don’t
know what the police have as motive. But Chef Joe dated the councilman’s ex-wife, Mia James. It was a while ago, last year I think. Caroline Carson told me.”

  King was nodding. “Hmm. A jilted lover always makes a good murder suspect.”

  “Except he didn’t do it. My sister says Chef Joe told her nothing was serious, that they dated for less than a year. He thought it was ridiculous as a possible motive.”

  “Well, to play devil’s advocate, if your Chef Joe was lovesick and did something about it, would he admit they’d had a serious relationship?”

  “No,” Savanna admitted. “You’re right. But it doesn’t make sense. It’s not like Mia left Chef Joe to go back to the councilman.”

  King laughed. “Well, I’d think not.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Not really. I know of her. No offense to your late councilman, but after the way he treated Mia James during the whole scandal with their son, pigs would fly before she’d have gotten back together with her ex-husband.”

  “Oh! You covered the story involving Remy James? I suppose you must have!” Savanna felt a surge of excitement. Finally, someone who might tell her what exactly had happened. She knew her mother had promised to fill them all in tomorrow, but she had a feeling Landon King might have a slightly different version, as an impartial reporter.

  “There was no story. Nothing was ever printed, anyway, after the initial report of the incident. Even after John Bellamy’s smear campaign against his own son, with the whole town certain he’d done it, our judicial system let him go due to insufficient evidence.”

  Savanna turned toward him on the park bench. “Insufficient evidence of what?”

  He pressed his lips together. “I can’t say.”

  “Seriously? I’m obviously not going to tell anyone you have inside information about Chef Joe’s arrest. Anything you tell me about what happened with Remy will stay between us. You can trust me.”

  He stretched one arm out on the back rest of the bench, the opposite direction of Savanna, and uncrossed his legs, then re-crossed them in the other direction. “I’ll tell you, but anything you decide to do with the information, it can’t have come from me. Okay?”