“The man refuses to suggest that it might be a genuine Renoir.” I shook my head. “He’s probably right, but I would love it if he were wrong.”
“I’ll admit he’s not working under the most ideal circumstances, but I’m not willing to let him take anything out of the caves. I don’t trust him. And Robson must agree; otherwise, he might’ve arranged for him to work in a more spacious, well-lighted studio somewhere.”
“Do you think the painting is actually missing? It might’ve been moved to a different place. Like the candlesticks.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Derek said, but he didn’t look optimistic.
So we had thieves as well as a murderer in Dharma. Someone who had access to the caves? It didn’t seem possible. How could they have gotten inside with no one noticing, let alone bring out a valuable painting?
“I hate to mention a sore subject,” I said, “but what about one of the Frenchmen? You toured the cave with them last week, right? Could one of them have slipped the canvas under his shirt?”
“I was watching them closely. Then again, if we’re willing to believe that one of the Frenchmen could get away with it, then so could Garrity. Although I always watch him closely as well.”
“Good. I don’t trust him, either.” I gave in and reached for one of the sweet biscuits. “What if Garrity stole the painting,” I theorized, “and now he’s making a stink over it because he wants to appear above the fray while at the same time throwing suspicion elsewhere?”
As theories went, it wasn’t a bad one. Especially given Noland Garrity’s generally foul attitude.
“It’s possible,” Derek admitted casually, although I knew better than to think he was as relaxed as he sounded. “Perhaps the reason he calls the Renoir a facsimile is to draw less attention to it. If it truly is a Renoir, the fact that it’s missing would be a massive scandal.”
“I don’t remember seeing a Renoir listed on any of the families’ inventories, so chances are, it’s not an original.”
“Good point, darling.”
“But it’s still missing.” An idea was bubbling inside my head, and I had to talk it out. “What if Garrity met Trudy somewhere in town and charmed her—I know it’s hard to fathom, but humor me. He’s not a bad-looking guy as long as he keeps his mouth shut. Anyway, he talks Trudy into asking Gabriel or Robson to let her into the cave to visit some of her own family’s treasures. Garrity sneaks in after her. And then maybe later, she invites him to her house to show off some of her own pieces of art. And while they’re talking, he tells her he needs to go back into the caves, but this time she refuses to help him. Maybe she’s getting suspicious.”
Derek jumped in. “So he pulls out a gun and shoots her, killing Amelia? Do you honestly believe he’s capable of that?”
“I think he’s pretty awful.” But I thought it over and came to a sad conclusion. “But no, I guess not. Even though he’s a bully, he doesn’t seem to have a killer instinct. Cold-blooded maybe, and cowardly, but not a killer.”
Derek rose and walked to the kitchen, returning with the teapot. He sat and poured more tea into each cup before continuing. “I don’t see any evidence telling me that Garrity has ever met Trudy.”
“Thanks for the tea.” I took a bite of my biscuit. “We should ask Trudy about him, just to be sure, but you’re probably right. If she’d asked Gabriel or Robson to let her back into the cave, I think they would’ve mentioned it. Especially after she was shot.”
“True.”
As I sipped my tea, something else occurred to me. “Wait. What if it wasn’t Trudy? What if Amelia was the one who met him in town? Those two sourpusses would have plenty in common. He flirts with her to get closer to Trudy. She invites him over to the house for lunch and . . . I don’t know. Something happens. She catches him going through Trudy’s purse, trying to find the key. Or something. She screams bloody murder.”
“So he pulled out a gun and killed her?”
I mulled it over. “Okay, what if he was aiming the gun at Amelia, but then Trudy ran into the room to intervene and Amelia pushed her away? What if his original target was actually Amelia?”
“But why, darling? What could Amelia have said or done that would cause him to react so violently? I know you dislike him. I do, as well. But I can’t see a motive.”
“I know, I know.” I slumped back in the couch. “It’s all ridiculously far-fetched.”
“I’m not discounting it completely. Garrity could very well have stolen the Renoir. And since we have nothing concrete to go on so far, any thoughts or theories are welcome.”
I pushed myself off the couch and found my purse. Pulling out a little notepad and pen, I began to jot down names.