“Don’t be coy, my dear. I’m talking about the security cameras I have in every room in the house.” He pointed up at one corner of the room, where I could see a small hole in the wood grain. “When I left you alone in the library the other day, you peeked.”
“Ah.” Hmm. I had nothing.
“Even without the cameras, I saw the curtain swaying when I came back into the room.”
I took a deep breath and decided to play along. As they say, when in Loony Town, do as the loonies do.
“Yes, I did peek,” I confessed. “I saw the closed curtains and I was curious. I took one look at that portrait and was mesmerized by the look of love on both your faces.”
He patted his heart. “Oh, my dear, I know what you mean. This painting reveals my inner truth. I have nothing to hide. I love Mae very much. It shows, I think.”
“But . . . that isn’t Mae West in the painting, is it?” I said.
“No.” He gave me a sly look. “It’s Vera Stoddard, as you well know. You met her on your show when she brought in the stolen book for you to appraise.”
Stolen? I ignored that for now and stared at the painting. “She’s very pretty.”
He gazed at the portrait. “She was very young when this portrait was done. I had high hopes for her, but she aged badly. It was such a disappointment. She was supposed to be my Mae, my muse.”
“She’s still a lovely woman,” I said. Or she was, before she was gutted with a stylish pair of English gardening shears. A weapon that seemed tailor-made for Edward Strathmore’s small bones and delicate nature.
“You and I both know that’s not true, Brooklyn.” He sighed. “I finally had to confront Vera with the truth, that she was no longer good enough to be my Mae. She had grown old and fat. Her hair was thin and gray. I believe she did it to me on purpose. She was so jealous of Mae. Who could blame her?”
He continued to stare at the painting and seemed to have forgotten I was in the room.
So the no-good boyfriend Vera had been seeking revenge on was Edward. I was beginning to sense a sorry theme. Vera had grown old and Edward had banished her and sought a replacement in Minka. On the television show, Gerald had grown old and been fired and replaced by Randolph. In both cases, the older people had been dumped callously, without regard for their feelings or their futures. But in a twist, neither Vera nor Gerald had taken their rejection cheerfully; they weren’t satisfied to drift away quietly on a metaphorical ice floe.
Revenge could be a real bitch.
“Somehow Vera got hold of that book,” he said after a while, his eyes darkening with resentment. “She couldn’t have stolen it because I would’ve seen her in the security cameras. They’re all over the house. But someone stole it and then, I don’t know how, but Vera had it.” His voice was rising in anger. “And she took it on that television show and bragged about it! Called it a lucky garage-sale find. Liar!”
“If the book is rightly yours, the show will get it back for you.”
He smiled sadly. “Oh, Brooklyn. Vera’s not the only liar, is she?”
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
“I know you have the book. You were going to restore it for Vera. She was going to pay you.”
“Yes, I have the book, but why do you think I was planning to restore it?”
He shrugged artlessly. “Vera told me herself.”
Icicles of cold fear formed along my spine. I was almost afraid to ask, but I had to know. “When was that? When did you talk to her?”
“The morning she died.”
Was this a confession? I glanced up at the corner of the room. Were those cameras rolling?
“You . . . killed her?”
He blinked, as though I’d broken the spell he was under. “No. Good heavens, of course I didn’t kill her.”
Now who was the liar? But I wasn’t going to push it. Instead, I played along. “Edward, do you know who killed Vera?”
“Perhaps I do.” He sighed again. “I’ll probably have to turn them in to the police. I don’t want any dark clouds of negativity hanging over me as I begin my new life with my new Mae.”
I almost choked. “You mean Minka?”
He giggled and quickly covered his mouth with the tips of his fingers. It was weird. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful? She’s agreed to be my muse.”
“That’s so nice,” I said, trying to swallow the bile that was rapidly rushing up to my throat. “You two make quite the couple. But you said something about turning Vera’s killer over to the police. Would you like me to call them now?” I have them on speed dial, I thought to myself.
He seemed to consider it. “No, I hate to disrupt the party. I’ll call tomorrow.”
My cell phone was inside my bag, itching to be grabbed and used. But I needed more information first. “Edward, do you think Vera knew that the book had been stolen?”
“Oh yes. She knew.”
“But on the show she told me that she found it at a garage sale. The man who sold it to her didn’t seem to know much about it. He demanded only three dollars from her.”
“Because he’s an idiot,” Edward said calmly. “And that’s why he’s dead.”