The Painting Murders: A Paranormal Painting Mystery- The Beginning Read online

  “Hello --” The voice said on the other end of the line.

  “Andrew, it’s Ellie--”

  “You’ve reached the voicemail box of Andrew Moreau. I can’t take your call right now. Please--”

  Ellie hung up and redialed. Ring. Ring. Voicemail, again. She dialed a different number and waited for someone to pick up.

  “Good evening, Ellie,” the detective said kindly. “I was just making dinner.”

  His casual tone only made Ellie more frantic. “There’s going to be another one.”

  A buzzer went off on Peaches’s end of the line. “Who, where, when?”

  “Andrew Moreau, at his private gallery, I don’t know when,” Ellie spoke as swiftly as possible.

  Troy reached the bottom of the spiral stairs and approached with a concerned expression. “What’s going on?”

  Peaches spoke into Ellie’s other ear. “Describe the artwork to me.”

  Ellie moved back into the art room and shut the door on Troy’s face. She told Peaches about Andrew’s attire and his slit throat. While looking over it, she noticed a crow partly concealed by a pedestal. Its throat was cut and oozed blood across the elegant marble floor. Ellie mentioned that too.

  Peaches thought aloud as he put together the puzzle pieces. “Finely dressed, dead crow, art gallery… is there a chance he’s coming back from a party?”

  Ellie racked her brain, trying to recall anything Andrew said to her previously. After all the deaths, shootouts, and strange phenomenon, it felt like a lifetime ago since her phone conversation with her old friend. “He said he was working on a few new sculptures. The abstract new age stuff, and that…” The revelation dawned on her. “He’s going to host a party to show off his private collection.”

  “When?” Peaches asked.

  “I don’t know.” Ellie said dreadfully. “He’s not picking up his phone.”

  Peaches kept his cool. “We have twenty-four hours, correct? That’s plenty of time to prevent any disaster.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true.” Ellie ran her hand up her scalp. “Pamela’s death was less.”

  Troy knocked on the French doors. “Ellie, is everything all right?”

  “Give me a minute!” She shouted back and looked for a place to hide the painting. The canvas was still wet. If she moved it now, she might ruin it. She lowered her decibel level and spoke with urgency. “We need to visit Andrew tonight.”

  “Will he be open for guests at ten in the evening?” Peaches asked.

  “I don’t care.” Ellie said defiantly. “I’m not losing anyone else. The paint isn’t dry, maybe that means his fate wasn’t sealed.”

  “Interesting theory,” Peaches said.

  “I’ll text you the address,” Ellie said as the doorknob twisted. “See you there in twenty.”

  She hung up and rushed to the door, opening it before Troy could. She quickly pressed her body against him, effectively pushing him away from the door just far enough for Ellie to close it behind her.

  “Whoa,” he said just before Ellie gave him a wet kiss. After a few seconds, she pulled away from him. With a dumbfounded expression, Troy touched his lips.

  Ellie smiled at him. “I have to go. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

  “Uh, okay?” Troy said, still unsure what to make of his wife’s unexpected show of affection.

  “Stay out of the art room, will you?” Ellie asked as she snatched up her purse. “I’m making something special.”

  She was still wearing her day clothes that were slightly stained with paint and hadn’t fixed her hair from lying on the floor.

  Troy watched her curiously. Before he could make any sort of protest, Ellie was out of the door. She didn’t even bother locking it. Hopefully, the kiss would buy her some time. After all, Troy had been trying to get lucky since they returned from the honeymoon.

  Ellie pressed the elevator button about forty times. When it opened with a ding, she jammed her finger against the lobby button and tried calling Andrew again. Voicemail. Ellie felt her blood pressure rise. As much as she wanted to trust the twenty-four-hour kill clock, Pamela’s demise destroyed that theory. Ellie wasn’t going to take any chances with Andrew, even if that meant buying him a plane ticket out of Northampton tonight.

  She got into her rented midnight blue Mitsubishi and slammed on the gas pedal. The tires skidded out of the parking lot. As she distanced herself from the apartment building, she could just barely make out Troy’s silhouette from the twelfth floor’s window. Don’t follow me, Ellie begged. If Troy knew what she was going after, it might be the final nail in their marriage’s coffin.

  Ellie raced through the downtown area and parallel with the Connecticut River. Outside of the city limits, she followed a winding road down a tree-flanked street that ended at a lavish estate, similar to what one might find in Westchester, New York. A long line of luxury vehicles made a row down the right-hand shoulder of the street. Ellie slowed her speed as she coasted by them. She rolled down her window, listening to the sound of laughter and live music filling the cloudless night. The party has already begun. She pulled up in front of the estate. There were two greeters standing sentry on either side of the double entrance doors. Both were men with matching suits, earpieces, and stood with their hands folded over their lap. With stone faces, they watched Ellie’s car, an eyesore compared to the rest, roll to a stop before them. One raised his left hand. He approached Ellie’s driver side window.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Doors are closed,” he said both politely and firmly.

  “Yes, I’m aware of the private showing. I just need a moment to speak with Andrew Maneau.”

  “Apologies, ma’am. Without an invitation from Mr. Maneau, I can’t let you in.”

  Anxiety began to build up inside of Ellie. She kept a smiling face. “My name is Ellie Batter. I’m a good friend of Andrew’s. I’m sure if you tell him I’m here, he’ll let me in.” Ellie was talking to a brick wall. “Look, if that won’t work, then maybe he can come to me,” Ellie suggested, letting her frustration leak out.

  The two doormen exchanged looks. The one nearest Ellie nodded to the one at the door. He pressed his earpiece and made the request.

  “Thank you,” Ellie replied, letting some of her tension go.

  After a few seconds of waiting, the man by the door shook his head at the one by Ellie’s car. The one by the car said to Ellie. “Sorry, Mr. Maneau is unavailable at the moment.”

  “Doing what?” Ellie said.

  “That’s not my place to say,” the man replied, not taking kindly to Ellie’s tone. “I can leave him a message and have him call you when he is free.”

  Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. The headache was still throbbing behind her eyes. “Sure, yeah, just tell Andrew that Ellie needs to talk to him immediately. It’s life or death.”

  It was dramatic, but luckily Andrew liked that type of thing. He’d probably think that she was joking. Ellie hoped not. All she needed was five minutes to explain what was happening, use the painting as proof, and find some way to extract him.

  The doorman studied her for a moment and then backed away from the vehicle. “Enjoy your night, ma’am. If you wish to wait on Mr. Maneau, you can park at the back of the line.”

  With sunken shoulders, Ellie drove the vehicle to the back of the line of empty cars. She got out, craned her head to the gorgeous starry night, and shut her eyes. She took a deep breath and prayed that her friend would reply soon.

  The sound of a car engine turned her attention back to the world.

  Headlights sliced through the darkness. She squinted, unable to make out the incoming vehicle driving down the tree-lined street. The black Dodge Charger rumbled to a halt beside Ellie.

  Detective Peaches rolled down his tinted windows. He was dressed in the day’s button up, but not his blazer. “No luck?”

  Ellie’s expression was all the detective needed to know the answer. He reversed and parked next to Ellie. He got out and locked his
car. “Let me talk to him.”

  “They won’t even let us inside,” Ellie explained. “Andrew’s not picking up his phone, either. He might be--”

  “Slow down,” Peaches said calmly. “We’ll handle it together.”

  They walked down the line of Bentleys, Mercedes, and other luxury cars. The music grew louder and less muddled as they neared the three-story estate made of fine wood and cobblestone. Party-goer silhouettes looked like cardboard cutouts in the various glowing windows. “Is this guy the Great Gatsby?”

  “He wishes he was,” Ellie replied. “Andrew always goes after the finest things in life. He’s the type of person that when told something can’t be done, he does it grander than anyone ever expected.”

  Ellie remembered the risk he took on her when he started shopping around her artwork. He paid her with cash double of what she was asking and told Ellie that if she stuck with him, she would be the next Monet. Naive at the time, Ellie believed him, and although Ellie’s artwork wasn’t a household brand, Andrew had opened up countless doors and helped advertise her work nationally. The trade-off was free donations of her artwork, and a cut of whatever she made at the auction, though Andrew didn’t help for the monetary gain. He loved art for art’s sake.

  The doorman eyed Detective Peaches and Ellie as they approached. The one that had spoken to Ellie before took a step forward. “There is still no word from Mr. Maneau. Please wait in your vehicle or go home. I’m sure he will contact you in the morning.”

  Peaches flashed his badge and his smile. “I’ll see Mr. Maneau right now.”

  The doorman’s eyes went wide. The one by the door asked Peaches about a search warrant.

  Peaches put away his badge. “Mr. Maneau isn’t in any trouble in the way you think, gentlemen. We’ve received information about a potential attack on his life this evening and need to speak to him.”

  The two men exchanged looks, clearly unsure what to do. The one by the door tapped his earpiece. “Connect me to Mr. Maneau. There’s a detective outside that needs to speak with him.”

  Peaches leaned over to Ellie and whispered. “The perks of being a detective.”

  “Lucky man,” Ellie replied sarcastically.

  After a moment, the doorman pulled out his cellphone and put it on speaker.

  “Andrew speaking.” The sound of laughter and loud music muddled his voice. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “There’s been a threat against your life.”

  Andrew chuckled. “I’ve received a few death threats in my time, but I’m still standing. Thriving, if I may be so humble.”

  “Mr. Maneau. Andrew. I have a strong tip that you will be attacked tonight and request that we speak immediately.”

  A bout of laughter sounded on Andrew’s side of the line. Andrew joined in the festive moment. “This has been very enlightening, Detective, but I really must be going.”

  “Andrew!” Ellie shouted.

  Another bout of laughter echoed on Andrew’s side. “Your concerns are duly noted. We’ll speak shortly.”

  The line went dead.

  Ellie’s heart sank with equal parts rage and despair. “Idiot,” she mumbled.

  Peaches smiled at the doormen. “Let us in anyway. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Sorry, Detective. If Mr. Maneau says that you can’t come inside, I cannot allow you to enter. I’ll be sure to keep my men on high alert tonight for any suspicious activity.”

  “It won’t be enough,” Ellie said.

  Peaches backed her away. “We understand. Come on.”

  He pulled her away from the bouncers.

  “What are you doing?” Ellie asked anxiously. “We can’t back down.”

  “You really think he’s going to die tonight?” Peaches asked.

  “Yes,” Ellie said firmly. “Unless we act.”

  Peaches looked deep into her eyes. “All right, we’ll find a way in.”

  “There’s a pool around back,” Ellie remembered. “We might be able to leap the fence. Unless he has guards.”

  “This is a private party, not the headquarters of a Bond villain.” Peaches said with wit. “I’m guessing he has a few small patrols around his gallery and the doormen.”

  Ellie hoped so. Andrew did have a flair for the dramatic, especially if he was opening his private display to strangers. “In all the years I’ve known him, he’s only let me see his private collection once. He’s normally not a very paranoid person, but when it comes to his art, he’ll protect them like his children.”

  “Does he have children?”

  “None that I know of,” Ellie replied.

  They walked the length of the road, acting as casually as possible until they were out of sight of the estate’s entrance. Then, without wasting a moment, they dashed into the tree line. Ellie led the way, ducking under a few branches and hurdling over a felled oak clothed in white-and-green moss. The jelly feeling in her legs fleeted and she felt her muscles working overtime that even Peaches lagged a few steps behind.

  Glistening with perspiration and smelling like sap, her run ended at the sight of the tall white fence bordering the salt-water pool. It was a solid structure with no place to put one’s foot or hand. Peaches came to a stop next to her. He caught his breath and fixed a bang that had fallen out of his waxed hair.

  Ellie pointed ahead. “There’s a door there, but Andrew keeps it locked from the inside. I say we vault over the fence.”

  “I imagine you’ll be doing the vaulting, unless you want to send me over,” Peaches suggested.

  “Tempting,” Ellie replied. “But I’ll go.”

  She pushed aside some branches and quickly moved to the fence. She heard a few voices on the other side. That’s not good. She gestured for Peaches to give her a lift. He took a knee in the dewy grass and put out his hands for her to stand on. Ellie planted a foot and let him lift her high enough to see a couple, an average-looking man with a sharp suit and a gorgeous blonde in a lavish red dress chatting by the poolside and sipping from champagne flutes. The woman leaned in and whispered something that made the man blush. He was miles out of her league.

  The woman took the man’s hand and led him inside, leaving the sliding glass door open.

  “Psst,” Ellie said to Peaches.

  He breathed out and pushed up her foot, launching her to where the top of the fence was just below her breast. She pressed her palms against the top rim, creating red creases across her hands, and then slid herself over. Gravity took her much faster than she thought. She landed in a squatting position. The impact made her heels throb. With keen perception, she scanned the poolside area. A number of partially depleted snack trays and half-empty glasses suggested that a crowd was recently here. That meant Ellie had a few seconds to get the detective inside. Keeping an eye on the open sliding doors, Ellie undid the fence’s latch and allowed Peaches to move in.

  “Where’s his gallery?” asked Peaches as he rubbed his bandaged hand. It had begun to bleed again.

  “Third floor,” Ellie replied. “We’ll have to go through the party to get to it.”

  “Wonderful,” Peaches said, though Ellie wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic.

  There were a few twigs stuck in the detective’s hair and his shirt wasn’t tucked. His gun holster and badge were visible on his belt. Ellie gave herself a once over. She wasn’t looking much better: droplets of paint had hardened on her long sleeve shirt, and there were sweat stains beneath her armpits. “I’ll give us two minutes before they toss us out. Andrew is very particular when it comes to dress codes.”

  “Respectable,” Peaches replied. “If I wasn’t in the middle of dinner when you called, I might have been able to spruce myself up a bit.”

  Ellie smiled and shook her head. What is up with the men in my life and the constant desire to groom themselves? It seemed the type of question that she would never get an answer to. Staying out of sight, Ellie hurried to the side of the sliding door, pressed her back int
o the nearest wall, and peered inside. A group of men in tuxes walked by at the end of the stubby hall. They each held a different drink and spoke about different art pieces within the house. When they were gone, Ellie moved inside. Peaches stayed a pace back, watching the rear flank.

  Giggling seeped through a nearby door. It was creaked open an inch. The gorgeous blonde and nervous-looking man were already disrobed down to their undies. The man clearly had trouble removing the woman’s bra. That made her only laugh harder. It went beyond flirting and straight into ridicule.

  “I’ll show you, greenhorn,” the woman said with a Southern twang. She took the man’s hand and led him into the bathroom.

  Ellie gave the stubby hall a final quick look before darting into the bedroom. She snatched the bundle of clothes from the floor and rushed out, pointing to another room across the hall. Peaches opened that door and stepped into a small storage closet with a towel rack, bed sheets, and pillows. Bumping elbows with the detective, she handed off a heap of men’s clothes in the tight confinement of the closet.

  “People only do this in the movies, Ellie,” Peaches informed her.

  “Shut up and get dressed,” Ellie commanded as she removed her shirt and pants and slipped into the dress that was just a little bit too tight and too revealing for her personal taste. Peaches turned his eyes away and switched out his slacks for the man’s and put on the tux jacket. He put on everything but the bow tie. The top of two buttons of his collared shirt were undone.

  “The sleeves are a little short,” Peaches pointed out.

  “You look fine,” Ellie said and fixed his hair for him before letting her own down. She got out whatever small leaves were stuck in there.

  Peaches grabbed a pillowcase and shoved Ellie’s clothes in it. He grabbed a second case and did the same. “Remind me not to forget these.”

  “Ditto,” Ellie replied. “Ready?”

  “Shouldn’t we think of fake names? I was thinking Francis and Zelda,” Peaches joked.

  Ellie didn’t laugh. Her friend was going to die, and every second they wasted, the painting’s prophecy was that much closer to being fulfilled. Leaving their stripped clothes on the top shelf of the towel rack, they exited the closet.