AHMM, April 2002 by Dell Magazines

Author:Dell Magazines
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction/Fantasy
Publisher: www.Fictionwise.com
Published: 2001-04-14T22:00:00+00:00

The Faultless Painterby Michelle Knowlden

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,

Or what's a heaven for?

—"Andrea del Sarto: The Faultless Painter”

Robert Browning

At the end of the hall a thin light shimmered. The three of us flanked Aunt Helena while Philip looked for the light switch. A chill hung in the air. When something creaked above us, Gregory ducked behind my cousin Robyn.

“Is this where the ghost appears?” Helena demanded of our guide.

Philip gave her a stern look. “Madam, there are no ghosts at King's Place.”

Only one capital “P” place existed in Southern California's Inland County: that was King's Place, Galleries and Gardens, at the foot of the San Bernadino Mountains. Forty years ago, the moneyed and royalty congregated here; twenty five years ago, the elite still coveted invitations to tea. Then Henry King died—some said from heart disease, some said from grief. In the fifteen years since his death, the buildings and grounds had declined. Last year, in an effort to raise money, the famous camellia garden, acres of lily ponds, and an art gallery in the main building were opened to the public.

“Don't give me that, young man,” Helena said. The pom-poms on her purple beret vibrated. “Everyone knows that Melody King haunts the halls here.”

Without answering, the sixty-something Philip flicked a switch and flooded the landing with light. It did little to dispel the shadows and gloom. The shimmer winked out. I squinted, but it was useless. Beset with a virulent case of Egyptian ophthalmia, my sight had blurred to seeing only muddled gray.

I shouldn't complain. Before this, I'd been abed with ebola. Life with an alphabetical immune disorder is fraught with difficulties.

We'd been granted special access to the family's private holdings as a favor to Robyn's thesis advisor, a noted scholar. Armed with pamphlets about the Kings and a video about ghosts in Southern California, Aunt Helena arrived at the estate ready for the hunt.

Although we called her “aunt,” Helena was not a blood relative. My uncle had left his nieces and nephews a good income that suited my chronic ill health. That he had also left his wife Helena and an entailed trust requiring gainful employment were annoying, but the latter was easily solved.

After all, murder investigations in my small hometown of Wildemark, Wisconsin, should have been light work. If my cases had turned out to be more plentiful and far-flung than expected, the solutions invariably proved to be simple.

Robyn cleared her throat. “Philip, I don't need to continue the tour. Point me in the right direction, and I'll get to work on those manuscripts.”

“There's time for that later,” Helena said. “Show us the ghosts immediately, Philip.”

“If you will follow me.” Philip moved slowly down the hall with Helena thumping after him, her lavender tea dress swishing and the pom-poms on her beret bouncing. Gregory, her assistant and sometime poet protégé, glanced longingly down the stairs, then hurried to her side.

Shaking her pale blonde hair, Robyn caught my arm before I could follow.

“Micky, clear up something for me.

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