Cherry Adair - T-flac 11 by White Heat

Author:White Heat [Heat, White]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-16T17:27:51.223000+00:00

surrounded by trees and overrun with flowers. Unlike the neatness and symmetry of the front garden, the one in back was a wild riot of color and texture with no apparent attempt at order.

Sunlight flooded the stone floor through the glass ceiling.

Like the rest of her home, Brill’s studio was immaculate, with everything neatly in its place. Besides the expected canvases, magazines and newspapers were neatly stacked on built-in shelving. Art books, sketch pads, and supplies filled various containers, from what looked like a Georgian, hand-chased silver soup tureen filled with paint tubes, to a child’s plastic rain boot filled with brushes. Emily touched the tureen. “She did pretty well for herself. This is worth about twenty thousand American dollars.”

An easel stood in the center of the room. She walked over to look at the stretched canvas. The impasto, the paint layer, was thick and raised from the surface. “The paint’s smudged. Is this the room where she died?”

“Yeah.” Max was crouched down looking through a stack of files in the bottom drawer of a bright red lacquered metal file cabinet. “How do you know?”

“She must’ve been working when she fell. The paint’s wet. Someone righted the easel and painting. You can see the fingerprints on the edge here where they held it on either side to pick it up off the floor.

Something brushed against the high points of the wet paint, leaving a faint imprint.” She looked down at the stone floor. “The brush fell and then bounced here and here. See the orange splatter?”

“Nice catch. Let’s just hope those prints belong to the killer and not the sister, who found the body, or the EMTs.”

“Her sister picked this up.”

Max lifted a brow. “And you know this how?”

“Small hands. But I think if her sister came here to visit her and found her dead, after she called for help, and after she tried everything to save her, she would have spent the time waiting for medical help tidying up.”

Max raised a brow. “Her sister is lying dead on the floor, and she straightens up the room?”

Emily nodded. “Jacoba was concerned about appearances. She liked people knowing she was orderly.

Her sister gave her order before the EMTs arrived.”

“Damn. That’s good. Logical.”

“Talking about good—” The painting was neither a restoration piece, nor a copy. “This is . . .

interesting.”

Not to speak ill of the dead, but the painting was dreadful.

Head tilted, Max glanced at the painting. “Jesus. What’s it supposed to be?”

“An orange dog?” A very strange looking, five-eyed orange dog with only two legs. And either a super long penis, or a strangely shaped tail growing out of its front. The background was a slightly deeper shade of blotchy orange with a murky brown line running down the middle.

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