Three Dog Island Page 11

  “But I do think we should continue to keep them out of sight for a while longer.”

  “Still?”

  “Well, let’s not put them on display at least.”

  “Jenny, everyone on the island already knows about them.”

  True. The Anamcara gossip chain worked fast. “Still. For a wee while longer.”

  “Okay, so, what do you need my help with?”

  Rocky did his “let me out” whine so Josh obliged and let both dogs out through the more protected kitchen door.

  “Well, I have Charlie working on Josh’s case—to figure out who is after him and why and what they’re up to,” I answered Sasha. “At least he will be, once he and Macgregor get back to Seattle.”

  “MacGregor?” Sasha looked at me curiously.

  “Malcolm MacGregor. Lives in West Seattle near Charlie. Both teach at the University. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like there’s something more to this MacGregor than that he’s a friend of your father’s? How old is he?”

  “I don’t know. Late forties maybe? He was my professor years ago before I married Joe.”

  “And now?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Is that why you’re blushing?”

  “I am not!” My hand betrayed me as it reached up to touch my cheek. So did my voice as it quickened its pace. Traitors. “Anyway, Josh and I have tried doing some research, but haven’t gotten anywhere. I think we need an in with their local police department.”

  “How are you going to get that?”

  “I’ve left a message for Jerry Bridges, a policeman friend of ours over in Seattle. And I suspect Charlie might know someone down that way. One or both of us is going to have to make a trip to Portland to do some snooping.”

  “So you don’t need my help with that. What do you need me for?” She took a bite of her muffin and nodded. “Ah, I think I know—Jasper’s sculpture. Right?”

  “Right.” The two dogs bounded back into the room, settling in front of the fire. Josh was only one step behind them. “Okay, this is what we know so far,” I continued. “Part of Jasper’s model was taken or damaged—our theory—and replaced by a replica—an excellent copy. Only four people have keys to the gallery. Alice, Ramona, Army, and Jasper.”

  “And you.”

  “Me? I don’t have a key.”

  “Winnie did,” Sasha said.

  “Of course. Do you know where it is?”

  Sasha shook her head. “But I think we should look for it.”

  “Definitely,” I said. “Do you mind helping with that, Josh?”

  His look was one of elation. Of course it was. It meant he now had an assignment that involved something other than sitting at a computer searching for information on boats, dogs, and his step-father and his cop friend.

  “I’ve questioned the others. None of them remembers seeing the cloud piece missing which is very bizarre because in order to replace it, someone would have had to duplicate it. That takes time. We figure they made a duplicate off a photograph because all the pieces have been photographed.”

  “That means they had to have access to the photos too,” Josh said.

  “Exactly!”

  “Not too difficult,” Sasha said. “Jasper’s work is on most of the gallery post cards that we mail out to everyone on the island any time there’s an art walk or open house or any kind of event. And of course his progressive sketches are on display, along with the models. It wouldn’t take much to photograph them if the gallery wasn’t crowded.” She smiled. She liked playing detective. “So, why isn’t Sam investigating this?”

  “Because there was no sign of a break-in. Dan has him convinced that Jasper is turning senile and imagining that the piece isn’t his.”

  “Not likely,” Sasha said. “An artist knows his own work.”

  “I’m not getting anywhere on this one.” Actually I wasn’t getting anywhere on any of the cases, but I did have faith that as soon as Charlie was on the job, we’d get somewhere on Josh’s which was by far the most important one. “There are only a few artists who work with clay on the island. Jasper, Dante, Army, Navy, and me.”

  “And Ramona,” Sasha said.

  “Ramona? She does glass jewelry.”

  “Mostly but she plays around with clay as well.”

  She hadn’t mentioned that to me. But she might as well have, with her keen observation of the similarity between the imitation sculpture and Jasper’s work.

  “Do you know her well?” I asked.

  “As well as I know anyone at the gallery. Really nice person. What are you thinking?”

  “That if our theory is right and someone accidentally damaged Jasper’s sculpture, it would take a sculptor to duplicate it. Dante and I are potters. We work on a wheel. Army and Navy too, but they hand build as well. What does Ramona do?”

  “Both. Dante does both too.”

  “I thought he just worked at a wheel.”

  “Pretty much now. He used to do a lot of hand-built work. I haven’t seen any in a long time though.”

  “It could have been someone on Gael Island,” Josh pointed out. “Or another nearby island.”

  “True. According to Army, there aren’t any other sculptors on Anamcara. He’s the one who sells the clay on the island and does most of the firing so he would know.” Something else came to me. “It would have to be someone who knows that Jasper is a recluse and rarely goes out—or at least they were counting on his not going into the gallery for a while.”

  “But everyone on the island knows that. So, what do you want me to do?”

  “Hang out at the gallery more? Keep an eye out. Listen, watch for suspicious behavior. See who’s selling their work and who isn’t. Who has money problems.”

  “What does that have to do with it?” Sasha asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t say this work was logical. I just know my dad always says that most crimes have money or love behind them.” I laughed. “Or ego.”

  Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Not sure it applies here, but you’re the pro so I’ll defer to you.”

  “Unless, of course, it’s an accidental crime. Then it could be anyone. I’m going over to Gael Island tomorrow. I’ll stop in at the gallery while I’m there. I’ve been meaning to do that anyway. And next week I’ll make a trip over to Waterloo and check on the gallery.”

  “I can help with that if you want. My Uncle Kevin owns it.”

  “I thought he owned the one on Gael.”

  “He started one on Waterloo as well. He’s in Seattle right now but I’ll see what I can find out. Is that it?” Sasha asked.

  “For now.”

  She cleared her tea cup and plate and snatched up her purse.

  “Oh, there is one more thing.”

  Josh and Sasha had similar bewildered expressions. “What?” they said simultaneously.

  “That compound on Aurora Island.”

  “What about it?”

  “Gives me the creeps.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we have a crime to solve there,” Sasha pointed out.

  “Unless the people who dumped the dogs have something to do with that compound.” And even if they didn’t, I had a feeling we needed to know more about it, a lot more. Other than knowing about Sam’s considering proposing to Frankie and detecting the home school teacher’s call, so far this was the strongest intuition I’d had in a while. I wasn’t about to ignore it.

  Chapter 11

  After going for my morning walk with Rocky, meditating, doing a few yoga exercises—very few—and fiddling with my poor neglected guitar that I’d had trouble resisting since Josh had unleashed it a few days before, I packed up my trusty detective tools—a notebook and pencil—and headed for the Gael Island ferry.

  Ned greeted me with a more toothless grin than usual. “Good to see you, Jenny. You haven’t ridden the ferry since we rescued the”—he looked around to be sure the other cars in line had their win
dows rolled up—”boy.”

  “I’ve been a bit busy.”

  “He’s keeping you on your toes?”

  “Actually, he’s been a great help. There have been a few other things, such as the theft at the art gallery. Did you hear about that?”

  “Yep, sure did. Can’t think who would do a thing like that.”

  “Me neither but I’m trying to find out. If you hear anything—”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Ned. Are you doing okay?”

  “Yep, I’m doing great, Jenny. Just need to get one of my back-ups to fill in for me so I can get this upper plate fixed. Lost a couple teeth out of it.”

  I was glad to hear he had some back-ups. I’d never ridden the private ferry with anyone else piloting it.

  “Now you’re sure this boy is okay?”

  “I am, Ned.”

  “Good thing because you know I promised your aunt I’d keep an eye out for you.”

  “I appreciate it, Ned. You haven’t mentioned the boy to anyone, have you?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been real good about remembering to forget he’s here.” He winked at me. “If you know what I mean.”

  “I do, Ned. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  A couple more cars had pulled in behind me so Ned loaded the ferry and we took off for Gael Island. My stomach was not a happy camper. It could have been the egg I’d had for breakfast. It was much more content with good old carbs, but I figured I’d needed a bit more protein this morning. Or maybe it had nothing to do with food. Maybe it had to do with my leaving Josh alone at the cottage. Or maybe it had to do with my not hearing a peep out of Charlie and MacGregor since they’d first called when they arrived on Waterloo Island yesterday. Surely their soccer match must be over. Perhaps they were headed back to Anamcara, stopping to catch a fish on the way.

  Upon our arrival, I went directly to the library to check out some books from Josh’s reading list. It would give him something to do until his text books arrived. By the time I left the library, it was lunch time. First convincing my stomach to settle down with a cranberry spritzer, I had a pleasant lunch at my favorite café overlooking the water. After a chicken and avocado sandwich, I headed for the Gael art gallery. Sasha could have asked her uncle any questions for me, but since I was there, I wanted to see the gallery for myself. Despite being privately owned, it had several of the local artists’ work on display, just as our co-op did. They were heavier on the painters and glass and jewelry than we were. There was a wall dedicated to two painters, one of them named Josie Collins. The other was Sasha. Considering that it was her uncle’s gallery, it was not a surprise. Besides which, her art work definitely deserved the attention.

  I recognized the woman behind the desk. I wasn’t sure how I knew her, until I saw her name tag. Nan McKeon.

  “Nan?” I said.

  “Yes?” She looked at me cautiously, as though trying to remember how she knew me.

  “Weren’t you working at the nursing home?”

  “Oh, yes! I do. I’ve been working here since I was in high school actually. This was my first job so even though I got a job at the nursing home, I still do this. It kind of keeps me balanced. It can get a bit depressing over there.”

  “I understand.” I reintroduced myself and explained that we had met on the beach one afternoon when she was escorting one of the patients on a walk.

  “It’s nice to see you again. Can I help you with anything?” Her arm made a gesture toward the art work.

  “Actually you can. I’m not here to purchase anything, but I would appreciate some help.” I asked her for a list of all the artists on the island which she swiftly pulled out of a drawer. The ones with asterisks were members of the gallery. The others were not. Only four worked with clay and of those four, only one was a sculptor.

  I asked her what she knew about him. It turned out she knew a lot. He was her husband. He’d been on the East Coast visiting his mother for the past couple weeks. He wasn’t even on the same coast when the incident with Jasper’s art work took place.

  “What do you need this information for, Jenny?” she asked.

  Rather than pull out my detective card, I came up with the unrealistic idea of having a combined art walk between the islands. “Impractical, I know, but it was just a thought.”

  “No, I think it would be fun,” she said. “We could have shuttles on both islands from the ferry to the galleries. That way people can walk on. I’ll mention it to the owner.”

  “Good. I’ll see what I can do.” Who knows, maybe it would take off.

  She followed me as I made my way through the gallery, admiring the artists’ work. Her husband was good. His work mostly consisted of sculptures of children, with a similar feel to Norman Rockwell’s paintings.

  “He’s wonderful,” I said in earnest.

  “Yes, he is good.” She made no effort to mask her pride. I liked that in a person. “And we have two wonderful painters—Josie and, of course Sasha, whom I’m sure you know from Anamcara. But it would be nice to have someone famous like your gallery does. We’re envious of you for having Jasper Rosenthal. His pieces sell for ten times what any of our pieces sell for. More than that even.”

  “Yes. He is a wonderful sculptor and he does attract a lot of tourists to Anamcara.”

  She nodded. “There aren’t too many like him around. But hey, we’d settle for a Dante.”

  “You’re familiar with Angelo Dante’s work too?”

  “Oh, yes. I know he only does pots but they’re brilliant. And they’re very popular here on Gael. They just put a new set inside the post office. They’re wonderful because they can handle a really hearty ficus.”

  No wonder he was so busy. I was surprised he wasn’t selling them through the Gael gallery. I didn’t ask Nan about that. I didn’t want to put the idea into her head. After all, my loyalty had to stay with the Anamcara gallery.

  Another dead end. I was floundering. It was rare that both my logic and intuition antennae were down. But then it was rare that MacGregor had spent the night in my home. Rare to never.

  I tried calling Charlie and MacGregor again while I was on the ferry, as though being out there in the middle of the Strait would somehow help. Neither answered their cell phone. They hadn’t answered all day. That was enough to justify my need for a cup of tea and a chocolate chip cookie when I arrived home.

  “Didn’t you eat lunch?” Josh asked, watching me chomp a huge bite of my cookie.

  Mouth full, I nodded. Once I’d washed my oversized bite down with hot tea, I said, “It’s called emotional eating. I’m trying to calm my worries about Charlie and MacGregor. They aren’t answering their cells.”

  “Maybe they’re busy exploring the island.”

  “Charlie always takes my calls no matter how busy he is.”

  “Maybe they don’t have cell service.” He was beginning to sound a lot like me when I was trying to calm down one of my children—usually Holly—and it usually had to do with a boy not calling her.

  “I talked to them last night after they arrived on Waterloo Island. Their cells worked fine then.”

  “Maybe they’re on a different part of the island today that doesn’t get cell service.”

  I nodded a single nod and bit into my cookie again—a more delicate bite this time. That explanation sounded good, even feasible.

  “Or maybe they’re in a noisy pub, celebrating.”

  That one sounded more probable. I chose to assume that was the case. I filled in Josh with details of my day. He did the same, first calming my incessant anxiety about the dogs.

  “Still no postings for three missing dogs.”

  I exhaled before taking a sip of my green tea infused with fresh peppermint. “I didn’t get anywhere at the Gael Island gallery. But I will have Sasha call her uncle to see if there are any other sculptors who have work on display at his other gallery.”

  “I did a little research on Jasper Rosentha
l too. He’s really well known. Some of his stuff goes for over fifty thousand dollars,” Josh told me.

  “That much? He is very good. I think it’s the emotional quality he brings to his work. I just didn’t realize it went that high.”

  “Resale,” Josh said. “Interesting stuff. Like the underground art world. There’s a lot more art theft out there than you’d think. Weird.”

  “I never really thought about it. Why weird?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. If I needed money or wanted money, I wouldn’t steal art. I’d steal something that’s easier to pawn, you know jewelry or electronic stuff or probably cash if I had a choice. It must be hard to get money for stolen artwork.”

  “Maybe it’s not just about the money. Maybe it’s an ego thing. People just want a piece of art that’s prestigious or something.”

  “Or maybe they think it will be worth more some day. From what I read, it looks like when you’re dead, you really start to make the money.”

  I stifled a laugh, smiling instead. “It’s true. Often an artist’s work does become more valuable after the artist dies.”

  “So maybe someone wanted Jasper’s model because he’s pretty old, right? And once he dies that might be worth more too.”

  “Very possible. You learned all that from the web?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Did you do anything else besides hang out on the computer?”

  He laughed. I liked it when he laughed. “I looked through all the kitchen cupboards and drawers for any keys.”

  “And?”

  “Just one to the house. But I’ll keep looking. And I kinda—” He was squirming now.

  “What, Josh?”

  “I went for a run. Not a long one but I’m getting a little—”

  I read his mind. He did not want to complain. He was grateful and he wanted me to know that. “Claustrophobic?” I offered.

  He shrugged. Less of a complaint. “I took Rocky with me. He loved it.”

  And Josh felt safer. “Did you go after the newspaper and before the mail?”

  “Yeah. I know I shouldn’t have gone in case your friend Frankie comes around but you said she usually rides on weekends, right?”

  “Right. But just to be safe, I’ll check in with Sasha and see if she knows where Frankie is before you go next time. They live close enough to each other that she’d know if Frankie was taking her horse out or not.”