Three Dog Island Page 19

  “She was my closest friend.” He was still in mourning. He did not have a family nearby to help the healing.

  “You must have other close friends on the island.”

  He shook his head. “Once upon a time.”

  The look in his eyes was familiar. Josh’s brown eyes flashed before me. I was certain my own had at one time reflected that same feeling. Betrayal.

  “What happened?” My voice had softened, urging him to talk.

  But he didn’t. “It was a long time ago.”

  But it was still living inside of him. Perhaps it was responsible for some of his amazing pieces of art. He had to have known the pain and struggle that his “Circle of Musicians” conveyed. And he had to have known the sadness and oppression of his boy bearing the weight of the cloud.

  But this was deeper, something he had been holding in his heart for a very long time. “Jasper, can I ask you about one of your old sculptures?”

  “Of course, Jenny.”

  Something told me he would not have responded so positively if he had known which one I was going to ask about. “When did you sculpt ‘Power of Love’?”

  He flinched. That explained why the energy still emanated even from the computer screen. “A long time ago. Thirty years? Or more. Why are you asking about it?”

  “I saw it on your website and recognized it. I remember it from when I was a girl.”

  “You enjoyed your visits with your aunt, didn’t you?” He turned back to Winnie’s photo. He didn’t want to talk about that sculpture. He didn’t want to answer any more questions. What he didn’t realize was that he already had answered my question. The wounds of lost love were still raw. Even after thirty years.

  “Winnie was very sad when your mother stopped allowing you to visit her.”

  “So was I. As were Cameron and Bryn.” It had been a painful time in our lives, the year following our parents’ divorce.

  “But then you started coming for visits again.”

  “Yes, I moved in with my father in Seattle and he brought me here every chance he got.”

  “She was very fond of your father.”

  I knew that. And I knew the strain between her and my mother, her niece.

  I glanced at the other photos on the mantel. Jasper with a woman and man and two children. His arm hung over the woman’s shoulder. She resembled him enough that I guessed it was his sister and her family. “Where do they live?” I asked.

  “California. Los Angeles.”

  “Do you see them?”

  “Only when they come to the island. I don’t get down to Los Angeles anymore.”

  How had this happened? How had he become a recluse, closing himself away with his pain and memories and art? Typical minister. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to fix it. But the wiser part of me knew I couldn’t. He would have to do that himself. All I could do was support and guide him. If he would let me.

  “Do you ever get off the island, Jasper?”

  “Sometimes. Well, a couple times a year anyway. I go up to Canada to look at marble and stone. At least I used to. Now I’m fortunate. I have excellent resources. They know what I like and send me detailed photographs so I can make my selection from my computer and they ship it to me. And with computers, I no longer need to go to Seattle to meet with my business manager about my finances, and when they need something for my website, they come here.”

  Ah yes, the advantage of modern technology. And the disadvantage. It made it all too easy for him to lock himself away in solitude. The other question on the tip of my tongue was to ask if he had ever married, but I was relatively certain I knew the answer.

  There was a tap on the kitchen door and Jasper went to open it. A young red-headed kid carried in a couple bags of groceries and set them on the counter. “Here you are, Mr. Rosenthal.” He looked familiar. I’d seen him before. Or maybe I just thought I had from Sasha’s description, assuming this was the young man with the crush on my friend. Hadn’t she also—or maybe it was Burt—told me that he delivered groceries among other things. Right now that meant one thing to me. He came on Jasper’s property and could possibly gain access to his glaze formula, as could anyone delivering goods to Jasper, including clay, which led us back to Army. Again.

  “How are you doing today, Mr. Rosenthal?”

  “Fine. Thank you, Jeff. I’ll see you next time.”

  “Thank you!” Jeff said. Clearly Jasper had given him a generous tip. “Is there anything I can do for you while I’m here?”

  “Not today, but thanks for offering.”

  “Nice kid,” Jasper said after he’d closed the door behind him. “He’s always very polite and asks after me. Seems like he means it too.”

  Packing it well inside a box with paper protecting it, Jasper and I carried the new model to my car. We put the box between other boxes to keep it from moving. Just before I drove off, I asked him one more question. “Jasper, why did you ask me to deliver it to the gallery instead of Army? Doesn’t he usually deliver your work after he fires it?”

  “I’m not sure, Jenny. I think because you were the one who believed all along that the other one isn’t mine.” So he knew he wasn’t getting senile and that he hadn’t imagined all this. He knew someone had taken his model and replaced it with a fake. He just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. He wanted to move on. “I guess I wanted you to see them side by side, to see the difference.”

  That made sense. But it wasn’t seeing them that would tell me the difference.

  I backed Winston as close to the co-op door as I could get. Fortunately Army spotted me and came running to open the door and help carry the box over to Jasper’s display. Together we unpacked it, and set it beside the model that was an imitation. I watched Army carefully. Not a twitch or a flinch or a cringe. And definitely no evidence of guilt.

  “He must have worked day and night,” Army said. “He’s in the middle of sculpting a new piece as well.”

  “He doesn’t look as though he’s gotten much sleep.”

  “He probably hasn’t. But it doesn’t make sense, Jenny. It’s only the model for his sculpture. It’s not like someone stole the valuable one. Why would he bother? Why didn’t he just ask us to put this one away, out of sight?”

  “Apparently that wasn’t good enough. He was adamant that his model be here the way he’s always shown his work and his process.”

  “Still, all that work, after the fact.”

  “Of course he knew exactly what he wanted to create,” I said. “He’d done it before. His hands knew the way.”

  “True,” Army said, but still, the two of us stood there in awe.

  Why would someone tamper with his work? If Josh’s theory was wrong, why would they take the clay model? This time a new answer popped into my mind. They wanted to use it to duplicate Jasper’s stone work. But who would have the skill to do that?

  “Who else on the island works with stone, Army?”

  “Who else?” He shook his curly hair away from his face. “A lot of us have dabbled in it, thanks to Jasper and his willingness to guide us artists over the years. He even taught classes at one time.” Past memories were reflected in his smile.

  “The good old days?”

  “They were. A lot of the artists at the gallery studied with him, even though stone wasn’t their thing—me, Ramona, even Alice. And Navy after she moved to the island.”

  All the same people I’d been questioning.

  “And some artists came over from the other islands to study with him.”

  “Do you remember who?”

  He shook his head and I noticed some tiny chocolate crumbs fall from his chin. “There was one fellow from Gael Island, what’s his name? McKeon, I think.”

  Ah, Nan’s husband, the lone sculptor on Gael Island.

  “But even further back than that, some friends of your Aunt Winnie’s studied with him when they came to visit her. Way before my time.”

  Why hadn’t I thought to talk to J
asper back when I’d first arrived on the island? I wondered. He might have been able to help me solve another mystery.

  “And of course there’s Dante,” Army was saying. “I don’t think he ever studied with Jasper, but he did do some stone sculpting many years ago. He was good. Of course, none of us could come close to doing what Jasper does.”

  “Dante was good? Why do you think he stopped?”

  “His health. Oh, I’m sure he still plays with it, makes small pieces although he hasn’t brought any in for a long time.”

  “His health?”

  “I take it you haven’t met him.”

  “No.”

  “He’s in a wheelchair. He has back problems and can no longer walk.”

  That took him out of the equation. With back problems and being stuck in a wheelchair, there was no way he could duplicate pieces as large and detailed as Jasper’s. “How does he still manage to throw pots?”

  “He can do it from his chair. It’s not easy but he manages. I’m sure Emilio helps him a lot. That kid is amazing. He’s totally dedicated to his father.”

  That was refreshing to hear. Too many kids took their parents for granted these days.

  “He’s a great kid. He’s really been there for him, especially since—”

  “His health problems?”

  “That and his wife left him. Almost destroyed him. He hit the bottle pretty hard. If it hadn’t been for Emilio and his craft, I don’t think he would have survived.”

  Army looked back at the two clay clouds. “I don’t know, Jenny. They’re so similar.

  This new one is the same clay, glaze, everything, except the cloud isn’t quite so low, so oppressive.”

  But that wasn’t the only thing that told me I was not done with this case. I could look at the two sculptures side by side all day long and observe their similarities. It was when I was touching them that I knew the difference. I didn’t even have to see them to detect it. The energy of the two pieces of work was totally different. There would be no convincing the sheriff and his deputy of that. But it didn’t matter. Every fiber of my being knew it.

  Chapter 18

  Jasper’s sculptures were distracting me. I needed to get them out of my mind. An authentic Jasper Rosenthal model was now back in the co-op. He’d told me to stop worrying about him and his cloud. It was time to heed that advice and get my mind focused on one thing—Josh’s case. Okay, since I did have a life, or was trying to have one, I could allow myself one distraction. Considering that nothing short of amnesia would force MacGregor from my mind, he was the one distraction I would allow myself.

  The only problem was, my intuition had kicked in and seemed determined to lead me down a different path. Maybe there was some connection between the two seemingly diverse mysteries. I couldn’t fathom what it was, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

  It didn’t help that by the end of the week, Sasha had a new theory.

  “What about Army? You were so sure—” Not that I had given her theory a great deal of attention or credibility.

  “Naw. Can’t be.”

  “Because?”

  “Because he’s too sweet.” She covered her mouth. “No pun intended.”

  It took a moment for me to follow her thought pattern. She’d been hanging out with me too long.

  “I think Josh was right. I think Army looks guilty because he’s been hitting the sweets lately. Yesterday I caught him in the back room of the gallery with a Twinkie. Two days before that, it was a package of Oreos.”

  I smiled, recalling the chocolate crumbs falling from his chin. “So, if not Army, who?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “Ramona.”

  “Because?”

  “Because she’s the only one who’s there two days in a row. That would give her more time to replace the model. Except that Alice comes in all the time, but we’ve ruled her out.”

  “But two days isn’t nearly long enough to replace the sculpture.” I just stood there staring at her.

  She stared back at me and then burst out laughing. “I really suck at this, don’t I?”

  “Hey, your theories are as good as mine. Actually I don’t have any, so they’re probably better.”

  “Really?” She pushed her fluffy red hair away from her face, her green eyes sparkling with laughter. “You don’t have any theories?”

  “Not really.” But I didn’t always have theories. I had feelings, senses that something wasn’t right or something didn’t make sense. With Jasper’s art work, the only thing I had a strong sense about was his “Power of Love” sculpture that he did not want to talk about. And as far as I could see, the only person, besides grocery deliverers and stone and marble deliverers and miscellaneous other deliverers, who did have access to his studio was Army. He was, after all, the one who delivered clay to Jasper when he needed it for his models. And of all the delivery people, he was most likely the only artist. That meant he was the only one who would know to look for a glaze formula and he was the only one who would have a chance at duplicating Jasper’s model. And firing it. Maybe I should have given Sasha’s Army theory more credibility.

  “Okay, what are you thinking? I see a theory brewing,” Sasha said.

  “Nothing really. Just—hey you know that kid Jeff who has a crush on you?”

  “Sure.”

  “He’s not an artist by any chance, is he? I mean does he do any clay work?”

  Sasha looked at me as though I’d broken out in hives. “Definitely not. If he were an artist, it’s the first thing he would have told me so we’d have more in common than our freckles and hair. Soul mate strategy and all.”

  She was probably right about that.

  “You’re not thinking it’s him, are you?”

  I explained his access to Jasper’s studio. This time she just shook her head and raised her eyebrows as if to inquire about the state of my mental health. “I think we’re going to have to come up with a decent theory if we’re going to solve this one.”

  I didn’t disagree with her. It was time to take my own advice and let things steep a while until something came into my consciousness because, as much as I would have liked to let it go, this case was not letting me go.

  “I hate to say it, but it seems like Army is the most likely suspect.” Her mind had taken the same direction as mine had only moments before.

  “I know,” I responded truthfully.

  “I’m not sure I like this theory.”

  Neither did I.

  “Let’s work on finding another theory, shall we?”

  “Definitely. However—” The wheels were turning again. “One thing in Army’s favor is that he does the final firing for Jasper. He could have made a duplicate while he had possession of it. He wouldn’t need to steal it from the gallery.”

  Sasha grinned. “Of course! That let’s Army off the hook.”

  I didn’t say it out loud but no one was off the hook—not until we had all the answers.

  As Sasha started down the front porch stairs of the cottage, Josh was heading up them. “Where were you?” she asked suspiciously.

  Panting heavily, with Rocky who was panting almost as heavily at his side, he answered, “Out for a run.”

  Sasha looked at me.

  “It’s okay. He stays on the property.”

  “You’re sure?” She’d turned into a mother hen already?

  I nodded but watched as Josh anxiously went inside and closed the door behind him.

  After Sasha left, I found Josh at the kitchen sink drinking a glass of water. Maybe that was all it was. He was thirsty. But just as I tried to convince myself of that, a little voice inside my third chakra told me otherwise. “What happened?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing. Something happened.”

  He was still trying to take care of himself. I stared him down. He’d forgotten that I was an experienced mother.

  “I just got the creeps again. That’s all. I felt like
someone was watching me. And Rocky kept barking like there was someone out there hiding.”

  “Maybe we need to get you out of here for a while.”

  There was panic in his eyes. He wanted reassurance that I couldn’t give him. It would be a mistake to give him false confidence. The best defense, after all, was being forewarned and vigilant.

  “Where would I go? Sasha’s?” He knew that was just as risky. If someone had spotted him at my cottage, they’d find him at Sasha’s. His expression was that of a little boy who had dropped his double scoop ice cream cone and skinned his knees in the process, waiting for his mother to make it all better. I only wished I could.

  “Seattle.” If MacGregor couldn’t come up this weekend, I could take him to Seattle.

  He sat down at the kitchen table, his face in his hands. The strain was getting to him. When he sat up, his arms were wrapped tightly in front of his chest, again reminding me of his mother. But it wasn’t just despair and fear he was feeling. There was anger there, well-warranted anger that he should not have to be living his young life this way, in constant vigilance and fear.

  “It will be good for you anyway, give you a change of scenery.”

  “What are you thinking, Jenny? Do you think someone is watching me?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know how they could have found you here, Josh. Really. But if your intuition is telling you that you’re in danger, we need to listen.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Seattle.” He stood up and headed for the shower. “Jenny, thank you.” He never forgot to appreciate.

  “Josh.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Does your mother ever get angry?”

  He shrugged. It was an off-the-wall question but I’d been inspired to ask it. “Not so much angry. Sometimes, I guess. Every now and then she’ll lose it. Like over nothing big. It’s weird. She’ll put up with all this shit—stuff, and then something stupid happens like she tears her skirt or drops something and she’ll explode over it. But I’d say she’s mostly just sad. Depressed.”

  Of course. After all, isn’t that what depression is? Anger turned inward?

  My cell phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts.