1 Portrait of a Gossip (15 page)

That was only the beginning of the process though. The
stencils would provide the basic shapes and colors but she would go in later
and add the hand details like shading and delicate veining in leaves. That made
each shirt unique and worth an extra twenty to forty dollars. If people didn’t think
it was high art, they should blame Andy Warhol who had hybridized textiles with
painting.

She had a number of designs to select from, done in small
size and with limited colors, but the lizard Mickey kept presenting himself as
the best choice. Giving in, she set to work on translating the painting into a garment
stencil.

Marley was interested in her work, but seemed content to
watch from a perch on the sink. Perhaps he mistrusted the strange machine that
was sitting on the kitchen table.

Juliet hummed to herself as she set about making her
stencils. It involved cutting a pattern out of a sheet-adhesive which she would
adhere to the thin “silk,” which was actually polyester. It was painstaking
work, but she had gotten efficient at the task and always used sharp tools. It
added to the expense but saved time and headaches.

Her first run would be on scrap fabric, usually muslin since
it was cheap. If that went well and she liked the colors then she would do an
apron. They were made of sturdy canvas and cost less than her heavy cotton
shirts. Her pile of muslin scraps was building up and she wondered if she
shouldn’t try making a quilt from them. Elizabeth would probably lend her a
sewing machine.

Aware of the lack of prestige in that endeavor, Juliet had
experimented with doing covers for photo albums, using some of the Nuremberg
techniques pioneered by the medieval monks who wished for velvets and precious
metals in their tapestries, but who could not afford the expensive textiles
from the east. The spreading of wool dust into the wet ink did a fair job on re-creating
velvet, and the gold and silver dust sprinkled in the wet paint did look a
great deal like genuine gold thread embroidery, but the cost for gold dust was
prohibitive and except for a few wedding albums, she wasn’t able to recoup the
cost on the projects. It was all down to washable shirts, aprons, and baseball
caps. Tourists tended to wear their hearts on their t-shirts. A smart artist
provided them with a wide range of sentiments. Art came after eating.

She worked until her back ached and then just a little more
so that the stencils were done. Juliet didn’t mind the gray hairs and “expression
lines” that had gotten rather deep around the eyes, but she wished vaguely her
back was twenty years younger. Not that she expected her wish to be answered.
One got a certificate of birth, not a certificate of health with a guarantee of
replacement parts.

She was startled by a rapping on the window behind her, and
even more surprised when the rapper turned out to be Carrie Simmons.

“Hi, come in,” Juliet said, opening her door. She was subtle
about it, but made sure to the best of her abilities that Carrie wasn’t
carrying any weapons. Raphael’s suggestion that the killer was a female had
wedged in her mind, but Carrie seemed to be armed with nothing more sinister
than a flashlight and false eyelashes so luxuriant they might have been fuzzy
caterpillars. “I was about to make some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“If you haven’t anything stronger.”
Carrie hadn’t brought her walker and was looking rather flushed from her climb
up the hill. The blush was real and extended up from the ample bosom that she
had barely tucked into a peasant top. There are some women who have noteworthy
figures, but most times they are just sort of there. They don’t flaunt them.
Those women were not Carrie Simmons. Juliet admitted that she still had the
legs for shorts but wondered why the mosquitoes hadn’t savaged her.

“Sit down. Sorry, I don’t have much of anything here just
now except tea and tuna. I need to go grocery shopping.”

Carrie was looking at the canvas of lizard Mickey.

“He’s cute,” she said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know
that you did anything whimsical.”

“I’m trying out some kids’ shirts,” Juliet said, turning on
the electric kettle and wondering what the heck had brought Carrie up the hill.
“You’ve met Marley?”

“Sure. But only at mealtimes.”

“He’s a cat with an eye to the main chance,” Juliet agreed.

“You’ve taken him in?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly invite him.
He
just kind of moved house.
And I’ve had worse roommates.” She didn’t add
that he tended to hog the bed. She believed that loyalty was an important part
of any successful relationship and wouldn’t dream of criticizing him to an
outsider.

Juliet didn’t bother with the tea ball and loose tea, but
she did get out her teapot that had been thrown by a local potter. It looked
like a broody robin redbreast. She dropped a teabag in the pot, gathered mugs,
and then came to the table. There was barely room for the tea and the printing
machine but she didn’t offer to move anything. The machine was heavy and she
had gotten it set up just right. Carrie should understand that.

“I don’t want to appear inhospitable,” Juliet began as she
fetched the whistling kettle. The emersion heater was fast even if the water
tasted a bit burned.

“But you’re working?” She was doing her best breathless
Marilyn Monroe though the outfit was a cross between Jane Russell and Daisy
Duke.

“Yes. And you needn’t have come all the way up. I would have
walked down if you rang me.”

“Would you? You hadn’t so far, so I wondered.”

That was surprisingly direct, but then everything always
revolved around Carrie and she needed to bring everything into orbit.

“You feel left out because I haven’t pumped you for
information? Well, let’s remedy that now. Did you kill Harvey?”

“What? No!
Of course not.
Though
some people might think I had a reason,” she added portentously.

Juliet poured out some tea. It was weak but it probably didn’t
matter. Carrie wasn’t a connoisseur.

“Can you prove you didn’t? Do you have an alibi?”

“No.” This was said a little sulkily. Juliet wasn’t reacting
properly to her performance and asking what the reason was. She pulled out a
handkerchief and blotted her face.

“Do you know who did it?”

“N-no.”

“Me either,” Juliet said cheerfully.

Both women jumped when there was another tap on the door.
Before Juliet could rise, the door opened and Esteban stuck his head inside. His
hair was powder white. Marley hopped down and sauntered over to the door to
investigate.

“Hello, cat.
Sorry to barge in, Juliet,
but the water is off at the cottage and I was wondering if I could plead with
you for something to wash in. The plaster dust is everywhere.” His eyes also
examined Carrie. They didn’t linger on her half-exposed breasts and Juliet
thought that he was also looking for weapons.

“There’s a hose and bucket outside,” Juliet said, and then
added for Carrie’s benefit, “There is also the shower if you prefer tepid,
softened water to pumice straight from the ground. It wouldn’t be any trouble
if you wanted to bathe here.”

“The hose will do since you have company,” Esteban said and
then closed the door, but his eyes might just have had the tiniest of amused
gleams.

“You two are getting on?” Carrie asked. She looked
thoroughly put out.

“Oh yes, but generally I do get on with everyone. It’s so
much easier that way.”

“Elizabeth says that you’re sitting for Raphael. I’m rather
glad he didn’t ask me because I’m terribly busy right now. And Asher might want
to paint me later.”

Juliet doubted this. Asher didn’t need a model to paint a
big pink cube on top of a purple triangle.

“You wouldn’t have suited for this one anyway,” Juliet said.
Then, when Carrie started to bristle at the implication that she couldn’t hold
her own with a college-age model, Juliet added, “It’s some Old Testament
matriarch, swaddled in shawls and varicose veins. You’d be wasted on this one.”

“Oh.” Her face eased a bit. “I guess Raphael needs to paint
from life.”

Juliet almost smiled at the uncalculated bitchiness of this
remark.

“I better fetch a towel for Esteban,” Juliet said, getting
up from the table and preparing to deprive her of an audience. “Please stay as
long as you like, but I need to get back to work. You know how it is when you
have deadlines.”

“I do,” she admitted. “And I need to be going. I’m having
company tonight.”

She did her best to look coy as she sauntered for the door.

Juliet waited for her to start down the path before carrying
out a towel. Marley followed her. The cat liked the puppet-maker.

“I don’t think she did it, more is the pity,” she said to
Esteban.

He took the towel and wiped his face. He looked slightly
less dusty from the neck up and elbows down.

“Thanks. I don’t think so either.”

“Damn. I’m running out of unpleasant people to pin it on.
All my hope is on Jake Holmes, the adulterer. You want a tuna fish sandwich?”
Juliet asked.

“I could do with something to eat,” Esteban answered, still
looking vaguely amused.

Juliet chose not to ask him what was funny.

Juliet opened the door to the studio. The air was filled
with the smell of ink and fixative so she set up her fan and pointed it toward
the open door. The satin finish and the heat lamps had done their job and the
aprons and shirts were dry, the colors set and safe for washing machines. She
had had only three children’s sized shirts and to those she had added some comical
bugs and flowers, which in the light of day she judged to be acceptable. Juliet
had worked until exhausted last night and then fallen into bed, not discovering
that she had her nightgown on backwards until morning.

She supposed that she should take the one large shirt to
Mickey but decided that instead she would make a gift of it to Sheriff Garret.
It would make a nice excuse to call in at his office and find out why he hadn’t
invited himself up for sandwiches yet.

Juliet didn’t fold the other shirts until after breakfast, whose
limited gastronomic choices convinced her of the need for at least a little
grocery shopping while she was in town. Taking a rare interest in her clothing
she decided that it might be nice to wear one of her few sundresses. It was a
linen shift from the sixties that she had found in a thrift shop and then
block-printed with peonies. It was compromise between the suits she used to
wear and the Bohemian draperies that most of her neighbors—male and female—chose
to wear. The only difficulty was the side zipper which was a little rusted, but
a bit of olive oil and a pair of pliers took care of that problem.

She gave the ink as long as possible to set and for the
smell to dissipate, but by ten o’clock she was feeling restless and decided
that the shirts and aprons were safe and sufficiently odorless that she could set
about folding them around a cardboard form she kept for that purpose. The
folding was a small service, but Marnie at the shop appreciated having shirts
that exactly fit their divided shelves. It was a small order, barely a dozen
things, but the gift shop would be glad of them with the coming holiday
weekend. Perhaps she would be able to do another design that night—something
with flowers or maybe a stylized Marley, for those who weren’t fond of
reptiles. Three-day weekends brought on a kind of mass brainwave that people in
the city simply had to go
somewhere
and White Oaks was fortunately one of the chosen destinations.

“I expect you to behave and leave your catnip in the pot,”
she said to Marley.

“
Reow
.”

“I should hope so. It will be ugly if I have to duct tape
the pot.” Juliet had one of those unwelcome moments of insight, thinking of her
old life, so rich in possessions and prestige, if she wanted them, but
completely starved of the thing she really needed. It was good to have a cat.

It wasn’t until she stepped outside that Juliet became aware
of the smell of smoke and the yellow
tinge
to the
air. Marley too was sniffing and seemed restless. The fire couldn’t be that
close though and no one had raised the alarm, so Juliet decided to get on with
the day.

She stuck her head into Robbie’s cottage and found him doing
something with some rusted parts. No one else was around.

“Got the water back on at Esteban’s?” she asked.

“Is the water off?” he asked.

“I thought Esteban said it was. Maybe I heard him wrong.”
She looked out at the parking lot which was nearly empty. “Where is everyone?”

“The truck came in at the art supply place.
Finally.
Everyone has headed for town. Say, do you smell
smoke?”

“Yes. The air is a little hazy too.” She shifted the pile of
clothing.

“Guess I better put on the radio and find out what’s what. I
hope the fire doesn’t ruin the weekend.”

He meant that the fire might scare away tourists.

“Fingers crossed,” she agreed and headed for her car.

Once she was out from under the trees and on the main road,
Juliet could see a thick river of smoke flowing toward town. One of the jet streams
had grabbed up the smolder from the fire and was pulling it north. It looked
bad, but surely someone would have sounded the alarm if the fire were
dangerously close.

“The fire is holding at
Gaudyville
.
So far,” Garret said as she came in the door. He looked harassed.

Juliet approached the desk, forgetting the t-shirt she had
in her hands. The others had been dropped off at the gift shop, which had been
empty of customers.