Tag Archives: detective

Bumper Stumper (L)

“Would you look at that weird bumper sticker?” Marvin was pointing to the hybrid stopped in front of them at a red light on Granville. “What do you suppose it means?”

Amy squinted at the sticker, her middle-aged eyes crying out for progressive lenses. STOP the POP was written in pink lettering on a blue background. There was no little line of print underneath to indicate who had sponsored it or what it might mean. She considered pop music or pop-up ads on websites, both sources of intense annoyance for her. But the 3 Ps looked more like bellies in the late stages of pregnancy. “I bet it means stop population growth,” Amy said.

“As in stop your stomach from popping out? That’s the first one I’ve seen like that. I wonder if they get much flak.” Just as Marvin said that, the passenger door of the hybrid swung open and the driver pushed a woman out onto the road. She didn’t move. The door was pulled shut, the light turned green, and the hybrid took off.

After a second of paralysis, Amy switched into park, turned on her 4-way flashers and jumped from the car, leaving Marvin to call 911. The woman at the curb wasn’t breathing and was very cold to the touch. Marvin, seeing Amy shaking her head, told the dispatcher that there was no rush. The woman was as dead as an idea before its time.


Amy recognized Detective Roger Arnold when he showed up on the scene. She’d bumped heads with him on a couple of cases, and from the look on the Detective’s face, he wasn’t thrilled to see her.  In fact, he pretended not to know her and asked for her ID.

“I’m Amy Sinclair, and we’ve met before. Here’s my business card, and I will just jot my home phone number on the back for you.” He took the card and looked like he might say something, then changed his mind. She handed him her driver’s license and told him what she could remember about the car, which wasn’t much.

“You call yourself a Private Detective and you missed the plate number?”

Amy shrugged. “Sorry about that.” Her disappointment was reflected on the Detective’s tired face. “What about the bumper sticker?”

“Next to useless, just like a “green or blue hybrid” in this city, he said. Amy swung her streaked blond hair back and forth, something she did when annoyed. Marvin said she looked like a horse when she did that. Mind you, a very attractive horse, he’d added.

“Any traffic cameras?”

“Not near this intersection, but maybe we’ll get lucky and see someone speeding through the one at 70th. “Is this your son?” asked the Detective, smirking. Marvin smiled and Amy frowned.

“I’m Marvin Brenner. I work for Amy, and here’s my address and cell number.” I’m pretty sure the first letter on the licence was an H.

“British Columbia plates?”

“Yeah. Definitely Beautiful B.C.,” Marvin answered.

“Thanks. At least that’s something useful.” The Detective closed his notepad, returned their licences. “We may have follow-up questions and you will have to appear if there’s an inquest.”   Amy watched with more than curiosity as he turned and got back into his unmarked car. The man was damn good looking, she thought, but she couldn’t interpret his parting expression, a strange mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

“I think he likes you,” Marvin said. “But not at his crime scene.”


Back at the office, Amy had no luck tracking down the bumper sticker on the internet. It annoyed her that the Detective had discounted what she saw as a critical clue. If it was a unique slogan as she suspected, it could help to identify the car. She did find it curious that most of the environmental messages available as bumper stickers were negative, but she caught herself chuckling over one: If environmentalists breathed their own exhaust, there’d be no global warming.

There was no web site for Stop the Pop, but there were dozens of sites that would sell bumper stickers made to order. She tried out an idea on her only available test subject, Marvin. “What if I make a bumper sticker the same as the one we saw and put it on my car bumper? Maybe I’ll flush out our prey, or find out if there are other stickers like that one.”

“Yeah, if you want your tires slashed, go ahead.” Marvin advised. “There’s a better way. We can make a Stop the Pop website using the same swollen P’s. Maybe someone will complain that it was their idea first or send us to the right place.”

“Great idea, Marv. And you’re the guy to do it.”  Marvin enjoyed web site designing just a little too much. Amy still felt guilty when he fell so easily into her traps. To be honest, she also found it easy to be sidetracked from the jobs she was paid to do.


The whole episode slid to the back burner which was already simmering with unsolved cases. Meanwhile, Amy tied up a couple of loose ends for a customer who might just pay their bills this month. Marvin’s new Stop the Pop web site had attracted two regular visitors a day: Marvin and his mother who suffered from dementia and enjoyed clicking on Marvin’s favourite sites to see the changing colours and expanding bellies.  She would not have been pleased with the written content. Marvin was slumped down at his desk, looking as if he’d lost all his baby teeth and couldn’t expect to see another dime.

“So the web site’s a bust?” Amy asked, lounging on the corner of his desk and narrowly missing squashing a SpongeBob SquarePants collectable doll.

“Apparently if people don’t find your site, you don’t find them,” Marvin complained, echoing a slightly modified version of their agency’s logo. “I’ve tried getting other sites to link to this one, but there’s no interest.”

“Surprize. Surprize. It’s not a popular position to take, and it’s political suicide to link to something that could remotely recommend abortions. Do we go back to the bumper sticker idea?”

Marvin reluctantly pulled out an envelope and placed it on Amy’s lap. She slid out two pink and blue bumper stickers. As far as she could remember, the stickers looked much the same as the one they’d seen. “Two stickers? Is one for your bicycle?” Amy asked.

“Ha.   There’s one for the front and one for the back bumper,” Marvin said, “so they’ll see you coming and going.”

“Just as long as they don’t see me coming and keep going,” Amy said. “And thanks for this.”  She knew it was a long shot, but it cost nothing.

“I still think it’s a waste of time, but hey, go for it,” Marvin said, as his shoulders rounded the third thoracic vertebrae and headed home to his desk.


Five days later, Amy pulled off the bumper stickers, or what was left of them. They’d been defaced several times.   The first change had been “STOP the POOP” accompanied by two used doggie-bags tied to the back bumper. Later this morphed into WE STOOP to POOP. The front bumper sticker lasted a little longer, having gone through various iterations and paint-overs that eventually led to the simple command: POO. Then some imaginative kid had added the letter H and an outline of a bear. The age of the defacers was pretty obvious.

“Apparently the medium is the message,” Marvin quipped.

Amy leaned back against the bumper and studied the courthouse that was being consumed by green vines growing from an over-fertilized roof garden. The inquest into the death of the woman they’d witnessed had just ended. “OK. I guess they were both bad ideas,” she said. “But the inquest concluded that Carla Perez died a suspicious death.”

“Yeah, I’d say it’s suspicious to die from poisoning and be shoved from a car in the middle of a city. Did you catch the name of the poison.”

“A mixture of something. One was an opioid, fentanyl. The other I’d never heard of.”

“Her sister said she was an environmental activist. I couldn’t believe she didn’t know what groups she was associated with. I suspect they didn’t spend much time together.”

“She’d never seen her in a hybrid with that bumper sticker,” Marvin said, perching precariously on the tiny bumper of Amy’s Zenn electric car. “Mind you, she didn’t look like someone who’d know a hybrid if she saw one. Did you see that fancy outfit she was wearing? Prada if I’m not mistaken, and bedecked by jewels to die for,” Marvin said, waving his hand like a fan to cool his fevered head.

“So the car is still a non-person of interest,” Amy said, ignoring his blather.

“Ha. A hybrid driver against population growth. Got to be an environmentalist,” Marvin said.

“The dreaded E-word. Yes, and we know they’re all terrorists, or so sayeth our government,” Amy said, wondering if she should remove her own bumper sticker: May The Forest Be With You. “With our new anti-terrorism legislation, they could have files on all the environmentalists and know who’s sporting that bumper sicker.”

“I’ll pass that brilliant idea on to Detective Arnold, shall I,” Marvin said, looking skyward and flicking a bit of bird poop off his pants.

“Shelve that one, kid. I’ve got another brilliant idea instead,” Amy said, getting into the car. Marvin moaned and followed.


“Our perp won’t come to us, and we can’t find him. What do we do?” Amy had assumed her teacher’s pose in front of Marvin’s desk .  This involved carrying around an ancient wooden yard stick to rap knuckles when required.

“Give up?” Marvin replied, getting a sigh from Amy followed by a poke in the ribs.

“Think, don’t just cave,” Amy said. “The sister’s got access to much more information from the police than we have, and as you so droolingly noticed, she’s loaded. I say we get her to hire us and divulge some secrets.”

“Just how do we get her to do that?” Marvin said, twisting SpongeBob’s arm and eliciting a yodel.

“I’ve done my research. She’s already hired someone, so that means she’s motivated to find out more about her sister’s death. And before you ask why she needs us, I already know who she’s hired. Blakley.”

“That ass? Why would she hire him?”

“Blakley’s an ass but his ass is connected,” Amy replied.

“Yeah, to his frontal lobes.”

“Granted, but that means we can move in on his turf and she’ll be more receptive. And after all, we’re the ones who reported the incident. We can tell her what we discovered with the fake bumper sticker ploy.”

“And what would that be? Doggie do comes in little baggies?”

“No. The stickers were defaced, perhaps by the perp.”

“I’ll give you one thing. That idea is thin enough to be called transparent.” Marvin said.

“Well, what else do we have? The only thing they didn’t talk about at the inquest was the temperature of the body,” Amy mused. “I touched her and she was as cold as Pluto. Blakley won’t know that.”

“They did say she’d been dead a while before she was tossed out,” Marvin said.

“Dead where? In outer space?”

“She couldn’t have been dead long. She’d only been missing two days.”

“So, why put a body in a fridge or freezer if you’re just going to toss it out?”

“Good place to hide it?”

“I happen to know you haven’t got room for ice cubes in your freezer,” Amy said.

“Maybe the perp was in the cold storage business,” Marvin suggested. “He put her in with the sides of beef for a while.”

“Until he came up with the brilliant plan to shove her out the car door on Granville Street?”

“OK, there are some parts of the scenario that don’t fit yet.”

“Yeah, like the part where an environmentalist owns a cold room with sides of beef.”

“Maybe it was fish. Not tuna either.” Marvin had slouched down again.

“We’re getting nowhere. Let’s just talk to the sister and see whether she’s interested in telling us what she knows.”

“And if she’ll pay us,” Marvin said, whipping out his wallet to display his lack of folding money.


“Well, that worked out better than expected,” Amy said. She crunched down on her reward for a job well done, a large bag of caramel corn with yummy caramel-coated almonds.

“If you’re expecting nothing, then I suppose you’re right,” Marvin replied. Amy waited for him to say something about her junk food choice. He opened a bag of raw almonds and waved them at her instead. “She won’t pay us unless we find something out. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“That’s because she won’t fire Blakley, and I see her point about hiring a second agency,” Amy said.

“Yeah, she already bought the bull,” Marvin said sourly.

“Still, we have more information than we did before. We have Carla’s computer. Blakley got it after the inquest and said it was a blind end. Of course, that just makes me more interested to find out what he missed.”

“You and me both, but it’s going to take a lot more time to go through all the stuff on here. Maybe I’ll start by doing a quick search for STOP the POP.”

The office was quiet with the exception of the crunching of almonds, so Amy jumped when Marvin shouted, “It’s here. A big document on STOP the POP. It’s inside a folder inside a file on carbonated beverages.”

They both looked at each other and said simultaneously. “Carbonated beverages.”

“Like pop.” Marvin said.

“Yeah, like pop. You know, there’s a lot of evidence linking soda pop to heart attack and stroke, not to mention diabetes. Why didn’t I think of that? Remember when the mayor of New York tried to ban the stuff? So did a lot of school boards,” Amy said. “But that bumper sticker, the pink and blue, the swollen bellies. What was that about?”

“I’m having trouble remembering what the sticker even looked like, except it was damn hard to make out,” Marvin said “That website I made. I’m such an idiot.”

“No way I’m an idiot. I just rode around with poo written on my car for a week.” For a few moments, the room was as silent as a chipmunk under a cat’s paw. “Let’s start again and think about what we know. A dead woman was thrown from a car. Her body was cold, as in kept somewhere cold after she was killed. The car she was in was a hybrid with a logo that promoted banning carbonated drinks.   Her sister says she was an activist, and the file you’ve found proves she was working against the soda industry. So I’d say she knew, maybe worked with, whoever was driving that car.”

“OK. I’ll read everything in the file and see if I can come up with some names, or at least a place to start looking,” Marvin said.


“She belonged to a group called the Food Police, and she has an email contact with them called Jake. She’s also got the names of two soft drink lobbyists in her file,” Marvin reported.

“I say we hit the Food Police first and see what they can tell us,” Amy said.

“They’ll tell us not to drink sugary beverages.”

“Too late,” Amy said, slurping down the last of an energy drink. She had a quick glance at the glucose level printed on the side of the can and avoided Marvin’s beady eyes. “The lobbyists may be strong-arming the Food Police.”

“Sugary syrup doesn’t get you killed,” Marvin said.

“Tell that to the bugs swimming in my hummingbird feeder,” Amy said. “Besides, this probably has nothing to do with the job and everything to do with the people she knew.”

“So this Jake guy at the Food Police is suspect numero uno?”

“I wonder if the Detective might tell me whether he interviewed him.”

“I don’t think Arnold is going to tell you anything,” Marvin said.

“Why not? If he hasn’t looked at Jake yet, he might thank us for the idea.”

Marvin shrugged. “I think he’s shy with you. Why don’t I call?”

“I saw him first,” Amy said, and they both laughed and grabbed their phones.   Amy sent Marvin a glare and he put his phone down. The call was short and Amy frowned when she put hers down.

“They’ve already got a suspect. It isn’t Jake, and he says to leave it alone.”

“Did the police even interview Jake?”

“You just heard what I heard. So I have no idea.”

“See. He gave you nothing.” Marvin gloated.

She wondered why the Detective had been so gruff with her. What had she ever done to get under his skin? Her phone beeped a minute later with a text, “Sorry, boss hovering. Jake wasn’t interviewed.”

She lifted her head up to tell Marvin the news, but he was laughing and waving his cell phone. Looking down at her phone, yup, the text was from Marvin. She really needed those progressives. She let her annoyance die down before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. Marvin jumped up to follow. Amy glared at him and he said, “You need me. I know where he lives.”


Jake Cain lived in one of the condos built for the Winter Olympics and abandoned when the athletes feet left town.   He didn’t answer his buzzer, so they camped out on the railing opposite the building and took turns watching the front door or the dragon boats in False Creek. There wasn’t a lot of action on either side.

“Try the buzzer again, in case he parked underground,” Amy said after the novelty wore off.

Marvin crossed the road, buzzed and waved her over when Jake answered. They took the elevator to the second floor and Jake was waiting at his door when they exited. He was thin, young, and nervous-looking.

“Hi, I’m Amy Sinclair and this is Marvin. We’re private investigators looking into the death of Carla Perez.” His hand was clammy.

“I told the police what I know,” Jake said as he twisted a woven friendship bracelet around his wrist. “I didn’t really know her.”

“Maybe you can tell us about the Food Police,” Amy said, trying to appear friendly and calm when she felt like helping him twist the bracelet tighter. She followed him into a tiny bachelor pad loaded with electronic stuff and not much else. There were takeout boxes spread liberally around the level surfaces like objets d’art. Clearly he didn’t police his own food, she thought. They all squeezed down onto the sofa.

“I joined the Food Police a couple of years ago. A few of my friends joined, and we all thought it was important. Safeguarding the food supply, making sure industry looked at nutrition and not just cost. Anyway, Carla joined a year later. She wanted us to be more active, but the Food Police have their ways of doing things. Slow and steady. After a while, she didn’t bother coming to the meetings.”

“Did anyone else want to be active?” Amy asked.

“Nah, not that I remember,” Jake said.

“Well, did anyone else stop coming to meetings when Carla stopped?” Amy asked.

“Now that you mention it, there was one guy who stopped coming about the same time Carla left. Mind you, that’s not uncommon. Some people lose interest when they find out they can’t manipulate the group. We already have our own agenda.”

“Do you mean this guy had his own agenda?” Marvin said.

“Yeah, he wanted us to make bumper stickers. We have a tiny budget, and some of the slogans he came up with were pretty lame.” Amy pulled out a print of the bumper sticker Marvin had made and showed it to Jake. “Yeah, that was one of them, although the Ps didn’t look like the ones on here, they were just regular Ps.” Amy heard Marvin snicker from his end of the sofa. “It took everyone too long to figure out what Stop the Pop meant, like pop culture, popcorn, soda-pop, or even fireworks.

“Do you remember his name, maybe where he lives?” Marvin asked.

“Sure do. He’s in this building, two floors up. Name’s Ivan something. I see him in the basement parking lot. He has a new bumper sticker every other week, and they’re still lame.”

Amy and Marvin thanked Jake and took the elevator back to the lobby. Marvin went outside to get the apartment number and buzz Ivan. When he didn’t get an answer, Amy let Marvin back in and they both went up to #404. Ivan didn’t answer their knocks so Amy sent Marvin down to the underground parking lot to look for the hybrid.

“There’s a blue hybrid with a sticker, I drive fast for slow food,” Marvin said. “So either he’s in there or out somewhere on foot.”

Amy knocked loudly this time, rousing a neighbour who said he hadn’t seen Ivan in days. When asked if he knew where Ivan worked, the neighbour said he thought he had a job at a bottling plant in Surrey. Amy and Marvin took the elevator back to the ground floor. The dragon boats were still dragging their loads back and forth under the Cambie bridge.

“Do you think he took a runner after he killed her?” Marvin said.

“That, or maybe he’s been put into cold storage,” Amy replied. “I suppose I should tell the Detective what we’ve discovered.”

“No. We go to the sister first and get paid for this,” Marvin said, his body speaking in a language that didn’t need translation.


“Well, that worked out better than expected,” Amy said, sensing déjà vu. She licked the icing off half of the Oreo before consuming the cookie parts. The bag was half gone.

“Not much money for our effort,” Marvin said, placing a slim bit of folding money into his wallet.

“We’ll get more money if we locate Ivan. That’s what she agreed,” Amy said dangling the Oreo bag at Marvin and getting a grimace in response. “They do tours in that bottling plant. You could take the tour and keep an eye out for cold storage facilities. I’ll go talk to the employment office and see if they know where Ivan went.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to do the tour and get free samples of their healthy beverages,” Marvin said. Amy gave him the finger. It was her pinky finger because she considered herself a lady, but they both knew the pinky held the same profound meaning.

“Let me finish my repast and we can be off. There’s a tour at two o’clock. Wear something warm.”


The employment office confirmed that Ivan was employed but hadn’t appeared at work since the day Carla was shoved from his car two weeks earlier. His job was to drive the refrigerated sample truck around the city. Meanwhile, Marvin discovered that the Pepsi challenge was rigged. The Pepsi he got was colder than the other brand.

“There’s only one cold storage unit on site, and it’s mobile. There’s a little truck they drive around and hand out samples of their beverages, and they ask people to fill in comment cards. Guess what? It’s been missing for a couple of weeks,” he said.

“Guess what back at you? Ivan drove that truck,” Amy said. “Find the truck, find Ivan. The timing’s right. Carla could have been in the truck for a while before she ended up in Ivan’s car and he tossed her out.” Amy looked at Marvin, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“OK. We can go to the Detective. But leave him a message that you’re coming in with information.”

“Why, so he can avoid us?”

“No. So he can prepare for you.” Marvin said cryptically.


“We found the hybrid, we know who the owner is, and he’s been missing for two weeks, just like Carla,” Amy said, allowing herself to enjoy some satisfaction at their masterful sleuthing. The Detective was nibbling on one of the donuts she’d bought to the station on Marvin’s suggestion, and he seemed to be ignoring her. She wouldn’t have picked him for a sprinkles man. “I need to know if you’re even looking for Ivan or maybe the police have run across the soda truck? He could have been driving it.” The Detective kept nibbling and examining his donut. “It was the bumper sticker that led us to him.” Remember when you said that was next to useless information? Clearly it wasn’t. Well?”

“Are you done yet?” Detective Arnold asked, wiping his lips. A couple of sprinkles on his upper lip made Amy smile and his eyes lit up.

“Are we done what? Solving your case?” Amy said. Marvin let out a small gasp behind her. OK, she was doing it again. No wonder the Detective reacted to her the way he did. But he was so patronizing, even when he didn’t speak.

“Maybe you’d like to know that our suspect, not this Ivan that you’ve found, has just confessed.”

“Oh.” Amy said, deflated.

“Yeah, and we didn’t need a bumper sticker.”

“What about Ivan? He’s missing. The pop truck’s missing. His car fits the description.”

“Could be that he pushed a dead woman from his car. But he didn’t kill her.”

“You seem pretty sure.”

“We have the drug used to kill her, handed to us by our suspect.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of nailing it, I suppose.” Amy’s shoulders drooped, more in annoyance than surrender. “What’s the motive?”

“The suspect won’t give us a motive.”

“But you need a motive to make your case.”

“Don’t worry. One will turn up.”

“Maybe it’s in the back of that soda pop truck with Ivan.”

“OK. We’ll put out an APB for the truck. Let me guess. You don’t have a description or a plate number.”

“Get them from the company. I don’t work for you. I work for Carla’s sister.”

“Carla’s sister? You mean the woman who just confessed to her sister’s murder?”


“Wow. I didn’t see that coming,” Marvin said, squeezing SpongeBob for support.

“Why did she offer to pay us to find Ivan? It doesn’t make sense.” Amy said, noticing a slight whine to her voice which she was trying to hide by filling her mouth with a chocolate donut. All she could think about was the grin on the Detective’s face. He clearly loved it that she’d screwed up big time. Then, how pitiful was it for her to grab the remaining donuts when she left?

“It makes sense if she wanted to keep us busy and out of the way,” Marvin said.

“Why did she confess? And why hold back the motive when you do confess?”

“The Detective had her in his sights a while back, and he must have had a reason.”

“OK, how did Ivan get involved with disposing of the body? What’s his relation to Carla’s sister?” Amy was pacing now, the sugar in the donuts doing their usual thing with her brain chemistry.

“Ivan’s got to be the key to this. Find the truck. Find Ivan.”

“And find the motive,” Amy added.

“Amy, maybe we should let this one go. The money’s dried up.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. She said she’d pay up if we found him.”

“That was before they arrested her.”

“Also before she got out on bail. I just checked and she’s gone home.”

“Well I’m not going over there to question a murderer.”

“I didn’t ask you. I’m going alone,” Amy said. She picked up her bag while Marvin said what sounded like a final farewell to SpongeBob before reluctantly following her.


“She’s not home,” Marvin said, his face pressed to the bars of the wrought iron gates. The buzzer had gone unanswered, and the driveway was empty. “Do you think she jumped bail?”

“I’m surprised she got bail, but maybe she killed Carla accidentally,” Amy said.

“She accidentally gave her sister an overdose of fentanyl?”

“Could be she got a wrong prescription?”

“She thought she was giving her botox, maybe?” Marvin said. Amy had to laugh at the thought, then she remembered poor Carla lying next to the curb. Her gaze focused on the refuse near the gate. She bent to pick up one of a half a dozen cards, smeared with dirt and tire tracks. Marvin took it from her.

“These are the cards we filled out at that bottling plant when we did the sampling,” he said. “What are they doing here?”

“This could be a link between the sister and Ivan,” Amy said.

“Or Ivan’s truck,” Marvin said. “The truck would carry these cards.” They both peered through the gate hoping to get a glimpse of the truck. “It could be around the back or in a garage.”

“No way,” Amy said. “The police would have searched this place.”

“Maybe it wasn’t here when they searched.” Amy watched as Marvin pulled himself up, using the iron curlicues to support his trim frame. He was over in an instant.

“A quick look, that’s all,” Amy said, but she didn’t think it would be quite that quick. Marvin was back over the fence in less than a minute, followed at his heels by a black Scottie with an angry bark.

“What? It’s big for its type,” Marvin said. “And look at those teeth. Well, OK, maybe it likes you.” Amy was scratching the dog’s head between the bars of the gate.

“Now you say hello and scratch her head,” Amy said. After the Scottie passed approval on Marvin, he hopped the fence again and the two took a walk to the back of the property. Amy could see Marvin talking to the dog, and the dog appeared to be listening. He was gone longer this time.

“No truck, but there are tracks too big for a car, and there are a couple more of these sample cards round back.”

“So the soda truck was probably here, and maybe not that long ago.”

“It hasn’t rained for a couple of days, and the cards are muddy.”

“Do I see more cards over there?” Marvin said, pointing down the road. They walked over and kept walking for half a mile, finding a couple of cards littering the curb every hundred or so feet. “Let’s go back and get the car.”

They followed the trail of cards, lost it twice and picked it up again. The trail ended at a dead end under the Granville Street Bridge. “I’m beginning to think we’re going to find that truck pretty soon,” Amy said, scanning the line of hybrid taxis, parked cars and delivery trucks filling a huge parking lot. “What a mess under here.” She turned to follow Marvin’s gaze. He was staring at a small truck under a tarp, bumper exposed, with a sticker: Friends don’t let friends drink Coke.

“Hmm. Double meaning there for someone against the soda industry,” Amy said. “That looks like our truck and our boy.” They walked over to the vehicle and pulled up the tarp on the driver’s side. The door was open and the keys were in the ignition. “Try the back,” Amy shouted.

“Don’t need to. I can smell him,” Marvin said. “It’s too bad we didn’t find the trail sooner.”

“Let’s look inside anyway. It could be a pack of dead Scotties,” Amy said. Marvin grimaced and they opened the door. The once-refrigerated truck, now at ambient temperature, was full of large bags of test sodas ready to fit in the sample dispensers. Wedged into a far corner was a curled up body with a distended belly. “Don’t go in,” Amy cautioned, causing Marvin’s face to turn from green back to pink. “I’d sure like to know if it’s Ivan and how he died.”  Marvin turned green again.

“Overdose of botox maybe?” Marvin suggested when his colour had normalized.

“It could be the sister’s handiwork since we followed the truck from her house, but we need to know the timing. Maybe she was in police custody when this happened.   Could you call the Detective?”

“What? We’re not going to fight over who gets to call him?” Marvin said.

“The Detective and I aren’t speaking,” Amy said, emitting a small sigh.


“I have to admit, that’s good work,” Detective Arnold said. He was still avoiding her eyes, and Amy gave him a cool reception right back. “It was lucky the guy in the back, Ivan as you probably guessed, left that trail of cards for you to follow. He was sitting on another hundred or so cards.”

“Thanks,” said Marvin, turning to Amy and opening his eyes. She knew he wanted her to acknowledge the complement, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She nodded instead.

“I’ll let you know when we find out the time and cause of death,” he said.

“You will?” Amy blurted, incredulous. She couldn’t believe he would give up information without her even asking. Then again, maybe her asking is why she didn’t get much from him.

“It’s probably the work of Carla’s sister and we have her for one already.”

Amy bit her tongue and tried to smile instead. It probably looked more like a grimace, she thought. Marvin wasn’t fooled, but apparently the Detective was because he blushed a bit and then left in a hurry to talk to the Crime Scene Investigation Unit gathered around the soda truck.

“I’m going home,” Amy announced. “I’m bushed from following the berry trail through the forest.”

“What about us getting paid for finding Ivan?”

“You still think she’s likely to pay us after what the Detective just said?”

“What if she’s not responsible for Ivan’s death? What if the death has the same signature as her sister’s but she didn’t do it?

“That’s a lot of ifs, Marvin. “She confessed, remember? Besides, we’d need to find her first.”

Marvin took off on the run. Amy watched as he caught the Detective, they exchanged a few words, and he ran back to her. “She’s been arrested again,” Marvin said. “I got the name of her lawyer,” Marvin said, looking contrite. He knew how Amy felt about dealing with lawyers.

“Isn’t there some way we can talk to her directly?” Amy asked, not expecting an answer and not getting one. “I don’t suppose you could talk to the lawyer?” She watched Marvin’s eyes light up and wondered if she dared release him on the unsuspecting lawyer. No, she remembered, she was the one who shouldn’t be released.


When Marvin returned, Amy was searching her desk for something sugary or salty or both. She’d already finished off the Oreos, but something more was required to stimulate her pink brain cells. She figured she wasn’t old enough to have little gray ones.

“I was right, Master,” Marvin said, bowing low in either respect or mocking, she could guess which. “The sister has recanted her confession. The lawyer says finding Ivan was key to her defence, and she’ll be writing us a check. And before you ask, I couldn’t get any information from him about why she confessed in the first place and handed over the fentanyl.”

“What about the trail of sample cards leading from her place to Ivan’s body?”

“She’s got an alibi for every minute, apparently, so if Ivan went to her place in that truck, someone else must have taken him or maybe found him there. Guess the best news?” Marvin said, rubbing his hands together. “The lawyer said she’ll pay us the big bucks if we find out who killed her sister and Ivan.”

“That’s good news. Any bright ideas about where to start? Assuming she’s innocent which seems a bit unlikely at the moment?”

“No. You’re the boss. I just do what you say.”

“Since when?” Amy said, putting up her pinky. “But I do have one idea. It has to do with someone we’ve met and we should look at more closely.”

“Blakley, the private dick.”

“No. I can’t see a connection there.” Amy gave Marvin time to ponder while she continued her search for a sugar fix.

“Ah-ha. Jake, the guy in the same building as dead Ivan, the guy who knew Carla.”


“I could do my pizza thing,” Marvin said. “You saw all that junk food in his apartment, and it’s almost dinner time.”

“Remind me again? What’s your pizza thing? An impersonation based on that shirt you’re wearing?” Jackson Pollack could have designed the shirt to look like a pizza with all the fixings, and she chuckled when Marvin stuck up both pinkies. “Let’s save that talent for a special occasion,” she said. “This time, I want to do a little more research and some pre-planning before we go knocking.”


While Amy spent time on the phone with various members of the Food Police, she sent Marvin to surf the web for Jake, the guy he had first picked out as suspect numero uno.

“We had that all wrong. It turns out Jake was the one pushing the bumper stickers, not Ivan,” Amy said. “Ivan was just trying to interest Carla in going out with him, according to two of the Food Police members. When Carla left the group, so did Ivan. I suppose Jake could have given bumper stickers to Ivan at some point. When I asked about the STOP the POP sticker, both people I talked to couldn’t remember that specific one. They did remember the one that said ‘I drive fast for slow food’ and they didn’t like it because they said it advocated speeding.”

“I found out something interesting about Jake,” Marvin said. “He’s got a degree in organic chemistry and he’s working on a Master’s. That would make him a good fit for the drug angle.”

“Fentanyl’s a street drug. The sister could have bought it. But there was another drug in the mixture, so you could be right. What we really need is a link between Jake and the sister.”

“The police could get phone records,” Amy said, “although they probably don’t know about Jake because we didn’t tell them.”

“Jake would have a burner phone anyway, if he’s involved in the drug trade,” Marvin said. Amy imagined him honing his detective skills by watching Breaking Bad and The Wire.

When Amy’s phone rang, she saw Arnold’s name pop up and she signalled to Marvin that the Detective was calling. She listened for a while, but when she started to ask questions, he hung up. “Great,” she said. “Conversations with him have to be one way. His way. There wasn’t enough fentanyl in Carla’s system to have caused her death. It was the other drug that did it. I scribbled down the name: 5-thio-D-glucose, and apparently it killed Ivan too. See what you can find out about it.”


“The poison is interesting. It tastes just as sweet as sugar but it causes convulsions and death at high doses. Not a sweet way to go at all,” Marvin said.

“So they both died of a toxic sugar overdose.”

“Looks like it, and the Detective says they’re hunting for the chemical now. Without it, and with the retraction of the confession, they’ll have trouble holding Carla’s sister. They’re also having a problem with the time of death because of the refrigeration.”

“Sounds like Jake is still in the frame,” Marvin muttered as he pulled up information on the modified glucose molecule from the web. “Heck, you can buy this poison from a dozen chemical companies, if you have an account that is.”

“Can you find it in a university chemistry lab?”

“OK, I see where this is going. But even if I find it in a lab where Jake worked, how will that help us tie him to the deaths?”

“Where would you hide a tree?”

“In a forest,” Marvin said.

“Where would you hide something that’s as sweet as sugar?”

“In the second drawer down, left side of your desk.”

“Snooping again, Marvin? Actually, I was thinking about the sample truck that Ivan drove. I know it’s full of bulk bags of sugary soda, but what if the poison was in one of the bags, hidden in plain sight.” Amy said.

“The police have the truck. Won’t they be looking for the poison?”

“They definitely will if we tell them what we know. They can check for Jake’s fingerprints in the truck while they’re at it.”

You go girl,” Marvin said. “We’ll still collect from Carla’s sister if Jake’s the killer, right?”

“Yeah, but we’d have a better chance of getting paid if we can figure out why Jake did it,” Amy said.

“We still don’t know why she confessed,” Marvin said.

“I’m thinking she shared some fentanyl with Carla and she thought that’s what killed her, so she confessed out of guilt. Then when it turned out fentanyl wasn’t responsible, she retracted her confession.” Marvin’s head moved back and forth before it nodded agreement. “Now let’s say Jake hides the poison in the truck. We don’t know why yet. He doesn’t mean to kill Carla and Ivan, but they drink the Kool-Aid by mistake.” ”

“I’m supposed to imagine that Ivan’s idea of a fun date is taking Carla for a ride in the sample truck and sharing a cola?”

“I’ve had worse dates,” Amy said, glaring at Marvin. “Can you call the Detective and tell him about Jake?”


“Look at that dragon boat. I didn’t know they could to that.”

“Capsize?” Amy asked, her eyes still on the front door of Jake’s building.

“No, go that fast.”

Amy glanced around. “That’s a two-seater kayak, you fool.”

“Who’s the fool. Jake’s sitting up front.”

They both watched Jake reach behind him to lift up a plastic bag occupying the back cockpit, open it, and dump the contents into False Creek. Then he grabbed his paddle and made for the dock down at the Community Centre.

“That’s a littering offence,” Marvin said.

“More like a poisoning offence,” Amy said. “He’s now officially a serial killer if the poison was in that bag and we see fish pop to the surface.” She phoned the Detective whose name now appeared at the top of her popular list. When he answered, she didn’t say a word, just listened and hung up. It was becoming their thing. Marvin was staring. “He’s standing across the street and he saw it all,” she said. The police cruiser will be here in a minute.” She watched as the Detective gave her a lame wrist wave. Even his wave annoyed her.

Amy watched Marvin run across the road to touch base with his new buddy. They spent time laughing at something, then talking a lot, both of which she found annoying. Marvin finally ran back with a smile on his face. “I told him that the poison is very soluble. It’s too late to recover it but they should get a water sample to test,” Marvin said.

“Well, what did he say?” Marvin could be really annoying too, she thought.

“Oh. Sorry. They’re going to take Jake in for questioning while the lab does the tests for the poison.”

“No. I mean, did they find poison in the soda in the truck?”

“No. No poisoned bags of soda, and the truck had been wiped clean of prints.”

“Damn. I liked that idea too,” Amy said.

“But,” Marvin said and stopped talking until Amy gave him the evil eye, “there were traces of the poison dried on the floor, maybe from a liquid spill.”

“Goodie. Jake cleaned up and left Ivan in the truck.”

“Why not leave Carla there too?” Marvin asked.

“Maybe they didn’t die together,” Amy suggested. “Can you go back to Dudley Do-Right and find out how long Ivan’s been dead.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” he said, looking contrite. “The Detective said they could have died at the same time, but because they don’t know how long Ivan was in the refrigerated truck before the refrigeration died, the time of his death is fuzzy. So Carla’s sister could have done it, I suppose, only Ivan only had the sugar toxin, not fentanyl in his system.”

“Maybe the combination killed Carla sooner,” Amy mumbled, pulling her iPad out of her bag. “My little list here is going to come in handy,” she said. “You should keep one too, if you want to grow up to be a detective.”

“I’ve got a brain instead,” Marvin replied, tapping his temple. “Just ask me a question.”

“OK, why did Jake lie to us about the bumper stickers. If they were his idea, why not claim them? Why did he give Ivan the credit?”

“Because you showed him Stop the Pop. Maybe he realized that someone saw the sticker when he pushed Carla from the car. Ivan became the fall guy.”

“That’s OK as far as it goes. But remember what Jake said? All Ivan’s ideas were lame. Why did he say that?

“To make us think they were lame?”

“Now go back to the first day. What did we think that bumper sticker meant?”

“You thought it meant stop population growth.”

“And what did Jake say people at Food Police thought it meant?” She watched Marvin hum and haw.

“I don’t remember.”

“And that’s where my notes come in. Jake said no one at Food Police could figure out what it meant, and he mentioned pop-music, popcorn, soda-pop, and fireworks. What he didn’t mention was population. Plus, there was something very odd about those Ps that made me see swollen bellies, but Jake said the Ps on the sticker were normal. I know they were weird, so why did he lie? When he said that Ivan made the stickers, it didn’t bother me, but now we know it was his design. What does that tell you? ”

“He’s a lousy artist?”

“It tells me that I was right all along. The sticker was advocating a stop to population growth.”

“Why would the Food Police be interested in a sticker like that?”

“They wouldn’t, and the people I spoke to don’t remember seeing that sticker. That’s in my notes too.” Amy patted her ipad. Notes are good things.”

“There is something interesting about this sugar poison that I remember,” Marvin said, tapping his head and smiling. Amy shrugged, hoping that his memory was better than it seemed. “The poison sterilizes mice.”

“What? You said it caused convulsions and death.” She knew that when her brows met in the middle, the way they were doing now, she looked scary.

“If you eat a lot of it, sure. Just a little bit sterilizes mice.” Marvin said defensively. He was looking anxious about the monobrow, she thought.

“Does it sterilize humans?   No forget that. No one would know.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly been tested. But it wouldn’t surprise me if it worked the same way.”

“This could be our motive.”

“Motive for murder?”

“Say Jake’s plan is to sterilize people, and he has to guess what concentration of the poison to use. He puts too much into Ivan’s cola bag. His plan may be to use Ivan’s sample truck to test it, then who knows, get a job in the bottling company to spread it further. Ivan and Carla are the first to sample the stuff and they die.”

“So he jettisons the rest of the poison in False Creek so he won’t get caught with it.”

Amy nodded. “Maybe we need to work on it a bit, but it fits.”

“I think he should confess to the lesser charge of killing sperm,” Marvin said. “Look, there’s the police cruiser now taking samples of the water.” Amy got in the car and motioned for Marvin to follow.

“Why don’t you give the good Detective a call and see if they’ve got Jake in custody yet? Then we can let that lawyer know we’re expecting payment,” Amy said. I’m just going to make a quick stop at that nice little restaurant up here on Burrard,” she said, waiting for Marvin to groan when he saw the name of the restaurant: Death by Chocolate.


When she got back in the car with a suspiciously large box, Marvin was smiling. “Jake’s in custody and he admitted to adding the poison to the cola.”

“And? Was I right about the population part? We’re you right about him using the poison to cause sterility?

“Right on both counts. We make a good team, boss. The Detective wants you to come in for debriefing,” Marvin said, giggling. He loved the term debriefing.

“Now? Before I have my cake?”

“You have your cake. You just can’t eat it too. It shouldn’t take long and we’re only a few blocks from the station.

Amy backtracked to Sixth Avenue and drove to the station near the Cambie Bridge. “Feed the meter, would you, Sugar?”

“Who are you calling Sugar?” Marvin asked.

“It seems fitting, for today anyway,” Amy said.

“You’re going to give him your cake?” Marvin said when he saw her carrying the large box.

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling bad about taking back my donuts the other day. It’s a peace offering. Besides, there’s another one in the case back at the restaurant.”

“Lucky it’s a big cake is all I can say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are we feeding the force?”

“No. Just a Detective’s ego, and that’s even bigger than a police force.”

When they exited the elevator, the Detective was waiting to escort them to his office. Private detectives were treated very carefully here, as in most stations. It made Amy laugh to think how the competition engendered by those who worked within a command structure and those who avoided one, like Amy and Marvin, often ended up in a quicker resolution to a case. “More donuts for me? Oh, I mean donut,” the Detective said.

“No a cake this time, and sorry about that,” Amy said, deciding not to finish the sentence. That way sorry could be used for anything offensive that she’d done. She handed over the box, sending her saliva back where it started. There would be other cakes.

“Jake has confessed to accidentally poisoning Carla and Ivan, but I need you to go over how you worked this out.”

“You mean, how a useless bumper sticker led us to the suspect?” Amy said. Marvin coughed.

“OK. You got lucky there. A licence plate would have been even better.”

“Except you might have missed Jake that way.”

“How did you find Jake?”

“It was Jake who lied about Ivan being responsible for making the bumper sticker. So we followed Ivan to the bottling plant, the sample truck, the sister’s place, and then the trail of cards to the bridge. We would have had a harder time finding the truck without the third bumper sticker.”

“The third?”

“The second one was on Ivan’s car in the underground, and the third was on the sample truck bumper.”

“What are you, a bumper sticker buff?”

“No, just observant,” she said, trying to look demure. Thank goodness Marvin had hounded her into pulling off May The Forest Be With You a few days ago. You never know when you might want to hurl someone from your car, and at the time, Marvin was a candidate.

“So Marvin, you picked up on the fact that the poison causes sterility?”

“Yeah, not that it matters if you’re dead.”

“It’s important because it looks like Jake’s motive wasn’t to kill but to sterilize.”

“I supposed they’ll have him evaluated by a psychiatrist?” Amy asked.

The Detective shrugged, as if he lost interest in what happened on a case once his part of the job was done. Amy figured that might let him sleep better at nights, especially when a perp got off on a technicality. Amy and Marvin filled in what details they could, signed their reports and stood up to leave.

“Yeah, well thanks for your help on this case. The lawyer’s pleased his client is free, so I expect you’ll get paid.”

“Just what we deserve, not what we’d like,” Amy said, wondering what it would be like to have the security of a regular salary. Oh yeah, she’d done that and this was way better.

“Before you go, would you like to have a piece of your cake? A piece, mind you?”

“Well, if you insist, I won’t say no,” Amy said, sitting down faster than a golf ball in a sand trap.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave. I hear my mother calling,” Marvin said. Not outside the realm of possibilities, but Amy knew exactly what he was doing.

“Are you sure, Sugar?” she said, getting the flash of a pinky from Marvin on his way out, and a stunned look from the Detective.

“It’s just a little joke. About the case.”

“Yeah. Around here, they’ve started calling it Sugar Blues.”

“Good one. Talking about sugar, should I cut?” Amy said, whipping out a large Swiss Army knife. “It’s got a special blade just for cutting cake.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yup.” He had a smile to die for, and if that wasn’t worth a Black Forest cake, what was?


Amy and Marvin have appeared in another short story, My Mother’s Foot. The idea for this case came from seeing a bumper sticker promoting population control and from knowledge about the properties of 5-thio-D-glucose from my years as a scientist. Yes, it, does cause sterility in mice, but it would need to be given daily. Cola, anyone?

My Mother’s Foot (L)

Amy‘s streaked blond hair was pulled up in a pony tail, her sunglasses fit snugly on top of her head, and her iPOD was delivering Leonard Cohen’s raspy voice. She muttered to herself as she flipped  through piles of dusty newspapers, computer print-outs and case files. A track shoe could go missing here for weeks, she mused. She flopped down on a weathered old sofa to get a different vantage point for finding the missing runner and her eyes were drawn to Marvin’s end of the room. Everything was organized and spotless. Even the dust glinting in the Monday morning sun shunned his space. “I should have lost it over there,” she muttered.

The door flew open and Marvin entered carrying a coffee cup and waving a newspaper. Amy envied him the energy he exuded. Was she ever like that? He’d recently celebrated his twenty-first birthday, but no way was that boy moving into adulthood without a fight.

”Guess what, boss? Page three has an article on the ‘Sleuthing Duo’ from Southlands. They’ve messed up the story as usual, but they spelled our names right. This article will pull in more clients for us.”

Marvin’s shirt was more outlandish than usual but it suited his personality. ‘Web Master’ was written in fluorescent pink script across his chest. When she was his age, Amy remembered wearing black suits to work and thinking she looked hot. Her smile was for his shirt and the memory, not for the article in the paper. ”Do we really want more clients like the last ones? When I started this business, I had visions of a Vancouver version of the Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency, a little spying on truant kids or wandering husbands, but that last case was in the big leagues. We should draw the line at murder.”

“Yeah, we’ve moved up a notch, boss. But it should be the sleuthing trio. We couldn’t have solved the case without Jim”.

Marvin was referring to their neighbor across the hall. Three years earlier, Jim sold Amy his private investigator’s business. It amounted to an office in a reasonable location and a handful of previous clients who might bring in more work. But Jim wasn’t ready to retire, so he took over a pet insurance business, avoided most of the leg work and could spend enjoyable hours perusing the internet. His new occupation gave him time to show Amy and Marvin the ropes and lend a hand on a couple of their more interesting cases. Marvin was right. They owed Jim a lot more than the occasional bottle of 12-year-old malt scotch.

Amy’s blue eyes lit up when she spotted her missing runner in the paper recycling bin. She was just tying the laces when her 70-year-old grandmother came storming into the office, silk scarf flying, high heels tapping, and lines of concern marching across her aging face. She waved a rolled up copy of the newspaper.

As usual, Evelyn was dressed in the latest fashion. Amy would never forget her motto that you might as well be dead when you can’t wear your heels. It made Amy groan at the time, but she had to admit that her grandmother had grit and a body that refused to act its age. Amy patted the seat beside her but she wasn’t surprised when Evelyn ignored the niceties and appeared ready to launch into a tirade.

“I see you’ve found the article,” she said, jabbing at the paper Marvin was reading. Her lip curled up slightly when she saw his shirt. She picked at the corner of the collar to confirm the fabric. “What does web master mean? Do you make spider webs?”

Marvin was about to answer when Amy interrupted. “Marvin was just going over the highlights of the newspaper article, but I’m not sure the sleuthing duo wants to specialize in locating dead bodies.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Evelyn asked, furrowing her brow again. She grabbed Marvin’s copy of the paper to see what he was reading. “No, not that article,” she said, dismissing their accomplishment with a single wave of her hand.” It’s the Sander Rudd exhibit on Granville Island.” She handed Amy her copy folded to the article.

Amy was amused. She should have realized that Evelyn wouldn’t have visited to congratulate her on solving a difficult case, even one that merited a headline above the fold. Evelyn was disappointed when Amy gave up her job as a bank executive to open a detective agency. For Evelyn, appearances were a substantial part of personal satisfaction, and she viewed Amy’s current occupation as a demotion. Amy glanced at Evelyn’s newspaper article. She stood up suddenly and stared more closely at the image on the page. “It’s my mother’s foot”, she announced loudly, confusion evident as she stared at Evelyn for an explanation.

“I know I’ve seen that painting before,” Evelyn offered, “but how could I?”

Marvin crumpled his brow and crossed the room to peer over Amy’s shoulder. “What do you mean, your mother’s foot?”

The article occupied an entire page of the weekend Sun and included a color photograph of a painting. The detail, even poorly reproduced was impressive. The painting showed the interior of a room decorated in a somewhat dated style, with stainless steel and black leather sofas, a glass-topped coffee table and two minimalist paintings. A large Persian carpet provided the only color and complexity. The variations in color and the central tree-of-life motif suggested a Kerman Ravar carpet. Marvin loved beautiful carpets and he recognized that one because it covered the floor in Amy’s apartment. The real shock was the foot painted in the bottom right corner. The rest of the body was lying, thankfully, out of the field of view.

“That was the night she died,” Amy said. “It’s etched on my brain. I was nine years old. I came home from school and she was lying at the bottom of the stairs. She’d been drinking”. She took a breath and added more quietly, “An awful accident.” Amy slumped back onto the sofa, handing Marvin the paper.

“What is your living room and your mother’s foot doing in a painting by this guy?” he said squinting down at the caption.

“How would I know? It’s a painting of a room thirty years ago, an exact reproduction, as far as I can tell.” Amy heard the frustration but also confusion in her voice.

Until he spoke, no one had noticed Jim standing in the doorway. He was wearing a baggy jogging outfit. “Does this mean the game is a-foot?” he asked, looking intrigued by the conversation.

“Good one, Jim,” Marvin snickered until Evelyn and Amy glared at him.

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive,” Jim said. “May I see the article?”

Marvin handed Jim his paper, and Jim started scanning, “There’s not much here. There are only twelve paintings in the show, apparently created here in British Columbia. The artist, Sander Rudd, is 72 years old. It says he painted them over a couple of decades. His paintings include a body part, considered to be his signature feature.” Jim looked up, “Just like a serial killer.” The stern looks he received sent him back to the article.” Rudd never shows the whole body because he says it’s not meant to be the focus of the painting. He hasn’t sold much though.”

“Probably too ghoulish,” Marvin said.

“He must have used a photo, Amy said, “but where did he get it?”

“Maybe a police photograph,” mused Jim.”Scenes of the crime, so to speak”. Amy and Evelyn both turned to glare at him again and he quickly added, “I mean accident, scenes of the accident.”

“Are there any photographs in my mother’s police file, do you think?” asked Amy.

“Roger could find out,” Jim offered. They’ve got him working in computer forensics these days. I’ll give him a call and ask.” Jim had been employed for several years by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police before tiring of the politics and becoming a private investigator. His friend Roger Arnold was still with the Mounties and had occasionally helped Jim out with a case. Jim had introduced him to Amy when she took over the business. Roger and Amy had worked on a couple of cases and they dated briefly, but somehow they managed to bring out the worst in each other. Once Jim had suggested to Amy that they both wanted to lead when they danced.

“Yes, let’s ask Roger,” Amy said, “and I’m sorry Jim, but I’ll have to cancel our run. I want to see those paintings as soon as I can. You can jog over to the exhibit with me If you like.”

“No thanks. I’ll be more useful if I can find out more about the artist from the internet.”

Amy smiled at Jim’s excuse. Getting him to take up jogging had been her idea. Before she could ask Marvin whether he was coming with her to the gallery, the wunderkind had turned to Jim and offered to help. Amy shook her head at the pair of them, and when Evelyn showed no interest in accompanying her, Amy headed for the gallery alone.


The exhibit was located on Granville Island, a tourist destination under the Granville Street Bridge. Gift stores and craft workshops, boats for rent, and a great fresh food market drew the crowds. Amy entered the small gallery to find it deserted. Twelve oil paintings were arranged around the room, and the painting she immediately recognized as her living room was displayed closest to the door. She couldn’t bring herself to do more than glance at it. The gallery attendant appeared from a back room. She was an attractive if formidable looking woman in her late fifties dressed in black gothic clothing well-suited for the exhibit.

When the door closed, the attendant looked up at Amy’s jogging outfit and came close to a scowl. “Good morning. Please feel free to look around,” the attendant said with a pronounced accent. ”My name is Bettina if you have questions.”  She sat down an opened a magazine.

Amy examined a couple of the paintings before asking the woman if she were the gallery owner. “No, but I have worked for Sandor Rudd for many years. He is in Amsterdam now. I am overseeing this exhibit for him.”

Amy’s eyes scanned the room. “I don’t see any little red stickers. Have any of the paintings been sold?”

Bettina shook her head. “These are expensive paintings and the artist is not well-known in Canada. Sandor Rudd believes that the buyer should value the painting as much as he does, and he prices his work accordingly.” Amy examined a painting of a window that opened onto a small yard. There was a bare shoulder in one corner, and the skin appeared almost desiccated. She was frowning when Bettina crept up behind her and said, “You can appreciate the fine detail and the effort his work demands. See the individual tomatoes on the vine? Once the idea comes to him, Sandor works with little rest for many weeks to make everything perfect. He often becomes ill with his effort.”

Not as ill as his subjects, Amy thought. Then she noticed a yellow hold sticker next to one of the paintings and wandered over. Bettina followed her and her breath made the hairs stand up on the back of Amy’s neck. The painting showed a porch with a wooden glider and a corn field in the distance. At the edge of the painting, there was a thin leg clad in jeans and sporting a leather boot so old it should have been put out to pasture.

“Yes, a couple is anxious to buy this one and they have asked me to hold it for them.” Bettina’s face was flushed. “I understand that this porch was part of their family farmhouse. See the cows in the distance, and even a little greenhouse. So sweet.”

Amy considered the nature of Bettina’s relationship with this artist that could engender such enthusiasm for his oddly inspired work. They moved to the next painting that depicted a school room with rows of wooden desks. From the artwork on the walls, Amy guessed it was a grade three or four classroom, and the detail was so fine that she identified a likeness of Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau. The edge of a small body, dressed in a sky blue sweater and skirt, was lying on the floor between two rows of desks. “The body of a child? Really?”

Bettina pursed her lips and nodded. “There was a visitor who was overcome with the entire exhibit, but with this painting in particular. He wrote one word in our gallery book: Gruesome. Rudd’s work elicits strong emotion, as should be the case for exceptional art.”

Give me a break, thought Amy. When Bettina invited her to add her name and comments to the gallery book, Amy took the opportunity to find the person who wrote ‘Gruesome’. The comment was signed by Doug Weyland living in Vancouver. She jotted down his name on her notepad and added her own comment to the book: Congratulations. I never knew I could be so taken aback by an art exhibit. She wanted the name of the couple who had placed the hold, and she wandered back to the painting with the yellow sticker.

“I find this painting truly exceptional,” she said, calling over to Bettina.”Do you think I might purchase it? For the asking price, of course.”

”I would have to contact the couple to give them first refusal,” Bettina said.

“Naturally. Would a deposit do, say fifteen hundred? I would like an answer as soon as possible.”

Bettina perked up at the prospect of a sale and rummaged through papers in a drawer, eventually settling on a piece of pink paper. Amy watched carefully as Bettina entered a phone number, and in spite of the woman’s low voice, she overheard what was said, including the name Mrs. Ferguson. The conversation continued for a while as Bettina explained that the price of the painting was non-negotiable since there was a buyer willing to pay now, not a year from now. There was an argument concerning a meeting with Rudd before the decision was made, but Bettina remained firm.

When she completed the call, Bettina joined Amy in front of the painting of her parent’s living room. To Amy’s annoyance, the artist had entitled it Slip-Up, and the scene elicited so many memories that Amy experienced a brief wave of nausea.

“The painting you admired can be yours,” Bettina said, smiling for the first time.” How would you like to pay the deposit?”

Amy hesitated and finally said, “Actually, I think this painting is a better choice for me. The interior detail is amazing, and I do love this carpet.” She almost added that it would match her décor just to elicit a reaction from Bettina. “If you don’t mind, I’ll change my mind and purchase this piece.” Bettina looked displeased for only a moment. “I’m sorry, but I make it a rule never to purchase a painting before I’ve met the artist. Is it possible to arrange a meeting with Mr. Rudd when he returns from Europe?” Amy slid out a business card from her wallet and handed it to Bettina, leaving no room for discussion. “Just put a hold on it, would you?”


Later that evening, Jim and Marvin appeared at Amy’s apartment to report on Roger’s findings and Marvin’s internet search. As they sat down with beer and chicken wings, Jim flipped open his notepad. “Using the phone number you lifted from the gallery attendant, Roger was able to locate the Ferguson family in Abbotsford, and he talked to the son. The father died five years ago right on that porch, but there were no photos taken at that time, and there are none in the file. He was seventy-four years old and had advanced liver cancer.” Jim put the notebook down and helped himself to another wing.

“How did Rudd do it? Do you think the Fergusons had a photo, and somehow he got a copy?”

“Roger was skeptical. The Fergusons were shocked at the idea of anyone taking pictures of their dead father, and they’d never heard of Rudd until they saw that painting.”

“I’d like to see that porch and confirm the details in the painting,” Amy said.

“Sorry, that can’t be done. The porch along with the house is long gone under a bulldozer.

“Then I need to know why that couple was so anxious to buy that painting.” Amy said. “Would you want a painting with your dead father’s leg?”

“You can answer that one better than I can,” Jim said. “Aren’t you the one who put a hold on a painting of your mother’s foot? Anyway, the Fergusons were pretty tight-lipped, so if there’s a story there, Roger didn’t manage to extract it.”

“I’m not planning to buy that painting,” Amy said, although she wished she could afford to buy it and destroy it. “I just wanted an excuse to meet Rudd. What do you know about the guy who wrote gruesome in the gallery book?”

“Roger hasn’t had a chance to talk to him yet,” Jim said as he smeared a greasy fingerprint on a page in his notebook. “Doug Weyland moved to Vancouver from Pemberton ten years ago. He’s thirty-seven years old, clean record. It occurred to me that this picture must go back much further, because of the school room you described with the old-style wood desks and picture of Trudeau. Maybe Doug was a kid then, and he was in the same classroom as the little girl in the painting.” He looked down again at his notes. “It turns out that Pemberton had only one primary school in the seventies. So I called the current principal, and asked if there were any student deaths recorded between 1970 and 1980. She said she would look into it and get back to me.” That’s all I have so far.”

“Roger found nothing in my mother’s file?”

“There were two photos of your mother in her file, but no details of the room. It doesn’t seem likely that these paintings could be based on police photos.”

“But the details in the painting weren’t just details of the room. They were details of that day in that room. There was a magazine, Architectural Digest on the coffee table. There were coasters and an ashtray that were placed just so, and they appear in the painting.” Amy realized that she was starting to rant.

“Let’s leave that for now,” Jim said, giving her a quizzical look. “Rudd’s story gets more interesting. Rudd is well-known in Europe, but not so much for his paintings. There was an incident in Germany where his exhibit burned down the night before the opening. There have also been two reported thefts of his paintings, and it’s rumored there was an attempt on his life – something to do with tampering with the brakes on his car.”

“I don’t find any of that surprising.”Amy said, wondering how Rudd could be so insensitive to paint what he did. Jim raised one eyebrow and continued.

“A room in one of the paintings was recognized as the site of a possible murder in England, and Rudd  was accused of using crime scene photographs to copy the details. He denied this vehemently saying that his paintings came to him as dreams and that he had never seen the actual bodies. There was some discussion that he might have an eidetic memory.”

“I don’t believe that dream stuff for a minute,” Marvin piped in. “Maybe he scopes out the places where deaths occur, takes photos, goes through old newspapers, talks to people, then he adds the body parts.”

Jim nodded. “It’s possible, Marv. The death in the school room and Amy’s mother’s death happened almost 30 years ago, and the paintings appeared years later.”

The doorbell rang and Amy led Evelyn into the living room. Her grandmother was wearing a breezy long evening gown and trailing potent perfume. “Oh, it’s you, Jim,” she said, sounding disappointed to see him. “I was wondering what you’ve uncovered concerning that strange painting,” she said to Amy. “That’s why I left the ballet early.”

“Do you remember where you saw it before?”

“Yes, and no. A few months ago I was in Choices getting my raisin bread – you know the loaf I like. I accidentally dropped it on the floor and a strange older man picked it up. When he handed it back to me, our hands touched for a moment. That’s when I saw the painting in my imagination. It was the same as the one in the newspaper today, each detail identical, and I felt transported back to the night your mother died.”

Amy wondered how many glasses of wine her grandmother had consumed. “Why did you say the man was strange?”

“He was wearing a black cape and a fedora. That outfit took me back a few years. Maybe that’s why I thought of your old home. He spoke to me in a strange accent, and I couldn’t understand him.”

“Was he buying gouda cheese?” Marvin said, smirking.

“What do you mean?” Evelyn said, her irritation obvious even to Marvin.

“He was just wondering if you bumped into our Dutch artist,” Jim explained.

“That’s easy to check. We’ll look on the internet for his photo,” Marvin said. Within a minute he had a picture of Rudd, and Evelyn confirmed it was the same man.

A moment later, Jim’s phone rang, and he moved towards the dining room to answer the call. He mouthed to Amy that it was the school principal from Pemberton. When he returned to the living room, he was scribbling in his notebook and looking pleased with his results.

“Patty Weyland, seven years old, died in November 1979 of a heart attack. Doug was her twin brother and he was in the same classroom. So there we go, a third  accidental death, in this case witnessed by the brother.”

“Maybe the deaths weren’t accidental,” Evelyn said. There was an uncomfortable silence until she continued in a hushed voice. “You heard that your mother had been drinking heavily that night, and I imagine that your father may have found her weaving around upstairs. I didn’t see anything, of course, and there were no raised voices, but I did hear a scuffle at the top of the stairs.” At this point she paused and looked down at her lap. ”My son never spoke of that evening. He could have been trying to help her when she slipped. At least that’s what I told myself. It’s what any mother would tell herself.”

Amy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. She was the one that found her mother. Her father wasn’t even there. No one was. When she opened her eyes, Evelyn was wiping away tears. Amy rose and put her arms around her grandmother. “Dad never recovered from that night and now he’s gone too.” Evelyn had taken care of her after her father died and Amy owed her a great deal, but she could not accept that her gentle father would push her mother down the stairs. She saw Jim eying Evelyn with admiration, for the first time.

“That was brave of you, Evelyn,” Jim said. “We can look more deeply into the stories behind the other paintings. These accidental deaths may not be quite what they seem, just like those paintings.”

“If these aren’t accidents that he’s painting, it could explain the threats and the fire,” Marvin said.

“It seems pretty unlikely that anyone involved in these so-called accidents would ever get to see these paintings,” Amy said.

“Yes, but we could give copies of the other local paintings to Roger,” Jim said. Some of the senior detectives might recognize a location or an old case.” Jim got up to leave, rubbing his eyes. “It’s ten o’clock and I’ve got to get home for some shut-eye. I have an appointment in Pemberton tomorrow morning, and it’s a three hour drive.”


The next morning Amy returned to the gallery with her camera. She was hoping to talk Bettina into giving her digital copies of the paintings to pass on to Roger. If Bettina would not provide them, she was prepared to take her own pictures, surreptitiously if necessary.

Bettina was startled to see her, and she looked pale and jittery. “Oh, it’s you. Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry,” said Amy, more reaction than true apology. “I was planning to take another look at the painting and I wondered if you had a larger portfolio of Rudd’s work,” she said, noting Bettina’s red eyes.

“Unfortunately you have poor timing.” Bettina glared. “I have just heard horrible news. He was shot last night at his apartment. The police are investigating his murder. “She slumped down onto her stool and wiped at her eyes.

Amy was shocked. “Rudd was murdered in Europe?”

Bettina looked up, blanching. “No. Here in town.”

“But I understood he was in Europe,” Amy said, surprised and more than a little annoyed.

“I thought so too. But after you left, I contacted his office in Amsterdam to tell them he had a buyer. I was told that he was here, in Vancouver.”

Amy let out an audible sigh. She needed answers that could only be provided by Rudd. “Bettina, I know this is a lot to ask at this time, but I am still interested in purchasing this painting, from his estate now. Do you mind if I take a few pictures?”

“Go ahead. It makes no difference now,” Bettina sighed. She paid no attention as Amy took photos of the paintings. When Amy returned to her office, Marvin took one look at her face and asked what was wrong.

“Rudd’s dead, that’s what’s wrong. Now I’ll never learn the truth.” She handed Marvin her camera, and he started downloading the images.

“Someone was offended by one of his paintings and got rid of him, that’s what happened,” Marvin said, sounding oddly excited by the turn of events.

“You mean someone like me?”Amy said.”Or the Fergusons, or that guy from Pemberton? Maybe dozens of others too.”

Jim entered the office at the end of this conversation, looking concerned. “Marvin’s right, Amy, you’re a suspect now. The detectives on Rudd’s case know you’ve been interested in his paintings because I told them, and Roger has just warned me that we need to keep our distance. I filled them in this morning on the fires and possible attempt on his life in Europe, but Rudd was murdered here, not in Amsterdam, and just a few miles from where you live.” Jim shook his head. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“What do you think?” Amy said. “I can do a lot without getting in the way of Roger’s murder investigation. A friend in Amsterdam runs a travel agency, and I hope she can put me in contact with Rudd’s people there. But maybe you should sit this one out, Jim. One of us should stay on Roger’s good side.”

“Hey, things are just getting interesting,” he replied without hesitation.


The next day, Amy and Jim sat down in the office over a dozen printouts and as many freshly baked blueberry muffins. Amy opened a thick file of papers she had printed from a document supplied by Rudd’s office in Amsterdam. Marvin had been sent on a secret mission by Jim, and Amy couldn’t get Jim to elaborate.

“Let me tell you what I got from Amsterdam,” Amy said. “Would you believe that Rudd was here in Vancouver thirty years ago when my mother was still alive? That was before he became a well-known artist. He was supporting himself as a photographer and had a job with Architectural Digest. What I found most interesting is that the issue of Architectural Digest on the table in the painting contained some of his photos.”

“I don’t suppose that issue had pictures of your old living room?” Jim asked.

“No, not that issue,” Amy said. “But a few months later, one was published showing the exact scene in his painting, minus the foot of course. They keep records, and the photo was taken two days before her death. According to the gallery contact in Amsterdam, Rudd didn’t actually paint our living room until several years after my mother died.”

“If he had the photos, he could have added the foot to the painting much later, after he found out she died,” Jim said.

“Yes, that makes sense, but the death was ruled accidental.”

“Remember what Evelyn said, that there was an argument with your father?  Could Rudd have found out?”

“I’m not sure my grandmother is remembering accurately, but could Rudd have been involved in her death?” Amy liked that idea a lot better.

While they were mulling over the possibilities, Amy’s phone rang. It was Bettina, asking Amy to stop by the gallery as soon as possible. She said she had something important to show her.

Jim looked uncomfortable.” What could she want to show you?  Roger will be angry if you stray into his territory, Amy.”

“I can’t see any problem. She thinks I want to buy the painting. Roger can’t complain if I want to buy a painting.” Amy picked up her jacket and left for the gallery.


Standing in a downpour, Amy had to knock on the door several times to get Bettina’s attention. Bettina was pacing nervously, and looked relieved to see her. She unlocked the door and motioned for Amy to follow her to a back room. There was a new canvass propped against the wall. It was plainly the work of Rudd, but for some reason, it was not part of the exhibit. It was a painting of the gallery with the twelve paintings on the wall. “Rudd painted this?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, but it was not here last week, and it’s still sticky. I do not know when he brought it here.” She lifted it up and moved it under the light. They both examined the work carefully.

“There’s something missing.”

“I wondered how long it would take for you to notice,” Bettina replied. “There is no body part in this one.”

“What do you think that means?” Amy said.

“I think he had not yet decided what to add before he died,” she answered. She started to say more, but hesitated.

“I don’t understand why you phoned me, Bettina. Why did you think I would be interested in this painting?”

Bettina put her hands on her hips and tipped her head. “I knew what you were up to the first day you were here. You handed me your business card with Amy Sinclair, Private Investigator. What do you take me for? Rudd was constantly harassed in Europe because some people thought his paintings depicted murders. What if they were right? What if he was planning to murder someone and paint an arm or leg in this painting?” She was wringing her hands.”I thought you could help, or at least tell me if I’m being crazy.”

“Even if you’re right, we’ll never know now.” She wondered who might have been the intended victim, and she felt that Bettina was holding something back. Perhaps Bettina had reason to be worried that Rudd could be planning an accident for her. Then Amy made the mistake of telling Bettina that she was unable to help as she was considered a potential suspect by the police.

Bettina smiled slyly at this confession. “I wondered why you chose that painting to purchase. I thought you might have a reason to be interested in that particular one, a client maybe. But it seems that it is personal.”

Amy realized that she had said too much. Bettina didn’t press for more information and the woman seemed oddly relieved when she said goodbye at the door.


When Amy  returned to the office, Jim was still on the couch, asleep with the newspaper over his face. He stirred when the door closed. “So, what did Bettina show you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“She showed me a new Rudd painting, recently delivered, with no body part.” Amy removed her wet jacket and tossed it onto the filing cabinet where it promptly slid into the recycling bin.

“A painting of what, exactly?”

“Of the gallery. With the twelve paintings. It was still wet.” Amy said smiling at his confusion.

“But there’s always a body part,” Jim mused. “Oh, I get it. He hadn’t added it yet.”

“Bettina seemed overly upset. I wonder if she worried that part of her might appear in the painting,” Amy said. “That would explain why the painting was taken to the gallery. He could finish it, and her, right there.”

They sat back to consider the new information. When Jim asked why Bettina had shown her the painting, Amy was embarrassed to admit that she had given Bettina her business card at the gallery, without thinking what Bettina would surmise. “She assumed I was investigating one of the paintings for a client. But I think she was really pumping me for information. I let it slip that I was a suspect, so she jumped to the right conclusion that I had a personal involvement with one of the paintings.”

“Hmm. You said she looked relieved when you left? I think she showed you the painting so that you’d conclude that she was the intended victim, but what if she brought the painting back with her from Rudd’s after she murdered him?”

“OK, I guess that’s possible too,” Amy said, “but what would be her motive?”

“The police will have to figure that out, and Roger should know of this new painting,” Jim said as he started texting the information.

Just as Jim was finishing, Marvin dashed into the office, smiling like the cat that hadn’t swallowed the bird so he could play with it for a while. “I have some intriguing stories for you two. After our conversation last night, I wondered how Rudd knew to paint those particular scenes. So Jim suggested I try to track down Rudd’s movements to find out if he knew the people in the other paintings. Other than your mother’s painting, we only have stories for two so far, but I can say for sure that Rudd knew them, and knew that he wasn’t painting natural deaths.”

“OK, out with the details,” Amy said, giving him her full attention.

“The Fergusons told me an interesting story, and Roger was right to suspect they were holding back. As we already knew, the father was dying of liver cancer and was told he had only a few weeks to live. What they didn’t tell Roger is that one evening when he was crossing the road from his mailbox, he was hit by a van right outside his farm and he died from a head wound. The driver offered to pay a lot of money if the Ferguson’s wouldn’t tell the police, so they agreed and they placed the father on the back porch just like you saw in the painting, and they told the authorities that he passed out and hit his head on the railing.”

“Marv, how in the world did you get them to tell you that?”Amy asked.

“Well, I kind of said that the police were considering reopening their Dad’s case because of new evidence that it wasn’t a natural death,” Marvin admitted. “I think they jumped to the conclusion that I was working with Roger, and they were worried they would be blamed.”

“Now I understand,” said Jim. “Rudd was the van driver.”

“That’s right,” Marvin smiled. “I showed them his picture and they confirmed it. He never did pay them, but they could hardly go to the police.”

“Amazing,” said Amy shaking her head.”It’s so simple. He knew it was an unnatural death because he was the cause. What about the Pemberton painting?”

“I visited Tim Wayland in Burnaby. He was just a kid at the time, but he remembered his sister dying. She died suddenly which is what the principal told Jim, but the parents never understood why their daughter showed no previous heart problems. They always felt that the Pemberton school was covering up something. When Tim was older, he did some investigations of his own and discovered another possible explanation. It turns out that a few of his classmates, including his sister, were part of a trial for a drug used to treat hyperkinetic syndrome, now called attention deficit disorder. They were given a drug now known to cause sudden death in rare instances. So yes, I’d say that painting may have pointed to another unnatural death.

“How was Rudd involved in this one?” Jim asked.

“I had to drive to Pemberton to find out. We knew Rudd worked as a photographer for Architectural Digest, but he took a second job as a school photographer. That fall he traveled to various schools in the province. He was there in Pemberton taking photos the week she died. I would never have known except that I caught his name beneath the class photo from that year. Then I found a caretaker who put me in touch with a fellow who was working at the school in the late sixties. He remembered Rudd because of his unusual style of dress.” He returned Jim’s smile, and said, “Yes, he wore a cape and fedora. Apparently Rudd was in the classroom that day because he knew how to perform CPR, although he wasn’t able to help the little girl.” Marvin paused and looked for their reactions. “I think it’s important that he was at both of these deaths and could have taken photographs to capture the details.”

Jim patted Marvin on the back.”I am truly impressed, Marvin. That’s great sleuthing.”

Amy looked puzzled. ”The farm case makes sense. Rudd knew that was not a natural death because he was responsible. But that girl? How did he know she didn’t die naturally from a heart defect?”

“Rudd told the caretaker that he didn’t think her death was natural, but he didn’t say why. Maybe he knew about the drug. Besides, it never seems natural when a kid dies like that.”

“We’re as close as were going to get to solving that particular puzzle,” Jim sighed. “Can we agree that we’ve solved the mysteries behind two of the paintings?”

Yes, and it’s a good start,” said Amy, “but there’s a possibility that each of these twelve paintings will tell us an important story. Do you think this is worth going further?”

“There’s one big problem,” Jim said. “Except for yours, we don’t have information on these other paintings, and with Rudd dead, I’m not sure we ever will.”

“There’s always the internet,” Marvin suggested. “Why don’t we put images of the paintings on an interactive web site and see if we get any responses?”

After  pondering the idea for a moment Amy said, “I like it. Of course, we’ll need to prime the pump with a couple of good stories of our own, which we just happen to have. And it would bring attention to Rudd’s work, so there would be more potential buyers. I can’t see his estate complaining. There is one small problem. We need someone to design and manage the web site. Marvin, will you agree to act as web master?”

“Would I ever,” said Marvin, with an ear-to-ear grin.”I’ll get right on it, boss.”

“First we need a release from Rudd’s estate. Jim, why don’t we drop down to the gallery before it closes and see if Bettina can give us a contact number in Amsterdam? I’d also like to see how she reacts to the web site idea.”

“Just as long as we don’t have to jog there,” Jim said.


Through the gallery window, they could see two older women, and when they opened the door, they heard Bettina and Evelyn arguing.

“What are you doing here?” Evelyn sputtered as soon as she saw them.

“Why are you two arguing?” Amy asked. “I wasn’t aware that you knew each other.”

“I showed her the last painting,” Bettina said, “after she told me she knew Sandor.”

“Amy, it’s that annoying painting,” Evelyn sighed. “Bettina will not tell me why the artist chose to paint the scene of your mother’s death.” Evelyn glared at Bettina.

“That is a old painting. How would I know anything from that time?” Bettina spat back. “I keep telling this woman I know nothing, but she will not believe me.”

“Bettina,” Amy said, “We’ve discovered that Rudd was present at three of the scenes that he painted. We know he was there at the time of death for at least two of them, and he actually saw the images he painted. They were not his dreams. So don’t tell me you knew nothing.” Jim’s eyebrows shot up but he said nothing.

With a nasty glint in her eye, Bettina stared at Amy.”It is his inspiration, not mine. But I do know that Sandor Rudd had an affair when he was here 30 years ago. “She sat back waiting for that to sink in. Evelyn held her hand to her eyes but was strangely quiet.

“Do you know with whom?” Amy asked.

“No, but I have an idea in my head,” Bettina said smirking.”His paintings were not selling back then, so he worked as a photographer for a magazine. I saw a photograph of that painting. Two years later, I know he painted the picture with the foot. The woman in that painting,” she said,.”I wondered. She was a relative, yes?”

“My mother, but that doesn’t prove she had an affair with Rudd. Why would she do that?  She wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, wasn’t she,” Evelyn interjected. “What would you know? You were only a child. Your mother did have an affair with Sandor Rudd, and it broke my son’s heart. She was planning to leave him.” Evelyn stopped short and paled. The gallery was quiet after this outburst.

“You knew this and didn’t tell me? Is this why you thought Dad pushed her down the stairs?”

“He should have. She deserved it. But the fool just cried like a baby when your mother told him she was leaving.” Evelyn seemed to shrink into her chair, but then she straightened her shoulders and looked directly at Amy.”Your father was too soft. I was the one who pushed your mother,” she said, her chin raised and without a hint of remorse.

Amy stared at Evelyn in disbelief. Her body felt oddly light. “Dad said nothing to me,” Amy whispered, but Evelyn heard her.

“I knew he suspected me, but he would never dare ask. He didn’t dare much, that boy.”

“How did Rudd know it wasn’t an accident?” Jim asked.

Evelyn shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “When I met Rudd in the grocery store, I was so angry when I saw him, I said too much. I told him it was his fault your mother was dead. He showed no surprise. I think he had already guessed that it was not an accident,” Evelyn shrugged, “or perhaps your father said something to him. So when Rudd phoned me late Monday night to continue our conversation, I agreed to meet him at his apartment to find out what he really knew.”

Jim stared at Evelyn, “You were in his apartment the night he was killed?”

“Yes,” Evelyn admitted. “I went there after I left Amy’s apartment. The man was out of his mind. He kept saying that I had ruined his life by killing the only woman he had ever loved. Then he caught me by surprise, pushed me into a closet and locked the door. He was gone for hours. It was a horrid place and reeked of turpentine.” Evelyn crinkled her nose with the recollection. “When he eventually opened the closet, he wanted to take me to the gallery. He said he had something important to show me.” She stopped talking abruptly and sat lost in her thoughts.

“Did you go with him?” Jim prompted her after a few moments.

”No, no. I refused to go anywhere with that man.” She stood up and paced the room. Can you believe that he used a gun to threaten me? He said I must go with him or he would shoot me. I just laughed in his face and grabbed for the gun.” Evelyn seemed unaware that she was miming the encounter with Rudd, and the absorbed look on her face startled Amy. “I twisted the gun in his hand. He wasn’t expecting it from an old woman. But he was an old man and it was easy for me. The gun went off in his chest and he dropped to the floor.” Evelyn slumped down in her chair, looking exhausted.

Jim shook his head in disbelief and walked quietly away from the table, pulling out his cell phone.

Bettina’s eyes never left Evelyn. “So, it was you he was planning to add to that painting”.

Evelyn’s laugh was high-pitched and frightening. “Yes, and now someone can paint his body instead.” When she glanced at Amy, her eyes filled with tears.

Amy shuddered.” Evelyn, where is the gun now?” she asked trying to keep her voice calm. Jim paled.

“This little gun?” Evelyn smiled strangely, sliding a shiny Beretta from her purse. “I considered dropping it into English Bay on my way home that night, but it’s so attractive, isn’t it?”

Before anyone could react, Evelyn bent over the pistol and fired into her heart. She grunted as her body lifted from the chair and slid to the floor. A foot enclosed in a Valentino patent pump lay in an expanding pool of blood.