As soon as the words were spoken, she knew she’d blown it and slapped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and frightened. When she was able to speak, she mumbled, “He’s right. I’m a dumb, stupid, idiot who is going to ruin his political career.”
I pulled her hands off her mouth and stared into her eyes. “You are not. You’re not dumb or stupid, and you’re not an idiot. You’re not the one who cheated. You’re not the one who risked ruining a political career by having an adulterous affair. Your only fault is that you love someone who doesn’t respect you.”
She stared at me for several moments and then burst into tears.
The housekeeper came back to see what the ruckus was about.
“Mrs. Vannover has had a bit of a shock. Do you have some brandy?”
She nodded and hurried out of the room. She was back quickly with a tray bearing a crystal decanter and two glasses. She placed them on the coffee table next to the tea tray and hurried out.
I poured some of the amber liquid into the tea and handed it to my hostess.
She gulped it down so quickly I knew this wasn’t her first exposure to spirits. When she finished her brandy-laced tea, she refilled her cup with just the brandy and tossed it back.
I knew she wasn’t ready to hear this truth, but I had to at least try. “You need to tell the police he was there.” She started to shake her head before I finished talking. “You have to tell the truth.”
“I can’t. He’s my husband.” She held a pillow to her chest. “He said I wouldn’t have to. A wife doesn’t have to testify against her husband.”
“That’s only true when it comes to court. He hasn’t been charged with anything. I’m not asking you to testify against him. I’m only asking you to tell the police the truth, that he was at the dog show.” She looked leery. “If he’s innocent, then he has nothing to worry about.”
After a few moments, she glanced at me. “Do you have a job?” She hurried to add, “Outside the home?”
I smiled. “I’m a certified public accountant, a CPA. I work at the Hopewell Museum.”
“You have a career. You know how to do things—support yourself. The only thing I’ve ever been trained to is to be a wife and mother.” She dropped her gaze. “And I couldn’t even do that right.”
It took all of the inner strength I could muster not to grab her shoulders and try to shake some sense into her. Instead, I took a deep breath and chose to shock her out of self-doubt. “If you were tested and your doctor said there’s no reason you can’t have children, then it would seem logical that Dixon is the problem, not you.”
“But he said . . . I mean, he’s so virile . . . and . . .”
“That has nothing to do with it.” I hoped to get away from talking about Dixon Vannover’s manhood by focusing the conversation in a different direction. I glanced around the room. “You’ve created a lovely home. This room is beautiful. I absolutely love the artwork and pops of color.”
She beamed. “Those are mine.”
“You’re joking. You painted those?”
“I love art.” She got up and walked to the paintings. “These are acrylics, but I’ve been dabbling in watercolors lately.” She picked up a brightly painted vase. “I took a pottery class, which was a lot of fun.” She returned the pot and shrugged. “Dixon didn’t like it. He said art has to be bought from an art dealer.”
“Dixon is wrong. You’re talented. I’m not an expert, but since I started working at the museum, I have learned that art doesn’t have to be expensive.”
She smiled. “Would you like to see more?”
“Absolutely.”
She took me on a tour of the house. Most of the rooms were meticulously decorated and looked as though they belonged in a designer showroom. The living room was picture-perfect, but cold. However, June had always found a way to provide one touch of her own by adding a small pot or miniature picture, giving the rooms life. When we’d finished the grand tour of the six-bedroom, five-bathroom house, she took me outside to her artist’s shed.
“Dixon and I fought over the shed. He said it would look like a hillbilly outhouse.” She smiled. “However, when the neighbors all started getting man caves or she-sheds, then he gave in.”
The exterior of the artist’s shed matched the house, which I guessed was Dixon’s requirement. Inside, the room was a true artist’s studio, with paint, clay, and a pottery wheel and kiln. One side of the shed was all glass sliding doors, providing light and allowing nature into the room. The remaining walls were covered with brightly colored canvases that reminded me of the Caribbean. A large orange cat was curled up on a bench, where a ray of sunlight shone into the room. The cat opened an eye as we entered but must have deemed us unworthy of further consideration and went back to sleep.
June walked over and picked up the cat. “This is Rembrandt.”
I walked over and tentatively extended a hand to pet him. The cat barely glanced at me. I stroked his fur and was rewarded by a deep purr.
“He just showed up about a year ago.” June cradled the cat like a baby. “I have to keep him out here because Dixon is allergic, but that’s fine with me. He’s good company.” She snuggled the cat close and whispered gibberish about how good and beautiful he was.
I glanced around the studio and was quickly intrigued by a painting of a leaf.
“This is amazing. Have you sold any of your paintings?”
June shook her head. “Who would pay money for these?”
I stared at her. “I would.” I held up the leaf painting. “Would you consider selling this one?”
She stared. “You really want it?”
“Yes. It would look great over my fireplace. How much?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t sell that. You can have it.”
I wanted to take the painting and run, but my conscious wouldn’t let me. “I can’t take it. This picture is really good.”
“Fifty dollars?” she said shyly.
I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous.”
She hung her head.
“How about two hundred?”
She gasped. “Dollars? Are you serious?”
“I’m sure you can get a lot more, but since neither of us are experts, let’s start there.”
She gave me a curious look. “I can’t believe you want to pay me two hundred dollars for one of my paintings. You’re not just trying to make me feel better. I mean, you really think it’s worth two hundred dollars?”
“I can’t afford to pay two hundred dollars to make someone feel better. Honestly, I think it’s worth more than two hundred dollars, but since I’m your first sale, I’m willing to consider this a perk for discovering a new artist. Would you be okay if I took some pictures to show one of my friends at the art museum?”
She agreed, so I pulled out my cell phone and took pictures. I sent the pictures to Linda Kay. When I was done, I turned to her. “Will you take a check?”
We went back inside and took care of business.
She stared at the check. “I can’t believe someone paid money for one of my paintings. You aren’t just doing this so I’ll tell the police that Dixon was at the dog show? Because I won’t—”
I held up a hand. “Whether you decide to tell the truth or not has nothing to do with my buying your painting. I genuinely love it. The rest is between you and your conscience.” With that parting remark, I said my good-byes and left.
The subdivision was a short distance from the campaign headquarters, but the walk was awkward, especially as I had a large canvas in tow. However, I made it and found my car with no trouble. It took a little rearranging to get the canvas into the back, but I was determined. When I finished, instead of going inside and risking a run-in with Dixon Vannover, I waited in the car, which was great for sitting and enjoying the day and thinking.
While I waited, Linda Kay replied to my text messages with a text full of capital letters and exclamation marks. She wanted to know who the artist was and how she could get her hands on those paintings. Praise from Linda Kay put a smile on my face. She had a ton of questions, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that I had very few answers. After a great deal of back and forth, we realized the best plan was to skip the middleman. She said she would reach out to June Vannover directly. I sat and enjoyed the sunshine and hoped that June Vannover would realize that she was talented and deserved more than being treated like Dixon Vannover’s doormat.
Lost in thought, I nearly leapt out of my skin when I heard a knock. When my pulse stopped racing, I rolled down my window. “Jacob, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry, but I recognized your car and thought I’d say hello.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Linda Kay was so excited about the paintings you sent her that she wanted me to get here right away.”
“She really thinks they’re good? She’s not just humoring me?”
“Linda Kay Weyman is a nice lady, but she doesn’t play around where art is concerned.”
I released a breath. “Thank goodness. June Vannover couldn’t take rejection. She’s . . . fragile.”
“I don’t think she’ll need to be concerned about rejection.”
Jacob’s phone dinged after a few minutes. When the dings became faster, he glanced at the incoming text messages and said, “I’d better get a move on or Linda Kay is going to skin me alive.”
We said our good-byes, and I hoped that Jacob would love June’s art as much as I did. I was tempted to walk back to the Vannovers’ house but resisted the temptation. My emotions were fickle. In no time flat, I had moved from excitement for June Vannover to concern for her well-being. What if Dixon Vannover rebelled against his wife’s success? I didn’t see any visible indications of physical abuse, although the verbal and emotional abuse was bad enough.
While I pondered my next move, Dixie sent a text letting me know that she was going to drop off a casserole at Warren Keller’s house and wanted to know if I was interested in joining her. Not sure how much longer David would be, I agreed. She was just five minutes away, so I didn’t have long to wait.
Dixie pulled up beside me, and I transferred my painting to her car before getting in myself. Dixie’s response was better than I could have hoped.
“I can’t believe you got that for two hundred dollars.”
“Do you think I should have offered her more? I don’t want to take advantage of her.”
Dixie pulled out onto Gunbarrel Road. “You offered her four times what she asked. You got a great deal. Honestly, she probably would have given you the painting for free.”
We chatted about art, and Dixie took the familiar path toward her house. When she started her ascent of Lookout Mountain, I closed my eyes and braced myself.
“You didn’t tell me Warren Keller lived up Lookout Mountain.”
Dixie laughed. “Would you have come if I did?”
“No.”
She chuckled. “Now you know why I didn’t tell you.”
When we reached the top, I could feel the car level out and knew it was safe to open my eyes.
Dixie pulled up to a large, sprawling, brick-and-stone estate. Unlike Dixon Vannover’s home, which was a new house meant to look old, Warren Keller’s home was an older one that had been meticulously updated to look modern.
“That’s impressive.”
Dixie reached into the back seat and pulled out a glass casserole dish. “I’ve heard the inside is even more impressive.”
We walked up the winding cobblestone path to the front door and rang the bell. We were both slightly surprised that Warren Keller opened the door himself instead of a maid. However, he seemed equally surprised to see us.
“Dixie, I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Naomi and I weren’t close, but Beau and I still wanted to express our condolences on your loss.” She held up her casserole.
After a brief hesitation, he widened the door. “Forgive my manners. Please come in.”
“We don’t want to intrude on your grief, so if you’ll just direct me to the kitchen, I’ll put this in the fridge and be on my way.”
“Of course, follow me.” He led the way to the kitchen.
Along the way, I noted the newer windows, elegant furnishings, and thick carpets. I gazed outside and noticed that a large cat had made itself comfortable and was sunning near the back window. The kitchen had old-world charm, but it had clearly been modernized. Marble counters, a super-sized commercial fridge, and red knobs on a massive gas cooktop told me no expense had been spared on this elegantly simple room.
When Warren opened the fridge, it was clear that Dixie’s wasn’t the first casserole he’d received. He chuckled. “Looks like I’m going to be eating casseroles for quite some time.”
“I guess it’s just a Southern thing. If someone dies, you bring a casserole. If you’d rather not—”
“Don’t you dare take that dish.” He reached out and held it close to his chest. “I intend to have a casserole smorgasbord. Would you and your friend care for coffee?”
“Forgive my manners. This is my friend, Lilly Ann Echosby. Lilly Ann, this is Warren Keller.”
We shook hands, and I mumbled condolences.
The Kellers had a fancy coffee machine that was capable of single servings or a pot. Warren seemed adept at maneuvering the massive beast, and before long, it sputtered, steamed, and spewed a dark liquid that smelled heavenly.
When the pot was ready, he placed it on a tray, and we followed him into a family room that looked out onto a secluded, green, lush backyard.
Coffees distributed, we sat back and sipped in an uncomfortable silence. Eventually, I said, “You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you. We’d just finished the last of the renovations.” He choked up, but quickly recovered. “Naomi wasn’t a big fan. She preferred modern design, and would have preferred we sell and move into one of those metal and glass box condos downtown, but we needed the space for the dogs.”
It wasn’t until he mentioned the dogs that I realized what was missing. I hadn’t seen any dogs or dog accessories. Every dog owner I knew had dogs, dog toys, or treats everywhere. Even Dixie’s immaculate home had the occasional dog toy. “Where are your dogs?”
“Oh, they aren’t here. My daughter, Brittney, took them. She is going to try to re-home them.”
I was so surprised I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t say anything.
“How are you holding up?” Dixie asked. “Do you need anything?”
Warren put his coffee down. “I don’t really know. I don’t suppose it’s really sunk in yet. I’m hoping that when the police have arrested her murderer, I’ll have some peace.” There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard something? The police don’t really tell me anything.” He glanced from Dixie to me and then added, “I’d heard that you are friendly with the officer in charge.”
I glanced at Dixie for help. She put down her coffee cup. “I don’t believe the police have arrested anyone.”
“Excuse me, but I had heard that they were looking at you.” He hurriedly added, “Absolutely absurd, of course. I told that policeman that I knew you and Naomi didn’t get along, but there was no way that you’d resort to murder.”
“Thank you.” Dixie patted his arm. “I don’t know that I’m completely off the hook yet, but there are several others that have a much better reason for murder than me.”
He sat up. “Who?”
Dixie and I exchanged a glance. I gave a shrug, and she continued. “Well, this is just my own opinion, but, well, Dixon Vannover.”
Warren Keller looked surprised. “Do you know why?”
This time the looks Dixie and I exchanged were intercepted. Warren Keller inserted himself. “Please, I don’t think you could tell me anything that I haven’t already heard, but it’s killing me not knowing.”
“Well, we had heard that there might have been something going on between Dixon Vannover and Naomi . . . and possibly Brittney.” We gazed intently for a reaction.
Warren Keller hung his head. “Well, I suspected there might have been someone else, but . . . Dixon Vannover? Are you sure?”
“Of course not, but you were at the dog show when she showed up.”
Warren Keller shook his head. “I think I must have left by then. Between the police wanting to arrest Brittney and . . . well, the tiff she had with you”—he glanced at Dixie—“I left early.”
“Well, the dirt on the street is that Dixon Vannover was leaving his wife to be with Naomi, who was . . . supposedly . . . carrying his baby.”
Warren stared speechless for several moments, but eventually he chuckled. “Well, that’s outrageous. Naomi couldn’t be pregnant.”
“We know, the coroner confirmed that she wasn’t, but if Dixon Vannover thought she was . . . well, he might have gotten violent.”
“I see.” Warren stared. “But did he have the opportunity to murder her?”
“We know June followed him to the dog show, so he was there.”
“Of course, the police will need to investigate and verify everything,” I said, suddenly feeling a need to hedge my bets. I believed June Vannover was telling the truth when she said she followed her husband to the dog show, but just because she said it didn’t make it true.
We chatted a bit longer but didn’t want to overstay our welcome. So we made our excuses and left. Dixie stopped by her house to pick up a salad and a cake that Mrs. Huntington had prepared for tonight.
“I didn’t realize you lived so close to the Kellers.”
“To be honest, I didn’t either, until I was out walking the girls and ran across Warren Keller hiking.”
“Do you suppose Naomi knew?”
“I’m sure she did. She wasn’t stupid. The dog show circuit is a small world. I find it hard to believe she didn’t know where I lived.”
Dixie drove us down the mountain. While I kept my eyes closed tightly and my hand on the door’s armrest, I barely pushed my foot through my imaginary brake and only recited one rosary. I was making progress.
Back down in civilization, we stopped by a chain store known for crafts, and I ordered a frame for my painting. The canvas was large, but it was a standard size, and they had a dark frame that complemented the leaf beautifully.
Back home, I wasn’t surprised to find Red’s truck. When we got out, I heard the lawnmower and knew he was occupied. Stephanie was inside, keeping the dogs entertained, which wasn’t an easy task. When we went outside, I was surprised to see Joe and David in the corner of the yard, installing a large cedar gazebo that I had admired for months.
Stephanie placed an arm around my shoulders. “We wanted to surprise you.” She looked closely in my eyes. “You like it, right?”
I was so shocked and overwhelmed that I couldn’t speak and merely stood there blubbering. I hugged Stephanie as tight as I could. When I managed to find my words, I mumbled, “I love it.”
Stephanie was crying, and Red, David, and Joe stood, staring back at us with fear in their eyes. Eventually, Dixie waved. “She loves it.”
The guys breathed a sigh of relief. David came forward and hugged me. “I’m so glad you like it. I threatened to pummel him if we went to all this work and then had to take it out.”
I squeezed him. “I love it.”
Red finished mowing the grass around the gazebo and took a defensive stance. “Please, tell me this is the one you wanted. I don’t want to face the wrath of your kids if I got it wrong.”
I hugged him. “You got it absolutely right.” I could feel his muscles relax.
After a few moments, he pulled away. “I smell horrible.”
I smiled through my tears. “Thank you.”
I walked over to my new gazebo. “Can I go in?”
“Absolutely.” David and Joe took me inside.
“How on earth did you manage to get this installed today?”
Red pointed to Joe. “He did the majority of the work.”
I walked over and gave him a big hug. “Thank you!”
“The hardest part was getting the foundation done, but the builders took care of most of that for us. It was pretty easy.”
We spent quite a lot of time admiring the new gazebo until the rest of the guests arrived. Each new arrival meant a trip to the gazebo. The dogs seemed to enjoy it too.
When everyone had seen and given their stamp of approval on the new addition, we sat down to eat. Thankfully, Stephanie and Dixie hadn’t been idle while I was giving tours; they had ordered several large pizzas.
Despite the chaos of twelve adults and eleven dogs, the dinner went surprisingly well. The adults were able to comfortably enjoy our gourmet cuisine, while the dogs enjoyed grilled hot dogs. When we were stuffed, the dogs lay down near their owners’ feet, and we started our meeting.
My bombshell about Dixon Vannover was the highlight.
I looked to Dixie. “Does your club have video cameras around the building so we can confirm that Vannover was actually at the dog club at the time of the murder?”
“No, but lots of the competitors make videos. Maybe someone managed to capture him. Several of the members have already uploaded their videos to our website.” She pulled out her phone and swiped a few times. “I’ll send out an e-mail asking for all the videos.”
“That would be great. We need to collect all the videos we can that were taken near the RV on Saturday.”
The only other item of interest came from David, who managed to find an extremely chatty volunteer who swore Dixon Vannover’s opponents were trying to destroy his good character by accusing him of womanizing.
“The thing is, she was so adamant that he couldn’t possibly have done it, that she brought up rumors I hadn’t even heard of.”
“Like what?” Red asked.
“Not only did she deny that Dixon Vannover had had any extramarital affairs, she also denied the accusations that he liked to dress up in women’s clothes.”
“So Dixon Vannover is a transvestite?”
“I don’t think he is openly trans.”
B.J. sipped her beer. “To each his own. ‘Live and let live’ is my motto.”
“Mine too,” David said, “but it flies against the attitudes of his base constituency and some of the things on his platform.” He pulled out a brochure from Vannover’s campaign and passed it around.
I read several of his key beliefs and felt myself getting angry. I passed the brochure. “That’s very narrow-minded.” I glanced at my son. “I’m so sorry I asked you to volunteer there.”
David grinned. “Well, I have to admit the first day grated on my nerves. However, today I was prepared.”
Something in the way he looked made me ask, “What did you do?”
He chuckled. “Well, when I heard about his penchant for dressing up, I called my girlfriend, the hacker.”
Red scowled. “Am I going to regret hearing this?”
Madison smiled. “You might want to cover your ears.”
Red didn’t cover his ears, but he frowned as he listened.
Madison said, “Dixon Vannover likes himself too much not to have taken pictures of himself in drag.”
“Tell me you didn’t use TBI resources to hack a suspect’s files,” Red said, glaring.
“Of course not.” Madison shook her head. “I didn’t have to. All I did was search the Internet. Heck, anybody could have done it. I knew that jerk wouldn’t be bright enough to know that just because you delete a photo in a post doesn’t mean you’ve deleted it completely.”
David made a few swipes across his cell phone and showed us a video of Dixon Vannover wearing a black wig and singing “It’s Raining Men” in full drag.
Monica Jill stared in shocked surprise. “Oh my God. Look at his legs.”
“Girl, how can you look at his legs with all that shimmying going on?” B.J. asked.
We laughed at the video until I felt guilty. “I’m torn. I mean, if he wants to dress in drag, that’s certainly his right.”
“True,” David said. “Honestly, if he weren’t such a huge hypocrite, I wouldn’t have been tempted to upload this to every social media site I could find.”
I gasped. But David held up a hand. “I said I was tempted to upload it. In the end, I couldn’t do it.” He swiped his phone and put it away. “I think the man is a hypocritical jerk with the emotional intelligence of a goldfish, but . . . I don’t believe in dirty politics either.”
I reached across and gave my son a kiss. “I’m proud of you, honey. Whether he wins or loses his election, I hope that the decision will be made based on the issues and not . . . his personal life.”
“Is there any more pizza inside?” Monica Jill said. “I’m starving.” She hurried to the kitchen.
When she was gone, B.J. leaned across the table. “Have you noticed that she’s eating like a condemned man on death row?”
Mai smiled. “Maybe she’s been working out?”
B.J.’s face said that was highly unlikely.
“Maybe she missed lunch,” Stephanie said.
“I’m sure carting potential home buyers around all day can be exhausting,” I said, “and she has to go when her clients and the house are available. I remember when I was looking for this place, we must have seen at least fifty houses.” I glanced at Dixie, who had been there for almost all of them.
“It’s a buyer’s market, and I’m sure she’s been working nonstop.”
Dr. Morgan asked, “Did she ever get checked out by her doctor?”
“She went this morning,” B.J. said. “She’s waiting for all of the results to come back.” B.J. squinted at the doctor. “Why? You don’t think she’s got a brain tumor, do you?”
Dr. Morgan shook his head. “I doubt very seriously if she has a brain tumor. It could be anything from dehydration to high blood pressure. However, I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”
Monica Jill came back with a plate loaded with salad and two more slices of pizza. “Who’s jumping to conclusions?”
We were saved from responding when Red’s phone rang, and he stepped away to take the call in private. Dixie adroitly changed the subject by bringing up the housewarming, which got us all talking about the plans for the weekend. After a few moments, Red rejoined the group. Despite his stoic expression, I knew by the clenching of his jaw that something was wrong.
“What happened?” I asked.
“That was Officer Lewis. Dixon Vannover was just found . . . murdered.”