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Dorothy Fairchild lived in more of a mansion than a house. Kat had been there once before, but she still found herself daydreaming about what it would be like to live in such opulence when she pulled around the circular driveway Friday evening.
Although Lady Fairchild obviously had money, it was hard to resent her for it. She not only made regular donations to Furry Friends Foster Families but also to several other local charities that Kat knew about. Kat had no doubt that Lady Fairchild would be an eager supporter of 4F’s silent auction.
She approached the ornate front door and rang the bell. Almost immediately, a long string of short barks started up from the inside of the house. The barking grew louder when the door opened and Lady Fairchild came into view.
“Muffin, hush,” Lady Fairchild said over her shoulder. With her styled gray hair, rosy cheeks, and warm smile, the sixtyish woman looked exactly as Kat remembered. Today she wore a peach-colored blouse and matching slacks.
Kat felt something brush against her leg. She looked down to see Lady Fairchild’s dachshund nipping at her heels. “Why, hi there, Muffin.”
The little dog barked and set his front paws on Kat’s knee, his tail wagging.
“Muffy, where are your manners?” Lady Fairchild scooped him off of the ground and tucked him under her arm. “Kat is our guest.”
Muffin’s tail continued to wag at a furious pace, shaking his little body from side to side.
Kat smiled. “I see he hasn’t lost any of his energy.”
“No, he hasn’t.” Lady Fairchild scratched Muffin’s head. “Chasing him around certainly keeps me young.”
A fluffy white cat who looked like a thinner version of Clover strolled just outside the door. She sat down and peered up at Kat.
“Nice to see you again too, Angela,” Kat said, bending down to run her fingers through the feline’s silky fur. Angela gave her a head bump in response.
Lady Fairchild moved out of the doorway. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.”
Kat surveyed the main room as she walked into the house. It was just as cluttered as she remembered, with books and knickknacks spread over every usable surface. Lady Fairchild might live in a big house, but evidently it wasn’t big enough.
Lady Fairchild clucked her tongue. “Angela, hurry up now.”
The white cat was still sitting outside. She turned her nose up and flashed Lady Fairchild a look that made it clear that since she was the one in charge, she would come in when she was ready and not a minute sooner.
“Suit yourself.” Lady Fairchild began inching the door closed. “You stay out there in the cold if you insist. We’ll have a nice visit without you.”
Angela didn’t budge, although she did keep a keen eye on the narrowing gap between the door and its frame. She waited until there was barely a sliver left before springing to her feet and slithering back inside.
Lady Fairchild grinned at Kat as she secured the door. “That gets her every time.”
Kat laughed. “I’d try that with my cat Matty, but I suspect she’d actually enjoy spending all night outside.”
“Well, I have the added advantage that it’s almost time for dinner. On Friday nights Angela gets chicken primavera, one of her favorites.”
Kat wasn’t sure if that was a wet food blend or if Angela actually ate better than most of the people she knew. The way Lady Fairchild doted on her animals, she wouldn’t be surprised either way.
Lady Fairchild set Muffin down. The second the dachshund’s feet hit the floor he bounded over to Kat to resume his greeting. Angela watched the dog from across the room, doing nothing to hide the disdain from her face as Muffin tried his best to lick their guest.
“So, 4F is holding an auction next month, yes?” Lady Fairchild said.
“That’s right.” Kat attempted to pet Muffin, but he wouldn’t sit still long enough for her to make contact. “We would be honored if you would consider donating something.”
“I would be happy to. Why don’t you have a look around and see if anything in particular tickles your fancy.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take anything you don’t intend to part with.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Fairchild said. “I have so much stuff I doubt I’d miss any of it.”
“Well, okay then.”
Kat drew her hand away from Muffin and began circling around the room. She paused when she caught sight of several mystery books lying flat on the bookshelf, a smattering of dogs and cats on the covers. “What about those?” she asked. “I imagine they would be popular for an animal event.”
“They’re all yours.” Lady Fairchild swiped them off the shelf. She started to hand them to Kat then stopped. “Better yet, give me a couple days and I’ll make up a basket filled with my favorite reads.”
“We’d appreciate that.”
Lady Fairchild laid the books on the edge of the piano bench. “What else would you like? Don’t be shy. I love helping a good cause.”
Something on the far wall above the fireplace caught Kat’s eye. It was a painting of a forest with a single deer half hidden behind a copse of trees. The rich interplay of colors reminded her of the lake painting she had seen in Imogene’s house.
She walked closer. “Was this done by Nikita Stoll?”
“Why, yes. Her style is quite distinct, is it not?”
Kat studied the deer. “It’s very detailed.”
“I apologize, but I must decline donating that piece to your auction.”
“Oh, I wasn’t asking you to,” Kat assured her. “I just wanted to look at it, if you don’t mind.”
Lady Fairchild gestured her invitation. “Be my guest.”
They relocated beneath the painting. Muffin raced after them, anxious to keep the humans within licking distance. Angela strolled over at a more languid pace, planting herself by her human’s feet. She tilted her head to the side in a pose that matched Lady Fairchild’s.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Lady Fairchild said, a reverent look on her face.
“It is,” Kat agreed.
Lady Fairchild sighed. “I heard about her accident last night. Such a shame!”
“Did you know Nikita?”
“Yes. She was such an intelligent young woman. And so full of life, too! She could brighten up a room just by being in it, much like her paintings.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t know her better.”
“You would have liked her, I’m sure.” Lady Fairchild spun toward Kat. “But back to business. Although I’m unwilling to part with this particular painting, I have some others I wouldn’t mind donating to 4F. Are you familiar with Nolan Calabresi’s work?”
Kat shook her head. “Who is he?”
“Another local artist, though not as local as Nikita. He lives in Wenatchee. The dark subject matters are more his specialty, but he does create some striking pieces. Here.” Lady Fairchild edged toward the staircase. “Let me show you one of his works.”
Angela and Muffin kept pace behind the humans as they ascended the curving staircase. Kat eyed the paintings lining their path upstairs, but none of them drew her attention as Nikita’s had. However, she did gather from the eclectic mix of styles that Lady Fairchild was quite the collector.
“Many of these were done by West Coast artists,” Lady Fairchild said. “I like to support our local talent.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Kat replied.
They made it to the upstairs corridor and continued down the hall. Kat felt as if they walked a mile before they finally ended up in an empty guest room.
“Here’s one of Nolan’s early works,” Lady Fairchild said, pointing to the painting hanging on the far wall.
Muffin whimpered before making a hasty U-turn and scrambling back the way they’d come. Angela didn’t leave, but she did halt in the doorway. The feline flicked her gaze toward the painting and meowed.
Lady Fairchild chuckled. “The animals are not fans of Nolan’s art.”
Kat wasn’t either. The painting in front of her was a slash of reds and blacks and blues. She wasn’t even sure what it was supposed to be. She couldn’t discern any noticeable shapes or patterns. It looked like something a madman might create if he were locked inside a room with only a brush and a few tubes of acrylics for company.
“Nolan is a master at capturing the full range of human emotion,” Lady Fairchild said.
“It’s kind of . . . a mess, don’t you think?” Kat said, struggling to understand why Lady Fairchild had purchased this piece. “Honestly, I’m having trouble figuring out what it’s supposed to be.”
“It’s abstract. The title is Fury.”
“Fury?” Kat echoed.
Lady Fairchild nodded. “See how Nolan uses a series of short, quick strokes here? It’s indicative of how quick our tempers are to flare. And the contrast between the hues on this side represents how rage can pit our emotions against each other, spurring us to do things we wouldn’t normally even consider.”
“Like what?” Kat asked.
“Like, for example, hurt somebody we love.”
Kat couldn’t help but conjure up the image of Nikita’s body crumpled on the pavement. “That’s rather . . . depressing.”
“Not all art is meant to invoke pleasant feelings. Nolan’s work is more raw than Nikita’s, but no less worthy.”
The detached, objective way that Lady Fairchild assessed the painting made Kat wonder if she had once been involved in the art world as more than just a private supporter of local talent.
“This painting is actually one of my favorites,” Lady Fairchild said, smiling at Kat. “I used to have it on display downstairs, but Angela would hiss every time she passed by, and Muffy stopped coming into that room altogether.”
Angela meowed her two cents.
Lady Fairchild regarded the cat. “Yes, I know you want me to sell it.” She turned toward Kat. “Would you like it for your silent auction?”
“Oh.” Kat had a hard time believing anyone would bid more than a couple bucks on this thing, but she supposed every dollar counted. “That would be very generous of you.”
Angela seemed to sit up a little straighter, as though bolstered by the prospect of banishing the dreaded painting from her home. Kat had the sneaking suspicion that if the feline were physically capable of such a feat she would haul the painting out to Kat’s car herself.
“It’s about time I purchased another one of Nolan’s works anyway,” Lady Fairchild said. “I’ve been holding off since I have nowhere to put it.”
Angela’s pupils narrowed to thin, vertical slits as a low growl started up from the center of her body.
Lady Fairchild crossed the room and lifted the white cat into her arms. “Oh, hush now, Angela. You never come in here anyway.”
Either Lady Fairchild’s words or her soothing strokes were enough to console the animal. Pretty soon the growl was replaced by purring.
Kat, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Fury had given her. How angry would a person have to be to want to capture such distress on canvas?
“Did Nolan and Nikita know each other?” Kat asked Lady Fairchild.
“Oh, yes. But I don’t believe they were fond of each other’s styles. You’ve undoubtedly noticed that their paintings are quite different.”
“Yes, they are.”
“In fact, I dare say there might have been some rivalry between the two artists.”
That got Kat’s attention. “Really?”
“Yes.” Lady Fairchild kissed Angela’s head and smiled. “But what do you expect between two creative spirits?”
Kat didn’t answer, a bigger question looming in her mind. Had Nolan Calabresi recently discovered a more effective outlet for his wrath than painting—an outlet such as murder?
