Would the gallery even still be open?
Uncertainty churned in Autumn’s mind as she and Ben left the restaurant, which was now full of diners, with a few latecomers sitting at the tiny bar and waiting for tables to become available.
It could well be closed. Where did Julian live? They might have to research that. Hopefully his address would be available, and he’d be at home.
“It’s amazing how much I didn’t see,” she admitted. “He was being evasive. I thought he was just being his exuberant self, but yet he wasn't being exuberant. He was stressed and furtive, and blustering to hide it.”
“It definitely sounds as if he was hiding something,” Ben agreed. “And having none of Stafford’s paintings in his gallery?”
“That’s what he told me,” Autumn said.
“At a time when he knew the artist was going to be featured at the masked ball?”
Autumn sighed. “I know. I should have realized this earlier.”
Ben shook his head, turning to her with a sympathetic look. “It’s always more difficult to suspect people you know. Maybe he was being evasive for a different reason. Either way, we need to look more deeply into it.”
A feeling of festivity filled the island as they walked up to the high street. People were out late, enjoying the end of the weekend, and the fact that it was still dry. Autumn passed a few locals, and a few people that she identified as visitors. She greeted them all warmly. This was what Magnolia Bay was all about. A close, safe, intimate community where everyone knew and trusted each other.
And then, somebody had broken that trust.
She didn’t want to think about an art gallery owner betraying his position as one of the island’s most respected experts.
It was better just to think of how to make him acknowledge what he’d done. Not that this was going to be easy.
“Do you think we should call Officer Warring?” Autumn asked Ben, worrying that this already needed to be escalated to the level of the police. What if she and Ben on their own were not persuasive enough to make him confess? Worse still, what if they caused him to panic and he fled the island?
“What are the gallery’s opening hours?” Ben asked the question and then immediately looked on his phone to find them out. “We might still be in time. They have late opening hours on the last weekend of every month. Saturdays and Sundays, they’re open until seven p.m.”
“It’s already five to seven.” And the gallery was still half a mile up the hill. Autumn increased her pace, worrying what would happen if they missed him. She didn’t want any delays.
“I think the lights are still on.” Ben was powering up the hill beside her, also aware of the pressure of time.
“The lights are on,” Autumn said, a breathless minute later. “That’s only the first step, though. What are we going to say to him?”
“Can we come in casual?” Ben asked hopefully.
“Not a chance.” Autumn shook her head. “No way can we do that. He’s become more and more anxious and over the top every time he’s seen me. I have no idea what he’ll do this time.”
“He’s quite a talkative person,” Ben said. “At least, he was the last time I met him.”
“Yes. He’s extrovert and flamboyant. If we can get him talking, then even if he’s angry, he’ll probably start blustering, and if he blusters, then we might learn something important.”
“You think one of us should record him on our phone?” Ben asked.
Autumn thought about that, but shook her head. “Two of us listening will be fine. Having an open phone recording is just something else to worry about.”
“I think it’s one less thing to worry about,” Ben said. “We’re dealing with a potential criminal here. He could easily claim we’d conspired to frame him. A recording is finite, at least.”
Autumn glanced at him, considering his words.
“Okay,” she said. “But we should keep it hidden. If we march in there with a phone held out and tell him to start speaking, we’re not going to get what we want.”
“I’ll turn it to record now.”
Thanks to their speed walking, they were only a couple of hundred yards from the gallery now. The bright lights shone out into the darkening evening. With the businesses on either side already closed and dark, the gallery looked like a jewel.
“Right,” Ben said, navigating his phone menu without slowing down. “That’s done. It should work.”
He put the phone away in his jacket pocket.
“Testing, testing,” he said.
Autumn laughed, hearing more than a hint of nervousness in her tone. She felt really worked up about this. It seemed like their last chance at catching the killer, and she had no idea what they would do if it failed.
But it wouldn’t fail, she reminded herself. When it came down to it, a for profit motive had really been evident all along. It had just been a case of narrowing it down.
The glass door of the gallery was closed, but not locked. Autumn headed in, pushing it open and looking around.
It was silent in here, and she picked up the smell of the place, a clean smell of fine furniture polish, with an undertone of oil paint.
“Is he here?” Ben whispered.
“He surely must be locking the place up himself?” Autumn whispered back. Then, raising her voice, she called out, “Julian?”
Still no reply. The brightly lit gallery was empty. The spotlights shone down onto the artworks lining the pristine white walls. The floor bore evidence of the day’s traffic, with faint footprints smudging the tiles. The office at the end of the gallery had its door closed.
The silence was really spooking Autumn.
“Julian, it’s me,” she called. “Are you here? I need to ask you more questions.” She paused. “Sorry for the third visit. I thought of something very important to ask you.”
Still more silence. What was going on?
Autumn couldn’t help it. It might be her imagination, but unpleasant scenarios were looming in her mind. Scenarios where yet another body was found. It was surely impossible – but maybe it wasn’t. There might be complexities that she had no idea of.
“Maybe we should knock on the door?” she asked.
"You don't think we should call the police?" Ben replied in a low voice, practically a whisper. Something about this strange, desolated scenario was making her want to whisper, too.
“What are we going to report? An empty gallery?”
Gathering her courage together, she headed to the door and knocked twice, sharply.
No answer. Her stomach twisted.
“Julian?” she called out.
Then, taking a deep breath, she turned the door handle and opened it wide, and stepped inside the office.
She looked around, feeling her heart pound in her chest as Ben hurried in behind her. The office was empty. It looked almost the same as it had done when Julian had invited her in earlier, only there were less papers on the desk, and the visitor’s chair was set neatly straight, instead of being at an angle. The bright paintings and photos on the walls were all perfectly aligned.
“Maybe he has packed up for the day?” she asked. It looked that way.
“Julian?” she shouted loudly, causing Ben to jump.
“Sorry,” she said in a normal voice. But now, Ben’s attention was on the door behind Julian’s office desk.
“Maybe we should check in there – just in case?”
“In… case?” Autumn echoed, hearing every eventuality in her own tone.
“What’s in there? Do you know?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s just a filing room.”
“Well, maybe we should go make sure.”
Autumn felt as if the distance to that other door was a long, long way. She’d never been round this side of the desk before. This was where Julian himself sat, doing his work, surveying his gallery. But what else had he done, and what had gone wrong?
She put her hand on the door handle. It wasn’t locked. It turned, and she pushed it open, smelling the mustiness that filtered out. This was definitely a room where paper was stored. It was totally dark, but Ben found a light switch on the wall outside. He flicked it, and the light went on.
Autumn walked in, looking at the stacks of files, the old paperwork that must go back years. There was a big cabinet near the end, that blocked off the space beyond, and a window behind it, with the blinds firmly drawn.
Determinedly, as if she had to rule out every possible place that Julian could be.
As Autumn and Ben got halfway down the narrow room, two things happened in swift succession.
Firstly, the door behind them slammed with such suddenness that both of them jumped.
And then, the overhead light went out, plunging the place into blackness.