Portrait of Deceit: A Kira Logan Mystery

By J.C. Andrew

Our beloved champion from Arizona, Kira Logan, takes on another murder mystery in the latest thriller series by Joan Andrew. Her latest project in Phoenix brings her closer to home. She is commissioned to paint the portrait of her friend from an exercise class, Bonnie Barl

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Andrew
• Release date: Oct 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781955531337

Book preview

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

BOOKS BY J.C. ANDREW

Painted Death

Kira Logan Is asked to design and oversee the painting of a mural in Raven Creek, Alaska. Problems arise the day she arrives and continue to intensify until three people have met their death. To her horror, Kira learns she is intended to be victim number four.

Homicide in Bronze

Kira Logan has gone to Colinas Verde, New Mexico, at the request of descendants of the two doctors who founded the local hospital. Their children, friends, and a woman with a long-standing grudge against the doctors, conspire against Kira to end the project…or her.

Portrait of Deceit

This time Kira Logan stays home in Singletree, Arizona. The two owners of a Phoenix realty company have asked her to do portraits of themselves and their wives. One of the wives is trapped in an abusive relationship and wants out. First an attempted, then a successful murder, baffles the police and almost brings an end the completion of all Kira’s work.

Final Critique

What could be more relaxing than a week spent painting in the country? Kira Logan learns there are many alternatives when her class arrives with its boiling undercurrents of resentment and pure hatred. An attempted murder goes wrong, then a body is found at the base of a cliff. Kira finally helps the killer unexpectedly get the punishment deserved.

Dedicated to

the thousands of women

who have experienced abuse

from the men in their lives.

PROLOGUE

Frank wondered if someone had filled his head with fluff. His thoughts seemed to come confusedly, as through a filter. He’d never felt like this before. His stomach was cramping as he headed for his office. The red gummies he’d eaten were doing strange things inside him. He must be more upset about his family than he realized to have his nerves do this to his stomach. He couldn’t concentrate and to top it off, by the time he neared his office, his vision was failing. He felt awful and was suddenly afraid his mind was fading. How could it be the gummies affecting him? He’d eaten them many times before and never had a similar reaction.

Maybe he should stop by his doctor’s office. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He turned off on a side street intending to go to Doctor Swanson’s office for help. He felt so tired that when he finished the turn, he steered his car into the gutter at the side of the street and, without realizing it, fell asleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there when he heard a knocking on the car window. He slowly looked up and saw a policeman, looking more worried than angry.

Frank noticed the car was still running. What was he doing here? Groggily he opened the window.

Pardon me, sir. The officer said. I’m officer Weston. Are you all right? He was looking carefully at Frank’s eyes.

Frank vaguely wondered if he was looking for signs of opioid poisoning. Whatever was wrong with him…couldn’t be that. He never touched the stuff. It was…too dangerous. Too many people…used drug these days. Frank mumbled an unintelligible answer to the officer’s question.

The officer asked, May I see your license, please. Your car has been here long enough to worry the neighbors. They called in a complaint.

Frank clumsily patted his chest and pant’s pockets. Fumbling at the clasp of his seat belt, he released it after two tries. He grunted at the effort to roll to his left and remove the billfold from his back pocket. He tried to look through it to find his license, but gave up in disgust and pushed the whole thing at the officer.

As he took the billfold from Frank’s hand, the officer mentioned, Your hand seems unusually hot. He looked again at his eyes. and your eyes are dilated more than normal, he added.

Frank’s speech was garbled. The words didn’t want to come out. Don’t know what happened. Ate candy…about hour ago…what time’s it?…I feel awful. He was fighting to stay awake. I wanted…see my doctor…stopped here. Don’t remember…

The officer was taking notes from Frank’s driver’s license. When he finished, he returned the billfold and asked, Where did the candy come from?

Don’t remember. The billfold slipped from Frank’s hand to drop on the floor of the car. Frank’s head was rolling uncontrollably on his shoulders. He was quiet for a long moment. Finally he managed to say, It came…my office. Giving it…gift to someone.

Who is this person you gave the candy too? Do you remember the name?

At first Frank was argumentative. Why you asking me these questions? Who are you? Let me out of here. As the officer patiently waited, a more responsive, calmer reply followed, but Frank’s answer was slow in coming. She’s artist. Her name? He closed his eyes trying to concentrate. Her name? Kira…Kira Logan.

CHAPTER 1

Bonnie and I came from the exercise room, and freshened up in the women’s locker room. When I looked in the mirror I saw an exhausted middle forties woman with medium blond hair. I dried my face and arms with my towel and exclaimed, That woman never gives us a break. She worked us hard today. I wonder where this spa finds these amazons to lead the exercise classes.

Bonnie grunted her agreement. I’m worn out, too. She rubbed her towel through her damp, dark curly hair. Shaking her water bottle she complained, This bottle of water is almost empty. I’m going to stop for an iced tea at the deli on my way home. Want to join me, Kira?

My name is Kira Logan. I’m an artist. I’d returned to the Phoenix area only a few days ago. The last few months I’d spent most of my time in Colinas Verde, New Mexico, working on two bronze statues to be installed at the entrance to their hospital.

I’d met Bonnie Mason over a year ago in the exercise class at the local spa. She was a little shorter and about ten years older than I, but we found we had similar interests and we’d quickly become fast friends. I’d love to join you now. I could certainly use an extra glass of iced tea, maybe even a salad

I took my SUV, Bonnie her Lexus, to the deli she’d suggested. On arriving, we chose a shaded table on the porch. The smell of fruits, vegetables and fresh baked breads tempted me to enlarge my order. But we restrained ourselves and ordered two teas and salads. The waitress quickly returned with our food.

I needed this, Bonnie sighed, as she rapidly drank half her tea. I try to keep hydrated, but this Arizona air is so dry, especially during this hot summer season. The weather forecaster last night said the humidity was six percent. I suppose it was the same in New Mexico when you were there, I mean just as dry? I bet you’re glad to be home again. How did your job there go?

It was a greater challenge than I expected. There were a few people that worked to stop me, but the project turned out fine in the end. While working there I’d been plagued by people who wanted to stop the entire sculpture project any way they could, not stopping short of methods that might lead to my injury or death. They thought the murder of two people as well as the life threatening injury of a third was only a minor inconvenience. My mind momentarily focused on the dangers I’d dealt with on that trip. I decided this wasn’t the time to tell her what had happened there. Instead I re lied, It’s nice to be back home again. I missed my studio, even the exercise classes. It’s amazing how quickly a person can get out of shape, although climbing up and down on a sculpture stand is certainly an excellent form of exercise.

Bonnie nodded agreement. My legs hurt just thinking about all that climbing you had to do. Speaking of working, what new projects or outings are you planning now? Anything interesting? Another sculpture, perhaps?

I’d thought I’d do something different. Producing large sculptures was exhausting. Right now, I wanted to go out somewhere and do some paintings—small stuff—just to relax. I glanced at the people walking outside the railing of the deck where we sat. I was attracted by the variety of their faces. Look at the wonderful mix of people in our world, all those interesting faces; young, old, light and dark. I love the way the changing light and shadows play over their features. Fascinating. Maybe I’ll do a few portraits, if I can line some up.

I’d forgotten you painted portraits professionally as well as doing sculptures. Until we met, I hadn’t realized artists did so many different things.

I smiled, I know several well-known sculptors that paint as well as sculpt. It’s a matter of ideas and seeing, then translating what you envision into marks on canvas or shapes in clay. It’s comparable to people who speak several languages. They can express similar ideas but use different words. The various mediums I work in aren’t really as unrelated as one would suppose. They simply express ideas in a different way.

Hesitantly, Bonnie said, Carlton, my husband, has been talking about having a portrait painted of me. I haven’t pushed it because I didn’t know an artist who could do one we would both like. I’d forgotten about your work. You were out of town at the time. She nodded assent to the waitress when she offered to refill her glass with iced tea. I’d forgotten you did anything other than your paintings and the sculptures. I’d overlooked the portraits you’ve painted. I didn’t recall seeing them at your shows. I imagine they go to the people who commission them.

"One of the handicaps of being a portrait painter is that your best work often disappears into someone’s home or office, and is seldom seen by the general public. That’s why I put photos of my portrait work on my website. My Kira Logan Artist website is about the only way future clients can see what I do. I’ve had a few commissions come that way, so I will continue displaying examples of my work there."

It’s a bummer, not having your work seen. Bonnie took another sip of her iced tea and sighed with pleasure. If it’s okay with you, I’ll tell Carlton I spoke with you today and you might be interested in doing my portrait. You are, aren’t you?

I don’t know. It might be an interesting challenge. I’ve never professionally painted a close friend. Never charged them for it I mean. If you didn’t like what I did, we both might find it rather awkward.

I’ve seen your work. I’m not worried. If I promise to say if I don’t like the painting before you’re finished, and I’m sure that won’t happen, will you consider doing one of me?

That’s a rather unusual arrangement, but yes, we could proceed with that agreement.

I suppose Carlton’s partner will want to have a painting of his wife done by you as soon as he hears of mine. He hates to fall behind in the ‘one-ups-man game’. Whatever Carlton has, Frank Thornton wants. He’s a strange man.

That seems a weird motivation for having a portrait made. He might be difficult to work with, but I suppose it’s his wife I’d be working with. I wonder what she’s like? However, if he really seems interested, I’d appreciate your mentioning my paintings to him. I could decide after we meet whether I want to work with him. You and Carlton can look on my website to see what I do. There are quite a few examples and my phone number is included. You or your husband can call if you’re interested. You’d be a great person to paint. Then, laughing, I added, I could paint you all sweaty after exercising.

You have to be kidding. There’s no way I’d let you do that.

Sobering, I added, Painting a friend like you could be a difficult but enjoyable project. Working with your ‘strange’ friend Frank, or his wife, if they also want a painting and I decide to do one, would be an interesting experience.

CHAPTER 2

Several days later, I was stretching small canvases in preparation for some plein air, or outdoor painting. I’d assembled quite a few maps of Arizona and studied them to find possible locations to paint some of the state’s spectacular red rock scenery. I hoped Bonnie had spoken to her husband about my work and they had looked up my website. However, I didn’t intend to waste time sitting around, doing nothing until they made a decision. Therefore, I’d consulted the maps. Bonnie’s husband, Carlton, called me. After introducing himself, he got right to the object of his call. Bonnie told me how much she likes your work. We looked at your web site and were impressed. Together, we decided you are just the person to do her portrait, and wondered if you’d be willing to stop by our house some day soon. You could explain the process and tell us how much you charge.

Carlton continued, This is the first time I’ve been involved in something like this, so I don’t know what I don’t know. We can show you several places where we’ve considered hanging her portrait. Bonnie would appreciate your ideas on what she should wear for the painting. She has plenty of clothes to choose from but would like to hear your ideas. You can help us decide on the best size of the painting, tell us how long you think the entire process will take, and anything else we need to be aware of.

I was pleased by the possibility of a chance to paint something other than the red rocks around the Sedona area. The rocks are a pleasure to paint, but portraits are more challenging. With the rocks, it doesn’t matter if I change them to make an arrangement to please myself. With portraits, I have to be accurate as well as kind. Some flaws or wrinkles can be downplayed or softened by careful arranging of the light, without affecting the final look of the painting. I’ll be delighted to explain all the ins and outs of the process, I replied. Would Thursday be good for you or would I be dragging you away from your office too early on a work day?

Carlton laughed, I’m a realtor, so my office hours are always flexible, and now-a-days I do much of my work at home. Thursday sounds great. How about three thirty? Even if I go into work, I should be home by then.

I’ll be there. I was glad he had called. One person may be comfortable with my work while their partner may prefer another artist. Its just part of the art business. I’m pleased both of you like my work. I’m looking forward to the opportunity to do Bonnie’s painting. It will be a pleasure to paint someone I already know and like.

The Barlows lived in Carefree, Arizona, not far from my home. The roads had been recently repaved and the scenery was attractive. Large and small rounded boulders dotted the land. Growing between them were saguaros, Manzanita, teddy bear cholla, hedgehogs, and various types of prickly pear. Broken black lava rocks were scattered at random over the empty areas in between. The rocks were typical of the area, although I had yet to see a landform that looked like a volcano. Interrupting the areas of wild growth were runoff areas of sand covered washes. Where they met the road, the highway department placed dips in the highway to allow the water to pass. I liked the natural look and thus enjoyed my drive.

Judging from my destination, Carlton had at least a forty-five minute commute to his office. I knew I would quickly tire of driving that distance twice a day, but perhaps he didn’t. Realtors must be used to driving their clients around in traffic. It was an inevitable part of their business. I was glad I didn’t have his job. Coping with the heavy Phoenix traffic every day would drive me nuts.

The map app on my smart phone helped me find their home. They must have been looking for me, because as soon as I drove up, a man I supposed to be Carlton, came out to greet me. He was dressed in a casual shirt and lightweight trousers rather than in business clothes as I’d expected, and looked to be in his late fifties. His face shone with pleasure as he greeted me.

Bonnie waited at the front door to welcome me. Although we’d often met at the spa, this was the first time I’d been to her house. It was a large, adobe style home, not ostentatious, only comfortable and welcoming. The shape of the house was irregular, producing recesses for hidden gardens and private seating areas. The yard was full of agave, prickly pear, yucca, barrel and fishhook cactus, with a few Manzanita trees for shade. The gravel most people in Arizona used as ground cover looked as though it had been recently raked.

As we walked inside, Carlton asked, Can I get you some coffee or tea, or would you prefer something cool to drink?

Tea with ice would be just right, I replied.

After providing everyone with a drink of their choice, Carlton suggested we sit in the sunroom. The room faced west so it was well lighted by the afternoon sun. There was plenty of comfortable seating, with sofas and chairs of a contemporary southwest flair.

Once we were settled, he said, As I told you on the phone, we’re new to this kind of thing. We have all sorts of questions as to what we have to do, how long it takes, and lots of other things we don’t know enough to ask questions about.

I suggested, Why don’t you tell me where you want to put the painting and what you want the painting to say about Bonnie.

Carlton indicated the place they’d thought the painting might hang. It was in the sunroom where we were sitting.

I warned him, You can put it there if you prefer, but you will need to keep the direct sun off of it. Some paint colors are subject to change in too bright light.

Carlton looked uncertainly at Bonnie. We hadn’t considered that. We’ll need to talk about the problem.

Bonnie looked around the room, then said there would be enough afternoon light in the room, even if they had to close a curtain occasionally. The sun changes with the seasons. Most of the year the light won’t be a problem, as it doesn’t shine directly on the place we wanted to put the painting.

We talked about what I charged for my portraits and finally came to an agreement we could both accept. This seemed as good a time as any to take out my notebook and tape measure to measure and record the wall space for the painting.

As to why I want this portrait, Carlton looked affectionately at his wife. I’ve wanted a painting of Bonnie for quite some time. Even at 56, her inner beauty shines through her eyes and rests gently on her face. She has been my love and best friend since before we were married and a wonderful mother to our boys, Byron and Alan.

I was touched by the obvious love between the two and almost speechless for a moment. I finally said, I can’t think of a better reason for a portrait.

When it came time to talk about the clothes Bonnie might wear, Carlton said that was up to his wife and me He had no intention of dictating what she should choose. The final choice was ours.

This was a good time to see what clothes we’d have to work with. We went to her bedroom, which contained a king sized bed with a massive headboard and a southwest patterned spread. The night stands and chests matched the look. We crossed the room to the closet to look at the possibilities of clothes for the painting. Carlton had been correct, Bonnie had plenty of clothes to go through. Apparently, Bonnie and Carlton had earlier discussed three possible outfits. They all seemed appropriate for a painting. I looked at them carefully before making my choice and chose the one with the more interesting neckline. It was simple but had some folds across it I thought would make for a more vibrant painting.

Back in the sunroom, Bonnie told Carlton the choice we’d made. I was slightly surprised when Bonnie continued, I wonder what Patricia will wear? She’s Frank’s wife, Bonnie said in an aside to me, If Frank has her portrait done, will it be her choice of clothes, or Frank’s? I suppose he’ll tell her what she likes. He seldom gives her a choice in anything.

Carlton looked up and said, That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? We don’t really know that’s true. She usually looks well dressed when I see her.

She may be well dressed, but why does she wear so many long sleeved blouses? Bonnie asked. What is she hiding? I’ve seen Frank and Patricia together. They may seem to get along well, but he is obviously the dominant one of the couple. She doesn’t say a lot when with him and seems to look to him for approval whenever she does speak. I’ve never heard them argue, or even disagree.

That didn’t seem like a balanced marriage to me. I couldn’t imagine a woman would be contented in a situation where she was so controlled by her husband. That sounds like an uncomfortable relationship, I observed.

Their children are very subdued, Bonnie continued. Their daughter, Stephanie, lacks focus in her life, at least that’s what Patricia says. She also says her grades have recently dropped sharply. According to Patricia, their boy, Dale, is very withdrawn, almost sullen. If he were my boy, I’d be worried about him. No one that age should be so quiet. Carlton looked as though he wanted Bonnie to stop talking about his partner’s family. He was frowning when he suggested they forget that family’s problems and instead talk about her painting.

However, once started on the subject Bonnie seemed unwilling