A Fit of Tempera by Mary Daheim Page A

Vodka. Scotch. Rum. A single beer can.
    â€œI don’t get it,” said Renie, joining Judith by the opening in the floor. “Why didn’t Riley put these in the trash?”
    Judith replaced the board. “I don’t know. Lazy? I always thought of Riley as a beer drinker, but there’s only one can in here.”
    â€œI never thought about him as any kind of a serious drinker,” Renie said. “Still, I haven’t seen much of him in recent years.”
    Judith steeled herself to take another look at Riley’s outline. “He fell face-forward. See, there are skid marks in the paint. He must have been working at the easel when he was strangled. Interesting.”
    â€œYes, interesting, gruesome, ghastly. I may soon puke. Let’s go, coz.” Renie was heading for the open window.
    But Judith was still browsing. Kneeling on the hearth of the big stone fireplace, she reached into the grate and pulled out a crumpled ball of paper.
    â€œI’ll bet this is what Riley was throwing away when we arrived yesterday. I’m surprised the undersheriff didn’t check it out.”
    â€œI’m not,” Renie replied with a touch of impatience. “What are you expecting? A death threat?”
    Judith had smoothed the wrinkled paper, which consisted of a single, typed sheet of plain white stationery and an envelope addressed to Riley Tobias. The return bore the surname of Tobias as well, and the address was a rural route number in Old Bennington, Vermont.
    â€œIt’s a letter from somebody named Yancey,” Judith said, ignoring Renie’s remark. “His brother, I bet.” Shescanned the first two paragraphs, which included an excuse for not writing sooner, news about a minor car accident presumably involving a teenaged son, and mention of a family outing to St. Catherine Lake. Judith read the third and final paragraph aloud:
    â€œâ€˜Honest to God, Riley, I don’t know what to say about that painting you sent me for my birthday. What are you trying to do these days? You always say you want me to be candid, and usually that’s not hard. Your work—in general—has been brilliant. But this thing looks like you tap-danced on it. With clogs. Go back to your old stuff, kid. I’m putting this one in the garage. Peace—Yancey.’”
    Renie’s impatience had flown. “Wow! He took the words right out of my mouth. You think that’s Riley’s brother?”
    Judith nodded, stood up, and put the letter in her pocket. “It must be. The name on the envelope is Tobias, and who else but a brother would be so blunt?”
    Renie grinned. “A cousin?”
    Judith grinned back. “Good point. However, we’ll assume that brotherly love didn’t extend to Riley’s new style.”
    â€œRiley’s a generous guy,” Renie mused. “He sends Yancey a painting for his birthday; he gives one away to you.” Her brown eyes swept around the studio. “What’s here? A dozen canvases? Not a huge inventory. There might be more in the house, though.”
    Judith agreed. The cousins also agreed to abandon the ladder, as well as their plans for the gutters. After taking the water back to the cabin, they struck out for the Woodchuck Auto Court. Crossing the highway, Judith and Renie simultaneously saw that the white Mercedes was still parked at the auto court.
    â€œSo Dewitt Dixon didn’t leave after all,” Judith remarked as they reached the tarmac.
    Kennedy Morton came out of the office, followed by two redheaded children somewhat older than the trio the cousins had seen the previous day. This time, Judith coulddistinguish between the sexes, mainly because the girl had a huge yellow satin ribbon in her hair and the boy was naked.
    â€œThor!” Kennedy Morton made a pass at swatting his son’s bare behind. “You get in there and put some clothes on! Just because you got a day off from