A Fit of Tempera by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online Page B

into the living room.
    Judith watched Renie fill and pump the lanterns. “I was sort of surprised when you greeted Dewitt Dixon like an old college chum. You’ve never mentioned him to me.”
    â€œProbably not,” murmured Renie, waiting for the first lantern to catch. “He’s one of those people I run into at art and design shows. Most of them are a pain in the butt, but I have to be nice just in case they turn into potential clients. It drives me crazy. Being nice, I mean.” The lantern flared and she nodded approval at her handiwork. “Dewitt’s a real stuffed shirt. Big bucks, good taste, dedicated art buff. But he’s still a pain.”
    â€œAn urbane pain,” Judith noted. Renie didn’t reply; she was concentrating on not setting fire to her fingers.
    Five minutes later, the potatoes were frying, the steaks were sizzling, the salad reposed in the icebox, and Judith and Renie had poured fresh drinks. Two Coleman lanterns hung from sturdy hooks in the rafters. In the kitchen, a bracketed brass lamp fixture glowed on the wall. Darkness was settling in over the cabin, and the only sounds were the rippling river, the crackling fire, and the tremor of the leaves in the gentle spring breeze. It would have been a perfect setting for repose—had a dead body not been lying two hundred feet away.
    As if to remind the cousins that the world was seriously flawed, sirens wailed out on the highway. Judith and Renie looked at each other.
    â€œThe sheriff?” Judith turned but didn’t get up from her place on the sagging sofa.
    â€œIt’s about time,” Renie replied. “Maybe he won’t bother us until we’re done with dinner.”
    Judith didn’t respond. The sirens drew closer. But before they stopped, she heard the sound of footsteps on the porch. Startled, she almost spilled her drink.
    Renie got up out of the mohair armchair that had once sat in their grandparents’ front parlor. “Maybe it’s Iris,” she said, crossing the room. Cautiously, she opened the top half of the Dutch door.
    Judith was right behind her. The balding middle-aged man with the mustache appeared much more frightened than the cousins. He all but cringed when Renie asked him to identify himself.
    â€œClive Silvanus, at your service,” he said with more than a hint of a Southern accent. “Good Lordy-Lord, isn’t this a d-d-dreadful day?”
    Renie opened the other half of the door. “You got that right. Come on in, or are you armed and dangerous?”
    â€œAh’m t-t-terrified,” Clive Silvanus replied, scooting across the threshold. Indeed, Judith noted that his teeth seemed to be chattering. He was neatly, if blandly, dressed in a tan sport coat, beige slacks, and a brown tie. The white dress shirt seemed at odds with his saddle shoes. Upon closer inspection under the lantern light, Judith saw that Clive Silvanus had soft brown eyes, a small, soft mouth, and a very soft chin. His pale skin looked soft, too, despite the soft brown mustache. Judith wasn’t surprised to see him collapse onto the sofa.
    â€œIt’s th-th-the end of the world. As Ah know it,” he added, eyes rolled back into his head. “Who could have foreseen this d-d-dire d-d-day?”
    Nearby, the sirens stopped. Presumably, the sheriff had arrived at Riley Tobias’s house and studio. Judith pretended she didn’t notice the police activity, lest her acknowledgment cause Clive Silvanus to get the vapors.
    â€œYes,” she agreed, holding her scotch against her breast. “It’s pretty terrible. Would you like a drink?”
    With his head lolling against the floral pattern of Auntie Vance’s old sofa, Silvanus let out a little gasp. “Strong drink! Oh, my, yes, bourbon and branch water, if you p-p-please. It will do me good.”
    Renie also rolled her eyes, but for a different reason. “It’s my bourbon and I only