Free A Ghost to Die For by Elizabeth Eagan-Cox Page A

and she no longer cared about it. But she added that I had to be there at eight, sharp.”
    “Good, how about three minutes early, we are here.” Alex drove into a winding driveway. We came to a stop in front of an elegant beach estate. The large home was soft peach-hued stucco in the California Spanish Colonial style that had been so popular in the 1940s.
    Alex pressed the doorbell and a maid costumed in white answered. We followed her into a lovely sun-drenched living room. A very elderly woman was seated and then she stood and introduced herself. I knew by the voice, that she was Audrey Sinclair.
    Audrey was a stark contradiction to the understated elegance of her home. She wore a fuchsia pink tunic that had glittery Bingo cards plastered across the front, underneath the tunic, she wore spandex skinny jeans in lime green. Her hair was obviously a bleached-platinum and her makeup would have taken first prize for the best ghoulish Halloween party mask. The overall effect was of an ostrich wearing bright pink feathers and stage makeup with purple eye shadow, extra long false eyelashes and bright orange lipstick, on a face that was unnaturally tan and deeply wrinkled. A one-word description of cartoonish came to my mind, and even that was an understatement.
    “Mr. Alexander Blackthorne,” Audrey screeched. “I’ve so desired to make your acquaintance. When your friend telephoned me and said you were investigating the Ruby Red files, I knew that finally, the world would stand and pay attention to my stories about her. All this time, and to think you have an interest in my writing. Ha, it’s about time, I’d say.” Audrey punctuated her statement with a loud cackle.
    Alex was embarrassed, but he handled it smoothly. Okay, so I forgot to tell him that I had to drop his name to get Audrey to agree to this meeting. But Alex recovered and slammed the ball into my court.
    “Actually, it is I who am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Sinclair. Your files will be of priceless assistance to our research regarding the life of Ruby Red. You see, my friend, here, Shannon Delaney, is the one who is the real sleuth in this matter.” Alex had his hand on the small of my back and with his last word, he nudged me forward.
    “Yes, Miss Sinclair, it is gracious of you to share your information. I know you said you have a busy morning planned, so, not wanting to take any more of your time than necessary, were you able to locate your files on Ruby Red?”
    “Of course I did. I’m old, not feeble.” Audrey ignored me. She reached behind her, grabbed a file folder and turned around and offered it to Alex. From that point on, I did not exist. And Audrey’s attention did not waver from her fixated puppy love gaze upon Alex’s face. I tuned them out. I could hear her screeching and Alex’s polite and calm answers, when he could get a word in edgewise. But mostly, I just let my eyes wander over the room. And that was when I spied the painting.
    It was positioned on the wall, six feet away, behind Alex. I walked over to it. Could this really be a genuine Auguste Renoir? The scene of two women at a cafe table in a French market square looked vaguely familiar. The scene had Renoir’s characteristic stamp of one woman depicted with red hair, she was leaning close over the table, sharing a chat with the other woman, a brunette beauty. The red-haired women’s face was in three-quarter profile, while the other woman faced the onlooker. The era was the late 1800s, and the market square backdrop behind them was typical of the Renoir Impressionism style, busy merchants displaying their wares. And in the far away backdrop was a body of water, it could be a calm sea, a lake or a river. This scene nagged at my brain, it was so familiar to me. I leaned into the painting to see if I could discern a signature, and that was when I heard Audrey squawk.
    “Don’t get too close to that, missy. You might damage it with your breath.”
    I spun a