notes, returned the file of newspapers and went out to her car. As she drove back to the studio, her thoughts revolved around the reward offered for information leading to the recovery of the stolen gems.
She parked the Fiat and hurried around the corner of the house, knowing she was late for dinner. She saw Sherry on the lawn, crouched beside the pond and trying to hook out the fish with her paw.
“Sherry! Stop that!”
The Persian looked around guiltily as Miss Eaton crossed the grass. Goldfish swam peacefully in green water, big fat goldfish....
An old Sam Pike novel, Shroud for a Stripper , flashed into her mind. Sam was on the trail of a ransom in emeralds and no one seemed to know where they were hidden. He was interviewing one of the suspects....
She was stacked like a cardsharp’s deck—and kept goldfish?
I reached into the tank and scooped out one of the smaller fish lying on the bottom. The reddish-gold body squirmed in my hand and I felt something hard under the flesh. I took out my knife and slit open the fish—a sparkling green emerald tumbled out.
Mary-Jo came at me like a hopped-up tarantula, and I stuck the knife in her....
Miss Eaton knelt on the grass beside the pond and thrust her hand underwater. She caught one of the fish and felt it gently. Soft. She put it back and tried another, and another.
Beside her, Sherry purred in ecstasy. Miss Eaton had probably tried most of the goldfish before she gave up. No diamonds.
Sherry looked at her with a disgusted expression.
Miss Eaton arrived late for dinner, which she had alone.
“Sorry I’m late, Joyce. I had to go into Penzance. Where is everyone?”
“That’s all right, Miss. Val and her husband are upstairs. Mister Keith is in the studio, giving one of his demonstrations.”
“That might be interesting,” Miss Eaton said.
After her meal, she took her coffee into the studio and found an empty stool at the back of the room.
Parry had a medium-sized canvas on an easel and oil paints laid out on a small glass-topped table. On a second easel was a sketch—squared-up—of the cottages by the harbour.
As she settled herself, Parry was saying, “Obviously I don’t have time to carry this through to a finish in one session. What I propose to show you is how to start off building up a studio picture from your holiday sketch. Something you can try at home on winter evenings.”
“This is an old canvas I’m using again. I just slapped a coat of primer on and squared-up. It’s something you can do to save buying new canvas all the time. So....”
With a stick of charcoal, he drew in the main lines of the composition.
“Nothing too elaborate. Just guide lines to place the subject. Now, first of all, I want to get rid of the white—that helps to relate tones. The overall colour of the sky is blue, so I use cobalt with plenty of turps and a large brush.
“Using the same blue but adding a touch of black, and a dash of white I lay in the cliffs. For the cottages I add an ochre.”
Was he looking at her? Miss Eaton wondered. Surely he didn’t object to her attending his demonstration? No, hardly; he was smiling as he worked.
“Now we have the canvas covered,” Parry continued, “and the overall tone makes it easier to work on. I’m using a smaller brush to sketch in the cottages. It’s worth taking some time over this, to get your drawing right.”
She studied the faces of his students as he worked. They appeared absorbed in the lesson. No one was worrying about her, or George Bullard, or his killer.
“Next, block in the main masses, light against dark, dark against light. Use the same colours, but thicker now. A hint of pink in the cottage walls. A touch of white to indicate cloud and break up the sky and show an aerial perspective. Some dark in the foreground—this also helps with perspective.”
He paused. “That’s as far as I’ll take it this time. Obviously I can continue later and probably will. But it’s enough to
She parked the Fiat and hurried around the corner of the house, knowing she was late for dinner. She saw Sherry on the lawn, crouched beside the pond and trying to hook out the fish with her paw.
“Sherry! Stop that!”
The Persian looked around guiltily as Miss Eaton crossed the grass. Goldfish swam peacefully in green water, big fat goldfish....
An old Sam Pike novel, Shroud for a Stripper , flashed into her mind. Sam was on the trail of a ransom in emeralds and no one seemed to know where they were hidden. He was interviewing one of the suspects....
She was stacked like a cardsharp’s deck—and kept goldfish?
I reached into the tank and scooped out one of the smaller fish lying on the bottom. The reddish-gold body squirmed in my hand and I felt something hard under the flesh. I took out my knife and slit open the fish—a sparkling green emerald tumbled out.
Mary-Jo came at me like a hopped-up tarantula, and I stuck the knife in her....
Miss Eaton knelt on the grass beside the pond and thrust her hand underwater. She caught one of the fish and felt it gently. Soft. She put it back and tried another, and another.
Beside her, Sherry purred in ecstasy. Miss Eaton had probably tried most of the goldfish before she gave up. No diamonds.
Sherry looked at her with a disgusted expression.
Miss Eaton arrived late for dinner, which she had alone.
“Sorry I’m late, Joyce. I had to go into Penzance. Where is everyone?”
“That’s all right, Miss. Val and her husband are upstairs. Mister Keith is in the studio, giving one of his demonstrations.”
“That might be interesting,” Miss Eaton said.
After her meal, she took her coffee into the studio and found an empty stool at the back of the room.
Parry had a medium-sized canvas on an easel and oil paints laid out on a small glass-topped table. On a second easel was a sketch—squared-up—of the cottages by the harbour.
As she settled herself, Parry was saying, “Obviously I don’t have time to carry this through to a finish in one session. What I propose to show you is how to start off building up a studio picture from your holiday sketch. Something you can try at home on winter evenings.”
“This is an old canvas I’m using again. I just slapped a coat of primer on and squared-up. It’s something you can do to save buying new canvas all the time. So....”
With a stick of charcoal, he drew in the main lines of the composition.
“Nothing too elaborate. Just guide lines to place the subject. Now, first of all, I want to get rid of the white—that helps to relate tones. The overall colour of the sky is blue, so I use cobalt with plenty of turps and a large brush.
“Using the same blue but adding a touch of black, and a dash of white I lay in the cliffs. For the cottages I add an ochre.”
Was he looking at her? Miss Eaton wondered. Surely he didn’t object to her attending his demonstration? No, hardly; he was smiling as he worked.
“Now we have the canvas covered,” Parry continued, “and the overall tone makes it easier to work on. I’m using a smaller brush to sketch in the cottages. It’s worth taking some time over this, to get your drawing right.”
She studied the faces of his students as he worked. They appeared absorbed in the lesson. No one was worrying about her, or George Bullard, or his killer.
“Next, block in the main masses, light against dark, dark against light. Use the same colours, but thicker now. A hint of pink in the cottage walls. A touch of white to indicate cloud and break up the sky and show an aerial perspective. Some dark in the foreground—this also helps with perspective.”
He paused. “That’s as far as I’ll take it this time. Obviously I can continue later and probably will. But it’s enough to
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