Vicious by Debra Webb Page A

actually didn’t have an alibi for the time of the murders since the ME had estimated time of death at between two and four Monday morning. “When did you last see Miss Templeton?”
    His brow furrowed in careful concentration. “She took one of my classes last spring. Until two weeks ago, I hadn’t seen her since the class ended in April.”
    “How did you come to see her two weeks ago?”
    He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees and folded his hands together. He had blue eyes. His hair was close cropped and brown, she decided, with a scattering of gray. No wedding ring. No jewelry at all.
    “She’d completed a new painting and she wanted my opinion.”
    “Did Miss Templeton hope to become a full time artist one day?”
    Ellis laughed. “Many have that hope. It’s the misery all artists suffer, I’m afraid.”
    “What was your opinion of her work?”
    “Lisa beautifully captured the emotions she kept bottled up for most of her life. In fact, I was so enthralled I purchased the painting for the gallery.” He shook his head sadly. “Would you like to see it?”
    “I would.” Jess shoved her pad and pencil into her bag and followed Ellis deeper into the gallery. Lori, who’d apparently already spotted the painting, had paused to admire the work.
    “Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Ellis said.
    “It is,” Lori agreed, stepping aside for Jess to have a closer look.
    Jess adjusted her glasses and considered the work. Nude lovers, women, in the midst of a sexual act. The affection and ecstasy captured was undeniably compelling. The crisp colors and perfect brushstrokes conveyed the sensual moves and setting as if the scene were in motion. But it was one of the faces that told Jess more than anything else. Stacey Jernigan had been wrong about her friend.
    “It’s lovely.” She turned to the man whose pride for his pupil’s work literally beamed from his face. “Is this the first painting you’ve purchased from Lisa?”
    “I rarely purchase a painting from a student.” He shrugged. “Most are just learning to put their feelings on the canvas. The work, though perhaps fairly well done, isn’t generally extraordinary enough to fit in here.”
    “But this one did?” Jess indicated Templeton’s painting. “Because she needed money?”
    “I don’t make a habit of buying art because the artist needs money,” he chided. “I made an exception with this one because for the first time, Lisa allowed all the emotion she’d kept inside to spill onto the canvas. She was in love with another woman and she wanted the world to know. She wasn’t hiding anymore. That decision elevated her work from the so-so to the remarkable. It’s that ability to convey ones deepest emotions that defines a master artist.”
    “Do you know who the other woman in the painting is?” The profile was not clear enough for Jess to be certain. The long flowing dark blond hair could have been Alisha Burgess’s, Templeton’s housemate, but the eyes were closed and there just wasn’t enough facial detail to make that determination. The other woman was obviously Lisa Templeton.
    “Lisa had a secret lover,” Ellis explained. “She opened up to me after class one evening. She didn’t want anyone to know. I urged her to stop hiding her true feelings and this was her way of coming out, so to speak.” He turned to Jess. “But the answer to your question is no. I have no idea who the other woman is.”
    “Did Lisa have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who gave her trouble at her shop or in your class?” Templeton had moved here almost three years ago from northern Tennessee. Neither she nor Burgess had any family in the area. They were still working on a list of the women’s friends.
    Ellis crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his finger against his chin as if giving the questions a great deal of thought. “Lisa struggled mightily with who she was. Like most artists, she had difficulty accepting her lot in life.