Murder at the Falls Read Online Free PDF

gallery in Soho is displaying a diner artist. I’m the best, of course.…”
    “Yes, I’m sure,” Tom put in. “And I can’t say I’m not intrigued by Andriopoulis’ suggestion of making it the Falls View.”
    “I’ve probably done dozens of paintings of the Falls View. From various angles, under various light conditions, in different seasons. The Falls View is to Randy Goslau what Mont St. Victoire was to Cezanne or ballerinas were to Degas.”
    Give me a break , thought Charlotte.
    “Do you want to use one I’ve already done, or commission an original?”
    “Commission an original, I think.”
    “Okay. In that case, here’s what I think we should do.” He craned his neck to look out at the parking lot again, and then continued: “Are you free on Wednesday? If so, you could come out to my studio.” He nodded in the direction of the Falls. “It’s in the Gryphon Mill, just past the Falls overlook.”
    “I think so,” Tom replied.
    “Okay. You come out to my studio, look at slides of my work. I can throw them up on the screen for you. That way you can get a better idea of what it is you’re looking for. Just the diner alone, or the diner with its surroundings? Morning light or midday light? Long shot or close-up?”
    “I think I get the idea.”
    Ignoring him, Randy continued: “Oils or watercolors: I do both. Equally well, I might add. Big or small. Then, once you get an idea of what it is you want, we’ll talk price. You said you were interested in buying the original for your private collection, right?”
    Tom nodded.
    Randy sized him up as if he were trying to estimate his bank balance. A layer of sweat had broken out on his forehead, giving him an oily appearance. “I warn you, I don’t come cheap. An average-sized oil will run you about thirty grand, plus another twenty-five percent for a commissioned piece. Have you ever seen my work in a gallery?”
    “Your show at the Koreman. That’s how I tracked you down.”
    “Damn,” said Randy. “Theoretically, if the Koreman referred you to me, they should get a cut. But if you want to keep this visit under your hat, I won’t have to pay the gallery a commission and I can give you the painting at a lower price. We’ll both make a little on the deal.”
    Tom shrugged. “Sounds okay by me.”
    “Once you decide what you want, we’ll draw up a letter of agreement: size, medium, date of delivery, amount of the down payment, et cetera. One other thing: I like to be paid in cash.”
    Tom’s eyebrows flew up: “Thirty thousand in cash?”
    “Not all at once. Installments are okay. The payment schedule will be spelled out in the letter of agreement.” He gestured with a roll for emphasis. “Do you know what a guy who I was talking with last week about a painting asked me: ‘Can you give it to me cheaper if you use less paint?’ Can you believe it? You’d be amazed at how many assholes are out there.”
    No, I wouldn’t , thought Charlotte, with present company in mind.
    “Dessert?” asked Randy.
    As Randy signaled to Patty, Charlotte turned around to eye the pie case, where a Black Forest cake, a linzertorte, and an assortment of pies spun slowly under the lights, like the crown jewels in the Tower of London.
    “I guess I’ll have to try some of that lemon meringue,” she said.
    Patty arrived, and Randy gave her their dessert orders: lemon meringue for Charlotte, Black Forest cake for Randy, and the inevitable rice pudding for Tom.
    She returned with their orders almost immediately. That was another virtue of diners: speedy service. The conversation came to a halt as they devoted their attention to the desserts, which were indeed delicious.
    After wolfing down an enormous slab of Black Forest cake with a whipped cream frosting, Randy popped down a couple of antacid tablets ( Di-Tabs ? Charlotte wondered), and abruptly excused himself. “I have to go back to the studio to take care of some last-minute business,” he explained.
    “I