Between the Lies (Book One - The Northern Lights Series) (20 page)

Out in the hall while I breathed into a bag one of the nurses handed me, Harper answered her phone.

“Yes, Dr. McKenna. I’m glad you called. What did the dead cat reveal?”

She listened, nodded, and finally said, “Can you e-mail me a report today?”

He must have agreed because she said, “Thanks,” just before ending the call.

Alan and Michelle stepped off the elevator at that moment. I took one last breath from the bag and said, “Road kill, right?”

Every one paused, and I said, “The cat.”

“No. She was a kitten someone strategically tortured. Her death was slow,” Harper said.

I felt the familiar rise of bile in my throat. This time I was able to swallow it.

“Harper, who kills an innocent kitten?” I asked.

“Someone who loves to kill and who wants to send a message,” she said, looking me straight in the eye.

“What’s the message?”

“I’m going to call Newman in if you don’t mind. The FBI has a few more resources than we do, and I’d really like to get his take on this guy.”

She walked down the hall to make the call and Michelle asked, “How’s Stan? We heard he woke up.”

“He did,” I said.

“Does he remember anything?” Alan asked.

“Yes. His memories are vivid
,
and his mind is strong,” I answered.

“Good,” Alan said, but there was a hesitation in his voice.

“Can we see him?” Michelle asked.

“Well, hello Mr. and Mrs. Lyons!” Marge said. “Would you mind if we postpone your visit until Stan is released? The police have more questions for him, and our family has been waiting all this time to welcome him back. I’m sure you understand.”

She’d left them no tasteful alternative. They offered her kind words, their support, and a greeting for Stan before getting back on the elevator.

“Harper! You need another search warrant for the school,” I said.

“The one I have is still good. Why?”

“Can you take me there? I have something to show you. Call Newman and see if he can meet us there.”

In her car I broached another subject. “What do you think of the coroner?”

“You interested in a new man, Morgan?” It was the first time she’d called me that, and I liked it. I felt like one of the guys on her team.

“No. Just curious,” I mumbled.

“He’s great at his job. There’s too much work for the ME’s office . . . so much death. Somehow he stays cool and still cares. I’m not one for hunches, but he has instincts about dead people that make the people he works with nervous. They call him Spook behind his back. He knows and detests it but tolerates it.

“Most of the women cops I know call him McKenna the Magnificent because he’s handsome, brilliant, and on our team. You should see him in jeans and a t-shirt. He’s quite the distraction.”

“Got a thing for him, huh?” I asked, amused.

“No. He’s not my type.”

“I see. You’re more into tall, graying, and military?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t you mean someone like that?” I asked.

“Let’s get this straight. You do the sketching. I do the interrogating. Okay?”

“Yep. I did a sketch of Lloyd the other day. Maybe you’d like to see it.”

“Maybe,” she said.

Back in my former office at the academy, I inhaled. I’d always loved the scent of old polished wood, and this room was full of it. The oak floor was a mellowed gold, and one wall was full of walnut floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The ornate cherry desk was more like an antique dining room table. There was only one small pencil drawer. Everything had been recently polished. Very recently. It hadn’t been this clean the day of the assembly. That seemed strange since Stan had been in the hospital. All the books had been moved to the back. I’d kept them lined up on the very front edge.

“Harper, we need to know who’s been in here.”

“Why?”

I explained the subtle changes, and she immediately called Alan and left a message.

Harper asked Caroline to join us.

“Has this office been cleaned recently?” Harper asked.

“Yes. Mr. Lyons hired a cleaning agency that’s been working in the building since Stan’s attack. One of the crew said he’d been assigned this office. I’d been informed the new teacher would be stopping in to see his space soon. It made sense it would be cleaned before then. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Harper assured her. “Can you describe the person who worked in here?”

“He was blond, had a deep dimple in his chin, and wore an eye patch. He worked the wood with a lot of energy—even the floor. He did a lot of tapping. It was weird, but I thought he had a nervous tick. I have to be honest with you. The guy gave me the creeps. I can’t explain it. Maybe I was just missing Stan. He took such good care of this room for Ms. Morgan. Anyone else felt like an intruder.”

“Thank you, Caroline. You’ve been a big help. I’ll call you if we need anything else.” Harper said.

“You’re welcome,” Caroline said then turned to me. “Olivia. I love my job, but I miss you.”

“I enjoyed working with you too.”

As always, she closed the door quietly.  

“What do you need me for?” Newman asked, walking in as if he owned the place. I’d called him with Harper’s permission. I wanted him to see my innocence, and thought the more he was with us, the better.

“Let me show you,” I said pulling the pencil drawer out of the desk. A quick click to the fake bottom caused them both to draw closer. Under the thin piece of wood was an old skeleton key.

I turned toward the book cases and pushed on one of the shelves. The panel swung open to reveal an old door. I used the key to open it. There in the darkness we could all see what looked like a stock pile of canvases.

“We’re going to need a dolly-thing,” I said. “There should be one in Stan’s closet at the end of the hall.” I pointed in the general direction, and Newman left the room.

Harper and I waited in silence. We knew we’d just found at least some of the answers we were looking for.

When Newman returned, Harper asked, “Do you have gloves on you, Newman?”

“Yeah.”

She handed me a pair of her own. Both of them snapped their surgical-like gloves on. I tugged at mine, and when the first one finally snapped on, it stung badly.

Newman raised an eyebrow and said, “Rookie.”

“Duh.” I knew I sounded like one of my students. Instead of a cutting remark, he grinned. It was a nice moment.

“How long have you known about this secret closet?” Harper asked.

“Stan showed it to me the first week I worked here,” I told him. “He’d found some of my sketches in the wastebasket, and thought I might like to put my art away for safekeeping.”

“Are any of these yours?” Newman asked.

“Yes. I forgot about them in my hurried exit. But most of them are not mine. I believe they are the work of Ida Lyons. Hers will be protected. Mine won’t be. For now, just bring hers.”

The carefully wrapped paintings were placed on the dolly for transfer. “I’ll need to make more than one trip,” Newman said. “Where do you want these?”

“Let’s take them to the library. There are at least a dozen long tables in there we can use to lay these out,” I said.

Once in the library with the paintings, I could not bring myself to leave them. Harper and Newman returned to the secret cubbyhole while I started to unwrap Ida’s art. On each paper-wrapped piece was a single number written in a bold calligraphy. Each of the paintings were 36 inches by 36 inches.

Michelle walked in as I unwrapped the last painting, and a notebook fell onto the table. She rushed forward and said, “There it is! You will find notes, likely names, dates, and other personal notations along with her initial sketches here.” She seemed to hold her breath as Harper bagged the notebook. “You will return this to Alan when you’re finished with it?”

Harper nodded. “Of course.”

First I ordered them by number, laying them on the tables. I ran out of room before Harper and Newman returned with the rest. We found more tables and set them up.

Once the paintings were all laid out in sequence, we realized that number one was missing. “I think it might be this one,” I said, adding the one Patrick had returned to me.

Nothing prepared us for the story we unraveled. So much beauty, anguish, and passion were revealed. Seeing her work again, proved to me Ida Lyons was not a hobby painter. She was as gifted as most of the greats. We could only guess the story and would need someone to confirm our assumptions.

We needed Aggie, and to get to her, we’d have to go through Alan. I stood there mesmerized as once again, her art left me breathless. I knew there was a possibility he would refuse. The paintings would be in police lock up until his attorneys found a way to get them released. Then they would be his to keep or destroy.

With Aggie’s health weakened by her attacker, I wasn’t sure Alan would allow anyone near her. I wouldn’t blame him.

Harper answered her phone and said, “I understand, Mr. Lyons.”

She turned to us and said, “He wants to consult with Agatha Bailey before giving us access to her.”

“Newman,” I said. “None of this brings us closer to what Mickey was up to.”

“That bothers me too,” he said.

“I hate loose ends,” I muttered.

“So do I,” he said, looking at me like I’d just become his number one suspect. Again.

I rewrapped the paintings. Harper called a team from the department to take them all into evidence. Newman watched.

When his cell phone rang, I jumped. It was the theme song to
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
. That was one of Ma’s favorite movies and the ringtone fit the man. Newman was sort of a Dirty Harry kind of guy.

“You want to take a ride to Oak River?” he asked me.

“Why?”

“I’d like to walk through Mickey’s house one more time. I’m told the painters have just left. This might be a good time.”

“You had someone watching the house?” Harper asked.

“Just the neighbor across the street. She’s a nice little old lady with a great pair of binoculars—quite the bird watcher I’m told.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever,” I said.

“Mind if Lloyd and I tag along?” Harper asked. “I’d like to see the place again.”

The three of us followed Newman in Lloyd’s Tahoe with my paintings carefully wrapped and stowed in the back. We’d found an old bolt of wrapping paper and some tape. With all of us working, it hadn’t taken long. I left a note on Caroline’s desk, asking her to bill me for the supplies.

“After all the wrapping, I feel like we should be singing Christmas carols,” Harper said.

“What? Like Blue Christmas?” I asked sarcastically.

I’d had the walls painted a primer white. As soon as I saw them, I knew what I had to do.

“Do you guys mind if I do a little sketching while you explore the house?” I asked.

I think they assumed I was going to draw some designs for the biggest room that would be my combined living and dining rooms.

I heard Lloyd say, “Let’s start with the garage.”

I grabbed a piece of charcoal out of my art bag, and on one wall did a quick sketch of the Lyons Shipping building. I drew in a near frenzy, but every line and detail felt true. Sweat ran down my back and sides, and into my eyes. I’d never sketched so fast.

Then I moved to the next wall where I drew the academy. On the third wall I sketched what I remembered from the Lyons’s home.

Finally, I moved back to each and filled in details as they came to me, stopping twice to get new charcoal when the piece in my hand was nearly gone.

“You’re good, Morgan,” Harper said.

Her voice brought me out of my art trance. “How long have I been at this?” I asked suddenly thirsty.

“Three hours,” Harper said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so much of your time,” I said as I stepped back from my work.

Harper followed Newman around the room. She stopped in front of the Lyons Shipping building. “You were fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it. You went from wall to wall as if your life depended on what you were doing.”

“Well, it might,” I said.

Newman stood and looked at the walls as if at an art exhibit. I’d seen critics stand in the same contemplation.

Someone knocked on the door, and I nearly jumped into Newman’s arms. Lloyd looked out the tiny peep hole in the door and said, “It’s a little old lady with a plate of cookies.”

“Ah. Mrs. Bowman’s curiosity got the best of her,” Newman said.

“Let’s meet with her on the front step. We were just leaving, weren’t we?” Harper asked.

Newman introduced us. I thanked her for the cookies that were covered in plastic wrap on a lovely antique dish. “You can return the plate when you get moved,” she said to me in a melodic voice. “That will give us an excuse to get acquainted, and you can meet Hansel and Gretel. They’re my adorable miniature dachshunds. You three are going to love each other. “

Worn out, I could only agree.

“And bring your handsome friend with you. Mr. Newman, you are what they call eye-candy for this old lady.”

He blushed, and the rest of us burst out laughing. I was pretty sure I was going to like her after all.

We were almost to the St. Paul when it hit me. “Harper, there is something off in all three of the Lyons’s buildings. Can you get the original floor plans for all three of those buildings? I’d like to see the infrastructure and know who built them, who owned them first, and so on.”

She said, “I know a guy who can help with that.”

Lloyd said, “You know a guy, huh?”

They smiled ‘that way’ at each other.

Sarah met me just outside the doors to the building. “I’ve done the inspection and everything smells fine. You ready to sleep in your own bed tonight?”

“I am,” I said, secretly wondering when that would happen. I was tired of sleeping in a Lyons’s bed. My last thought was of agent Eye Candy. What a hoot! I’d find a way to use that one in the future.

My nightmares were of walls that moved and whispered their deadly secrets to a man who wore an eye patch and held roses in his bony grip.