The Fine Art of Murder (7 page)

The Pierce Art Gallery was on my way home. With Randolph in jail, I assumed it would be closed and had no intention of stopping . . . until I saw them. Jacqueline Pierce, Hank, and Antoine were all standing out front, huddled close together in conversation. I had to find out what was going on and parked in the middle of the block.

I’d hoped they’d all be surprised to see me—especially Antoine. But when I walked up to the group, they just seemed annoyed by my presence.

“Mrs. Sullivan,” Antoine began. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing, Mr. Rousseau. Yesterday when you had me drop you off at the airport, I assumed you were leaving town.”

“Haven’t you ever made people think you’re doing one thing and then do another?” Hank said smugly. He never made eye contact with me, just kept staring through the gallery window. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to believe anything you see and half of what you hear?”

I hated that Hank was making me feel dumb. He was obviously smarter, or much more cunning, than he let on.

“And since we’re all so very curious about each other, might I ask why you’re here?” Jackie turned to face me. “You do seem to pop up in the most unusual places. Why, I even saw you last night at the police station.”

I knew she was baiting me. But as she stood there in her pink silk dress, frayed along the hem, I had a hard time taking her seriously. Her bony legs were wrapped in baggy hose. Even though it was a warm afternoon, she still wore the same fur coat. Several strands of pearls draped across her chest. A large opal ring was on her index finger and a clashing, oversized bracelet with multicolored jewels dangled on her left wrist. Her turban had been replaced with a pink feather. She was hoping her tone would intimidate me, but it only made me feel sorry for her.

“You were there on business, Ms. Pierce; it wasn’t the right time to socialize.”

“It’s always party time,” Hank laughed.

Antoine rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. He was stylish in a navy suit and yellow cravat. “As my fear subsided, I realized I couldn’t leave without completing my work at the estate. And of course, Mademoiselle Jordan’s murder has been weighing heavily on my heart. Such an intelligent woman, a true connoisseur of the arts. To be cut down in her prime like that . . . horrible.”

“I understand that your daughter, Elizabeth, is representing my nephew.” Jackie said. “I was telling Mr. Rousseau that I will do everything in my power to make Randolph seek
a more acceptable attorney. As sweet as she is, and no matter how much affection my nephew has for her, Elizabeth represents . . . poor people. You know the kind I’m talking about.” She looked to the men for validation. “I’ve heard all the stories. How on earth could that kind of a lawyer handle a murder case?”

I counted to three before I spoke. As hard as I was trying not to react, this crazy woman was getting to me. “Maybe you’re not aware, Jackie, but Elizabeth practiced criminal law for years before becoming a children’s advocate.”

Continuing as if she hadn’t heard a word I’d said, Jackie tilted her nose further up in the air. “And you, Mrs. Sullivan, you’re retired now. Aren’t you a bit too old to be running around playing detective? We’re two of a kind, you and I,” she cackled. “We’ve both seen better days, haven’t we?”

I ignored her and looked at Antoine. “I’m afraid the mansion is a crime scene and you won’t be able to go inside until the police finish gathering all their evidence. But you knew that the other day, didn’t you?”

He shoved one hand deep into a pocket and with his other, waved his walking stick dramatically. “Of course, but I thought that . . . maybe . . . if I presented my case before Mrs. Bannister-Pierce, that she might . . . be able to persuade the authorities to let me enter.”

“Mrs. Bannister-Pierce is not the owner of the estate.” I really enjoyed saying that. And I continued, ignoring the woman who glared up at me. “Her father’s will specifically stated that she is forbidden to have anything to do with Buckhorn manor—now or in the future.”

Antoine looked deflated. “I was unaware of the situation,”

“My, my, you’re just a wealth of knowledge, aren’t you?” Jackie said. I could see red lipstick smeared across her front teeth as she growled at me. “For the life of me, I don’t understand how you would know so much about the will. It’s not as if you’re a member of my family.”

“It was my job to know about the people in this town. And I was good at my job.” I growled right back at her.

Hank looked at his Rolex. “Hey, babe,” he said to Jackie. “Are we done here? I have some business to take care of.”

“I’d say we definitely are,” she said and put her arm through his. Then the two of them walked away.

Antoine looked unsure how to proceed and smiled weakly at me. “If I may call you, Madame, to find out when I may enter the—”

“I suggest you contact the police department yourself, Mr. Rousseau. And please don’t tell me where you’re staying this time because I’m not sure I’d believe you.”

“As you wish.”

“Yes,” I smiled, “that’s exactly as I wish.”

***

It had never mattered to me if I got in the last word. But I had to confess I felt good about the way I’d handled those three. And I laughed part of the way home. The other part was spent wondering why they’d been outside the gallery in the first place. Had Randolph been keeping his aunt updated about the renovations or had she just found out?

Lizzie’s car was in the driveway. Checking my watch, I realized it was time for everyone to be home. A few miles back, I’d passed a Mexican restaurant and a sudden craving for guacamole hit me.

“Grandma’s home!” I shouted as I walked through the door. “Come adore me!”

Cam walked out of his room, smiling. “You look very happy today,” he said.

“Well I’m looking at you.” I hugged him. “How’s my guy?”

“Lewis asked me to come over to his house for dinner. His mom’s making mac and cheese.”

“That sounds like fun. And you love mac and cheese, right?”

“His brother, Jeff, will be there. He goes to college. I don’t know him.”

“Well now’s your chance.”

“What if he doesn’t like me? I’m afraid to go, Grammy.”

He looked up at me and I wanted to whisk him off to a place where he’d never be afraid or hurt. I gently brushed his cheek. “You know what sounds good?” Before he could answer I said, “Tacos!”

“I like chicken ones,” he said. “The soft kind.”

“I know you do. So let’s go get some. Just you, me, Chloe, and Mom. You can meet Lewis’s brother another time—when you’re ready.”

He mulled the idea over. “That sounds better. I’ll go finish my homework.”

I kissed the top of his head and watched him walk back to his room.

After searching the house, I found Lizzie in her office.

“Hi, Mother. How was your day?”

“You first,” I said.

“I’ll let you know when it’s over. I’ve got a couple more calls to make. Haven’t even had time to think about dinner. Could you—”

“—How about I take everyone to that cute Mexican place near the park? My treat. And you can’t say no, ’cause I just promised Cam some tacos.”

“Sounds great. Chloe’s in her room, if you want to tell her. I should be finished in here by six.” Her phone rang as I went in search of Chloe.

There was no telling what kind of mood my granddaughter would be in, so I knocked cautiously on her door.

“What?” she shouted.

“It’s your grandmother. Can I come in?”

“I guess so.”

She seemed frustrated that I was invading her privacy.

“Hey, Chloe girl, whatcha up to?” I asked as I sat on the edge of her bed.

She was spread out on top of the plush beige carpet. Her legs were crossed in front of her; her back against the wall. “Not much.”

Lizzie, Tom, and I had decorated the room when Chloe was nine. She’d been into stars, moons, and rainbows then. Her ceiling was painted navy blue with constellations stenciled across it. Her walls were a pale blue. I’d spent a whole
week painting the sun that covered the entire wall behind her bed. And another two days working on the rainbow. Beside her bed, on a nightstand painted blue to match the walls, was a lamp I’d found in a museum shop. The base was a pewter crescent moon and the silver shade had star-shaped punches scattered across it.

But four years are an eternity in a little girl’s life and changes had taken place, not only in the bedroom but inside the girl herself. Pictures of Disney princesses and cartoon characters were gone. They’d all been replaced by her current loves: boy bands, pieces of poetry, and fashion. I was glad to see my granddaughter was a normal, healthy teenager.

“Did I ever tell you about the first concert I went to?” Chloe couldn’t have cared less, but I continued. “The Rolling Stones were on tour and I drove down to Chicago with my girlfriend to see them. Seven very long hours in that car. We had just enough money for gas and snacks. And we had to drive back home after it was over because we couldn’t afford a motel.” I stopped, waiting for some reaction. But there was none.

“We thought we were so cool. But when they finally came on stage and I saw Mick, right there in front of me, I lost it. I couldn’t stop screaming. You’ve seen those girls in movies carrying on and fainting. Well, sorry to say, I was one of them. But I couldn’t stop myself. I cried all the way through the first two songs. It was one of the best nights of my life.”

“Sounds great,” she said, not bothering to look at me.

I pointed to a poster. “So, have you seen One Direction live?”

“You know who they are?” she asked, finally interested.

“Hey, I know things.”

Suddenly, unable to control her enthusiasm, Chloe gushed. “Jennifer thinks Harry is the cutest but I like Liam. He’s gorg. I know all their songs by heart. Mom says she’ll take us if they ever come here. But if she can’t, Dad said he’ll take us, if he’s in town. That would be so a . . . maz . . . ing.”

When she ran out of air, we just sat there and smiled at each other.

“You’ll have a great time,” I said. “And I want to hear every detail.”

Then she remembered she was angry with me and looked down at her feet. “Okay.”

“Have you been writing in your journal?” I asked.

“A little.”

“Can I see?”

She reached under the pillow next to her and I realized she’d been writing in it when I walked in.

“How about if you read to me? Please?”

“Isn’t this supposed to be private? For my eyes only?”

“It’s not a diary, sweetie. Come on—share.”

Chloe cleared her throat and started to read. “Grandma really pisses me off.” Then she looked up for a reaction.

“I’m not going to get mad at anything you write, Chloe.”

She looked back down at the book and read some more. “I guess old people don’t remember things. Maybe she never had a BFF so she can’t understand. I hope when I’m old like her, I’ll be nice to kids. It’s crappy being a kid, all the time having to do what everyone tells you. When I’m grown-up, I’ll
listen real good.” She slammed the book shut and looked at me, defiantly.

“Ouch, you’re the second person today to tell me I’m old. And I do remember my BFF when I was your age was Ingrid Stanberry. She moved to Dallas when I was eleven. Then there was Mattie Wilson. And after her it was Lorie Peterson. Then there was Grandpa . . .”

“But now that he’s . . . gone?”

“I guess it’s Nathan—Mr. Walker.”

“He’s nice.” Her face started to soften. “Mom says he was a hunk.”

I nodded. “And you’re right about being a kid; it was lousy. Rules, everyone always telling me what to do. I hated it. But then, all of a sudden, BAM, I was on my own. Before you know it, you will be too. And you’ll look around and no one will care what you do. Everyone will be taking care of their kids or husbands or jobs. Every now and then, I look around and wish my mother was still around to tell me what to do.”

“Really?” She thought about that for a moment.

Having made a little headway, I decided to get out while the getting was good.

“I’m taking everyone out for tacos. Your mom will be ready around six. Meet you in the living room.”

As I opened her door she said, in her little girl voice, “Love you, Gram.”

“Love you, too, Chloe girl.”

Dos Hermanos was crowded and lively. The inside was designed to look like a village somewhere in Acapulco. A mariachi band strolled from table to table, trying to be heard above the baby crying near the door. Small children ran back and forth playing tag while their parents gulped down margaritas. If there had been any indication out front that this was a “family friendly” restaurant, I would have suggested somewhere else. But we were hungry and there was immediate seating.

A waiter came rushing over, holding a sizzling pan of beef and peppers. “Is the table over there, okay?” He motioned with his head.

I told him it was fine.

With his free hand, he grabbed four menus and handed them to us. “I’ll send a waiter over to take your order.”

Cameron sank down in his seat and I hoped all the commotion wasn’t upsetting him. Chloe couldn’t take her eyes off
the machine in the middle of the room that was making taco chips. Lizzie and I read through the menu.

A teenager dressed in a brightly colored tropical shirt came over with a basket of chips and a bowl of salsa. He carefully set them down in the middle of our table, smiled, and introduced himself as Ruiz. The kids ordered tacos; Lizzie and I decided to share an order of fajitas. During the five minutes it took, he never stopped smiling or saying, “Bueno, bueno.” Then, gathering the menus, he left promising to return quickly with our drinks.

It was impossible to have a conversation with all the activity around us, so we dipped our chips in salsa and crunched away until the food arrived.

Suddenly, as if everyone in the place except us heard a distant whistle, they started to leave. First the family with the baby, then kids, some screaming they wanted to stay, others running to be the first out the door. Even the mariachis took a break. The air in the large room seemed calmer, lighter. And miraculously, I could not only hear myself think but make out what Lizzie was saying. Before we were able to really talk, however, our food was ready.

Two waiters covered our table with colorful plates and for a while we were all so busy eating that no one spoke. The only sound surrounding us was easy listening music coming from the speakers in the corners. I could feel myself relaxing while I loaded up a tortilla. Cameron rocked back and forth as he happily ate his chicken taco and Chloe seemed more content than I’d seen her in days. Between bites, Lizzie asked me about my day.

Even the kids seemed interested and listened intently while I told them about Nathan’s crew. Cam said that Brock sounded like the hulk and Chloe seemed curious about Polly. Both of them thought it was funny how Nathan had given each member a nickname and the discussion got sidetracked when they started giving names to each other. When there was finally an opening, I mentioned that I’d run into Antoine, Jackie, and Hank in front of the gallery.

Lizzie dropped her fork. “How dare that old hag criticize me,” she said when I repeated Jackie’s comments about Randolph needing a different lawyer. “I’ve been on the phone all day and at the courthouse and jail on Randy’s behalf. I know more about criminal law than anyone in this town.”

“She’s crazy; everybody knows that. Why are you so upset?” I asked.

“It doesn’t look good, Mother. Randy was seen arguing with Stacey. He threatened to fire her in front of the workers. He’d been complaining about her for days. His prints are everywhere.”

I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Of course they are. He’s been in and out of that place his whole life.”

Lizzie wanted to make sure the kids weren’t going to hear the next part of our conversation and sent them over to the chip machine to refill our basket. When they were out of earshot, she said, “I’m afraid the ME will find Randy’s skin under Stacey’s nails.”

This was news to me. “Why would he?” I asked.

“Earlier that day, Randy found Stacey snooping around where she didn’t belong. He grabbed her arm, and she pushed
him away. He noticed a few marks she’d left with those long nails of hers. That’s all they need to lock him away forever.”

“But when they examined him after they brought him in, they checked for bruises or marks,” I said. “It’s standard procedure. Have you seen the report yet?”

“It’s too early.”

“Have you encouraged him to take the polygraph? That would help a lot.”

“I’ve tried but he still refuses.”

“Any word on the murder weapon?” I asked her.

Lizzie twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. “Maybe Nathan’s crew can work on that one.”

“I’ll ask him. Between the four of them, I’d think they can do anything.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Dinner was delicious, but by the time we finished our flan, my mind had started trying to sort through Randolph’s predicament again. I needed some time alone. After dropping everyone off at the house, I went for a drive to try to get it all straight.

Sully used to scold me that I thought everything to death. He was always encouraging me to rely more on my instincts, which consistently produced better results than all the programs our techies used. I just needed some quiet time to sort through all that had happened over the past three days.

Opening my window, I breathed in the cool evening air. The streets were deserted, which meant no traffic, no skateboarders darting in and out, no pedestrians to consider. It was a school night and young parents would be home with their
kids trying to help with homework or hustle the little ones off to bed. Mature adults, which I prefer calling anyone fifty and over, were probably watching TV before turning in. I cut over to Parklawn Avenue and drove to Centennial Park.

Swans drifted across the calm water and I stopped to watch them. That area had always played such a large part in my family life. It was a vibrant place. I couldn’t remember how many concerts I’d heard stretched out on a blanket near the pavilion. On weekends, we’d stroll the farmer’s market. There were walking trails, bike trails, paddle boats, and beautiful gardens. Centennial Lake Park had been the scene of so many good memories.

I leaned back on the padded headrest and closed my eyes. Slowly I reviewed the crime scene, the cast of characters involved, searching for clues I might have missed.

I must have been there for an hour, and the only thing I’d accomplished was rehashing everything I’d learned so far. Turning the key, I started the jeep. Maybe if I went out to the Pierce mansion again. Maybe if I stopped over thinking it . . .

***

Yellow crime tape was still draped across the door, but pieces of it had been ripped and flapped in the breeze. Floodlights in front of the stately building were the only illumination, making the place look like a haunted house. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but since I was there, I got out of the jeep.

I’d always entered and exited through the front of the building, so I pushed myself in a different direction. Instead of walking straight ahead, I turned to the left and followed a
worn path around back where I could see a small guesthouse. A faint light, possibly from a candle, flitted across the walls inside. I walked toward it. Thankfully I’d worn my boots or I might have fallen. The ground was uneven; small holes pitted the lawn. It appeared the gardener hadn’t started working in that area yet.

I’d left my bag in the jeep, but even if I had it with me, a flashlight wasn’t inside. I’d have to pick one up next time I went shopping. A ladder stood propped up against the side of the little house, and thankfully the moon was almost full or I wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. I kept my head down and crept forward.

My heart raced as I got closer. I started inventing a story to explain being there. Someone was moving around in the guesthouse, I was sure of it. But who could it be? Randolph was the only person allowed on the property, and he was in jail. I mentally went through a checklist of possibilities.

“Git her!”

A man suddenly lunged out of the darkness. Grabbing me from behind, he squeezed tight, pinning me to his chest. I struggled and kicked. “Let me go!”

But that only made him squeeze tighter until I thought I’d pass out.

Another man, the one who had shouted, came running up behind us. “Good,” he said to his partner. Then to me he said, “Ya ain’t got no business being here—this is private property. If I catch ya again, I’ll have ta hurt ya. Understand?”

I should have just nodded, but I didn’t. “I’m an officer of the court. When the police find out—”

“This broad’s real stupid,” the one holding me told his pal.

“Yeah, she don’t listen too good.”

“Maybe we could leave a little reminder, know what I mean?” He shook me. “So she never goes where she ain’t wanted. How about a nice long scar right across yer cheek?” he snarled in my ear.

“I have a gun pointed right at your chest!” a third man shouted. “So you better do what I say and let her go.” I recognized that voice.

“Do what the man says,” the boss told his flunky. “This ain’t worth gettin’ killed over.”

I was released, so suddenly I fell forward, trying to catch my breath.

“Come over here by me, Kathy,” Nathan said.

I ran toward him, ignoring the other two.

I was almost there when a large figure came up behind Nathan and hit him on the head with what looked like a blackjack. As he fell, I tried catching him but wasn’t fast enough. Two of the men wore ski masks. They ran toward the third, and I was so concerned with Nathan that I didn’t have time to watch which direction they ran.

“Oh my God, Nathan, what in the world were you thinking? How did you get here? Are you okay?”

He was sprawled across the lawn, face down. I reached out and stroked his head to check for bleeding.

“Ouch!” he groaned.

“At least you’re conscious. That’s a good sign.” He rolled over onto his back and I sat next to him to cradle his head. “What are you doing here?”

“Lizzie was worried. I traced you to the park and followed you here. There’s no way in hell I’m losing another Sullivan.” He started to sit up but fell back.

“You better lay still a minute.”

“I’m fine. But it sure is nice having a woman fuss over me again.”

After twenty minutes or so, Nathan felt better and we slowly walked back to our cars. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing over my shoulder, I was sure there was someone inside the guesthouse. Staring . . .