Authors: Vicki Lane
Dixon tried valiantly to suppress the look of eager greed that threatened to replace the solemnity required by death. “Well, sad to say, but the…ah…tragedy will get them priceless publicity.
Art World
has been in touch; they plan to send someone to cover the show. If there
is
a show. And that, my dear Laurel, is why Kyra had better get her pretty little ass in gear.”
D
IXON HAD EASED THEM OUT OF HIS OFFICE SAYING
that he would be happy to answer more questions but just now, my dears,
à bientôt.
They left the gallery quickly, avoiding the unctuous solicitations of Anthony, who had trotted after them and pressed his card into Elizabeth’s unwilling hand.
The heat and noise of the sidewalk were disconcerting after the chill hush of the QuerY, and Elizabeth stood blinking and feeling a little stunned. Laurel pulled her sunglasses from her pocket, put them on, then touched her mother’s shoulder. “Mum, I’m working this afternoon and I need to stop by the apartment and change. Did you say you were going to the library?”
“ ‘A certain amount of buzz,’ ” Elizabeth repeated in a thoughtful tone, then frowned and looked at her daughter. “I’m sorry; I was thinking. Yes, I’m going to the library. Do you have time to get some lunch first?”
“Sorry, Mum, gotta bounce. But you ought to try the new burrito place. It’s right on your way. Get the one with sweet potato and goat cheese— totally brilliant!” And Laurel was gone, sprinting down the street toward the parking garage where they had left their cars.
Through the gallery window, Elizabeth could see Anthony keeping a furtive eye on her. Repressing a grin, she leaned forward to study the objects in the window display, trying to exude a knowledgeable interest. She pulled a notepad and pen from her shoulder bag and made a few spurious notes while peering at the placard that gave the artist’s name. Next she paced to the far end of the window and viewed the installation from that vantage point. She made more notes, frowning and tapping her teeth with the pencil, hoping that she looked like a wealthy woman, a trifle eccentric in her choice of clothing, perhaps, but utterly serious about Art.
Now, where do I see these charming metal birds or whatever they are?…the house in Southampton? the lodge in Aspen? or perhaps the villa—
“Elizabeth?” An amused voice broke into the silent performance she was giving for an increasingly enchanted Anthony. “What are you up to?”
Phillip Hawkins, resplendent in sports jacket and tie, stood there at her side, looking first at her and then at the objects in the window. “I don’t get it.” He shook his head and scowled at the installation. “A bunch of rocks and some scrap metal? Is this supposed to be art? And what were you doing anyway— all that note-taking?”
“Oh, just…I was just messing with Anthony. He didn’t like my shoes.” Elizabeth ignored Phillip’s baffled look. “Have you had lunch?”
The burrito place was jammed but they were in time to get the last booth. While they waited for their food, Elizabeth described the interview with Dixon. Phillip listened intently, a little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, but made no comment when she finished her account; instead he leaned back against the red vinyl of the booth’s bench and smiled knowingly.
“What?” She glared at him. “What is that
look?”
Still smiling, he shook his head. “Well, like I said when you first called me—‘At it again, Sherlock?’ You can’t stay out of things, can you?” He leaned toward her. “It’s understandable. I guess. That little Kyra probably appeals to your maternal instincts and all—”
“Less of the psychological profiling, please.” Elizabeth tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “I’m just curious.
And
attempting with all my might to be objective. Furthermore, since Laurel used to work for Dixon, it seemed like a good chance to ask some questions.”
Phillip had stopped smiling. He swirled a tortilla chip in the murky green salsa the waiter had brought with the menus. “True enough. And you and Laurel probably got more out of him than someone official would have. It’s just…”
“Just what? Am I encroaching on someone’s turf?”
“In a way. But that’s not what has me concerned.” He looked up and his dark brown eyes were full of a weary sadness. “Elizabeth, this isn’t a game— somewhere in back of all of this there’s a killer. I don’t want to see you or Laurel or Ben hurt. Or find out someone’s torched one of your barns or houses.”
An involuntary chill raised the hairs on her forearms as Elizabeth considered what Hawkins had just said. She closed her eyes and the picture of the crushed car and its grisly passenger was instantly vivid in her mind, giving way to the burned-out shell of the house where Kyra had lived.
She sat quietly for a moment, then opened her eyes and locked gazes with Hawkins. “I can’t leave it alone, Phillip. I was there; I saw the crushed car; I saw the house burn; I heard Kyra’s story—”
“Goddammit, Elizabeth! I ought to—”
His words were cut short by the arrival of their burritos. The server topped off their iced teas and ascertained that they were happy with their selections— beef and cheese for Hawkins, the sweet potato and goat cheese for Elizabeth, and finally, with a breezy “Enjoy, you guys,” left them alone.
Elizabeth ignored the steaming burrito and stared at Hawkins, waiting for him to finish his interrupted threat. He started to speak, then closed his mouth and sat silently scowling. At last he breathed deeply and put up both hands, palms out. “Okay, Elizabeth. I’ll just say this: Please be careful. Keep an open mind and be careful.”
“Of course.” She relaxed, happy not to be told that this was none of her business.
Was it her business? Not exactly.
“Thank you for not fussing.”
He grunted an ambiguous response and bit into his burrito. She decided to press a little further. “There is one thing…. Did you find out who made the call to 911…about the fire?”
“It was a man. And from a cell phone. That’s all they know at the moment.”
“The nanny.” Elizabeth nodded knowingly. “That’s who it had to be.”
“Could be. But it doesn’t necessarily mean he set the fire. Listen, Elizabeth, what you were telling me about your talk with Dixon— he said he knew all about the big scene at the end of the performance and that the whole thing was planned, right?” Phillip jabbed his half-eaten burrito in her direction. His dark eyes bored into hers.
“All but the fire extinguisher, he said.” Elizabeth finished her last bite and wiped her lips and fingers with the minuscule paper napkin that had been provided. “Dixon said they came up with the idea when The 3 were having dinner at his place— according to Laurel he has this really gorgeous apartment on the top floor of the gallery— anyway they were making plans for the show at the QuerY and that’s when they came up with the plan for the big ruckus and Boz’s disappearance.”
“They
came up with the plan? Dixon? Was it Dixon’s idea for Boz to disappear?”
“No…at least, I
think
he said it was Aidan’s idea…or maybe Kyra’s.” Elizabeth struggled to remember the conversation. “One or the other.” She glanced at the front of the restaurant where a clump of customers, all intent on lunch, were waiting like vultures for the next available booth. “We probably ought to finish up and get out of here.”
“Yeah…okay.” The burrito was halfway to his mouth when Phillip paused. “But…say Dixon was lying about whose idea it was. There’s a thought for you, Sherlock.”
As they left the restaurant, Phillip looked at his watch. “You’re going to the library now? I’ll walk with you, if that’s okay.” They set off down the crowded sidewalk, and he continued. “I’ve got an appointment at AB Tech at three. That’s why…” He wordlessly tugged at his tie. “Looks like I’m going to be teaching some classes in criminal justice starting next month. One of their instructors is having to leave unexpectedly. But I need to ask you a favor— since you plan to be involved in this…ah…unofficial investigation anyway—”
“What? What do you want me to do?” Elizabeth tried very hard not to sound eager.
Casual, no big deal— or he’ll think I’m…what, an overage Nancy Drew?
“Well, this is a little off-the-wall but it could be useful. I was trying to get a line on Peterson— find out a little more about him and his current wife. I found out— please don’t ask me how— that she’s always taking these continuing ed classes at AB Tech— drawing, ceramics, cake decorating, you name it— anyway, she’s signed up for a beginning painting class that starts next week.”
A scruffy-looking young man with a nondescript dog on a leash accosted them. “Hey, man, spare change? I need to score some food for my dog.”
A smile spread across Phillip’s face and Elizabeth was surprised to see him reach into his jacket pocket, even as he said, “Son, panhandling’s regulated in the Code of Ordinances, Section Eleven-dash-five, and this is a restricted zone. But you’re in luck— just this once, I can help you out.”
With the air of a magician producing a rabbit, Phillip pulled a shiny pouch from his pocket, tore it open, and poured a little pile of soft kibble at the edge of the sidewalk. The dog sniffed dubiously at it, politely nibbled a few pieces, then sat down to lick his private parts, turning his back on the pile of red-brown bits.
Phillip smiled benevolently. “Glad I could help, son.” He touched Elizabeth’s elbow and the two continued on their way.
“Fuckin’ smartass!” the young man called after them.
Elizabeth laughed and glanced at Phillip, who was ambling along contentedly with a smug look on his face. “Smartass, indeed. Were you making up that number, that eleven-dash something?”
Smug was replaced by sheepish. “As a matter of fact, I wasn’t. Remember last year I told you that Janie was hanging out with a bunch of street kids and doing some panhandling as some sort of self-expression crap? I had occasion to check out the ordinances to try to keep her out of trouble. I don’t know— that number kind of stuck with me.”
“I like it that you had the dog food. Though I must say that dog looked pretty well nourished.”
“The kid too.” Hawkins grinned. “I recognized him. Janie pointed him out to me when we were in town together one day. His street name is Mountain but she found out that his real name is Wendell Something the Third. His family owns a big car dealership and he has a major trust fund. The begging is something he does to make some kind of statement— I forget what.”
They were almost to the library when Elizabeth asked, “So what was the favor you were going to ask me— something about helping—”
Phillip stopped and ran his hand over his head. “Like I said, it’s off-the-wall. But I thought if you’d sign up for that painting class, you could maybe get to know the second Mrs. Peterson. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t made any friends since Peterson moved her from Flat Rock to Asheville and—”
“Painting? The only thing I’ve ever painted is a wall. Phillip, I don’t think—”
“It’s
beginning
painting; you could learn.” He looked at her innocently. “You did say you wanted to help.” Pulling out his wallet, he extracted a folded piece of paper. “This tells you all about it— when, where, what supplies—”
Elizabeth took the paper and read it. “Thursday mornings, that’s doable. I could take care of a few deliveries first— give Ben or Julio a break, then do my grocery shopping in the afternoon. I don’t know…it starts next week….”
She considered briefly. Hawkins was watching her closely, but said nothing. “Okay, Phillip, let me think about it. But there’s nothing here about where to sign up, or how much it costs.”
Now Phillip was studying his fingernails intently. “Ah…it’s taken care of…see, the class was almost full so I signed you up already.”
“You did.” She tried to decide if she was annoyed and was surprised to find that she wasn’t. She smiled. “Okay. At least it’s not cake decorating. I’ll be there next Thursday.”
Hawkins beamed at her. “That’s great— I have a feeling we could learn a lot from the second Mrs. Peterson.” He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I forgot to tell you: that kid Aidan, he’s out on bail. Just last night. And here’s an interesting thing— the bail was set pretty damn high, but his mama waltzed in, cash in hand, and got him out. Now, I did some checking on her and I’m wondering where she came up with that kind of money.”
Elizabeth remembered that Laurel had said Aidan’s mother worked at a grocery store.
And that old car— she certainly didn’t look very prosperous. I wonder—
“Phillip, Carter Dixon hinted that Boz was involved with a meth lab out in Marshall County— he claims that was the reason The 3 moved out there. Do the police know—”
“Oh yeah, they had an anonymous call suggesting that. So right off, they went back to the junkyard to talk to, what was the guy’s name…?”
“Travis?”
“Yeah, they’d had an eye on him for a while— suspected he was distributing. But when they went by, the yard was closed. And they couldn’t find anyone who knew anything about Travis’s whereabouts.”
A quick stop at the grocery store on the Ransom bypass and Elizabeth was on her way home. Her mind was still so occupied in turning over the various bits and pieces of information provided by her trip into Asheville that she almost didn’t notice Ben standing by their farm truck at Hinkley’s gas station. The truck’s hood was up and Jim Hinkley’s legs protruded from underneath the front end. At once she slowed and pulled into the station. “Ben, what’s up? I thought you were staying with Kyra.”
Her nephew looked unhappy. “Yeah, I was. But we got a call from Lidio— their usual supplier had let them down and they have a huge wedding party tonight and their chef was pitching a fit because he didn’t have fresh nasturtium petals for the salads. Well, you remember how hard I tried to get that account last year— it would be a biggie for us, but they already had a supplier. Anyway, the manager said if I filled the order in time, she’d dump the other supplier and go with us. Kyra and I picked all the nasturtium blossoms— get this, the chef only wanted red ones, no orange, no yellow.