The Art of Love and Murder (30 page)

“Have you heard anything I’ve asked you?”

“Patience, Lacy. I think we should have a fire to warm up and heat the water for tea.” He walked to the woodbin by the fireplace.

“Please don’t go to all that trouble.” She needed him to sit still a moment so she could scrutinize his physical status. “Why don’t we sit and talk? Or we could go outside, walk around a bit and talk.”

“It’s no trouble. It’ll be like old times.”

“I don’t want any tea, Myles. I’m not staying that long.” If she had to take his keys and drive them back, she would.

“Of course you’re staying.” He stood upright, a log in his hands, and frowned.

“I need to get back.” She kept her voice strong, yet inside a tremor rippled.

“You
need
to be here.” His jovial disposition fell away.

“You’re not making any sense.” The tremor grew stronger. She moved as subtly as possible from the filtered sunlight toward him, but also closer to the door.

“You belong where Muuyaw’s art belongs.”

She took another step toward the door but stopped when he raised a hand.

“Sit down, Lacy, and wait for your tea.”

“What do you mean you’re not going back?” She ignored his order. Her insides shook and the flush of anger warmed her face. “What do you mean I belong where Muuyaw’s art belongs? Where does Muuyaw’s art belong? I need some answers,
not
tea.”

“I lost her, both of them.” His shoulders sagged. The log became a twenty-pound weight as his hands fell to his sides. “And now...all of her work.”

“I don’t understand. How have you lost her sculptures?” She scanned his face and discarded her earlier idea of a stroke. A breakdown of some sort made more sense. Her anger tempered with the thought but not her nervous apprehension.

“And you wouldn’t be who you are without me.”

“Professor—”

“Myles.” He corrected her.

“Who am I? What do you mean?”

“You are her greatest creation.”

Lacy shuttered. “I’d like to leave.”

“There’s nowhere to go.”

Chapter Eighteen

“All clear,” one of the policemen called from the back of the house.

Two uniformed men stepped out the front door. “Clear here.”

Ranclin and Chance entered Myles Sheffield’s home, leaving the two officers out front.

“Lacy said he has a shrine to Muuyaw somewhere in this house.” He scanned the living room from the front entry as he spoke.

“Let’s find it.” Ranclin nodded toward the hallway. “Wait. The profile on him said he had a couple handguns. Bought years ago...” The detective turned and called one of the officers from the front of the house. “Search drawers, cabinets, wherever you think a guy would keep a handgun.” Ranclin rejoined him. “May as well know if he’s got one with him.”

Chance’s jaw tightened. He pulled his cell out of his pocket as they walked down the hall while Ranclin opened doors. When Lacy’s cell didn’t click over to voice mail but rang, he stopped, his heart beating with hope. The ringing seemed to go on forever until finally her voice asked him to leave a message. “Son of a bitch!” At the beep, he pleaded, “Lacy, please call me. Please.”

He ignored the detective’s raised brows and barged ahead of him to the last door at the end of the hall. Locked. “This has to be it.” Before Ranclin could say a word, he put his shoulder down and rammed it open, wood splintering with a crunch.

“Or we can do it that way,” the detective muttered.

With the detective close on his heels, he barged into the dark room. Chance felt the wall and flipped the switch. “This is it.”

“Do you remember what the stolen pieces from eight years ago looked like?”

He merely nodded and scanned the room. None of it looked familiar. “Look. Another room.” In four strides, he stood in the doorway of the adjoining room and turned on the light. A chill crept up his spine. The eagle perched on a high shelf, his piecing eye for prey trained on him. “Here they are.”

The detective didn’t say a word, only punched a number on his cell phone. “You get the BOLO out on Sheffield?”

Chance strode toward the second sculpture with another glance at the eagle as if he’d stalk him. The sadness evoked in the mighty buffalos touched him. Defeat.

He set his jaw.
Not today.

With clenched fists, he joined Ranclin. If enough officers were on the lookout, the bastard couldn’t go unnoticed. Where the hell were they?

The officer who’d been searching for a gun came into the room carrying a dark wooden case.

“Hold on,” Ranclin told the person on the other end of the line.

“Found this case. One gun missing. Empty space could be for a thirty-eight, most likely.”

The detective nodded and spoke into his phone. “Add armed and dangerous to that bulletin.” When he took a step toward him, Ranclin held up a hand. “And remind everyone, like I said the first time, he’s got a woman with him, so take caution.”

****

“Don’t!” Professor Sheffield hissed. He wouldn’t allow anyone to intrude on their privacy.

Lacy’s hand hovered over her purse, the music from her cell disturbing the air.

Using the wood log he’d picked up to stoke the fledgling fire, he knocked the purse from the couch where she’d sat. She gasped, stood and reared back, a pained expression on her face. He’d not meant to frighten her, but she needed to listen. He couldn’t let her spoil his plans, their plans. She’d see.

Time slowed as she moved behind the couch, the cell continued an irritating song and the edges of his vision darkened leaving only Lacy in the light. When the silence came, he felt lighter, less bothered.

“Come. Sit.”

He beckoned, but she glared back then glanced at the log he held. Her bottom lip quivered. Surely, she couldn’t think he’d harm her.

“I’m sorry, darling. I scared you.” He backed up, tossed the log into the fireplace. “I had no intention—”

“No?”

Her voice lifted out of the light. The darkened edges of his vision receded.

“What—what do you intend to do?”

She lifted her chin, but her voice had trouble reaching his ears. He wanted to close his eyes and listen. Listen to her speak as if Kaya stood with him, here, again. When he didn’t answer her immediately, she grasped the back of the couch, and her beautiful green eyes changed to glaring slits. She had Kaya’s fire, and something more. Kaya didn’t challenge him like this. She’d trusted him to do what was best for her and for Muuyaw.

“What are you thinking, Myles? What do you want from me?”

Just you, darling
.

“If it’s the sketches, then say so. The chest? I told you I would talk about all of it.”

“It’s all gone.” The clawing in his chest flared.

“Only for the time being. I’ll have it all back soon, and we can go to your...your personal gallery and put it all together. Talk about sharing—”

“No!” Her eyes grew wide—why wouldn’t she listen? But then, she didn’t know everything. “Lacy, sit.” He softened his voice, forced the smile.

What a lovely work of art she was and all that he now possessed. He could be satisfied with only her—she embodied Kaya and Muuyaw, the result of both, and yet so much more.

“Myles, I think you’re upset. We should go back into town, perhaps see a doctor.” She took another step toward him and tilted her lovely head. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders.

Why hadn’t he noticed before? She had Kaya’s inviting lips. They were moving, saying more, but he could only remember the way Kaya’s had felt against his.

“Myles!”

As if coming out of a fog, the room came back into focus. “I need some tea, Lacy.” He’d just have to be firm until she understood. “Have a seat.” He pointed at the couch, his smile now coming naturally because he could see her acquiescing.

She sat in a corner of the couch, seriousness clouding her lovely features. He’d make her happy again.

“Wouldn’t you like a cup?”

“Yes, I guess I would.” A slight smile came to her face.

He knew she’d understand. “I doubt we have enough wood in here.” The kettle, when clipped onto the rod running above the small fire, would hang too far above the flame to heat. He added the last log. “There’s more in the bin outside. I’ll get it when I get the water.” He stood, dusting his hands against his pants and picked up her purse. “Relax and I’ll be back shortly. We’ll have a cup of tea.” He set her purse on the table by the door, flipped the lock and smiled as he shut the door behind him.

****

The truck idled. Chance sat in his driveway, not knowing where to go next. He could drive by every restaurant in Flagstaff looking for them. A lot of good that would do. If they still sat at a restaurant, some patrol car would find them before he did. What the hell was Sheffield up to? He wanted all of his lover’s art, had never gotten over her death, but what now? His attempt to steal it had unraveled, and he’d murdered the curator. Or had him murdered. Why? This murder didn’t result from a bungled robbery like his wife’s had been, unless Sheffield had been so infuriated by not getting the chest that he’d killed the curator in a fit of passion. Carol said she’d not reached the professor. He couldn’t know Clark had been unsuccessful in finding the chest. Then why would he go to the curator and murder him? Maybe Clark and Carol were lying after all.

He reached to turn off the ignition when his cell rang. He couldn’t help it—he jumped, his stomach heaving with anticipation as he scanned the ID.

Lacy!

“Lacy, my God, Lacy! Are you all right?”

Static.

“I can’t hear you.”

“...woods...hel...”

The line went dead.

****

“Damn it! Chance?” His name strangled in Lacy’s throat as she watched Myles turn toward the cabin carrying an armload of wood and the pot of water. She shoved the phone back into her purse and scurried to the couch to huddle in the corner. Surely Chance would recognize her number, and he could trace her. Maybe, maybe. Or maybe she’d seen one too many cop shows.

“Here we are.” Myles came through the door, slightly breathless.

As he kicked the door shut with his heel, her cell rang. He froze.

“Myles, it could be my daughter. She’s...going through some rough times right now and needs me. And she’ll worry if I don’t answer.”

He shrugged. “I told you coverage doesn’t exist. Better she gets your voice mail than not be able to hear you.” He strode to the fireplace. “That would worry her more.”

He hadn’t locked the door.

The music stopped. “I should check my messages to see if anything’s wrong.”

The wood fell into the bin, the noise a crash in the quiet cabin. He spun to face her, his nostrils flared and his brow furrowed.

“Why are you so obstinate? I’ve told you no. Now, leave it. You’re going to ruin our day.”

She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. “All right. I see what you mean. I—I could use a cup of tea.” He was right in a sense. Defying him didn’t seem to work.

His face relaxed. He studied her for a moment, and she forced a slight smile. His hesitation alerted her—go slow. Don’t give him reason to believe she faked it. “It’s a bit chilly in here. Maybe the fire will help.” Shaky hands released her legs. She tucked her knees under her, looked away from him and slipped the afghan from the back of the couch. While she tucked it around herself, she watched him in her peripheral vision. He tilted his head, a smile came and went from his lips, and he knelt to stoke the fire.

“So, Myles. You were saying Kaya was the beautiful, talented art student, and you were the young professor. Did her talent attract you first or her beauty?”

His back to her, he added a smaller log and arranged the wood with the poker. “Her passion attracted me first.” His voice came low as he lowered the bar holding the kettle so that the flames licked the bottom of the iron pot. “Only a few moments now.” He stood slowly, using a protruding rock from the face of the fireplace for leverage.

He walked to the kitchen, arranged the cups and tea on a wooden tray as he spoke. “We had three years. You can live a lifetime in three years.”

His words weren’t directed at her. Breath shallow and quiet, she waited. She’d have to let him take the lead, and if she could guide him in the right direction, get him to take her back to his house to his personal gallery; she’d have a better chance of escaping from there.

He’d grown still, staring down at the tray as if he’d forgotten what he was doing.

“Do you think the water is hot enough yet?”

His shoulders flinched. “Oh yes. It probably is by now.” With the tray in hand, he turned and smiled at her. “We do need tea. And that fire is warming us up, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s wonderful you saw Kaya’s talent, Myles. It must have been exciting times for both of you.” As much as she wanted to know about that last year, when Hartmut came into her mother’s life, she needed him thinking about the sculptures. “I didn’t get to study her sculptures enough the other day. Do you think we could go back in a bit so I can sit in your wonderfully arranged studio?”

“No.” He slipped his hand into an oven mitt and lifted the kettle from the fire.

“Why not, Myles?”

He set the tray with steaming cups of tea on the table in front of the couch; his gaze locked onto her eyes. Dropping beside her, his hand covered hers that lay atop the afghan. “You do belong there, the centerpiece, but that’s all been ruined.”

His vagueness irritated her, and his choice of words alarmed her. She bit back a retort, needing him calm and talking.

“You mean because of the theft?”

He sighed, lifted his hand from hers and handed her a cup. Relaxing against the couch cushion, he sipped his tea; all the while, his eyes searched her face.

“We can get them back, Myles. It’ll take time, but I’ll have the sketches and the chest again.” He shook his head. “Please, we will. I could call and find out how long—”

“No.” His hand trembled as he set his cup on the table. “You don’t understand, darling. And it’s time you let me handle this.”

“Handle what?”

“I’ve lost them. I thought there might be some way to gather all the creations here.” He raised a brow, his lip curled. “I considered using you, my darling, to force them to give us what is ours.” He shook his head, rubbed at his chest as if a deep ache bothered him. “I can’t risk you that way.”