A Ghost to Die For (11 page)

“That gentlemen with gray hair and the trimmed beard, the one sitting straight ahead four tables down, to your left, he is the curator for sculptural art at the museum next door. Oh, the lady with him, she is the archivist in the gallery of paintings for the museum. She would be a good contact to help us identify the artist of the Ruby paintings.”

“What are their names?” I asked.

“She is Geraldine Markowitz and he is David Rutger.”

“Are they a couple?” I asked.

“I believe so.” Alex smiled and added, “if not, they should be. I see them everywhere together. Rather like us.”

His last comment caught me off guard and made me wonder if, and how many, people automatically think of Alex and myself as couple? I chanced asking Alex, “Do you think people think of us as a couple, just because we are often together?”

“I know they do.”

“Alex? How do you know?”

“Because I am asked, often, very often, if you are dating anyone. And the person asking me that question is always some guy who has you in his crosshairs.”

“No way, Alex when did this happen?”

“Hmm, most recently at the opening for the Museum of Mystery. Remember when you stepped up to the front to ask the question about the coin-operated fortune teller machine? The man who had been standing in the back of the crowd, and was taking notes, turns out he is a reporter, he came over to me on the premise of wanting to know more about the you. So, I gave him the brief details, name, age, occupation and such. He jotted a few notes and then in a low voice asked me if I knew if you were currently with anyone.”

“I remember him, tall, black hair, dark eyes, quite attractive. So, he was interested in me, personally? Hmm, sounds like a prospect.”

“No, he isn’t,” Alex said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because I told him you were with me.”

I drew a blank. Then a strategy bubbled up inside of me. “That was bold of you, Alex,”

“Yes it was.” Alex smiled and then added, “and I will continue to be bold if it means keeping competition away.”

Before I could rebuke Alex, our meals were served. “Lucky for you that hunger and having food in front of me will save you from my rebuttal.”

“Good thing you can’t argue with your mouth full.”

I chewed in thoughtful meditation of Alex’s behavior.
I have him exactly where I want him to be.
I remained quiet to see how long it would take before Alex would break the silence. It took all of three minutes.

“How’s your wild mushroom risotto?” He asked.

“Scrumptious. And your dill-crusted salmon?”

“Delicious.” He looked over at the table where Geraldine and David were. “It looks like they are getting ready to leave. I’m going over to say hello and ask about you contacting her, okay?”

“Sure.” I watched Alex approach them and tap David on his shoulder. Geraldine and David were pleasantly surprised to see Alex, they all shook hands and quickly Alex cut to the chase. I could not hear the conversation, but it was obvious by their facial expressions that Geraldine was open to Alex’s suggestion. She reached into her blazer pocket and withdrew a card case, from which she gave Alex a business card. Alex thanked her and then came back to our table. I watched David and Geraldine leave. They did, indeed, appear to be a couple.

“Geraldine said she would be happy to look at the photos of the paintings. She said to call her office first thing on Monday.”

I looked at Alex and decided he had done so well, it was time to let him off the hook. I smiled brilliantly and said, “Thank you Alex. Knowing I have a professional expert to help out makes me want to get back home right away and get to work on the photos.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to that as well. Maybe we should order dessert to go?”

“I like that idea. I had my eyes on the dessert called Triple Chocolate Threat, and how about you?” I asked.

“Me too. When the waitress comes back, I’ll ask for the check and order two of those to go.”

Chapter 20

As soon as we arrived home Alex let Atlas out for a few minuets. He put coffee on to brew and I dashed upstairs to my office, off my bedroom. I had changed into comfy jeans and a sweater when Alex tapped on my office door. I didn’t need to say a word, instead I whistled short and low, a cue I had taught Atlas. Sure enough the big guy bumped open the door and led the way for Alex.

“Nice trick, when did you teach him that?” Alex asked.

“Just recently. I found it was less of an interruption to my creative thought process if I leave the office door closed, but not latched, that way when I hear Atlas I can just let a soft whistle cue him to come in. Also, I’ve learned that if I leave the connecting door to my bedroom ajar, Atlas will make himself comfortable on my bed, in full view of me, and he won’t take up the little bit of floor space I have in here.”

Alex pulled up a chair next to me, he set the tray of coffee off to the side. Handing me a mug of coffee, he said, “We can wait on dessert, right?”

“Sure.” I focused on my computer, tip-tapping on the keyboard and then brought up the overlay photos to show Alex. “Look, they are exactly the same.”

“Can you enlarge the frame?”

“Yes, here it is.” Alex leaned in close to the screen to study the enlarged pictures. “Quite the discovery. And, what about the view of the coastline from the top of the path? How does the photo match up?”

“Just a sec.” I brought up the photo I took this afternoon and layered it on top of the photo of the painting at the Van Wyck home. “It is a very close match, off by only a millimeter or two.”

Alex studied this discovery. “I’m sure that the few feet in elevation, between where we stood on the path and standing up on the verandah of the Van Wyck home is the only difference. Really, almost too close to say there is any difference. So, then, the artist must have painted the pictures from the verandah. But why? And who was the artist?”

“Not only that, but why the two different versions of the women? Alex, do you have any connection to the law firm of Benson and Marciano?”

“No. Why do you ask?” Alex said.

“It was that law firm that handled the sale of Ruby’s home. And according to Otis, his family did not buy the house until around 1920, so there was at least one other owner, that would be the person who bought the house from Ruby Red. Benson and Marciano would have those files. And the firm is still in practice, I checked.”

“And paying them a visit might render the answer we are looking for? Excellent idea. Tell you what, I’ll call the firm on Monday and get an appointment,” Alex said.

“For what reason? Do you think they will grant you an appointment if they know the real reason for it?”

“Good point. I’ll think of something. Shannon, I know you’ve not been in San Diego long enough and I don’t want to sound arrogant, but the Blackthorne name has connections, it can open some stubborn doors.” Alex rarely mentioned the power that his surname has in San Diego society. I believed it when he was forthright about using it to open doors. Alex was never one to misuse his family reputation. His offer was sincere.

“Thank you.”

Alex was about to say something when his cell phone rang. He stood up, took it out of his pocket and stepped outside the room into the hall. I strained to listen, but the walls are so thick, all I could hear was a little of Alex’s reaction, he sounded troubled. He stepped back into my office.

“I’ve got to go. That was the police. My home was burglarized. They have the suspect in custody and want to know if I can identify him. The burglar claims he knows me. You stay here, and Atlas, too. I’ll call when I know the facts.”

I had no time to query Alex. He rushed out of the room and down the stairs.

I turned to look in on Atlas, he was wide awake, very alert and looking at me. “Just you and me, big guy. So let’s dig in and get some work done, okay?’ Atlas thumped his long tail on my bedspread and I took that to mean he was in full agreement.

I executed a few more photo-editing maneuvers and then printed up the results. These would be excellent examples to demonstrate to Geraldine what kind of information I was digging for. Next, I jotted a list of questions and concerns that need exploration:

Who was the artist of these paintings? In each case, the painting at Audrey’s and the painting at the Van Wyck home, the frames cover up part of the canvas, and an artist’s signature is not apparent on the canvas that is in full view.

What is the significance of the market scene? Note: A market was never in this neighborhood.

So far, everyone agrees that the red-haired woman in the paintings is Ruby Red. In fact, Harriet and Otis identify her as Ruby. Who is the other woman? Is there a connection to Andalyn Dixon?

Who bought Ruby Red’s home from her?

I had many more questions but for now these would have to do. Getting answers to them might help in pointing me in the right direction as to where to search next. It nagged at me that I seemed to be getting further away from the mystery of Andalyn’s death.
Why was the path of investigation pointing so strongly in favor of Ruby Red?

This last question scratched at my brain and would not let go. I spent the next hour scrutinizing the paintings, the overlaid pictures and the scene that was depicted in the paintings. My eyes blurred from the stress and my neck ached from bending over the computer screen. And the incessant ticktock of the grandfather clock in the foyer seemed to grow ever louder as I waited in anticipation for Alex to call. At twenty until eleven, my desk phone rang, it startled me, I jumped out of my chair and nearly knocked over my computer grabbing the receiver.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Look, everything will be okay, it was one big misunderstanding. The so-called burglar is my cousin Denny. He’s in port on leave, out of uniform and when he could not locate the extra key, he jimmied a window that set off the alarm.”

“Oh, Alex, what a relief. I’ve been on pins and needles waiting to hear from you. I’m glad everything is okay.”

“Yeah, it is and under different circumstances I’d be coming back over there. But, well, Denny has had some terrible news and it’s best if I am the good cousin and stay here while he’s in port. I’ll tell you about it on Monday, okay?”

“Oh, sure. And Atlas?”

“Look, Shannon, if you wouldn’t mind, could Atlas stay there with you?”

“Of course.”

“I really need to go. I’m sorry Shannon, it’s just one of those things.”

“Of course. I’ll talk with you on Monday. Good night Alex.”

I exhaled a deep sigh of relief. I was grateful to know Alex was okay, but it did nothing to satisfy my curiosity. I’ve never heard Alex mention a cousin named Denny. But, Alex doesn’t talk much about his family. Oh well, I was bushed and ready for bed. I turned to Atlas and said, “Hey big guy, it’s time to hit the sack. Do you want to go out now and take care of business, or wait until after I shower?”

Atlas answered me by getting up and trotting out of the room. I followed. The little bit of time it took him to take care of his nightly business gave me time enough to get the coffee set for in the morning. I loved having a timer on the coffee brewer. I let Atlas back in and together we made a nightly check on doors and windows. That last bit of business taken care of, we hightailed back upstairs. I showered and crawled into bed. Atlas curled up on his part of my bed. I turned off the bedside lamp and the last thing I remember was the soft snoring of Atlas. It reminded me of how secure and safe I felt when I was a little girl and my big hound dog would curl up with me.

That sense of cozy and secure safety did not stay with me throughout the night.

Chapter 21

I woke in the dead of night, in the wee hours of Sunday morning and sat up in bed. I had heard a whisper, hadn’t I? Atlas was still curled up on my bed, softly snoozing. Not even my abrupt movement to sit up had disturbed him. I took this measure of safety into account and reasoned that under no circumstance could a person or animal be near at hand without Atlas knowing about them. And yet, I sensed that the room was not right. In total darkness, I held my breath and waited, listening to the normal sounds of the house, the little bit of automobile traffic outside and to Atlas sleeping, and to the pounding of my heart.
The whispering sound was in my office.
I exhaled softly and then, as quietly as I could manage, I extracted myself from the bedcovers and tiptoed the few feet to my office door. I had closed it upon getting into bed, not wanting the temptation of the open door calling to me to come back and work, just a little bit more, just a few more minutes, on the mystery of the paintings. With my ear to the door, I strained to hear the whisperings. Then, summoning every ounce of courage, I opened the door wide and flipped on the light switch.

“What are you doing here?”

Eric Blackthorne, well, the ghost of Eric Blackthorne, to be precise, was sitting at my desk, tapping away on the computer’s keyboard.

“Working on your computer.” Eric did not so much as even look up at me.

“Why wasn’t Atlas tuned into you?” My question got his attention. He stopped and looked at me.