The Art of Love and Murder (12 page)

“All right, all right.” She punched at his leg and slid off the bed, leaned over and hugged him. “I love you, Dad. And I worry. Please start living again.” She kissed his cheek.

The door closed behind her. He hadn’t known she’d grown so wise. He hadn’t known how dead he’d been...until Lacy ran into him.

****

Lacy strolled around the main room of the Northern Arizona Historical Museum on the edge of town while waiting to speak to the museum curator. Cases along one wall held common artifacts of Flagstaff citizens who had settled the area. The facing wall displayed a pictorial history of a settlement barely rooted in the soil in the late 1800’s to the present day college town. A 1927 photo showed the Grand View Hotel, billed as the place to stay for transcontinental travelers.

“Ms. Dahl, sorry to keep you waiting.”

She turned to face a man, probably in his mid-sixties, peering at her through black, horn-rimmed glasses. He clicked his heels together as he offered her his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. His thinning hair jarred with the movement like feathers ruffling on a bird.

“No problem, Mr. Archibald. I’ve enjoyed seeing some Flagstaff history.”

“We do have a marvelous museum. This area has a rich past.” He glanced around, a bright smile of pride on his face. “You mentioned researching a local artist. How can I help you?”

“I have some sketches I’d like to show you.” A shoulder shrug adjusted the canvas bag higher.

“Let’s go to my office, shall we?”

She followed him out of the main room and through a door he closed behind them. Although small, the office appeared richly furnished. The walls on each side of the room were shelved from floor to ceiling; books crammed one wall and picture frames and knick-knacks filled the other. Lacy snickered to herself. She seriously doubted John Archibald would call his artifacts knick-knacks.

Behind his desk, a window took up the entire wall and looked out, unencumbered, on the San Francisco Peaks. “What a breathtaking view you have, Mr. Archibald.”

“Don’t I? I’m a lucky man. Whether I’m in my office or in the museum, I’m surrounded by beauty and richness. Have a seat.” He motioned to the leather chair facing his desk.

She set the canvas bag on a carved stone table next to the chair.

“Now, if I remember correctly, your mother, who died when you were quite young, resided in Flagstaff.” He placed his elbows on his desk and tented his fingertips beneath his chin.

“That’s correct.”

“Let’s see if the artwork jogs any memories that will help you.”

“I stopped at an art gallery yesterday and now have another piece to the puzzle.” Lacy bent and opened the bag, lifting out the carving, the sketches and the snapshots. “I saw two photographs of sculptures by an artist named Muuyaw, and they look very much like what I have.”

“Ah, Muuyaw.”

“Yes, do you have any of her work here? Or his work.”

“You’re right in using her.” His voice grew more animated. “Unfortunately, Muuyaw’s dead, and I would kill to get my hands on some of her sculptures.”

She regarded the mild-mannered museum curator and saw the seriousness of the statement in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and returned his expression to passive. “We don’t have any of her work in the museum. I do know the two pieces you saw—the eagle and the buffalo. They were stolen some years back when Jarvits owned the Uptown Gallery. He died a couple of years later. It was quite a robbery, woman killed, sculptures never found.”

“Yes, terrible.” Chance came to mind, and she pushed the thought aside. “Justine mentioned a patron that collects Muuyaw’s sculptures.”

“Rumor has it—and I happen to know it’s more than rumor—he hoards Muuyaw’s body of work for his own pleasure.” He smiled, cocking an eyebrow. “In fact, it’s safe to say he owns all of Muuyaw’s sculptures except for the two stolen pieces.” He turned his attention to the sculpture she held and rubbed his hands together. “Now, let’s see what you have.”

She removed the tissue from the wolf and held it over to him.

He adjusted his glasses on his nose and slowly scanned the carving. The bottom captured his attention and his finger skimmed over the wood. Muttering something Lacy couldn’t hear, he set the half-wolf down, crossed one arm over his abdomen with his palm holding the elbow of the other. Fingertips tapped his lips as he studied the sculpture.

She waited, sketches and photos in hand.

“Too bad it’s not signed.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead focusing on the roll and the photos. “What else do you have?”

She took the ribbon from the sketches and unrolled them, turning them so they would be right side up for the curator.

“Oh, my.” His exclamation came as he leaned forward.

“Do you recognize them?” Her nerves gave an excited twinge.

“Not in that I’ve seen them before, although this top one does look like the eagle sculpted by Muuyaw.” His eyes took in the initials in the corner. “M slash KM. Very interesting.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think.” He shuffled through the sketches. His cheeks flushed ever so slightly and his mouth pinched in a tight smile as if suppressing a broader grin.

“Do you think Muuyaw drew these to prepare for her sculpting, or did my mother copy them?”

He looked up, squinting behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “What are the photos?”

“This is the chest that contained the sketches and the photos.” She held back the fact her mother had signed the chest to see, first, what he would say.

A flicker of some emotion passed over his face. Lacy might have thought he recognized the chest, but his face quickly returned to passive curator. When he didn’t say anything, she had the distinct impression he was hiding something.

“What do you think?” She repeated herself.

“It’s a lovely piece of work. Very telling. Sort of a precursor to the three dimensional carvings.” He continued to grasp the two photos, one in each hand, gazing at one then the other. “Could you have this chest sent to me here? I’d like to see it up close.”

“Would it really help? I’m not sure if my mother’s carving would tell us anything.”

“What do you mean?” His head jerked, and his brows rose.

“Didn’t I mention that it’s signed by her on the bottom?” Her palms grew sweaty. Getting information out of the man was a cat and mouse game.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” He snatched his glasses from his face and confronted her with wide-open eyes. “And what was your mother’s name?”

“Kaya Mockta.”

“Kaya?”

The look of recognition lighting Mr. Archibald’s face couldn’t be mistaken.

“Now I see.” He rubbed his eyes and returned his glasses to his face. “You look like her, you know, except for the eyes. And I have to say, you’re prettier.”

“You knew Kaya?”

“Oh yes. We were students at NAU together. I knew your mother quite well. Quite well.” His gaze shifted to above her head, to somewhere other than his office.

“You were more than friends?”

“A long time ago.” He dropped the photos, returned his attention to his desk and flattened out the rolled sketches. “M slash KM.”

“Then you must know a great deal about her, about these sketches.” Lacy shifted on her seat, a bit of impatience nagging her. “What do the initials tell you?”

He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. His fingers twitched along the edge of the paper, he licked his lips and cleared his throat. “There is definitely a connection between Muuyaw and your mother. I, uh, I’ll have to do some, uh, research to see if I can find any answers for you.” He released the drawings, tenting his fingers under his chin again.

Either the curator didn’t want to speculate or John Archibald hedged her question.

“Was my mother an artist when you knew her?” She tamped down growing impatience.

“A student of art. Very dedicated. Very talented. Fun and...alive.”

“And?”

“Ms. Dahl, it was a very long time ago. We had some classes, spent some time together, but...well, Kaya’s interests diverged from mine. It was brief...we...” His face pinked.

She waited; he’d hung himself and she had no desire to let him off the hook. He seemed to be holding back on his true opinion of the art, so perhaps he’d spill his more personal memories if given the opportunity.

Unfortunately, his color equalized, and he regained his composure. “Perhaps you can leave these with me for further examination.”

Her mind raced. Something had changed in his demeanor, and the mild-mannered curator didn’t invoke a sense of trust.

“You mentioned the collector as if you know him.”

“I’ve...dealt with him in trying to secure some of Muuyaw’s sculptures for our museum.”

“How reclusive is he?”

“Whatever makes you think he’s a recluse?”

“Something I’d heard earlier.” She sat forward on her chair. “I’d like to talk to him.”

“He’s an art professor over at the university, but, my dear, why don’t you allow me to...handle a meeting?”

His soft, condescending tone irritated her.

“He’s not forthcoming about his collection. I seriously doubt if he’d give you an appointment without a reference.”

“If he’s such a serious collector and these could be sketches by Muuyaw—”

“Ah, we don’t know that as of yet.”

Then why not let the collector weigh in? “What’s his name?” Lacy leveled him with what she hoped he read as a serious glare and a business voice.

“Didn’t you find out when you visited the gallery?”

“No. Justine said she couldn’t divulge the name.” If there was some kind of political ploy going on in the art community here, she’d already had enough of it. “Why couldn’t she?”

“Ah, yes, Justine Watts at The Uptown Gallery.” Mr. Archibald crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. “I might have known.”

“Why?”

“They have a
special
relationship.” He made a tsking noise. “And considering your, um, attractiveness, she’d be reticent concerning the good professor.”

“Who is this art professor?” She’d had enough of small town gossip and politics. She wanted straight answers, not chitchat.

The curator glanced at his watch. “Professor Myles Sheffield.” He leaned on his desk top, smiling. “How about I arrange a meeting with the professor in the next couple of days? You leave the sketches for me to see if I can authenticate them, rendering the meeting more...conclusive for you.”

Lacy drew the bag to her lap. “I really appreciate your offer.” She rolled the sketches and wrapped up the sculpture as she spoke. “But I have some research to conduct on my own.” Once the art and photos were in the bag, she rose.

His eyebrows drew together as he stood.

“I’ll try to contact the professor, and if I’m successful in speaking with him, I’ll let you know the outcome.” Considering his keen interest, she thought that might placate him. “And if not, well, I’ll call and see if you’re still willing to help me.”

“Of course, Ms. Dahl.” He walked around his desk, holding out his hand. “I’ve so enjoyed visiting with you and would love to hear your progress.”

“If you do remember anything more about Kaya, I’d appreciate knowing.” She inwardly cringed at his soft handshake that lasted longer than necessary. “Anything at all.” She pulled her hand back, but didn’t walk away, hoping he’d open up again.

“I can tell you, from what little I recall from so long ago, that your mother was a vibrant, delightful girl.” He ushered her to his office door. “You said you were staying at the Grand View, correct?”

“Correct.”

He opened the door. “Do you suppose you can have the chest sent here? Perhaps overnight it?”

“To the museum?”

He nodded.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Until next time?” He bowed slightly at the waist.

Lacy exited his office, feeling his glare on her back. She clutched the bag. Mild-mannered museum curator knew more than he’d said.

Chapter Six

Lacy brought the engine of her Z4 to life and backed out of the museum parking lot, at the same time punching the Phoebe button on her phone.

“Lacy!”

“Hi, Phoebe. Are you busy?”

“Ugh, need a break. My villain just isn’t villainy enough, and I can’t get it. I’ll get some iced tea while we talk. What’s up?”

“You’re the mystery writer. Thought you’d like the next installment from my mystery.” She made the turn back to town.

“Absolutely.” Dishes clinked. “Did you find out more about Muuyaw?” Water ran.

“Not exactly. But I found out more about Kaya, and the way the museum curator looked at the pictures of the chest made me think he’d seen it before.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s more what he didn’t say.” The unsatisfied sensation of curiosity swirled through Lacy. The curator’s evasiveness increased her need to know more about her family history.

“This is sounding mysterious.”

“He’s an odd one. He knew Kaya. And I think he knew her, shall we say, in the biblical sense.”

“Now we’re getting juicy.”

“Yes, well, that doesn’t help with the question of who’s the artist of the sketches. He knows something, but held back on me.”

“Maybe because Kaya was his lover. Hmm...what mystery can I weave from that?”

“They were practically kids, and horny isn’t a mystery.” She chuckled. “More importantly, I found out there’s a professor at the college who collects Muuyaw’s art.”

“I may be able to use some of this in my next book, after all.” Phoebe laughed. “Are you going to track down the professor?”

“Definitely.” If Justine didn’t want to divulge his name and the curator wanted to speak to him first, she had every reason to believe the professor would know more than anyone about the sketches—and perhaps about her mother. “Will you do me a huge favor?”

“Anything.”

“You’ve still got a key to my apartment. Would you get the chest and overnight it to me at the hotel? You’re going to have to use Phoenix Madman Courier. They’re the only ones I know open on Sunday. Have it get here tomorrow as early as possible.”

“Would love to. You know I’d drive it up to you if I could get away, but I’ve got a double appearance book signing tomorrow.”