The Art of Love and Murder (26 page)

Hesitantly, Lacy pulled back and behind the drawn curtain edge, hips against the end of the counter. She glanced at the sliding door lock, but couldn’t tell if it was locked. Alleys were normally used only by garbage collectors.

She raised her cup to her lips with a shaky hand. Kitty’s hateful face and her words of retribution flashed across her mind. The damned woman had upset her to the point of jumpy. But her stomach roiled because of Chance. With the thought of him, a glimmer of the night she’d spent beside him brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Her legs weakened, and she sank onto a kitchen chair.

She hadn’t expected a proposal of undying love or any kind of commitment for that matter. But she didn’t expect to find him in the arms of his supposedly ex-girlfriend the very next morning. She had offered herself up, knowing his wife’s death still plagued him, and in spite of his coziness with Kitty. Maybe this is all she could expect from him, or any man. Having been married to one man—one cheating, lying man—and no other relationship outside him, she sorely lacked experience. Evidently, expecting honesty from a man whether in a lifetime relationship or for a weekend was futile. Or maybe she was just a very bad judge of character.

She scanned the kitchen to locate her purse she’d left there the night before, and found it in the chair next to her. When she discovered the cell phone compartment empty, she dug in the main pocket and pulled it out along with his card. A
business
card. The good sheriff mixed business and pleasure. The shallow combination probably wouldn’t satisfy her. She didn’t need him as a lover; she certainly didn’t need him as a chaperon. He wouldn’t get the opportunity to play sheriff with her today. She’d call a taxi and be gone before he got back.

She tucked the card in the cell phone pocket and dialed the professor.

****

One glance at the Coconino County Sheriff’s Office parking lot as it came into view made Chance groan. There were too many cars for him to make a minor appearance and a quick getaway. He parked the jeep and walked around to the rear entrance. Sally waved to him, her attention on a phone call when he passed and entered his office. His voice mail light blinked as he opened his calendar and thumped the page. He’d remembered the appointment with a citizens’ committee, but had forgotten the mayor at 10:30. He sure as hell hoped he could reschedule.

Sally knocked and stuck her head in the door. “Listen to your voice mail first. One’s from the head investigator on the curator murder.”

“What’s with all the cars? Anything concerning me?”

“Nope. Most of it’s from that countywide public servant thing. Get to know who protects you. Or something like that.”

“Good. I’m not staying too long. Personal business. Can you see if we can reschedule with the mayor? I want to leave right after the committee meeting.”

“I can try, but it’s doubtful. They already confirmed it. Kiki at the mayor’s office said he’s on a new enforcement kick in light of the murder this weekend and the robbery at The White Wolf Spirit. He’s with the chief of police right now. I told her he should stay at the police department and leave us out of it.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. All we had was a couple of drunks arrested on the interstate. Unless he wants to talk prohibition—”

“Maybe we should let you and Kiki meet, and we can all get left out of it.”

She snickered. “You want some coffee?”

“No. Not yet.” He lifted the mug he brought in from the truck. “Thanks.”

She nodded and closed the door.

No doubt Mayor Shaw knew Chance picked up Lacy, the woman in the middle of the whole thing. Not much got past the mayor. He set thoughts of her aside and picked up his phone to retrieve the voice mail.

“Hello, Sheriff Meadowlark. This is Detective Tom Ranclin. I had a note here to give you a courtesy call if we had anything more on the curator case. Still haven’t ruled it murder, but we’ve got fingerprints of Clark Katz at the scene as well as Ms. Dahl’s. We’ve finished with her room and she can go back there, but she’s not to leave town. I’ll give her a call in a bit. Once we determine what struck Archibald on the head, find that object, we’ll know more. In the meantime, Ms. Dahl will remain a person of interest. If you have any questions, feel free to call. Thank you, Sheriff.”

He stared at his phone. Suspicion still hung over her head. He gripped the receiver, teeth clenched. No, he couldn’t call the detective and vouch for her. Lacy would be cleared once all the evidence came to light. He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his chin and considered Clark. He might be on the stupid side and not above stealing, but he didn’t seem like a murderer. His gut told him it was an accident. Still, involuntary manslaughter. Probably scuffled with the curator who landed on his head, and Clark vaulted. That left the matter of concern as to who put him up to stealing the art. Carol could have—

Voices came from beyond his door. The committee had arrived. He swallowed his last bit of coffee and leaned forward. He didn’t see any way Kitty had anything to do with it, especially after the way she had acted this morning. Besides, Carol had the history. Lacy said the stepsister probably looted Kaya’s house after she died. If he could figure out what she did with the sculptures, the current chapter in Muuyaw’s art might be solved. The curator didn’t own any. The professor most of it.

How were Carol and the professor connected?

****

Myles edged his black Audi alongside Lacy’s car in front of the Grand View Hotel. As he did so, his cell rang. He glanced at the caller ID. Carol. She’d called in the middle of the night at his home. He’d shut the phone off and not returned her call. Justine had snuggled warm beside him. He’d not needed to listen anymore to Carol make overtures of seeing him now that she’d gotten her greedy hands on the sketches. He tucked his cell back in his pocket as Lacy came out of the hotel and waved. He reached across and opened the door, admired the curve of her hips when she slid onto the seat.

“Good afternoon, Lacy.”

“Hello, Professor Sheffield.”

“Myles, please.”

She smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you for picking me up. I would’ve been happy to meet you there.”

“Nonsense. You’re not familiar with the town. And this gives us more time to get acquainted.”

“This is a lovely old car.” She buckled her seatbelt and relaxed against the leather seat.

“Thank you.” He eased back into traffic. “It’s a 1985, and I doubt I’ll ever give her up.” His fingers played a moment on the steering wheel. “I do tend to hold fast when I like something.”

Her small talk struck him as odd—considering the sketches, the reason for their meeting, had been stolen. Perhaps she intended on bartering with goods she no longer possessed. Poor Lacy. Muuyaw’s work would be safely locked in his studio tonight.

“So, where are we having lunch?” She glanced outside the window.

“Paolo’s. Your mother’s favorite. And if we’re lucky, Paolo will be there. He doesn’t do the cooking anymore, and barely gets around, but makes an appearance now and then.”

This lunch should’ve been canceled. He no longer needed her to get the sketches. Carol had taken care of that. Now, his needs ran in another direction. To sit with Kaya’s child, at the corner table near the kitchen; to dream, to pretend. Delicious torture he would regret.

“My mother was a student of yours.” She half-turned toward him. Holding a lock of hair between her fingers, to brush across her chin.

My God, like Kaya.

Thick lashes blinked wistfully. “I imagine she felt quite taken with her professor.”

The ache of memory twisted in his chest. “Her professor was quite taken with her. She possessed great talent and passion about art.”

“Did she overstep the professor-student boundary?”

Lacy’s naiveté at her age made him smile, in spite of her bluntness. Her wide-open eyes, so much like Kaya’s, except for the color, unnerved him. “If such boundaries existed, your mother wouldn’t have paid attention anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes, but averted her gaze.

“We were instantly attracted to each other, Lacy. The young professor and the beautiful artist.” The ache hovered just below the surface.

Her silence meant nothing. He knew she still had questions. And he had some of his own, not only for her, but for him. He breathed deep and concentrated on the road, quelling the ache for the moment. Thankfully, she stayed within her thoughts for the time being. She couldn’t know what a danger she presented. Or what a magnet.

Chapter Sixteen

“Lacy?”

“The name’s Jenny, Dad. Why on earth would you call out Lacy’s name?”

She strolled out of the kitchen, bread and butter in hand and stopped abruptly when she saw his face. He probably looked like the mouse the cat caught.

“Oh, my God! Did she spend the night here last night?”

Her laugh reminded him of the joyful squeals when he’d tickle his baby Jenny.

He shook his head. “What’s up with you?” His personal life occupied way too much of the conversation between them lately.

“You haven’t found anyone good enough to bring home. Until now.” She leaned against the kitchen doorframe. “You’re on the way to having a
life
.” The bread and butter waved in the air.

“I did bring her home. She was remanded into my custody for your information.” He hung his jacket on the coat tree, and with downcast eyes walked past her into the kitchen. His little white lie probably hung on his face like a sign. “There was an incident last night. Lacy found the curator dead at the museum.”

Jenny shot off the wall and followed him. “Kitty called Laura this morning, hysterical. They arrested Clark. Then she got a call from the cops, right before I left.”

“We found him in Lacy’s room.” He poured a fresh cup of coffee that she’d made, and they sat at the table while he explained the events of the night before, excluding in whose bed Lacy spent the night. “She wasn’t here when you got home?”

“No.”

His stomach twisted. She’d been upset by Kitty, and he’d left without telling her all the things he’d wanted to say.

“Did you see Clark at all last night?”

“He supposedly went to Las Vegas with some guy friends.” A sneer formed on her lips. “The creep. Poor Laura. What do you mean Lacy was remanded? Is she a suspect?”

“Yes, but it’s routine since they found her at the scene. I’m sure she’ll be cleared.” He pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ve got some calls to make.” Her head got a pat. “Good java.”

Alone in his office, door closed, he stared into his cup and tried to dispel the sense of dread clouding his head. And his heart. He’d not said enough before he’d left this morning. His tongue tied up with his emotions when he faced Lacy outside the bedroom. And bedroom actions weren’t enough. He could see it in her face. Still, she should’ve waited for him, and he thought she would. He should’ve known better. Her heart might be inexperienced and soft, but she had an independent streak otherwise.

He pulled his cell from his pocket, scrolled to her number from when she called him. She’d be having lunch with Professor Sheffield. If he had any luck, she’d answer and reveal the restaurant, so he could covertly keep an eye on her.

Her voice mail clicked in immediately.

“Damn it.” One last sip of coffee and he headed down the hall. “Jenny, I’m going to run some errands. I’ll see you later.” Maybe a visit to Detective Ranclin would be in order. Perhaps more evidence had come to light.

****

“It looks like someone’s cute little house.” A restaurant in the middle of an old neighborhood surprised Lacy. The professor parked where there should’ve been grass but now blacktop existed.

“That’s how Paolo started, cooking for his neighbors.”

She stood from the car, watched the ghost of a laughing Kaya approach the door, looking over her shoulder with the same flirtatious smile she saw in the professor’s photos. Myles smiled as he walked to the front of the car, focused on the door, too.

“Did you come here often with her?”

“It was the only place we went out to eat. Most often, we cooked for each other. Or together. Food is a true aphrodisiac, you know.”

He regarded her, his green eyes bright with memory. The warmth of his grasp, the light in his eyes, translated the joy of those memories.

“Shall we?” His hand cupped her elbow.

Nerves bit at her stomach as they approached the door. She’d yet to tell him about the theft, afraid he would cancel their meeting if she didn’t have the sketches. He might be reticent about telling her more, if he’d been consumed with thinking about the newly discovered art. She needed to know how soon she’d been born after her mother had left him for Hartmut. Her hand would be forced if he brought the art up first.

“I’d love to hear about how you met.” If she kept him talking about the personal relationship, revealing more about Kaya before she became a renowned artist, she’d then tell him about last night.

“In good time, Lacy.”

She walked through the door he held open for her, then stopped by a wooden podium manned by a twenty-something, dark-haired woman.

“Is Paolo in today?”

She looked surprised. “Why, yes he is.”

“Would you tell him Professor Sheffield is here? And we’d like the table by the kitchen.”

Again the surprise, but she pulled two menus from the side of the podium and led them to the back of the restaurant.

The room, probably once the living room, was dark with the richest of colors from a Crayola box: brick red, eggplant, goldenrod and deep green. There were two arched doorways into side rooms, possible bedrooms at one time, where lunchtime patrons sat.

“I’ll let Paolo know you’re here.”

“You can see why this place would please an artist like your mother. The color.” He pushed the menu aside and leaned forward. “Our young hostess seemed surprised at my seating request. This was Kaya’s table. She wanted to be near the warmth and smells of the kitchen.”

“Where did she sculpt, Myles?”

“Your mother loved getting away from the campus and her small apartment, to the comfort of my home, or to sculpt in the quiet of the forest.”