The Art of Love and Murder (7 page)

Carol looked at her as if she thought her a half-wit. “You said you had one of her pieces.”

“It isn’t finished, and it’s not signed.”

With rigid shoulders and eyes now narrowed to slits, doubt radiated from her step-aunt. Why the woman regarded her with distrust, Lacy couldn’t imagine. Maybe she viewed the world that way.

“Did you ever see her carving wood?”

“Hmph. Once Kaya moved out, she kept her life and art her own private world.”

And why not? Her mother probably received no love in that household. She ached a little for her.

“Do you know how that turned out?”

“I know she got pretty thick with an art professor at NAU.” Her scowl deepened. “Course, with Kaya, that didn’t seem unusual.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not putting her down, don’t get that idea. It was the sixties. Kids were loosey-goosey back then. Make love, not war. All that stuff. Kaya hobnobbed with the artsy-fartsy community, and she lived the life. Saw her and the professor one day, smooching in broad daylight on the sidewalk out front of Babbit’s.” Her attention drifted off above Lacy’s head, and the scowl saddened. “First I knew of it.” She cleared her throat and set her lips again. “They got real thick.” She drummed fingers on the coffee cup. “Then next thing I knew, the Austrian guy came to town and you were born.”

“My father, Hartmut.” His photo flashed across her mind—the attractive man with light green eyes.

“Yeah. She did good and never looked back.”

“You didn’t see much of her?”

“She had her artist friends in town and a place of her own. I never saw you.” She paused with one brow cocked. “Until now.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

The woman continued to lay a thick blanket of guilt on her. She shrugged it off, but felt more sorrow for her mother because of it.

Carol set her coffee cup on the table. “Long time ago. You and her art live on, right?” Steely eyes stared through her.

She looked away, concentrating on spreading the sketches. “Do these look at all familiar?”

With apparent measured words, the elder woman answered. “Not really sure. How many are there?” She thumbed through them, not interested in the sketches, only the number.

“Twelve.”

Not looking up, she blinked rapidly, darted a scan over the stack of sketches and licked her lips.

“Did you ever see her sign her art with these initials?”

“Like I said, her family didn’t see much of her.”

She sensed Carol knew something more. But what?

“Have you heard of an artist called Muuyaw?”

“No.” Her answer came abruptly with a flicker of her eyelids. “Why do you ask that?”

“It’s possible these aren’t Kaya’s handiwork. They may have been drawn by Muuyaw. Perhaps she was a friend of Kaya’s?”

“A friend?”

“Yes, you said she had artist friends.” Lacy fingered the ribbon that bound the sketches and studied Carol whose face became taut. “Maybe you heard Kaya mention her?”

“No. Never heard that one.” She set her jaw.

“Well, I appreciate the information.”
Damn.
Whether truth or a lie, she’d exhausted her avenues of questioning. She rolled the sketches and wrapped the ribbon around them. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I better get going.”

“Now, it’s not been any trouble at all. We’re practically family.”

Lacy cringed. Being part of this family would not be a blessing. “I appreciate it all the same.” She tucked away the art, stood and hefted her bag over her shoulder.

Clark came from the kitchen to stand in the living room doorway.

“Goodbye, Clark.”

His mute stare didn’t surprise her.

“And you said you have a room at the Grand View Hotel?” Carol followed her to the door with Clark on her heels. “Room two eighteen?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She hadn’t said, and Carol had already left her a message so the hotel must have told her. The Grand View’s lax attention to privacy and the disgruntled stepsister’s attitude didn’t help her sense of unease. But if Carol would actually think of something helpful and contact her, a little discomfort might be worth it.

“It’s a lovely old hotel. Hope you aren’t scared by all the ghost stories.”

Lacy edged out into the yard. “The hotel does like to play that up.” And everyone else in this city.

“Lots of locals swear they’re true.” She pulled her grandson to stand beside her. “I sure hope we get to see you again, Lacy. Don’t we, Clark? How long will you be staying?”

“Probably a couple of more days.”

“Call me, and we’ll get together for lunch or something.” The smile that didn’t touch her eyes came again.

“I’ll try. Bye.”

Behind her, the screen door creaked, and she caught bits of conversation.

“Honestly, Clark,” Carol scolded.

“How was I supposed to know? I thought mayb—”

“Just shut up and get in the house now.”

Lacy pulled the gate closed. That visit hadn’t gone any better than she feared. In spite of finding a few more pieces to the puzzle about her mother and the events the day of her death, her step-aunt would never be a part of her life. She slid into the car, setting the bag on the passenger seat. Her mother’s childhood hadn’t been exactly idyllic, living with the wicked stepsister. Her grandfather must have treated her well, favoring her over his stepdaughter. Then why did he leave, lose contact? He shouldn’t have left his son, John, either. Lacy shook her head and pulled away from the curb. She’d probably never know why.

****

The whistle brought Myles out of his reverie. He lifted the black enamel kettle, turned the burner off and poured the steaming water into the red, cast iron teapot. The chain on the steeper warmed between his finger and thumb as he dipped it up and down in the hot water.

Lacy Dahl would no doubt visit Carol Katz. Poor bitter old Carol. What would she tell the woman? He let the steeper sit and took a tea mug from the cupboard above his head. She knew so little, what did it matter? After rinsing the cup with tap water, he removed the steeper and poured his tea, carrying it to the patio.

The sun shone on the Adirondack chair. He sank into the heat, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb the relaxing warmth, the old twinge of melancholy hovering. He rested the mug against his chest as if the added heat could kill the sensation. He’d created Muuyaw, and what she created belonged to him. He deserved it. He’d loved her, nurtured her...lost her.

After all this time, more of Muuyaw’s art had surfaced.

It should be his.

His pulse quickened at the thought, and he wondered what to do to own it. Carol. He’d hear from her soon enough. Any excuse to contact him. How had he met her, God, so many years ago? The steam played wet on his face with the sip of tea. Raising his lids, he stared at the cascading white spirea along the back fence. How he loved beauty. She’d been a beauty and, if memory served him, she’d been a waitress as well as a student. But not a student of art. The brief affair satisfied him, but not Carol. Her beauty paled compared to the dark-haired, copper-skinned art student who’d sashayed into his class, awed him with her raw talent, and who just happened to be Carol’s sister. Perhaps jealously more than lost love drove her bitterness. He didn’t care then, and he didn’t care now, as long as her complicity satisfied his needs. If the sketches were authentic—and they sounded so—then Carol might be helpful.

His thumb tapped the cup edge. Yes, Carol would be helpful, and he’d not have to lay eyes on Lacy Dahl.

****

Lacy drove the short distance back to the hotel and thought about Carol’s characterization of her mother: favored daughter, artist, love child of the sixties. Could the lover, the art professor, still be alive? Phoebe would eat up this part of the story.

An empty parking space waited in front of the hotel, and she eased her car along the curb. The day’s activities had raised more questions than supplied answers. Instead of the exhaustion she’d experienced earlier, nervous energy pinged through her limbs like an overload of caffeine. She couldn’t wait to sit down to a quiet dinner with a glass of wine and mull over what she’d learned. Maybe Goth-clad Penny could suggest a restaurant close by that would offer a quiet corner and good wine.

She lifted the canvas bag onto her shoulder, locked her car door and looked across the street. The White Wolf Spirit shop’s door stood open. Chance had worn a T-shirt last night with their emblem. The window displayed books on American Indian folklore and history. Below that, various art and jewelry pieces sparkled, not all American Indian. The store looked eclectic and interesting. She’d have to take some souvenirs back to Phoebe and Hazel; maybe get Mark something for his trouble in researching the Austrian deed. His bill would most likely be light since he’d had a close relationship with her parents. She decided to take a quick look in before heading to her room.

Cars meandered down the narrow street, and she darted between them.

When Chief greeted the customer coming in the door, Chance glanced over his shoulder, jerked with recognition and turned. “Hi, Lacy.”

“Hello, Chance.” She came to stand beside him and smiled at Chief. “Good evening.” She glanced around the shop. “Your store looked so intriguing, I had to come in and explore.”

“Thank you. Lacy is it?” His friend regarded her with obvious appreciation of her beauty and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lacy. I go by Chief.”

“Chief, nice to meet you.” She sauntered closer and offered her hand to the old man, giving Chance a whiff that reminded him of spring flowers on the peaks.

“You seem to turn up everywhere.” She gave him a sideways glance.

“Small town, I guess.” He leaned his forearms on the counter to bring his face level with hers.

“I’m not so sure that’s it.” She tilted her head and smiled. “There’s a reason our paths keep crossing.”

Her directness, the glittering green of her eyes, struck him so he had to straighten and put some distance between them. “You suppose?”

“Maybe we should have dinner together and figure it out?”

His hesitation wiped the smile from her face.

“Oh, unless you have other plans.”

“No, I don’t.” Only plans to avoid the feelings she provoked. But he had to eat. He’d sought her out this morning. One more step forward wouldn’t hurt him. “Sure.” He looked at his watch. “When did you have in mind?”

“Actually, now. I’m famished. But what’s good for you?” Her fingers drummed on her purse. Expectant eyes regarded him.

“I can do now.”

“Do you want to finish your shopping while I grab my sweater from the car?”

“Shopping?” He glanced at Chief behind the counter. “No, I’m just keeping ol’ Chief here company.” He tapped the counter, signaling a finish to their conversation. “I’ll walk with you.”

Chief’s glance turned toward the door of the store. His eyes twinkled and a mischievous smile lit his face. “Hi, Kitty.”

Oh hell
. He bit his reaction, took a deep breath and faced his sometimes companion.

“I thought I might find you here, Chance honey.” She threw a cursory glance at Lacy and sidled up, draping her arm along his waist.

Lacy shuffled sideways, frowning.

He turned toward Kitty, but took a step back. “What brings you downtown?”

“You mean besides you?”

Her hazel eyes swept his face, prodding a reaction. He didn’t intend on fueling her flirtations.

When he didn’t respond, she chuckled. “I had a few errands, thought I’d stop in and say hi to Chief. Hi, Chief.” She winked at the old man. “But since you’re here, why don’t we go get a bite to eat?”

“Sorry, Kitty, I have plans.”

Her mouth fell to the pout he knew all too well. She always wanted more than he could give, or wanted to give. He’d never made her any promises, yet in spite of that, this could be awkward.

He nodded in Lacy’s direction. “Lacy Dahl, this is Nora Katz, better known as Kitty.”

The two women looked at each other as if they’d seen a ghost. Neither of the women spoke, and his observation passed from one to the other, twice. Noise from cars on the street drifted in the open door, the old grandfather clock in the corner of the store ticked and Chief made a noise in his throat.

“Lacy Dahl?” Kitty spat, breaking the standoff.

“Oh, my gosh!” Lacy stuck her hand out to Kitty. “Are you Carol’s daughter?”

Kitty barely touched Lacy’s palm. “Yes, I am. And you’re Kaya’s daughter.”

The bitterness puzzled him.

Lacy hesitated, obviously affected by Kitty’s tone. “That’s right.”

“So, you two practically know each other.” He thought he might have to referee and had no idea why.

“Not as well as you two do, apparently.” Kitty tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “How
do
you know each other?”

She’d always been forward, yet this display caught him off guard. Chief ran a hand over his face, stifling amusement. He shuffled and wondered how much he should say, considering the audience they had. Heat rose on his neck.

Lacy took a deep breath, tipped her chin up and gave him a bright smile. “Chance sort of rescued me from a would-be assailant last night, and I owe him dinner for that.” She turned her smile on Kitty, but her expression looked more fiery than friendly.

Kitty clenched her jaw. “How nice for you. Chance is that kind of guy, always there to help a stray.” She turned her back on Lacy, put her palms on his chest and spoke quietly as if the other two didn’t exist. “You know where I’ll be after you have your obligatory Good Samaritan dinner. Your Modelo is still in the fridge.” She stood on tiptoes and brushed his mouth lightly with a kiss.

His lips remained dead to her caress. He’d have to set her straight later, call her and explain their relationship. He should’ve taken care of this sooner, but he hadn’t foreseen a beautiful tourist in his future, however brief the encounter would be. A tinge of guilt flickered near the surface. He’d never promised her otherwise, still, he might have used her as much as he figured she used him. Kitty had been a willing, occasional companion. He hadn’t intended on anymore than that, but her bared claws meant she saw it differently.