The Art of Murder

by Claire Ripley

  ✽✽✽

  Bright morning light made its way through the blinds and woke me from a fitful night's sleep. My body felt like I had gone ten rounds. I glanced around again in confusion, then remembered.

  The attack in the parking garage.

  Blow to my head.

  The panic attack.

  Connor.

  No wonder I was so sore. Oh no. The nightmare. I groaned as I remembered last night's events. Connor with his shirt off as I explained my nightmare, and then, our disagreement over protective custody.

  My phone buzzed quietly on the table, its screen lighting up with Caty's name.

  "Hey you," she said. "I'm getting Starbucks. I can't deal with that office garbage today. You want anything?" I pictured her sleek blond ponytail and expensive suit dresses she favored, waiting in the drive through.

  Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I knew I'd be very late to work today, as I still needed a ride to my apartment and a shower. Maybe it was better to call in sick?

  "No, I'm good," I told her.

  "Listen, I need to run in a minute, but wanted to call you back. God knows Linda never lets you talk long in the office."

  I sighed and sank into the pillows. "I was attacked last night leaving work in the parking garage. I'm not hurt, but the police want me to lie low until these people are caught."

  "What!" Caty's gasp was sharp through the phone. "Is that why you called yesterday? I'm so, so sorry, Emma. I'm so glad you're okay."

  "It's fine."

  "No, it's not. I'm sorry. What can I do?"

  "I don't know, to be honest. I'm trying to figure all this out too. The police think the suspects are watching my apartment since they went after me at work."

  "Where are you? Do you want to stay with me?" I pictured staying with Caty, at her parents' house and cringed. No way.

  "Thanks, but the police are helping me." I wasn't sure why, but I didn't want to tell her just yet where I was. I avoided answering her by shifting gears. "I'm worried about my show next week. There's a lot of exposure with the Junior League's involvement."

  "Don't worry about your exhibition. You're going to kill it. I'll have my dad put the word out with the restaurant. Sound good? You'll have a huge crowd, Emma, I swear."

  "That would be fantastic," I said.

  We said goodbye and I continued to think about my problems. I still didn't know Caty well enough to move in with her family and possibly put them in danger as well.

  I padded down the hallway, the cool hardwood silent under my bare feet. The seductive scent of coffee greeted me from the kitchen and I heard his voice across the small house. It appeared to come from a section he hadn't shown me last night. I paused in the kitchen, and decided to help myself to the coffee instead of disturbing him, but I could still overhear his conversation.

  "...you're shitting me," Connor was saying, his voice rising in frustration.

  Remembering where the mugs were stored, I poured myself a cup for myself and looked around for cream and sugar, while trying not to eavesdrop.

  "Who else do you have on it?....No, no, I'm sending a copy of that over to you...I sent the custody request, it's urgent.. Chief, this is my investigation. I need some help here."

  "I walk her into the station and she's an open target. I'll detail her myself as a witness and send the statement.... Chief, it isn't about your procedure. This is a matter of a woman's safety. I need protective custody for her, starting today. Next twelve hours, tops."

  I heard a slam and then a loud "Fuck!" Connor appeared in the doorway, looking furious and thankfully wearing a shirt. He paused when he saw me, schooling his emotions.

  "Mornin,'" he greeted me in his easy drawl. "Looking for something?" He leaned against the counter, thumbs laced casually through his belt loops, a modest smile on his lips. His mere presence distracted – no, irritated me - because I couldn't find cream and sugar I required in my coffee and he was smirking at me. Yet the night prior he had suggested—no, he told me—I would be staying with him until I entered protective custody. It wouldn't work. I had paintings to finish for next week's show, my New York trip loomed, and there was the small issue of my day job. I needed to keep a roof over my head.

  I took a deep breath and centered myself under his focus. "Um, hi. Good morning. Can you tell me where I would find the cream and sugar?"

  He moved past me, grabbed the cream from the refrigerator and standing directly in front of me, reached in the cabinet behind me, his chest mere inches from my face. He smelled clean, of soap and shaving cream. I was frozen. I was suddenly aware of his clothing I was still wearing. He studied me, the playful smirk dancing on his lips.

  "The sugar is behind you, Alabama," he said, smirking, then breaking into a grin.

  Oh my God. A full grin of Connor's packed a hard punch. I'd never seen him give more than a smirk but a wide grin transformed his handsome face. That grin was a secret weapon. That smile would be the death of me if he kept smiling like that.

  Flushed, I broke eye contact and turned around, skimming his chest as he stepped away, my back to him as I sweetened the steaming aromatic liquid in my mug.

  Every indignant thought of mine was gone, replaced with acute awareness of his presence, his height, my nerves on fire and my head spinning. Or maybe I was dizzy from a lack of sleep and simply needed a serious jolt of caffeine.

  "Thanks," I muttered. "So. Good morning," I rebooted the conversation and attempted a smile. I wasn't sure what to make of his anger that simmered under the surface. Past experience had taught me to tread lightly with members of the opposite sex. Plenty of times I'd seen foster parents fighting, and the dad's drunken anger would be vented at one of the kids. This was very different standing here with him, but nevertheless I was wary of the temper I’d seen a few minutes ago.

  He looked me over and helped himself to the coffee, bypassing the cream and sugar on the counter. "Sorry about that," he said, jerking his head in the opposite direction. "How are your injuries?"

  "Fine," I lied. I was hopeful the coffee would calm my headache and help me think more clearly. Wrapping my fingers around the mug, I sipped the coffee, savoring the aroma and flavor.

  It felt like a kitchen face-off with him leaning against one counter and me on the other. I wasn't sure what the protocol should be in these situations, especially after hearing the heated conversation with his office.

  "So...how am I getting to work? I need to either call Linda or go in before I'm too late for acceptable excuses."

  "I've taken care of it." Connor set his coffee down and crossed his arms, shrugging slightly. He was devastatingly sexy right then. This morning he looked relaxed, barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt. His hair matched the blond stubble on his jaw. His face remained indecipherable. Took care of what exactly? My hourly wage job that paid my bills?

  "What do you mean, you took care of it? That's my job. I have to call, or go, or something..." I trailed off.

  "You're officially on personal leave from Whitley Kennington. After last night's attack, it's simply in your best interest and in that of the investigation that you lie low for a little while. Your job will be there when this is all over," he added after seeing the look on my face.

  "Oh my God. I can't...Connor, no." I raised my hand in protest. "I can't. I still need to work somehow; I'll just call Linda. I'll be inconspicuous and figure out how I can still get—”

  "Emma." He cut me off. "Listen to me - it's too dangerous. You were nearly killed last night. You're a witness in an increasingly high-profile investigation. Believe me when I tell you, there is a price on your head."

  "And what are you suggesting I do? I'm so royally screwed."

  "You're sure you don't have anyone you can stay with?"

  I shook my head adamantly.

  "Friends?"

  Again, I shook my head, thinking of Caty and dismissing her. I didn't know her well enough yet and didn't want to involve her any more than I already had. "When I tell you I'm screwed
, I mean it. It's just me."

  "Alright, stay here," he said. "I'm working on securing protective custody. We'll swing by your place this afternoon to pick up some of your belongings."

  I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose, and closed my eyes, thinking. While I'd love time away from life-sucking administrative tasks, I'd have to figure out something because I couldn't afford to not work.

  My New York trip. "Nina set up a meeting for me with another gallery in New York. That might be an option for time away?"

  "That same trip I told you wasn't a good idea?" He cocked his head at me questioningly.

  "Really, it's just two nights."

  Connor shook his head and said nothing. I fidgeted under his gaze, resulting in twirling my hair around my finger, an obnoxious nervous habit I hated. "Emma, it's not feasible. That could lure the Sgambatis after you. It's not safe."

  "No, no, this is huge. It's important. I have to go."

  "No. I'm telling you no." His smirk disappeared and his voice was firm. "It's a matter of life or death. I can't guarantee your safety when you're traipsing around New York City galleries."

  "But this is a huge career opportunity! I can't pay my bills right now, thanks to you!"

  "Thanks to the Sgambatis, you mean."

  Nine

  I fumed in the front seat of the Suburban as we drove to my apartment to pack my bags. Connor's jaw was set, indicating he was just as angry as I was. I couldn't read anything else about him. He was dressed in jeans, black leather jacket and aviator sunglasses. He was a formidable wall, barring anyone from the shields he put in place. This bright winter morning was the antithesis of the stormy mood in the car. From the window I watched flocks of birds darting back and forth over the landscape in unpredictable patterns. Our disagreement about New York and my job and protective custody remained unresolved. We'd parted ways in the kitchen when he'd said we were leaving in half an hour to get what I needed for a few days away. I didn't know how this would end, but I intended to hold my ground as long as possible.

  I contented myself with looking out the window. I loved the lowcountry. Nature was in full force, even in winter. Palm trees lined the streets, with marshlands completing background. I spied a heron in the distance. At first glance, the peaceful marshland was quiet, but upon closer examination, it was as bustling as ever.

  Ten minutes later, we pulled to a stop two blocks from my apartment. "Five minutes, Emma. I don't want to compromise your cover anymore than necessary." Connor opened my door, and we made our way inside the building.

  I dug my keys out of my purse, pushed the key into the lock, and it turned easily. Freezing, I looked up at him. "What is it?" He asked in a low voice, stepping closer to me.

  "The door's unlocked," I answered quietly. He stepped in front of me and drew his gun as he silently eased the door open.

  "Wait here," he ordered. I opened my mouth to respond, but he shook his head. I lowered my hand away from the door. My heart raced as I wondered what we would find inside.

  The small studio was trashed. Clothes were strewn about. Barstools upended. The bed was stripped and linens on the floor, the mattress cocked on its side and slashed open. What paintings I had ready to deliver to Nina had angry slashes through the canvas.

  Stealthily, he quickly cased the studio before returning to my side and holstering his gun. "All clear. Get what you need for a few days."

  "But..." I trailed off, scanning the apartment with dismay. "I've got to start cleaning this up." I was sickened over the intrusion and sabotage of my things. My finished canvases were destroyed, lying in a haphazard heap on the floor. The pride I'd felt when creating them for my first big show was gone and replaced with nausea and a sense of profound loss.

  "We'll discuss later. Just hurry and pack."

  Words failed and I found myself riveted to the door. It hadn't been cheap to move here and get this place, and everything in here was mine, earned over years of hard work. "Oh my God." Dumbly, I picked up the roll of paper towels that was unfurled on the floor and set it upright on the counter.

  Connor stepped in front of me. "Emma. You shouldn't touch anything until this place has been cataloged and fingerprinted. You have five minutes to get what you need before we leave and report this."

  My eyes filled but I didn't want him to see me vulnerable again.

  "Five minutes," he reminded me, turning away. Dialing his phone, he stalked towards the front door and slammed it closed behind him.

  I snatched my suitcase and threw it open on the floor and within minutes, had most of my clothing, make-up and toiletries packed. My mind was flying. My personal space, what had used to be my safe haven, where I painted in solace, had been turned upside down since the events in the alleyway five days ago. I didn't know how long I would be gone or even if I would come out of this alive. My stomach turned and I tried to shove it to the back of my mind. I glanced around for anything else I would need. As much as it hurt to look at scattered paint staining those beautiful wood floors, it was devastating to see gashed canvases. My breath hitched as I caught sight of white cotton fluff.

  I had few possessions, all of which were inexpensive and easily replaced. Except for one small item. The stuffed gray elephant had been worn and tattered, but now it was in two pieces, the violence of the act evident in the way it was lying on the floor. The small elephant had gone everywhere with me as a child and consoled me as a heartbroken and lonely little girl. I sighed and clutched it to my chest, closing my eyes silently over it. A child's toy, but the one item I had left of my mother before she died. This was all I really had left.

  Five minutes later, one bag of necessities in my hand and peacoat on my back, I found Connor leaning against the wall. He straightened up when he saw me and reached for the suitcase. I kept the two pieces of the elephant clutched in my hand, tucking them close to my heart. Dejected, I followed him down the stairs.

  We silently made our way to the street below. A cold front had moved in and with it, ice. He steadied me as we navigated the slick patches along the sidewalk and whether it was the slippery surface or a need to touch me, I couldn't be sure why he'd held onto me. His grip on my elbow was both calming and a source of strength.

  "Hey! Emma!" I jerked at the sound of my name and spun around. My neighbor, Trevor, stood a few feet away. The take-out bag in his hand suggested he was coming from the deli.

  "Hey, Trevor."

  "Where're you headed?" Trevor's easy-going smile faltered, his boyishly handsome face taking in Connor's arm that had wrapped around my waist and the suitcase in his other hand.

  "Um..."

  "A quick vacation," Connor interjected in a frosty voice. Trevor frowned as he looked between the two of us and then back to me.

  "Emma, is everything alright?"

  "We've got to go," Connor interrupted again. With a quick move, he briskly steered us toward his Suburban, his arm tucking me to his side.

  The wind picked up, blowing my hair in my face. Anger bubbled up in me, but he was moving too fast for me to extricate myself from his arm. Next thing I knew, he had unlocked the doors and handed me into the passenger seat.

  The second he shut the driver's side door, I pounced. "What the hell, Connor? Trevor's a friend! He's my neighbor!"

  He didn't respond immediately, but his tightened jaw and determined profile spoke volumes. "I don't trust him. And the less he knows, the better."

  "Trevor has nothing to do with any of this!"

  "You sure about that, sweetheart?"

  "I am! Trevor's harmless. And I'm not your sweetheart," I snapped.

  "I'm not taking any chances," he grumbled.

  Ten

  "Get me Chief, now!" Connor was driving frighteningly fast. Laser-focused on the road, he held the steering wheel with one hand and his phone with the other.

  Sunglasses concealed his eyes but couldn't hide the muscle clenching in his jaw. The tension was palpable.

  "Chief, we've got a problem. Emma Ell
iott's apartment was compromised...yes sir, destroyed....in the car now." Connor glanced my way again as he listened. He continued the conversation in soundbites, peppered with meaningless acronyms and codes.

  I tried to put words to my feelings. Violated would be one word. Frustrated. Out of control. And I was so used to being in control. His coolly efficient approach contrasted sharply with my sense of violation and frustration and his seeming penchant for control as my life reeled off-course. First the murder at the gallery. Then the man in the garage. And now my apartment? What did it all mean? A seed of uncertainty had been planted in my chest and was taking root.

  Connor whipped the Suburban down a side road and I fell into the door. He ignored my scowls. "We need officers there asap, and then a clean-up team in order...anything new on the murder?"

  Tuning him out, I cataloged what I would need to do. Insurance? I'd had basic renter's coverage - thankfully Nina had hounded me about getting it when I moved to Charleston. Still, I was pretty sure it wouldn't replace everything. Just great.

  He set the phone down in the console just as we parked in his garage. "Don't get out until that door is closed, understand?"

  I nodded and waited before exiting the vehicle and following him into the house.

  "Emma."

  I rounded on him as soon as the door closed behind me. "Connor! No, listen to me this time."

  "Emma, I've got this—”

  "No, you don't! In less than a week, I've witnessed a murder, been assaulted by a gunman, and now someone has broken into my fucking apartment and completely ransacked it. I'm allowed to flip out!" I groaned, clenching and unclenching my fists. Unloading that and I already felt better. "Let me tell you what I need on my end." I reflexively jerked back when he took a step toward me. "I need to call the insurance company. I just got renter's insurance, and do you have any idea what this is going to do to my premium? Holy shit, I'm barely making rent as it is, and now I have to replace everything!"

  "Listen to me, dammit!"

  "I've had enough listening to you!"