by Kathi Daley
“Maybe two unrelated series of events have been simultaneously taking place,” I said. “Maybe we’re dealing with a prankster, who has been moving stuff and we’re also dealing with an art thief. We don’t actually know the two are related.”
“If they aren’t related, then two different individuals are getting past the security system and into the gallery,” Colt pointed out.
I guessed he had a point. That was unlikely.
“At this point, I’m operating under the assumption that Damian was with one or more people affiliated with the gallery when he died. My assumption may turn out to be wrong, but at this point, I’m trying to get a feel for all the players.”
Nikki folded and unfolded her Kleenex as she worked up to saying whatever it was she was going to say. After a full minute, she spoke. “As you know, Elena owns the gallery, but in addition to owning the gallery, she’s an artist. She dabbles in oil but prefers watercolor. Mostly seascapes, snowcapped mountains, meadows bursting with wildflowers, those sorts of things.” She paused and took a breath. “I guess you saw her work last night. It’s good but common. I doubt she’ll ever make a name for herself unless her gallery does exceptionally well, and she gains notoriety that way.”
Colt jotted down a few notes, but he seemed to be letting Nikki set the pace.
“Elena is a very nice woman,” she continued. “Fun, in a new age sort of way. She told me that in addition to being quite adept in both yoga and meditation, she also practices witchcraft. One of the few oils she has on display is the Gemini Witch I showed Abby the first day she came in.”
“I thought the Gemini Witch was Damian’s,” I said.
“No. Elena did it. We were talking about Damian’s work at the time, so I can understand your confusion.” She licked her lips, took a sip of her water, and then continued. “Elena only has one full-time employee, Liv. Liv is the polar opposite of Elena. I think her background is in bookkeeping. She’s very exact, organized, and analytical. While Elena is flamboyant and artsy, Liv is controlled and particular. The two women have a history and have been friends for a long time, although it seems they have absolutely nothing in common.”
“Elena said that Liv has the code to the security system,” Colt said.
“Yes,” Nikki replied. “She works late sometimes, and she opens when Elena can’t be there. As I said, Elena seems to trust her. I’m not sure how long they’ve known each other, but it seems to me they must have been friends for a while. They seem very familiar with each other.”
Colt continued to jot down notes. “Any other employees?” he asked.
“Just one. Jennifer,” Nikki answered. “She works part-time as needed. I’m not sure if she has the security code, although I guess she must since it seems to me she has closed a time or two.”
“Do you know Jennifer’s last name?” Colt asked.
“No. I’m not sure she ever said.”
“Anyone else?”
“No. At least not that I know of. There is a cleaning lady as well as a guy who does marketing who are both in and out, but they aren’t employees. And then there are the artists who have their work at the gallery. Damian, of course, and a man named Steele who does sculpture. I’m not sure if Steele is a first or a last name.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “There’s a woman who does portraits. Faith is her first name, but I can’t recall her last name. The pottery to the left of the entrance is made locally by a woman named Wilma Weedmore. Then there are maybe a dozen artists who work in other towns who have work displayed who I’ve never met.”
“Anyone else local come to mind?” Colt asked.
“Not that I can think of offhand, but I know there are others. If I think of any names, I can text you.”
“Okay.” Colt closed his notebook. “If you had to guess, who do you think might have been with Damian the night he died?”
Nikki slowly shook her head. “I really don’t know. If the person with Damian wasn’t someone affiliated with the gallery, you might want to talk to Spud. He and Damian were friends. Good friends who hung out together all the time. Spud isn’t an artist, but he might have known what Damian was up to.”
“Is Spud his real name?” Colt asked.
She shrugged. “Probably not, but it’s the only name I know.”
“Do you have a last name for Spud?”
“No, but I know he works for that boat repair place south of the marina. The one just beyond the wharf. I’m sure if you go in there and ask for Spud, someone can direct you to him.”
Colt thanked Nikki for coming in and then asked that she call or text if she thought of anything else. She agreed to do so. After giving him a hug, Nikki followed me to my car. She didn’t want to go home, so she asked me to drop her off at a friend’s house. She’d assured me she could get a ride home, and that she really wanted to be with someone who knew and loved Damian the way she had. After making sure she had everything she needed, I headed back to the inn. I pulled into the drive just as a newer SUV pulled into the parking space nearest the front door.
“You must be Ainsley Holloway,” I said to the petite woman with long blond hair that reached her waist. She was dressed in faded jeans, white sandals, and a light blue summer top that fell loose and billowy around her tiny frame. She looked enough like Georgia that they could have been sisters except for the fact that Georgia’s eyes were a bright blue, and Ainsley’s were a piercing green.
“I am.” She grinned, her eyes dancing with merriment as she seemed to be simultaneously taking in everything around her. “Would you be Georgia?”
“No, I’m Abby. I own the inn; my best friend, Georgia, runs it. I was told you were arriving today. Do you need help with your luggage?”
“No,” she answered, opening the back door of her large SUV and pulling out a black duffle bag. The car was the sort of thing a very large man or someone with a very large family might drive, although Ainsley was far from being a very large man. I hadn’t noticed car seats or other evidence of children. “I’ll only be staying for a few days, so I didn’t bring much.” She paused, looked around, and took a deep breath. “It’s lovely here. Even lovelier than I imagined when I booked the room.” She glanced toward the sea. “I can’t imagine how wonderful it must be to be able to look out across the horizon every day. It must be spectacular when storms roll in.”
“It really is an awesome experience,” I confirmed.
“And the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks. I bet I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.” Her smile faded just a bit. “It’s been a while since I had a good night’s sleep.”
I sensed sadness in the beautiful young woman but decided not to ask about it. At least not yet. Georgia had said the woman, who looked to be in her late twenties, was in the area to do some research. Suddenly, I wondered what sort of research had brought her all the way to Holiday Bay, Maine from Savannah, Georgia, which was the home address she’d provided when registering.
“Should I park somewhere other than here?” she asked, after closing her back door and turning toward me.
“Your car is fine where it is. Come on in, and I’ll introduce you to Georgia. I think she has you in suite four, which is on the third floor. We aren’t fully booked during your stay and can move you to a lower floor if you’d prefer.”
“The third floor is fine. Georgia explained about the lack of an elevator when she booked the room, but I don’t mind the stairs. It seems to me that the view from high up will be best.”
“All our rooms have wonderful views, but the higher you are, the further you can peer into the horizon,” I agreed.
I opened the front door and escorted our guest in. The minute we arrived, Ramos came running from the kitchen. It appeared he was heading toward me, but when he saw Ainsley, he veered to the right and almost tackled the poor thing to the floor in his enthusiasm.
“Ramos down,” I yelled, causing Molly, who’d been several steps behind Ramos, to freeze in indecision. “I’m so sorry,” I said as I
pulled the giant dog off the small woman. “I don’t know what got into him. He’s usually so well behaved.”
Ainsley dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the neck of the huge black dog who’d sat obediently at her feet when I’d yelled at him. “That’s okay.” She laughed as he licked her from chin to forehead. “I love dogs, especially big dogs. In fact, I have two waiting for me at home. Kai and Kallie.”
“Are they Newfoundlands as well?” I asked, realizing that two big dogs explained the huge SUV.
“Bernese Mountain Dogs. They weigh a bit less than Ramos here. Kai weights about one thirty-five, and Kallie around one twenty. I’m guessing Ramos weighs in around one eighty.”
“That sounds about right, but you’d have to ask Georgia to know for certain.”
“Ask Georgia what?” Georgia asked, drying her hands on her apron as she walked in from the kitchen.
“How much your beautiful boy weighs,” Ainsley asked, standing up and offering Georgia her hand.
“One seventy-five. He didn’t jump on you, did he?”
“No,” Ainsley assured her. “He was a perfect gentleman who simply wanted to say hi. I’m Ainsley. We spoke a couple weeks ago.”
Georgia smiled. “Of course. You mentioned on the phone that you had two Bernese Mountain Dogs. I guess Ramos recognized a kindred spirit. He’s normally not very enthusiastic when greeting our guests. He usually warms up to most everyone once he gets to know them, but when he first meets them, he’s been known to be standoffish at times.”
“He’s absolutely gorgeous.” Ainsley scrubbed her hands through the thick fur on his neck. “I bet he’s wonderful to snuggle up with on a snowy winter day.”
“He really is. Despite his size, he’s really just a giant baby.” Georgia walked over to the front counter. “I have you in suite four. Will you be okay with the stairs?”
“I will. I prefer a higher unit. I bet it’s magical to sit up high above the ground and watch the sun set.”
“It can be really spectacular.” Georgia handed her the key. “I’ll call Jeremy to help with your bag.”
She palmed the key. “Don’t bother. It isn’t heavy, and I don’t mind carrying it myself. Am I the only one here?” She looked around. “It’s so quiet.”
“There’s only one other guest staying tonight, but we have a guest checking in tomorrow and several others for the weekend. It is quiet today, however, which is why I’m catching up on the baking. If you’d like to come back down after you settle in, I have coffee and fresh from the oven cookies in the kitchen.”
“Coffee and cookies sound wonderful.”
Chapter 5
After Ainsley headed up to her room, I followed Georgia into the kitchen.
“So, how did the interview go?” Georgia asked after I slid onto a stool.
I filled her in on the progress, or maybe I should say, lack of progress, made on the case. Of course, I supposed it was early to expect any progress at all. Damian had just been found on the floor of the storage room a few hours earlier.
“Poor Nikki,” Georgia said. “She really seemed to be into the guy.”
“There did seem to be a connection,” I agreed. “But she just met him a few weeks ago. I think the shock of the whole thing has her feeling off-kilter, but I suspect she’ll bounce back after some time has passed.”
“Did Colt seem to have any suspects in mind?” She opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl full of eggs.
“If he does have any idea of who might be behind the murder, he didn’t say as much. I suspect that the moving artwork, the missing artwork, and the murder are all tied in together, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out how.”
Georgia filled a mug with coffee and passed it to me.
“It just seems that if your plan was to steal valuable pieces of art, you wouldn’t mess around with pranks in the weeks leading up to the theft,” I continued.
“Maybe the person who took the missing artwork was just getting warmed up the past couple of weeks, or maybe they didn’t plan to take the art, but things changed for some reason after the exhibit started.”
“Maybe. According to Colt, it looks like two pieces of art were found missing on Saturday, and two more seem to have gone missing on the night Damian died. At this point, it’s hard to know. Hopefully, the killer left prints or DNA or some sort of evidence that will allow Colt to track him or her down. Once in custody, maybe Colt can get the answers that seem to be fleeting at this point.”
“I hope so. For Nikki’s sake, if nothing else.”
Georgia turned to remove two cookie sheets from the oven and replace them with two others. She’d freeze the bulk of what she made for the upcoming weekend. It took a lot of planning and hard work to stay on top of the guests and all the special events we held during the fall, not to mention her cooking show, which normally taped on Tuesdays.
“Something smells wonderful in here,” Ainsley said, pausing to pet Rufus after coming in through the large swinging door that led to the formal dining area.
“I have coffee, tea, or cider if you’d like something hot, or iced tea, cola, milk, or water if you’d prefer something cold to go with your cookie,” Georgia offered.
“Coffee, please. Black is fine.” She slipped onto the stool next to mine.
“Would you like to try pumpkin snickerdoodle, cinnamon sugar, or macadamia nut white chocolate?” Georgia asked, taking a blue glass plate from the cupboard.
“I guess I’ll have to try pumpkin snickerdoodle, although they all sound wonderful,” Ainsley answered.
Once Ainsley had her coffee and cookie, Georgia jumped right in with the question that seemed to have been at the forefront of her mind. “You mentioned when we spoke on the phone that you were in town to do some research. What sort of research?” she asked.
Ainsley paused, a serious expression traversing her face, before pulling a photo out of her pocket. She handed it to Georgia, who wiped her hands on a clean towel before taking it. The photo was of a young woman with long blond hair who was holding a blond-haired child around one year of age in her arms while another blond-haired child who looked to be three or four stood beside her. The trio was posed on a porch in front of a house that, based on the scenery in the background, was perched on a bluff, much like the bluff my cottage and inn were perched on.
“What am I looking at?” Georgia asked, before passing the photo to me.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I found this photo a while back and immediately felt compelled to figure out where the photo was taken and who the three people featured in the photo might be. I knew even as I took on the mission that finding my answers would be a longshot, but I feel like I’m connected to them in some cosmic way. I wasn’t sure how exactly, but I was pulled in to the point where I’ve spent the past few months trying to figure out where the photo might have been taken in the hope that finding the where would give me a starting point to the who. I watch your cooking show.” She glanced at Georgia. “A while back, you had an outdoor cooking special which was taped out on the lawn. The cameraman happened to catch the house, the bluff, and the ocean beyond from a specific angle that made it appear as if this house might be the one in my photo. Now that I’m here and have had a chance to look at the coastline in person, I can see that this house isn’t the house in the photo, but for a while, I really thought I was onto something.”
I looked more closely at the photo. “In a way, it does look as if this house and bluff could be the same house and bluff captured in the photo.”
“I wasn’t sure the house would even be old enough at first. The modern image you present now didn’t seem congruent with the much older house in the photo, but I did some research and found out that this house was originally built in the late eighteen hundreds and had been remodeled when you decided to open the inn. I’d hoped that the remodel would explain the difference between the two buildings, but I got a good look at the coastline from my balcony, and I can see that the coastline
itself is different.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sure you’re disappointed that you came all this way for nothing.”
“Not for nothing.” She grinned. “I love the inn, and I’ve wanted to meet Georgia ever since the first time I saw her on cable TV.”
“Do you cook?” Georgia asked.
“Not at all, but I enjoy watching others cook. I grew up on TV dinners and boxed mac and cheese, but I always wondered about families who sat down together to a full meal with all the sides.”
“Your mom didn’t like to cook?” I asked.
“It was just my dad and me,” she explained. “He was a cop. A very busy cop. A lot of nights, it was just me, and I’d make do with a peanut butter sandwich.” Her smile faded. “Not that I’m complaining. I loved my dad. He was a kind and caring man who would give away the shirt off his back if he came across someone in need. But he had a full life, and cooking just wasn’t a priority.”
“So, he’s passed?” I asked.
She nodded. “Eight months ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, placing my hand over hers, which was resting on the counter.
“Did he die in the line of duty?” Georgia asked.
I’m not sure I would have been so bold to ask something so personal, but Georgia was bold if she was anything.
“No,” Ainsley answered. “At least not directly.”
Georgia shot her a curious glance.
“My father was shot in the line of duty seven years ago. He almost died at the time, but being the stubborn man that he was, he managed to pull through. The problem was that he came away from the encounter with permanent damage to his heart, which made him ineligible for active duty. He was offered a desk job, but he turned it down and opened his own detective agency. He died eight months ago as the result of a heart attack from that damaged heart.” She swiped at a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “I tried to get him to slow down. I even quit my job as a journalist three years ago and moved home to take care of him. Not that he wanted to be taken care of. But I knew he needed help with his investigations, and if I wasn’t around to cook for, he normally skipped even the TV dinners. In the end, I made a decision and packed up my life in New York to move home to Georgia. Not that I regret it. I wouldn’t change anything about that decision except maybe to have moved home sooner. But in the end, my being there didn’t stop the inevitable from happening.”
