Love, Art, and Murder: Mystery Romance

by Kenya Wright

  “Okay. Do me a favor and press the button on the door to lock it. She’ll realize that I want privacy and wait until I open it again.”

  He did and then sat down in the seat Grandma had been in earlier. “How long has Reece been working for you?”

  I wasn’t expecting that question.

  “Around ten years. Why? Is she a suspect?”

  “I’m afraid she is, and I have even worse news. I believe your grandmother and brother may be suspects, too.”

  Defeated, I collapsed back into my chair unable to maintain any semblance of good posture with so much weight being slung onto my shoulders. “I’m going to need you to explain yourself.”

  “How far do you want to be privy to this investigation, Mr. Castillo? My supervisor told me to treat this situation delicately and that your family should get the treatment we reserve for. . . let’s say ones with political and/or powerful connections. The further I go with my investigations the trickier it may be.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I have no doubt that one of those people I just named had something to do with it. You won’t like it and I would rather know now what your actions will be if I try to go after them.”

  “If you’re hinting at me stopping this investigation because people I care about are involved, then let me answer you right now, and there won’t be any need to return to this again. I want to know who killed those women. The most important thing to me is it to stop the deaths right now. I’m not the type of man who uses his connections to cover deaths or injuries my family may have caused. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why are you looking at my family and assistant instead of the other men who were on this property?”

  “Because Dayanara Castillo is directly connected to both murders.”

  I froze into a block of ice right before his eyes. “How do you know this?”

  “Last night when I was questioning people on the grounds, I happened to see your assistant arguing with your grandma as she helped her down the stairs. It looked like they were coming from where Mrs. Dayanara Castillo lives.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “It was in Spanish. I’m not sure.” He must’ve noticed my shocked expression. “Is something wrong, sir?”

  “I had no idea Reece could speak Spanish.” It was reasonable to assume anybody in Miami knew how to speak it. Spanish was practically the first language of the city, but Reece had never informed me of this during the interview, on her resume, or at any point of working with me.

  Why didn’t she tell me that, and what could she be fighting with Grandma about?

  “I waited for your assistant and grandma to leave, and then ventured up to Dayanara Castillo’s area. A bin of soiled items rested in front of the door, probably to be picked up by a cleaning service, but what struck me as odd was that these items smelled like blood. When I opened the bag, I confirmed that it was so.”

  So caught up with Elle, I’d forgotten to tell Detective White about my grandma and Dayanara’s bloody field trip last night. Maybe that was a good thing.

  “I tried to call you, but your phone was off.” Detective White stirred in his seat. The next information didn’t seem like it would be good. In fact, the more he talked the more my body switched into defense mode. “I had the clothes tested.”

  “That was a smart decision,” I said. “What did you find from these tests?”

  “Human blood saturated both your grandma’s and Dayanara’s clothes. However, on Dayanara’s clothes, and I assume this is her shirt and pants due to how short your grandma is, the test showed the victim’s blood from last night was near the bottom of her sleeves and around the knees of her pants.”

  I sat there speechless. There had always been a tiny hint of worry in my mind that Dayanara was somehow involved. But I wasn’t ready for the realization to hit me like this.

  “There’s more.” The investigator pulled out large photos from the manila envelope in his lap. “When the two girls were killed, not much activity happened with other people on the grounds. But on both nights, those three people I mentioned earlier--your assistant, grandmother, and brother--were active in the area near the garden where the first body was found. Although for the second victim, your brother was on stage. Some of the times were so close I’m certain at least two knew that the first body was there before you spotted it.”

  “That can’t be true.” I shook my head. “Why would they let me find it?”

  “I’m not sure, sir.” He placed five photographs in front of me. “The coroner stated that the first girl was killed somewhere during the time of three to five in the morning. This is her walking to the pond where I’d told you many people smoked marijuana. As you can see, the time says four thirty in the morning.”

  The girl held a flashlight and seemed to be in a hurry to meet someone.

  Why would she walk off by herself like that so late at night, if not to meet someone she trusted? She must’ve known the killer or expected to meet someone else and the wrong person met her first.

  “This is Dayanara Castillo at three in the morning on the same night.” Detective White pointed to the picture on the right. Dayanara walked the grounds like a ghost. Her white gown flowed to the ground and glowed in the moonlight. Her long brown hair rode the wind. Her eyes looked crazed. Her hands held a large knife.

  Dear God. Where the hell did she get a knife?

  “There were many photos of her roaming the property with the knife, but this was the closest I could find with her near the kill time. The closer we get to five in the morning, the less I can find her within the camera’s view, which tells me she was in that blind spot.” He placed another photo to the front. “I have your assistant running out of the house at five in the morning. She headed straight to the blind spot. Like Dayanara, she is missing after five in the morning. When she returns, she’s with a bloodied Dayanara.”

  He tapped the photo. On it, Reece guided Dayanara to the back of the house. Crimson liquid stained the entire front of Dayanara’s gown.

  I looked at Detective White. “Where’s the knife that Dayanara had earlier?”

  “I’m not sure. I only see it in the earlier footage. Once your assistant has her, it’s gone.” He brought the last two photos to the front. “And then we have these. It seemed that this time around, four to five in the morning was pretty busy for all of them. Your grandmother did her best to remain in the shadows. I almost didn’t catch her. She wore all black and walked around many trees, but right here I spotted her heading toward her garden. Can you make her out?”

  “Yes.” My mouth went dry. My fingers trembled.

  “She doesn’t show up on the cameras again until six in the morning, where she is fully dressed in new clothes and meeting you at the front steps.”

  “I’d just arrived back from a business trip. She always meets me at the steps when I return, but she never told me she’d been up all night walking around the property. In fact, she shoved me toward the kitchen so that she could make my favorite soup. I offered to get her some herbs from the garden, went out there, and that’s when I discovered the first victim.”

  You knew a dead girl was out there, didn’t you, Grandma? Why didn’t you tell me?

  “This is the last photo. Your brother left the back of his studio at four forty-five in the morning. It is unclear where he went. There appears to be more blind spots near your brother and grandmother’s living spaces. I would like to have cameras placed there without them knowing it.”

  Unease sat in the pit of my stomach, but I nodded that his idea was okay. A week ago I would’ve never considered uniting with a stranger to spy on my family, but then a week ago no innocent girls had died under my watch.

  “The only footage of your brother I find is him later in the day, around nine in the morning, where it appears he’s singing in a tree.”

  “He does that when he’s nervous.”

  “What do
you think he was nervous about?”

  “I’m not sure, but I plan to find out. In fact, I plan to find out why all of them--Reece, Grandma, Dayanara, and Hex--were running around the grounds early in the morning while a young girl was killed.”

  “I would like access to your brother’s studio, Grandmother’s cottage, and assistant’s rooms, as well as Dayanara Castillo’s living quarters.”

  “You have my permission, but if there is one thing I know about my family, it’s this: if they know you’re coming to look, they’ll hide it all. I’ll need to have them away for something else while I allow you the time to search. However, for Dayanara’s quarters I would like to be there. I can’t have her transported now.”

  “I understand.”

  I yanked out my top drawer, opened my small lock box, and pulled out several keys. “I keep extra keys for my assistant’s living quarters. She’s on the third level in the west wing. That whole area is hers. If you unlock the main hallway you’ll have access to all of her rooms.”

  “When should I try there?”

  “She’ll be the easiest to keep busy. I’ll have her leave now. Hold on.” I pressed the speakerphone button and dialed her number.

  “Hello?” she asked after the first ring. “I saw the door was locked so I ran down to the kitchen to grab us some food.”

  Why didn’t you tell me Dayanara had gotten out of her living quarters the night the first girl was killed? What are you hiding and why?

  “Breakfast for me won’t be necessary.”

  “Is everything okay, sir?”

  “I’m just exhausted. I’m going to sleep. However, I need you to go to my Orlando office. The original signed contracts to the CTS deal are there. This is too delicate for someone else to handle. It has to be you.”

  “You want me to fly to Orlando to get them?”

  “Yes. When will you be able to leave?”

  Her exasperated breath traveled over the phone to me. “I can leave in less than an hour. Will I be taking your private jet?”

  “Of course.”

  Once the call finished, I returned my attention to Detective White. “I suggest you begin your search of Reece’s living area around five. That will give you plenty of time.”

  “And the others?”

  “Have you had any sleep, Detective White?”

  An embarrassed expression crossed his dark face. “Not yet, but neither have you, it seems.”

  “Well then, let’s get some sleep and meet tomorrow morning to search Dayanara’s area. Unless you happen to find the murder weapon in my assistant’s space.” I’d meant the statement to be a joke, but with the photo of Reece walking back with a bloodied Dayanara lying right on front of my desk, neither of us laughed.

  Chapter 17

  Elle

  Alvarez’s drink W.H.L. hadn’t worked at all.

  I knew exactly what happened last night. The feel of Alvarez’s lips dominated my thoughts and disturbed all the goals I’d set before me this summer. I barely slept. Hex thought he woke me up with his artist mania, but I’d been lying in bed with my hands on my thighs and thoughts dancing in my mind of maybe touching myself to the memory of Alvarez’s body pressed against mine in the hallway. I couldn’t stop thinking about him once I dressed and went down to breakfast. His witty explanations of Cuban men played in my head like a romantic comedy set in an exotic place. Hope flowed within me that I would spot him on my stroll to Hex’s studio. Disappointment arrived next, when I didn’t see him.

  How ridiculous that I’m anticipating seeing a man I’ve only known for two days.

  The time with Alvarez played in my mind over and over as I took off my clothes, put on my slippers and robe, and left the dressing area to climb Hex’s stage for a modeling session.

  “Cuban men are born with two hearts, one for them, the other to give to their special lady.”

  Alvarez crowded my head.

  “Do you need any coffee?” Hex asked.

  “I’m fine.” I counted eight chairs on the stage. “Will you have other models here today?”

  “Yes.” Hex scurried around his studio. His black and white hair flopped around as he moved through the space like a madman. Since knocking on my door this morning, he’d been going on non-stop about his first painting in the series and how it would be the one to start it all. I nodded at appropriate times. In the few moments I feigned listening, Alvarez popped into my head.

  What am I going to do about him? Why can’t I be strong enough to be on my own? At the first sight of an attractive man who’s nice to me, I’m already swooning like a romantic idiot.

  “. . . and the color should be enough to see you all but in the most delicate manner.” Hex hurried to the light switches and toyed with them. The left side of the room went dark, then the right. Next he turned them all on, and continued to flip them back and forth, trying to figure the mood he wanted for the painting.

  After five minutes of blinking lights, I had enough and raised my hands in the air. “Hex! Just relax.”

  “I only have the temporary models for barely an hour. The fact that I even have them is a shock to me. I’d put in a request months ago.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t even know what the subject of your collection was going to be until we sat in the limo and you yelled out sacrifice.”

  “No. I always knew what it would be. I just never had a word for it. All I had was the feeling, and then you gave me the word. By the way, have you figured out what you’re going to sacrifice?”

  Sex, maybe. Then I’ll have a stronger reason to block Alvarez’s offering to be amigos.

  “No, Hex. I haven’t really thought of anything.”

  “What do you want in life?”

  “To be happy.”

  Hex laughed. “Maybe you should shoot for something smaller.”

  I thought about that for a minute. The past ten years with Michael raced through my head. “I want to be different than the woman I’ve been before. I want to be strong, confident, and sure of what I want out of life--and if not sure, prepared to figure it out.”

  Hex clapped his hands. “Damn, the gods have really been working their magic today. This session may be just what you need.”

  “Okay.” I twisted my lips in confusion, but didn’t ask anything else.

  “I don’t know how to help you be all those things you just said, but these models may know. However, I have a simple fix for being different.”

  “What?”

  “Cut your hair. Die it. Change your style of clothes. Listen to music you’ve never considered. Eat things you never in your life would’ve sampled years ago. Just act different. Just stop being you.”

  “That simple?”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  The door opened. Eight women took their time entering the studio. Whispers carried in the space as they talked amongst themselves and drank in the amazing art Hex had lying around. The first thing I noticed was that they had no hair. No matter their race, height, or width, smooth, shiny heads met my eyes.

  Why don’t they have any hair?

  “Thank you so much, ladies, for accepting my invitation.” Hex pointed to a table of refreshments. “If you find yourself hungry or thirsty, there are food and drinks over here. There’s a dressing room on the far right. I made sure my maid put out several robes and slippers for you all to wear. Are there any questions?”

  The tallest one, with dark chocolate skin, shook his hand. “Will we be naked the whole hour?” she asked.

  “Possibly. I’m going to be taking photographs and then later painting the image that I like. Because I only get such a short time with you all, I’m probably going to use all of the time I have snapping a lot of photos. Is that okay?”

  Everyone nodded. One by one, they went into the dressing room, changed into their robes, and came to sit next to me on the stage. For some reason, their bald heads made me uneasy. It wasn’t that they weren’t still beautiful. Many were even captivating. Withou
t the hair to distract the viewer’s eyes from the face, I could see the enchanting detail of high cheek bones, pointed little noses, and bright eyes that glittered when one of them focused on me for a few seconds. Yet, their presence put me on edge. Hex never explained what the session would be about, just that it dealt with his theme of sacrifice.

  What did they sacrifice and how does it compare to me?

  “Elle, go ahead and let down your hair, and everybody go ahead and take off your robes. Feel free to hand them to me.” He walked around and gathered them.

  I undid my bun, but with stiff, nervous fingers. What was I supposed to do, flaunt my long hair to them? The strands fell down over my shoulders, down my back, and continued behind the stool I sat on.

  “How beautiful! How long have you been growing your hair?” a woman on my right asked.

  I turned to answer and froze. My lips remained parted. No words left them, just a silent gasp of shock. They didn’t have breasts. None of them. Nothing but scarred tissue decorated their chests. I checked the women on my right and even behind me. Each of their happy faces seemed to shift to pitied expressions, as if they’d just realized that I never knew they didn’t have breasts.

  They’re cancer survivors. Hex has me modeling with cancer survivors? Why? What is this picture supposed to say with me in between them?

  I hadn’t survived anything. These women should have been the center of the painting, not me. I cleared my throat and walked over to where Hex tinkered with his big camera. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “The damn picture.” I did my best to keep my voice low, but the rage inside of me was rising each second until I thought I would blow and scream. “What is this painting supposed to say? Are you trying to say that I’m better than them, or that they’re better than me?”

  “No.” He didn’t even have the respect to turn away from the buttons on his camera. “I’m trying to make the viewer think.”

  “About what?” I asked through clenched teeth.