by Roslyn Woods
Emelda would love this place, Gonzalez thought as he made his way back through the house, popping his head into the two bedrooms and office, the closets and the baths, noting the large number of antique clocks and the colorful array of paintings and tapestries. An antique-looking cross-stitched symbol, something like a star, with many intersecting lines, was framed and hung near the door of the hall that led into the master bedroom. A crystal ball had been placed on one of the nightstands. Each room had its own collection of Tiffany-style lamps, and he noticed God’s Eyes hanging over each doorway. Everything looked undisturbed, color-coordinated, camera ready. It was a very nice place.
“Miss Hodge? May I speak with you and Mr. Maxwell?” he asked as he came through the front door and onto the porch. Michelle Hodge was sitting on the edge of the settee, the small, nervous dog in her arms.
“Yes,” she said, and the dog let out a sharp bark and a low growl.
“When did you get here?” Gonzalez asked.
“I think it was about nine-ten.”
“Why did you come over?”
“Garrett is a partner at my gallery. He was later than he’d said he was going to be, and another of the partners called and asked me to come check on him.”
“Who was that?”
“Leonardo Parisi,” she answered.
“Why you?”
“I live in his neighborhood.”
“And?”
“And I came over and saw his car was here but he wasn’t answering the door. His dog was barking, and I could smell something burning.”
“So then?”
“So then I tried the doors, and I called Dean. When he got here he broke the window in the back door and we went in and found him,” she said, stroking the little dog’s head.
“Did you notice anything other than your friend’s body?”
“Only that the water in the teakettle must have burned away, and the kettle had melted into a blob on the cooktop. It smelled smoky in there. Dean turned off the burner and I opened the front door. That was when Dean found Garrett.”
“And how did you know your friend was deceased?” Gonzalez asked, clearly addressing Maxwell.
“I checked for a pulse,” Dean answered. “Am I a suspect now?” he asked, looking directly at the sergeant. It was Gonzalez and Wilson who had arrested him six months earlier for a crime he didn’t commit.
Gonzalez gave him a half-smile. “Not yet,” he answered. “Give me a minute.”
Just then a red, Ford Escape pulled up in front of the house. Gonzalez didn’t recognize it or the men in the front seats.
“Excuse me, that’s them,” said Shell, and she gave the little dog to Dean before walking over to the porch steps. Gonzalez could see that one of the men was opening a door for the other and saying something to him as Shell went down the steps and approached them. Gonzalez watched as she embraced first the taller of the men and then the other. They seemed to be speaking in hushed voices, and the sergeant wondered how long the partners had been friends before launching the gallery. In his memory, Michelle Hodge had been new to Austin six months earlier.
At that moment, the darker-haired, shorter of the two men turned and approached the porch. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His body was compact and wiry looking, and his gaze was clearly on Dean Maxwell, Wilson, and himself. He had an intense look in his eyes, and grief was visible there.
“Whom do I speak with about seeing him?” he asked without introducing himself.
Maxwell interrupted, “Gentlemen, this is Leonardo Parisi. He’s a partner at The Westside Gallery. Leo, this is Sergeant Gonzalez, and this is Detective Wilson.”
“Sorry,” said Leonardo, nodding slightly at the police officers. “It’s just, I need to see him!”
“I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible, Mr. Parisi,” said Gonzalez. “This is a crime scene. The body won’t be available for viewing until the medical examiner is ready. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t understand,” said Parisi, his voice rising to a higher pitch than before. “I have to see him!” He turned and headed for the front door, but Wilson stepped in front of him and barred the entrance to the house.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay on the front lawn or leave the premises altogether,” Wilson said. “No one goes in but the coroner’s people and the police.”
Wilson was a big guy, well over six feet tall and muscular, and Leonardo Parisi looked up at him with tears in his eyes. “He was my closest friend,” he said. “My dearest, closest friend!”
By this time the taller man with the wavy brown hair had climbed the steps just ahead of Miss Hodge, and was pulling at Leonardo Parisi’s elbow. “Listen to the officers, Leo. We’ll just have to wait,” then looking up at Wilson he added, “We’re very sorry. We all cared about him. We’re all very upset.” Parisi allowed the taller man to pull him back to the steps, and Dean and Shell followed them down to the lawn while Gonzalez and Wilson watched, saying nothing.
The sergeant could see that several beige, unmarked cars were pulling into the drive and parking along the curb near the Ford Escape, Michelle Hodge’s Corolla, and Maxwell’s Cherokee. An unmarked van—the medical examiner’s vehicle—also arrived.
From the base of the steps, Maxwell looked back up onto the porch and caught the sergeant’s eye. “Seems like deja vu all over again, doesn’t it Sergeant?” he said.
“It does,” he answered, but he was a little stung by the younger man’s bitterness. This isn’t my fault, he thought. I’m just doing my job. They had called him, after all.
Chapter 4
When Billie realized he had better cancel the meeting with Estelle and Enrique Mendoza, Shell and Dean were standing by the car talking to Leonardo. Billie was standing at his side at the time, a protective arm under his partner’s elbow. He was really afraid Leonardo might pass out. A few neighbors along the street were standing on their porches and front lawns gawking at Garrett’s house. One heavy-set woman with a baby on her hip had walked right up to them to ask what was going on. Dean, who was still holding the little dog, had dealt with her.
“I’m afraid there’s been some trouble here,” he said. “You’ll learn about it soon enough. Please allow us some privacy.” The neighbor had moved on, perhaps too embarrassed to persist, but she had walked across the street to report to a few people who had gathered on a lawn opposite Garrett’s house. Billie could see her pointing at Dean, but he couldn’t catch what she was saying from over there.
“Could you and Dean take care of Leo while I call Estelle?” Billie asked, looking at Shell. “I think he should sit down somewhere.”
“I don’t think they need us here anymore,” Dean answered, apparently conscious of the probing eyes of the neighbors. “We should go over to our house and the three of you can discuss matters there, make any calls you need to make. If the detectives need to talk to any of us, I believe they have the address.”
“Yes,” said Shell. “That’s a good idea. You guys come over and we’ll sit down and have some tea. Billie, you can call Estelle from there. I don’t think any of us wants to be alone right now.”
Billie telegraphed a grateful look in Dean’s direction, but Leonardo seemed oblivious to what was going on.
“I’ll just tell the officers where we’ll be,” Dean said, handing the dog to Shell and turning toward Garrett’s front porch. He took a few steps in that direction and caught Wilson’s attention. Billie glanced up and saw them talking for a moment as he ushered Leo to the Escape.
“Let me have Penelope,” Leonardo said suddenly, turning to Shell. It was the first thing he had said since the officers had denied him access to the house. Billie frowned as, without a word, Shell handed the dog over to him. She gave Billie a reassuring look, as if to say, This will comfort him.
“I’ll see you at the house,” she said and turned toward her car.
“Honey,” said Billie as they followed Shell to Barrow Avenue, “just let me handle eve
rything. I’m going to call and cancel our meeting, and then I’m going to drive down to the gallery and put up a sign that says we’ll be closed for a few days. Or maybe I can get someone to do that for us, but I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay,” Leo said, staring ahead, absently stroking the dog, and stopping every now and then to kiss her head.
Billie parked the car on the curb in front of Shell’s house, and Leo immediately got out and carried the dog up the steps. Billie could see him standing by Shell as she unlocked the door. Dean arrived and parked his car behind Shell’s on the pad. He was hurrying up the porch and going in with the others.
Billie looked down at the dash and tried to think. It was already ten-fifteen, and Estelle would be on her way from Dripping Springs in the next few minutes if he didn’t catch her. He lifted his cell from its place on the dash, found her number, and got out of the car. He mounted the steps to Shell and Dean’s front porch and walked into the living room while listening to Estelle’s phone ringing. He tilted his head questioningly toward Shell’s art room to ask if he could talk in there, and Shell nodded at him. In a few moments, Estelle picked up.
“Billie?”
“Estelle? Oh, dear, I have some bad news. Are you sitting down?”
“No, I’m standing up. I’m just about to head over there. Why? What’s going on?” she asked. Billie could see her in his mind’s eye, ever the horsewoman, with a strangely hard but glamorous mix of long, bleached blond hair, overly tanned skin, and lots of chunky, turquoise jewelry. He was pretty sure the forty-five year old daughter of Wes Travis had never gone unnoticed.
“Well, please sit down. This isn’t going to make you happy,” he said.
“Would you just tell me what’s on your mind?” she asked, her Texas accent somewhat stronger than usual.
“I’m afraid our partner, Garrett Hall, has been killed. There won’t be a meeting today.”
“What? That’s terrible! How? When?” she asked.
“We’re not sure when it happened,” Billie said, “but one of the partners, you remember Shell Hodge, went to check on him when he was late coming in this morning. He had been shot right in his living room.”
“Oh, no!” Estelle said. “I’m so sorry! This is terrible!”
“Yes, yes it is. We’re going to have to cancel the meeting with Mr. Mendoza, I’m afraid.
“But he’s flown in from Scottsdale,” she answered, not very gracefully transitioning from her concern about the partner to her concern about her sales. “Can’t he just have a look at the paintings?”
“I’m afraid not. We’re going to have to reschedule for two weeks from now. You see, Garrett had some questions he was dealing with, and we just can’t move forward without sorting through those.”
“What questions?” she asked.
“I don’t really know. He talked to Michelle Hodge about them in some depth, but it’s pretty vague to me. We’ll have to decide if we need someone else to authenticate—”
“We have a contract, Billie,” Estelle said.
“Yes, we do. You advertised through our gallery, and you acquired your buyer through us, so we’re going to have to put off the meeting with this buyer until we’re comfortable with making the sale.”
“But can’t we at least show him the paintings? He came here to see them in person. We can make the deal later if you have some things to finalize.”
“It’s a very bad day for all of us, Estelle. Very bad. We’re in a shocked state. You can’t expect—”
“I sure as hell can!” she shouted. “You’re going to show those paintings to Enrique Mendoza today, or I’m going to sue your asses off!”
“Estelle! Be reasonable. We’re a mess. We’re dealing with a death, not just of our partner, but of a friend of Leonardo’s who goes way back. Garrett was like a father to him.” Billie paused and waited for Estelle to respond. When she didn’t he continued, “I’m telling you we’re not in a condition to deal with a buyer! Besides, one of the paintings is in Garrett’s house where the shooting happened. It’s going to be stuck there until the police release it from the crime scene.”
“In his house? Why in hell is it in his house? My dad’s paintings are valuable! I never gave permission for any of the paintings to be moved from the gallery. You guys are really in hot water now!”
Billie could hear the anger in Estelle’s voice, and he knew she could follow through with her threats. She had the means and celebrity to make trouble in Austin. He decided to try again.
“I know it’s terribly disappointing. Imagine how we feel. We need the sale of these paintings, too. We’re just as interested in making this work as you are. I’ll call Mr. Mendoza and pay for his flight. No reasonable person would make a demand to see the paintings under these circumstances.”
“You’re going to pay for his Leer jet?” she fumed. “You’re going pay him what it cost to hire a pilot and attendants and fuel and wear and tear on his jet?” she asked. “No, you’re not. Enrique Mendoza is a busy man, and he’s not going to look kindly on this.”
Billie walked to the door of the art room and looked into the living room at his friends. As if it weren’t obvious already, he rolled his eyes to show Shell and Dean that Estelle was being unreasonable. Leo had leaned his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes while he continued to stroke Penny’s coat.
“There are only two paintings to view anyway,” Billie continued. “We have no control over the police investigation at Garrett’s house.”
“Then you sure as hell are going to show him those two!” she shouted into the phone. Everyone in the living room could hear her barking into her receiver.
Shell got up and walked over to Billie. “I’ll go,” she mouthed. “I’ll show them the two at the gallery.” Billie nodded in relief. He couldn’t imagine leaving Leonardo right now.
“All right, Estelle, you win,” he said. “Shell will come down to the gallery and show you the paintings. But you have to be honest with Mr. Mendoza that they’re not for sale today. He’s just looking at them.”
“Okay,” she said, and she grudgingly added, “Thanks.”
“Shell will meet you there in about thirty minutes.”
Billie cut the call and groaned. “God, she’s a bitch,” he said.
Chapter 5
“I’ll go with you,” Dean said, looking out the back window to make sure Sadie and Bitsy were doing okay in the backyard. Shell looked up at him with surprise in her eyes. It was a good idea. She didn’t like the idea of opening the gallery by herself when there were such valuable pieces inside, and she figured just his presence might temper Estelle’s behavior a bit. They were standing in the kitchen, and Dean was getting mugs down for a tea tray for Billie and Leo.
“You sure? What about your appointment with Melinda?” she asked.
“I texted her right after we found the…right after we called nine-one-one,” he answered, glancing through the door into the living room and lowering his voice. “I said I had a family emergency and she texted back right away, so I can go with you.”
Shell poured boiling water from the kettle into the two mugs Dean had placed on the counter. He grabbed a few tea bags and put them on the tray with sugar and a little pitcher of milk. Shell had said Billie liked his tea with lots of milk and sugar. Dean moved the hot mugs to the tray and Shell added some sliced lemon for Leonardo.
“Okay, then,” she said. “I think we should just go. I just hate leaving the guys here alone when they’re in such bad shape, but I guess they can wait here for Sergeant Gonzalez if he comes over. They can explain why we’re not still here.”
Just then the doorbell rang. “It seems a little soon for Gonzalez and Wilson,” said Dean, carrying the tray to the living room and putting it in front of Billie and Leo as Shell followed him into the room. “I’ll just see who this is,” he said, heading for the door.
In a moment he opened it to a dear friend. It was Rita Anderson, the neighbor from up the street
who had been a close friend of Dean’s mother. Since the gallery had opened, Rita had been its most ardent supporter, and she knew everyone who worked there.
“Hello! Am I calling at a bad time?” she asked. “I just made some banana bread, and I thought—”
“Oh, Rita!” said Dean. “Come in. We’re kind of a mess around here.”
“Oh! I can come by another time.”
“Hi, Rita!” said Shell, leaning around Dean. “It’s just we’ve had a terrible thing happen today.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry! Is there anything I can do?” Rita asked as Dean stepped aside and Shell drew her into the house. In a moment Rita took in the expression on Shell’s face. “Oh honey, it’s something quite bad, isn’t it?”
“We’ve lost Garrett,” Shell heard herself saying, and suddenly tears were spilling from her eyes, and Rita was embracing her.
It was just like Rita to want to help. She had been wonderful to Dean and Shell since they had been together. Rita had helped them to solve Amanda’s murder nearly seven months earlier, and Shell had adopted her as a surrogate mom.
There were explanations, and Rita was soon in tears with the others. Only Dean remained dry-eyed.
“Shell and I have to go to the gallery now to show some paintings,” he said.
“Today? Who would want—”
“You can guess, I bet!” said Billie.
“Not that woman!” said Rita who knew all about Estelle Travis.
“I’m afraid so,” said Billie. “The world’s biggest—”
“You kids go on. I’ll stay here and help Billie and Leo with their tea. They don’t need to be on their own right now.”
“Thank you,” said Shell, kissing her cheek.
“I’ll check on you later, too, dears,” she said.
They were in the Jeep in five minute’s time. Dean had offered to drive, and Shell was grateful.
