Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  "Thank you for being understanding." Juliette's gaze sharpened as it moved between him and Callie. "I must say, you and my daughter seem very friendly. She called you by your first name."

  "I've been trying to help Flynn find Arthur's killer, Mom. So that no one has to suspect you for something you didn't do," Callie explained.

  "You're always fighting for me," Juliette said, giving her daughter a loving smile. She looked back at Flynn. "Callie is special."

  "I think so, too," he agreed, not just because he was talking to her mother, but because he believed it.

  "She has taken care of me since she was a little girl," Juliette added. "Whenever life got to be too much, Callie was there. Just like she's here now."

  He was glad that Juliette didn't seem to blame Callie for her hospitalization.

  "I'll always be here for you, Mom," Callie promised.

  "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Corbyn."

  "I think you should call me Juliette. After all, you were friends with Arthur, and now you're friends with my daughter."

  "Juliette," he said with a nod.

  "Mom, I'll call you later and I'll be by tomorrow morning." Callie gave her mom a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then they walked out of the room.

  They didn't speak until they had left the hospital. Callie stopped on the sidewalk to take a deep breath. "I hate being in there. I can understand why my mother does, too."

  "She seems to be doing well. Are you relieved?"

  "Yes and no. I want her to be better, of course, but now she's going to be grilled. Do you still think she's a suspect?"

  "I don't want to."

  "That's not a good answer," she said, disappointment in her eyes.

  "I'd like to go by the museum and speak to Victoria. Maybe she can give us her take on whatever conversation took place between Arthur and Marcus."

  "That's a great idea. I'll go with you. Although, it's going to feel weird to be there again, to see the spot where Arthur died."

  "I can do it on my own."

  "No. I'm going with you, Flynn. I can handle myself. You don't have to worry. I won't fall apart."

  "I'm not worried about that. I know how strong you are. I just think you might need a break. I'm sure you've had a rough day."

  "Well, we could stop for ice cream on the way. We never did do that yesterday."

  "We can do that."

  Her sweet smile made him realize that he wanted to give her anything her heart desired. Savannah was right. Callie was a bigger conflict of interest than Arthur or his father. Because he wanted her to be happy. He was starting to want that more than just about anything.

  They went to an ice cream parlor a few blocks from the museum, and Callie instantly felt better after she took her first bite of her double scoop of chocolate and mint chip ice cream. Flynn had, of course, felt compelled to outdo her, ordering three scoops with a mix of cookie dough, strawberry, and vanilla ice cream. Apparently, he was not a chocolate fan.

  For the twenty minutes it took to eat their ice cream, she felt astonishingly happy. She didn't know what it was about Flynn, because even in the middle of everything that was going on, he could make her laugh. And she could bring out his sexy grin pretty easily, too. There were sparks going off at an amazing rate, but they somehow managed to keep the small table between them.

  They didn't talk about the case at all, just chatted about food favorites and people-watched, as they ate their waffle cones down to the last bite.

  And then their break was over. As they drove to the museum, the mood between them grew more somber, and when they parked in the lot and made their way through the front doors, her steps slowed.

  She was actually a little surprised to see that the museum was open to the public only three days after Arthur's death, but there were people inside, some of them clustered in the grand hall, probably near the spot where Arthur had died.

  It turned her stomach to think that some visitors might have come to the museum out of a macabre interest in Arthur's murder rather than their love of art.

  Flynn didn't let her linger, his firm hand on the small of her back propelling her toward the hallway leading to the executive offices.

  Elaine Monroe, Victoria Waltham's admin, sat at a desk in a small lobby area. Elaine was one of her mom's favorite people, because she was always willing to help anyone out, even if it wasn't technically her job. She was a widow in her late fifties and had been working at the museum for almost two years.

  "Callie, hello. How are you?" Elaine asked.

  "I'm hanging in there."

  "I've been thinking about your mom. We all have," she added, as Shari Watkins, the educational director, stepped out of her office. Shari handled the kids' events at the museum and worked closely with her mom. At twenty-eight, she had an abundance of energy and lots of creative ideas, something her mom loved and respected.

  "How is Juliette?" Shari asked, concern in her gaze.

  "She's dealing with everything as best she can."

  "It felt horrible to come to work this morning," Shari said. "There's a terrible pall over this place. I wish we could have stayed closed for a few more days."

  "I was a little surprised the museum reopened so quickly," she admitted.

  "Victoria said the board wanted people to be allowed to mourn in the place where Judge Corbyn died," Shari explained.

  "I think they also wanted to move past it as quickly as possible," Elaine interjected, a more cynical note in her voice. "Not that they want to diminish the tragedy."

  She nodded. "That makes sense. Is Victoria in? We need to speak to her. This is Agent Flynn MacKenzie with the FBI."

  "Victoria is in a meeting," Elaine replied. "She should be done shortly if you can wait. I'm sure she wants to talk to you both as well."

  "Okay. We're going to stop into my mom's office in the meantime. She wanted me to pick up a few of her personal things. Can you let us know when Victoria is free?"

  "Of course."

  She led Flynn down the hall, turning right into another corridor where her mom's office was located. In this wing, there were also offices belonging to three museum curators as well as the public relations director. At the far end was the restoration department.

  She was just about to open her mother's door when a woman came out of the restroom down the hall. Her waist-length, black hair stopped Callie in her tracks. The woman lifted her gaze, which suddenly filled with alarm.

  "Layana," Callie said sharply, her pulse jumping at the sight of Arthur's lover. "What are you doing here?"

  "I—I have a meeting."

  Layana looked more put together than she had on Sunday, but her face was still pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes.

  "Excuse me," Layana said, as she moved to pass them.

  "Wait," Flynn ordered.

  Layana paused at his commanding tone.

  "I'm Agent MacKenzie with the FBI. I'd like to have a word with you, Ms.Vazquez."

  "I don't have anything to say. I told Agent Adams that when I spoke to her at my studio an hour ago. I don't understand why you're harassing me."

  "This will only take a minute," Flynn said, ignoring her protest. He waved Layana toward her mother's office, and Callie moved inside quickly, Layana reluctantly following.

  She stopped in the middle of the room, her arms folded across her chest, her expression defiant. "What do you want?" she asked.

  "I understand you were having an affair with Judge Corbyn," Flynn said.

  "Yes, but I didn't kill him," Layana replied. "I loved him. You should be talking to Juliette. She's the one who's crazy. She snapped when she found out about us. I told her daughter that yesterday."

  Callie wanted to defend her mother, but she could see the warning light in Flynn's eyes, so she turned away, wandering over to the window, drawing deep, calming breaths.

  "Where were you Friday night?" Flynn asked.

  "I was at home."

  "Anyone with you?"

 
"No. I was alone. I already told the agent this."

  "When did you find out Judge Corbyn had died?"

  Callie turned back around at that question, wondering at her answer.

  "A friend called me to let me know," Layana said.

  "Who was the friend?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "It matters. Answer the question."

  "I don't have to talk to you."

  "Actually, you do, and I'd be happy to have you come down to our office if you'd rather be questioned there."

  Layana frowned. "It was Kyle Logan."

  "What did he say?" Flynn asked.

  "He said someone killed Arthur."

  "What time was this?"

  "I don't remember."

  "Try a little harder."

  "Probably about nine. He was still at the museum. He said everyone was being questioned."

  "So, he called you very soon after Arthur's death. Did he know you were having an affair?"

  "He knew that I cared about Arthur. That's all."

  Callie didn't believe her, and she didn't think Flynn did, either. If this Kyle Logan knew about the affair, then maybe he knew other stuff, too.

  "I have to go. I have a meeting," Layana said. "If you want to talk to me again, you can talk to my lawyer."

  "Who's your lawyer?"

  "I'll find one," Layana said, moving past Flynn.

  "What do you think?" she asked as Layana left the office.

  "She's cagey, but whether that's because she was sleeping with a married man, or she's guilty of something worse…who knows?"

  "Who's Kyle Logan?"

  "He runs a gallery in New York. He took it over for his father. I actually met him years ago at a trade show."

  "Have you interviewed him? I haven't heard his name mentioned before."

  "He was interviewed after the event. I have not followed up. I haven't had a reason to—until now." As his gaze moved around the office, he added, "Anything look out of place or different in here?"

  She followed his gaze. The space was small and crowded with a desk in the center, two filing cabinets on one side and a table laden with boxes of giveaway items that her mother used for special events. On the desk next to her mom's computer was a pile of flyers for the upcoming event on Valentine's Day, an artist's celebration of love, as well as two framed photographs: one of Arthur and her mother, and the other of her mother and herself.

  As she walked around the desk, she thought things looked a little messier than usual. A few of the drawers were partly ajar, but since the room had been searched by various people, that was probably to be expected.

  Flynn riffled through the boxes on the table while she looked through the drawers, although she didn't know what she was looking for.

  "Everything is the same as the last time I was here," she said, drawing his gaze to hers. "I don't know what you think might be here."

  "Probably nothing. We've already accessed your mother's work computer, thanks to cooperation from Victoria and the owner of the museum. There was nothing noteworthy in Juliette's work emails, and you've gone through her personal emails, so that was covered."

  She frowned. "Victoria gave you permission to go through my mom's computer?"

  "Yes. Why wouldn't she?"

  "It seems like an invasion of privacy."

  "The computer is owned by the museum, not your mother. But there's nothing to be angry about. There wasn't anything there."

  "I'm worried because this is my mom's job, and if they think she's a suspect in Arthur's murder, they might fire her. And if she loses her job, too…" She couldn't even think of what that would do to her mom.

  "I understand your concern, but it was a necessary step and as soon as we find the real killer, your mother will be in the clear. Since she won't be returning to work for probably at least another week, we have some time."

  "I hope so." She picked up the photo of her mother and Arthur, staring at his features for a long minute. He was smiling in the picture, his arms around her mom, and they looked happy. "This was taken on their wedding day. It's difficult to believe that was only a little over a year ago. I was worried about their whirlwind romance. I thought things were moving way too fast, but I was hoping for the best. I wanted Arthur to love my mom, to always be there for her, but my suspicions were right. I wish they'd been wrong. I wish Arthur had been the man my mom thought he was."

  "I wish he'd been that man, too," Flynn said heavily, reminding her that he, too, felt betrayed by Arthur, not because of Arthur's affair with Layana, but because he'd been dealing in stolen art.

  "I don't know what my mom will do when she finds out the extent of Arthur's crimes," she muttered. "I foresee a lot of bad days ahead."

  "You'll help her get through them—one day at a time," he said pragmatically.

  "It feels exhausting to think about."

  "Then don't think about it. She won't find out today, so you can push that worry off for at least twenty-four hours."

  "Good point." She paused as Victoria entered the room, looking as stylish and beautiful as ever in a body-con black dress that hugged her figure and set off her blonde hair.

  "Callie, Agent MacKenzie, I understand you want to speak to me. How is Juliette?" Victoria asked.

  "She's dealing with everything," Callie replied.

  "I'd love to help. Juliette is more than an employee; she's my friend. And I know how much she adored Arthur. I can't imagine how she's handling this loss. I hope you'll tell her not to worry about her job here. It will be waiting for her when she's ready to return."

  "She'll be happy to hear that."

  Victoria's gaze turned to Flynn. "Are you making progress toward finding Arthur's killer?"

  "We are, but I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you have time."

  "I'm happy to make the time. What do you need?"

  "First of all, do you know Layana Vazquez?"

  "Yes. She's a talented artist, and she did Arthur's portrait. Why do you ask?"

  At Victoria's question, Callie stiffened. Did she want Flynn to reveal Arthur's affair with Layana to her mother's boss? On the other hand, would it be possible to keep it a secret as the investigation continued?

  Flynn shot her a quick, cautioning look, as if to tell her not to jump in. Then he said, "Were Layana and Arthur having a personal relationship?"

  "I think Layana had a bit of a crush on Arthur, but I don't know that she or he ever acted on it," Victoria said carefully. "Why?"

  Flynn ignored her question. "What about Gretchen Vale? Did Arthur ever speak to you about his relationship with Gretchen?"

  "He sometimes bought paintings from Gretchen and Stephen. I know they were friends."

  "Juliette was looking for Gretchen right before the exhibition began," Flynn continued. "She mentioned that you told her Gretchen was in the Seville Room."

  "Yes. Gretchen wanted to see a sculpture that we had on loan from the British Museum. I must say that Juliette seemed rather upset in that moment and angry with Gretchen about something. She wanted to speak to her right away. I didn't pay much attention, because I was about to get on the stage." She paused, giving Flynn a thoughtful look. "It sounds like you think Arthur was having an affair and that his murder was a crime of passion."

  "We're considering all the options," Flynn said vaguely. "Including Marcus Vitelli's relationship with Arthur."

  "I told you the other day that they were in communication because Arthur was supporting Marcus's work and was impatient to get his next painting. What more is there to know? If Arthur was hard on Marcus, it was only because he cared about his talent. Marcus knew that. There was no bad blood between them."

  "Juliette mentioned they had an argument right here in the hall only a few weeks ago."

  "Yes, but Arthur's comments to Marcus fired him up, and he got back to work. Arthur was pleased about that."

  "Interesting that you know so much about their relationship. Why is that?"

  Was it her imag
ination or did Victoria hesitate?

  "I'm his friend and his mentor," Victoria answered. "I believe in Marcus's talent. I've helped him make connections with galleries and collectors, because he's an amazing artist. However, I shouldn't speak for Marcus. You should talk to him again if you have more concerns. Perhaps there was something going on that I didn't know."

  "All right. I'm curious about something else," Flynn continued. "When was the exhibition for Gerard's work set up?"

  "Three months ago. It was actually Arthur's idea." She stopped abruptly. "I didn't think about that until just this second. But Arthur suggested it to Juliette, who brought it to me. The museum is a big fan of Gerard's, so, of course, we were happy to host the event. Gerard hadn't done any shows in about eight years. It was quite a coup for the museum to have him, and all that was due to Arthur's relationship with him." Victoria glanced down at her watch. "I hate to cut this short, but I have another meeting. Is there anything else? Or perhaps we can speak again later?"

  "Later is fine. Thanks," Flynn said.

  "You're more than welcome." Victoria gave her a sympathetic smile. "Please tell your mom I'm just a phone call away, Callie. Whatever she needs. She's such a sweet person, and I know how much she adored Arthur. She must feel terribly lost."

  "I'll let her know," she replied.

  "Also…" Victoria stopped, her gaze focused on Flynn. "Perhaps we should step outside for a moment."

  Callie frowned, wondering why Victoria suddenly needed to speak to Flynn alone.

  She wanted Flynn to tell her she could say whatever she needed to say in front of her, but he simply gave a nod and followed her into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  Callie moved to the door, opening it slightly, more than a little curious to hear what was happening. She could see that Flynn and Victoria had moved down the hall. Victoria's back was to her, and she thought Flynn could see her, but he didn't seem to care.

  "What's this about?" he asked.

  "I mentioned to you the other day that I heard your father might be back in the States."

  "You said Arthur told you that."

  "Well, his name came up again in a conversation I had with Gerard yesterday. Gerard mentioned that your father was a big fan of Paulette Martine and that her most famous painting, Lady in the Wood, was stolen from the Kentwell Museum in Boston last week. He mused that perhaps your dad was back in the business of stealing art."