Murder at the Art Class

by Nic Saint

  She stared at the envelope. “What’s this?”

  “We did a collection. For Jan. You can add to it, if you want.”

  She opened the envelope and fished out ten bucks. “Some collection.”

  “It’s the thought that counts. There’s also a card.”

  She checked the envelope. There was no card.

  “At least there will be a card when you buy it.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “We want you to hand the card and the money to Jan’s family. Extend the Roast Bean’s condolences.”

  “I’m just a temp. Why don’t you extend the Roast Bean’s condolences?”

  “We’ve decided it would look better coming from someone who worked with Jan.”

  “You worked with Jan. And who’s this ‘we?’”

  He made a vague gesture in the direction of the dining room. “All of us here at the Roast Bean.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

  “Hey, you’ll get to meet Jill,” said Clara, popping her head in. “You’ll like her. She’s nice.”

  “Only her name isn’t Jill,” said Teddy. “Her name is Taryn Skrzypczak and she’s probably next on this madman’s hit list.” He shivered visibly.

  “Now I get it. This is why you want me to go. You’re afraid you’ll get caught in the crosshairs of some maniac killer.”

  He pointed a finger at her. “I always knew you were the smart one.”

  Chapter 7

  The Ritz-Waldorf was one of those famous hotels you only read about—or watch the stunning pictures on Instagram when a famous person occupies one of its outrageously expensive suites or when some rock star trashes its rooms. The fact that the Skrzypczaks occupied an entire suite on the thirty-third floor told Emily that the stories about the billions they’d extracted from their native country weren’t exaggerated. When she gave her name to the receptionist in the ornately decorated lobby, she half expected a bunch of Silvistan security guards to jump out at her and frisk her for hidden weapons. No one jumped from behind the giant ficus located next to the reception desk so she breathed a sigh of relief.

  While the receptionist got in touch with Jill Sunderland—also known as Taryn Skrzypczak—Emily glanced around. Overhead, an actual gold-leaf coffered ceiling complete with crystal chandelier had her blinking in admiration. Burgundy velvet couches dotted the waiting area, where elderly elegant men were reading the Financial Times and Forbes Magazine and equally elderly and equally elegant women leafed through Town & Country.

  Moments later, the receptionist gave Emily the two-thumbs-up—not literally—and directed her to the elevator on the right, where she was quickly whisked up into the heart of the Ritz-Waldorf’s two hundred and fifty rooms, on her way to one of its penthouse suites.

  Arriving at destination’s end, she stepped out of the elevator and awkwardly navigated the plush carpeting, suddenly wondering if she should have kicked off her sneakers before she entered the hotel. And as she checked her shoe soles for dog poop, a door opened at the end of the corridor and a lithe female figure appeared.

  “Emily Stone?” the figure inquired.

  “That’s me,” she said cheerfully.

  The woman smiled an engaging smile. “Taryn.”

  Jan’s sister was as genetically gifted as her brother, with high cheekbones, hazel eyes, luscious lips and the most gorgeous, shiny dark hair that tumbled down her shoulders. She was dressed casually, in a pale blue Columbia University sweater and skinny jeans, feet bare.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” said Taryn as she closed the door behind Emily.

  “I wasn’t expecting to come,” said Emily as she handed Taryn the envelope. She’d gotten a sympathy card at Papyrus and added the money to the envelope, along with the names of the Roast Bean’s employees.

  Taryn took it out and smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate the gesture. And I’m sure our parents will, too.” She frowned at the ten bucks and Emily cringed.

  “Teddy did a collection,” she said lamely. “Teddy’s the manager.”

  “I know,” said Taryn. “I worked at the Roast Bean, remember?”

  “Of course,” said Emily, darting anxious glances at the door. She inwardly cursed Teddy for putting her in this awkward position.

  Taryn led the way deeper into the suite, and Emily looked her eyes out. So this was how the other half lived, huh? Rug-covered wooden floors, silk floral-pattern wall coverings, plenty of antiques, paintings and exquisite furniture. There was even a spacious balcony, which offered a stunning view of Central Park, The Lake glittering in the afternoon sun.

  “Let’s sit outside for a bit,” Taryn suggested, and opened the sliding glass door. Stepping out onto the balcony, Emily followed her host around the corner and sucked in her breath when she spotted a Jacuzzi and even a small pool. Deck chairs had been set out around it, and Taryn languidly stretched out on one of them, gesturing to the other.

  “Jan talked about you, you know,” Taryn said. “He said you were nice.”

  “He did?” Emily was surprised. She hadn’t thought she’d registered as more than a tiny little blip on Jan’s scale of friends and acquaintances.

  “He said you were extremely gifted. A true artist.”

  “That was very kind of him.”

  Taryn looked off into the distance, where a haze seemed to have descended over the city. “We were buddies, my brother and I. Being out here in a strange country all by ourselves made us stick together. It won’t be the same without him.” She suddenly turned to Emily. “Who do you think is responsible for his murder? Tell me, Emily. You were there.”

  “I… have no idea,” she said.

  Taryn frowned. “Mom and Dad are flying in. They’ll probably want me to go home now. Drop uni. I don’t want to drop uni. I don’t want to go home.” She looked defiant now, and Emily sensed that here sat a girl who was used to getting her own way. Not even her brother’s death could make her change her mind about what she wanted to do and who she wanted to be. “My parents seem to think that whoever killed my brother is coming after me next.” She made an annoyed gesture with her hand. “Some… political thing.”

  “You don’t think they’re right?”

  “Oh, they might be right. My father has many enemies, both in Silvistan and abroad. But what am I going to do? Live in a golden cage from now on? Stop doing what I love just because there are some people out there who mean my family harm? I can’t do that.”

  She seemed very determined not to let this tragedy change the course of her life.

  “Are you sure you’re safe up here?” Emily asked, glancing around. “I mean—I don’t see any bodyguards or anything.”

  “Oh, trust me, they’re around.” Taryn darted a pointed look past Emily and when the latter turned to look she saw that none other than Tanton Skroch was standing not ten feet away from them. The buff security man nodded a curt greeting at Emily, then moved off.

  “You know?” said Emily. “We all thought Tanton had a crush on your brother.”

  Taryn’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “Well, he kept staring at Jan, like, all the time. And even followed him to his art class.”

  Taryn laughed, a tinkling laugh. “I’ll have to tell him about that.”

  “Oh, please don’t,” said Emily quickly. “I don’t want to embarrass him.”

  Taryn gave her a smile. “My brother was right. You are a good person.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward again.

  “I wanted to ask you something, Emily.”

  “Sure.”

  “Will you investigate my brother’s murder?”

  Chapter 8

  Now that was something she hadn’t expected. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. Very much so,” said Taryn.

  “But the police—”

  “The police are baffled. Everyone’s baffled. Even Tanton. And he’s supposed to be the best in the business.”<
br />
  “But I’m just a temp.”

  “You’re an artist. And artists’ brains are wired differently than the rest of us.”

  “Maybe we’re wired differently but we’re not equipped with CSI teams and years of experience solving crimes.”

  “I talked to the police. Twice. They were here last night, and again this morning. This… Detective Shakespeare practically told me he has no idea what happened to my brother. He’s stumped. All he can think is that some secret society working to engineer my family’s downfall must be behind this. He was very interested in—”

  “Emmerich Bernadzikowski?”

  Taryn clapped her hands. “See? You’re a natural!”

  “Only because when I talked to Shakespeare he seemed very interested in this Emmerich guy. I don’t know the first thing about him or his connection to your brother.”

  “But you’re going to find out, right?” She directed a pleading look at Emily. “Tell me you will.”

  “But I’m not a detective!”

  “I’ll bet you’ll be very good at it, though.”

  “What did Tanton say?”

  “He’s stumped, too. One minute Jan was alive, happy and joking around, and the next he was lying there, dead. Shot with a bolt fired from a crossbow. Only there was no one in the room who could possibly have taken that shot. It was literally an impossible shot.”

  “I know,” said Emily, musing. “What about Bernadzikowski? Did Tanton perceive him as a potential threat?”

  “He mentioned him to Shakespeare, of course. It was too much of a coincidence that that man would be at the coffee shop and the art class both. And Tanton felt Bernadzikowski was paying Jan too much attention—and not the kind of attention one wants.”

  “Jan liked attention.”

  “Oh, he did. My brother loved to be the center of attention wherever he went.”

  “When you stopped working at the Roast Bean, the reason you gave was that you needed to focus on your exams.”

  “Right.”

  “So… didn’t your brother have exams?”

  Taryn pointed a perfectly manicured finger at her. “See? That’s why I want you to look into my brother’s murder. You’re observant. And you ask the right questions. Yes, Jan did have exams coming up, only he wasn’t interested. He never wanted to go to college. All he wanted to do was have fun, party all night, date as many girls as he could, and enjoy his freedom. He dreamt of being a model, actually. Walk the catwalk at New York Fashion Week. You see, back in Silvistan our parents kept a close eye on him. Especially Father, who wanted Jan to follow in his footsteps.”

  “Become a politician?”

  “That, and also take over the family business.”

  “Which is…”

  “Chocolate. Daddy owns the biggest chocolate factory in Silvistan. And other assorted businesses. Real estate. Media. All of that stuff. Which is why he sent us to the States in the first place. He wanted Jan to get his MBA at Columbia. Run the business for a couple of years and then become Silvistan’s next president when Daddy retired. As far as I’m concerned…” She shrugged. “Well, he didn’t really care what I studied.”

  “What do you study?”

  “Film and media. I would love to have a career in media.”

  And she would, Emily thought. Jan’s sister struck her as intelligent and passionate both, not to mention beautiful. “I’m so very sorry about what happened to him,” she said.

  “Don’t be. You’re not to blame.”

  “I was assisting the art class when he was murdered.”

  “I know you were. He told me about the modeling thing. Said it was a ton of fun.”

  “How did he get involved in that class, by the way? I never asked him.”

  Taryn laughed. “That was an accident, actually. I told you my brother wanted to be a fashion model. He saw an ad online about models wanted so he applied. Little did he know it was for your art class. When they asked him to strip at first he thought it was a joke.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Emily, remembering that moment. The look of surprise on Jan’s face. Then the quick smile and the acquiescence.

  “He loved it,” said Taryn, correctly interpreting Emily’s embarrassment. “Like I said, my brother enjoyed being the center of attention—and that’s exactly what he got.”

  “He most certainly did,” said Emily, remembering the adoring crowd Jan drew.

  They both sat silent for a moment, then Taryn looked up. “I need a drink. Do you want one?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Tanton!” Taryn yelled. Moments later, the bodyguard reappeared.

  “Yes, Miss Skrzypczak?”

  “White Russian for me.” She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at Emily.

  “Coke Zero,” said Emily.

  “Pussy,” said Taryn with a grin as Tanton disappeared as noiselessly as he’d arrived.

  “Isn’t Tanton your bodyguard?”

  Taryn spread her arms. “There’s not much to guard right now so he might as well make himself useful. Besides, he mixes the best cocktails. You should taste his Long Island Iced Tea.”

  Emily wondered how studying for her exams mixed with swilling down cocktails but refrained from asking. Moments later, a milky drink arrived for Taryn—presumably the White Russian she’d ordered—along with a Coke Zero for Emily.

  “Want a sip?” asked Taryn, offering her drink. “Creamy milk, vodka and coffee liqueur. It’s to die for.” She grimaced. “I probably shouldn’t use that expression.”

  Emily took a dainty sip and had to agree that the taste was fabulous. She decided to stick to her soda, though.

  Taryn suddenly grew maudlin. “I miss my brother. We were more friends than siblings.”

  “I liked him,” said Emily. “He was fun to be around.”

  “An incorrigible flirt but so much fun,” Taryn agreed. “Father’s crushed, and so is Mother.” She rolled her head and regarded Emily seriously. “How much?”

  “How much what?”

  “How much for you to investigate Jan’s murder?”

  Emily laughed. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

  “I am. Family trait. How much?”

  She thought for a moment. “This is crazy.”

  “I know. But you’re going to do it, right? Say yes.”

  “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Detective Shakespeare will hate me.”

  “Detective Shakespeare doesn’t have a clue what happened. Besides, like Daddy said, why would the American police be interested in finding out what happened to my brother? He was just a Silvistanian, after all, not a US citizen.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Taryn, I promise you.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me, but as long as I don’t see results I have no intention of changing my mind. Say yes.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin!”

  “At the beginning. Talk to the people in your class. Talk to the people at the Roast Bean. Someone must know something, and they’re more likely to tell you than the very annoying and very rude Detective Shakespeare. Say yes, please.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “Yay!”

  “I’ll talk to the people in the class, and the Roast Bean, but I can’t promise you anything.”

  “Just promise me you’ll do the best you can.”

  “That, I do promise you.”

  Taryn smiled. “Thanks, Em. I know you won’t let me down—or my brother.”

  Chapter 9

  When Emily arrived at the Creaky Shack, the hipster pop-up bar that wasn’t creaky nor a shack, Ansel was already occupying a table on the sidewalk, busily tapping on his phone. When Emily took the chair next to him, he looked up. “Oh, there you are. I thought you’d never get here.”

  “It’s a long way from Downtown to the sticks, my friend,” she said as she blew out a breath. Navigating New York’s subway system during rush hour had left her exhausted and in urgent need of a drink. She ordered a coconut l
avender lemonade—freshly squeezed lemonade, coconut water and lavender syrup—and gratefully collapsed in her chair.

  “So? How was it?” asked Ansel, putting down his phone.

  “Taryn—that’s Jan’s sister—wants me to investigate her brother’s murder.”

  Ansel’s brows shot up into his spiky ginger fringe. “She must be my soul sister.”

  “You’re not a sister.”

  “Whatever. And? You said yes, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He gawked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “What I said was that I’d talk to the people in the class and that I’d tell Taryn what I’d discovered. Nothing more. Nothing less. I’m not going to examine blood stains or measure footprints or anything like that. I’m not a detective, and that’s what I told her.” She shrugged. “But she feels people might be more willing to reveal stuff to me, a friend, than to the authorities and maybe she’s right. Detective Shakespeare did strike me as—”

  “A jackass.”

  “A very intimidating personality who might make people clam up. He made me clam up, at any rate.”

  “But you still told him everything you know.”

  “Only because I don’t know anything.”

  Ansel sat back and studied Emily for a moment. “I’ll help you.”

  “Thanks, Watson.”

  “No, I mean between the two of us we just might be able to figure out what happened.”

  “Don’t tell me you were a detective in your home country.”

  “My home country is this country, thank you very much. And no, I wasn’t a detective in Ukraine, but I am smart, and I have a disarming personality.”

  Emily laughed. “Big-headed much?”

  “No, it’s true. People open up to me. Probably because I’m a foreigner. They think I’m just a funny, harmless kook and then they let down their guard and kapow!” He hit the table, making his phone dance and almost leap to the ground. “That’s when I pounce.”

  “You pounce,” said Emily dubiously.