Stroke of Death

by Dale Mayer

  “Well, I would,” he said, “but she can’t answer these.”

  “Fine. What’s the question?” She turned to look up at him, surprised to find that he was taller than she remembered.

  “Did you know that you were in Elena’s will?”

  She felt a jolt to her heart, then sadness and tears. “That’s so like Elena,” she whispered.

  “And how is that?”

  “Elena felt that I was the reason she ended up doing so well as a model,” she said. “Plus we’ve been friends forever. She’s in my will too.” And that reminder depressed her.

  “Did your work really put her on the map as a model?”

  She shrugged. “In many ways, yes. So, if I’m in the will, I’m sure it’s just a token thank-you.”

  “How about 51 percent of her estate?”

  She turned slowly to look at him, the shock still reverberating through her heart. “Why would she do that?” she asked curiously.

  He shrugged. “That’s the question I would ask you.”

  “Because she’s a very generous and caring friend,” she said, opening her arms wide. “And she has no family to speak of.”

  “I understand she has a father in Switzerland, who we have yet to run down.”

  “Stepfather. Good luck with that,” she said. “You might want to check the criminal system first. If he’s not in jail, he needs to be. She was a foster kid.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured.

  She watched as he wrote something in his notebook.

  “So can you tell me why Elena left you the money?”

  “Obviously because she wanted to,” she said, looking at him in surprise.

  “Obviously,” he said, his tone turning sarcastic. “What about these people? Do you know them?” And he went on with five other names.

  She nodded. “I’ve heard about all of them. Are they in the will too?”

  He watched her closely as he nodded. “The five of them share the other half.”

  “Well, that’s interesting,” she said. “She should have updated her will.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because two of them are dead for sure.”

  He stared at her in surprise.

  She gave him a wan smile. “Lanen and Arnold were in a terrible car accident, and neither of them survived. Are you sure you even have her current will?” she asked. “Her lawyer should have that stuff.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to confirm,” he said. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Almost a sense of relief flowed through her at that. She nodded. “Well, maybe check that out before you try to contact everybody first.”

  “I do know how to do my job,” he said in a mild tone.

  She smiled, nodded, and said, “Of course you do,” but she kept the rest to herself.

  He asked her a few more questions that she had no trouble answering, then he asked one more zinger. “So, what was that about, with your assistant, when I came in?”

  She looked at him in surprise, then shrugged. “At one of my art showings,” she said, “we had some guy come up and made some comments that were a little unsettling.”

  “What kind?”

  “It was nothing,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “I want to hear. Especially if this was connected.”

  She stared at him in frustration. “It was obviously somebody who wasn’t well,” she said. “He just kept talking about how I was stealing souls.”

  “What kind of souls?”

  She glared at him. “He said that, by painting over the body models, I was stealing their souls, and I should be setting them free instead.”

  *

  He paused as he considered her words. He knew a little about energy and souls. What were the chances she did too? And was hiding it? Then why wouldn’t she? Most people considered the entire topic nuts. He was no pro on this stuff, but he wasn’t comfortable discussing it either.

  Richard studied her carefully. “Can you describe him?”

  She stared at him in surprise. “Are you taking him serious?”

  “No, but how do I not investigate him when it might be pertinent to the case.”

  Shocked, her eyes wide, she shook her head. “He’s a panhandler. We see him around every once in a while. He carries religious texts and wears dozens of crosses. But I haven’t spoken to him again.”

  He nodded, looking for deception, but couldn’t see any. “Any truth to his words?”

  Her jaw dropped. “I can’t imagine,” she finally whispered. “He was obviously struggling with mental issues.”

  He nodded. “I’ll track him down and see what he’s about. If he comes back, let me know.”

  And, with that, and a final glance around the cluttered space, he headed outside to the fresh air.

  The street was busy, being the middle of a business day. He didn’t see the man she’d mentioned, and the pretzel seller at the next intersection hadn’t seen him either.

  Neither had the hot dog vendor.

  Nor the burrito vendor.

  But the coffee vendor had.

  She looked at him and smiled. “That’s old Halo. We call him that as he’s always trying to save souls.”

  “Ah, so that’s normal for him?”

  Her smile was bright and yet wry. “For him, on his good days, yes. On his bad days it’s way worse.” She leaned over the counter. “He’s harmless though. Doesn’t weigh ninety pounds. Is all about saving a world that’s dying to kill itself off with greed.” Her smile dimmed. “On his good days he’s as normal as you and me. But he’s had more bad days than good lately. You can find him over there …” And she pointed in the direction of a small park. “It’s an old favorite haunt.”

  On that note he thanked her and headed in that direction.

  “I doubt he’ll be there,” she called out, after he’d gone a few feet.

  “Why is that?”

  “He moves around all the time. He’s likely miles away from here. Haven’t seen him in a week at least. He said something about an artist last time, and he wanted to get away from her. Said she was dangerous. And would bring devastation down on us.”

  He froze at the word artist. He turned around. “Do you think he intended to harm the artist before she could do that?”

  The woman looked at him in surprise. “Oh, no. He was planning on leaving before it got any worse.”

  *

  Halo heard his name from the other side of the coffee truck. He froze, then slowly sidled backward. He could taste the brew in his mouth. Hildie was always good for one cup. Especially if he timed it right.

  His hand clutched the cross hanging close to his heart. Evil was everywhere. He could see it in people. All kinds of people.

  Nowhere was safe in this world. He watched a woman with a small child stroll down the sidewalk, giving him the stink eye. But he wasn’t the one she should be worried about. It’s the other one of him who was dangerous.

  Keeping the world safe was impossible.

  Not when evil lived everywhere. Especially inside.

  Chapter 6

  Anita walked into Cayce’s office, leaving invoices for her to review before signing the attached checks. “Detective Henderson asked for the details on the installations that Elena was in.” She stopped for a moment to collect her emotions before she continued, “Is it okay if I give him the invoices with the contact details?”

  Cayce stared at her assistant, as her mind tried to shift from the art design laying on her desk in front of her to Anita. Cayce gave a slight head shake as she tried to corral her brain and turn it back to the business aspects. “If he’s asked for it, I’m not sure we have any choice,” she said, “and we don’t want to appear obstructive to the case. We want to do anything we can to help them solve Elena’s murder and to bring her killer to justice.”

  “So, I guess that’s a yes,” Anita said drily. She nodded. “I’ll scan it all in and email it to him.”

  “Good, and the so
oner, the better,” Cayce said. “Otherwise he’ll just show up on our doorstep again.”

  “Are you sure that’s a bad thing?” Anita asked. “I know this whole business is terrible and outrageous but the detective? … Well, there’s just something really raw about him.”

  This wasn’t the first time Anita had said something unusual and different and very accurate like that. Cayce looked at her assistant, her lips twitching into a smile, and said, “Agreed. I’d love to get my paintbrush on him. But I’m not sure what setting I’d put him into.”

  “A storm.” It came out immediately. “Something wild, untamed. He’s pretty sexy,” Anita added on a laugh.

  “If you like that kind of thing,” Cayce said with a dismissive wave.

  “We all love that kind of thing,” Anita said. “Even you.” She turned and left the area.

  Cayce stared at her assistant’s back as she walked away. That’s not quite true, she thought. She didn’t love that kind of thing. It made for an interesting relationship, but she tended to stay safe, away from relationships, so things didn’t blow apart in her world. Enough was in her world that she needed to be calm to focus on, so blowing her world apart with a sexual relationship was just not appealing anymore.

  She stared down at the paperwork Anita had given her. Cayce had to get out of here, and she had to get out of here fast. She’d been up late working, but she was already behind schedule. Nothing pissed her off more and upset her creative flow more than being behind on her artwork. Other than paperwork.

  Anita’s voice called from the other room. “Don’t forget your schedule.”

  She groaned and stood, as she checked the clock, her body already moving. “I’m leaving.”

  “Sorry, sweetie,” Anita said. “I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

  “Bring breakfast,” she said.

  “A thermos of coffee and food. Got it.”

  Cayce walked over, grabbed her big satchel, packed up the last of her art designs, and decided that walking was about the only way to clear her head.

  She headed out her gallery entrance to the main street and took a right. This installation was only about four blocks away. The walk should have helped, but somehow it didn’t. It did give her a few minutes to breathe in the fresh air, if the air in these clogged city streets qualified as fresh, and just having a moment to regroup from her office and the startling reminder of the detective’s striking looks helped.

  She should have slept well last night, but instead her night was haunted with dreams of energy and souls. Her grandmother’s age-old voice slipped through her mind. Remember. When you connect on one level, you connect on another. The problem was that she and Elena had connected on many levels. On a soul level too. She was easy to work on because it was like working on herself. Cayce knew everything that mattered about Elena and the same in reverse.

  They’d been friends years ago and had found each other again through the modeling world. Most people didn’t know they had an ancient history. But she’d helped Elena many, many years ago; and Elena had turned around and had helped Cayce too. As had a few other people. People she’d lost contact with over the years as she refused to dwell in the past.

  But now she had this ragged hole, a sense of loss of something very special being removed from her life, and it was devastating. When she thought about Elena, the tears burned in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t dare let them drop. She didn’t dare let herself focus on it. She had to just keep moving. She had to just keep on going.

  Especially since the next couple weeks would be pretty hectic. She didn’t know how she had gotten herself into these problems, but schedules were what they were, and people often didn’t stick to them. They expected the artist to pull shit out of their creative hat, even when nothing was there or even when things were too pressured to even access creativity. And this thing with Elena was enough to run Cayce off the rails for a long time. But she couldn’t let it.

  As she walked into the installation, her heart sank because Naomi was already here, throwing a fit. The room was chaotic and full of colors she didn’t want to work in. Cayce shook her head, tried to walk in quietly, and failed.

  Naomi spun, saw her, and glared. “You’re not the only one whose time is important,” she screeched.

  Cayce stared at the model, hating the angry sparks flying around her, and tried to keep her own tone mild, as she pulled her aura protectively tight against her body. This was not the creative environment she needed. “You’re getting paid by the hour, so what do you care?”

  Naomi tossed her hair. “I care. I don’t want to just stand around doing nothing.”

  At that, Cayce snorted, and her lips quirked at the irony, since that’s precisely what the body model did. She walked over, completely unconcerned about Naomi’s impatience, and stood in front of the installation, studying it. The backdrop was done; all the front pieces were done. Today was all about Naomi; then this one would be over. Cayce had already done everything else except for touch-ups. Now she just had to do the models.

  As she looked over, she saw two little children. She smiled because the little imps were going into the installation too, and that would be a challenge. But a fun one. They would be painted to represent beach balls, lively jitterbug balls. Their childish energy already zoomed around them with excitement. That also meant Cayce needed to do them last. And she’d have to paint them fast, as she didn’t imagine their attention span would last very long. And they were earlier than she’d have liked.

  She took her satchel to the side, setting out her paints, and heard Naomi in the background, still screeching.

  “You can start anytime,” Naomi said.

  “Get a coffee and relax,” she ordered her model.

  Naomi glared at her, her feet tapping the floor, her hands on her hips.

  Deliberately Cayce turned. She was supposed to be the temperamental artist, but it seemed like all she did was deal with temperamental models. Another reason Elena had been absolutely perfect.

  Not only had she got it, but she really got it. She’d been quiet, unassuming, and she blended into the pieces as she was intended to do, whereas Naomi was desperate to stand out, and she wanted the art to revolve around her. She didn’t understand she was just a tiny piece of it. And, if she did understand, she’d never accept it because, of course, in her world, there couldn’t be anything but her.

  Finally Cayce was ready. She grabbed her small cup, put it atop her palette, grabbed her brushes, and motioned at Naomi. “Bottom first.”

  Naomi sighed, slipped off the beach cover-up she had on, revealing a nude pair of panties. She still had a sports bra on top, which would be fine until Cayce got to the upper half of her body. Naomi stepped forward, tossed her hair back, and said, “I hope I don’t have to put up my hair yet.”

  “Nope, you don’t,” Cayce said, and, reaching for the paintbrush, dipped it in the paint, and made the first of many long strokes to come.

  *

  Richard opened his email, saw the one from Anita, immediately clicked on it, and printed off the invoices. When he picked up those pages from the printer, he added them to the file, and, as he did so, he sat down to study the summary on top.

  “Something interesting?” Andy asked, as he plopped a heavy mug of coffee on his desk and threw himself into the chair beside Richard.

  “Not likely,” he said, “just the invoice of who paid for the last installation where Elena had been.”

  “Right,” he said. “We still have to cross the Ts and dot the Is.”

  “Always.” He picked up the phone and contacted the number on the other end. When it rang, it went to voicemail, but no company was identified. He figured a lot of the wealthy art patrons around the city didn’t necessarily order these installations directly, and it mostly would be under company names, but Richard couldn’t be sure. He quickly left a message, hung up, and then brought up the company name on his desktop, only to find absolutely no information about it. He sat
back in his chair, thrumming his fingers on the desk. “So the company doesn’t come up on Google.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “John Hallmark,” he said with a tilt to his head. “Interesting business name.”

  “Probably thinks of himself as an artist. It’s likely another one of those artsy niche boutique companies,” he said.

  “That could be. Did you have any luck getting ahold of the remaining three people in the will?”

  “Some, but one more is dead,” he said.

  Richard slipped his head around the corner of the monitor. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, but that person died quite a few years ago,” he said.

  “And does the lawyer have a more up-to-date will?”

  “The lawyer is not returning our phone calls,” Andy said in a dry tone.

  At that, Richard’s growl was thunderous. “Well, in that case, we need to have a little visit.”

  “I’m always up for rattling lawyers,” Andy said with a laugh, “but this guy appears to be out of the country.”

  “Well, somebody must be left behind.”

  “Small outfit, small firm, just him. Answering service that handles several businesses.”

  “A new lawyer?”

  “No, I think the opposite,” he said. “An old one.”

  “Great. We’ll send him a message that we need to speak.”

  “I did a while ago. Let me check in case he wrote back.” Tapping the keys as he signed onto his computer, he said, “Sweet, there’s a response,” Andy said. “Let’s see what he has to say.” A few more clicks. “He says he can do a phone call later this afternoon,” Andy said, tapping his email on his desktop. “That just came in about two minutes ago.”

  “Good. We need to resolve that issue to make sure we’ve got a current will, and we need to know who these other two people are.”