by Dale Mayer
“Well, I do hope you didn’t say anything to her about it,” he said, in a horrified fascination, “because she’s all business. She has installations scheduled with public showings. She has to be here and to do them.”
“Well, her damn hand was shaking,” she sneered. “What difference does it make?” she said, finally noting the horrified look on his face. “Anybody can paint this shit. At a certain point it doesn’t—”
He reached across, grabbed her hand in a surprisingly steely grip, and said, his voice hard, “Stop. You’re heading down that self-destructive path again.”
She pulled her hand free. “Who cares?” she said. “That bitch needs to know exactly what she’ll do for me.” She got to her feet and raced across the road. As soon as she got to the front door of Cayce’s gallery, she slammed it open, only to see poor hapless Anita sitting there. Mousy little Anita. Naomi sneered at her. “If that bitch thinks she’ll be using models other than me, you can sure as hell forget that idea.”
Anita looked at her in surprised shock. “What?”
“You heard me,” she snapped. “I’m the one replacing Elena.”
Anita looked past Naomi.
She turned, expecting to deliver a full-flight explosion on Cayce. Only it was Richard, the detective, staring at her.
In a mild, yet very interested tone of voice, he said, “Yeah, and just how will you do that?”
She immediately put on the brakes. But it was hard. It was damn hard. She took several slow, deep calming breaths. “She owes me,” she said tightly. “That’s my job.”
“What job?”
“The arctic one.”
He shook his head as he said, “Seems to me that Cayce has the right to pick her own models. She already picked one—”
At that, Naomi said with a flick of her hair, “When she picked me.”
“And I also unpicked you,” Cayce said, coming out from the door behind Anita. “I also told you that in my email to you. So why are you here now?” she asked.
Naomi stared at her with such hatred that even Richard stepped closer.
“I think you’ve said enough,” he said.
“I haven’t said anything,” she said with the curl of her lip. “Wait until I tell everybody that your models are dying at the hands of a madman.”
At that, the detective immediately swung her arms around her back and clipped them together with handcuffs.
She spun around on him, her fury so huge that she could feel the spittle coming from the corner of her lips. Humiliation, fury, and frustration boiled out of her as she screamed at them all. “You can’t do anything about this,” she roared. “That job is mine. No way any of those other models are safe. I’ll make sure that they’re not,” she screamed.
Just then the detective clapped a hand over her mouth and said, “Stop it. Now you’ll get to ride down to the station with me.”
And then she stared at them. “Take the handcuffs off.”
“Oh no,” he said. “You can bet I’ll make sure that they all see you like this.”
Chapter 15
Cayce stared in shock as Richard led Naomi from the gallery, outside into his vehicle. And, as he promised, he did march her past the big bay window for everybody to see.
Cayce walked back into her office and sank down again. “Good God.”
Just then Frankie came rushing inside. “What the hell was that?” he cried out.
“Everybody’s worst nightmare,” she said simply. “Naomi in her rage, threatening everyone, including destroying my business, telling everybody that a serial killer is targeting my models.”
His face fell. “She’s just vindictive enough to do it.”
“Yes,” she said, fatigue in her voice, “she would.” She stared down at her desk. “She even said she’d make sure they weren’t safe, which earned her the trip with Detective Henderson. God, what next?” She’d only been here for four hours, and she already wanted to go home. She looked around and realized she really had no reason not to. She straightened and grabbed her purse and said, “I’m heading home after my next meeting.”
He stepped back wordlessly, just watching as she walked past him.
She could see the understanding in his expression, but Anita, on the other hand, said, “Dear God, please don’t let that happen again.”
“Models can be just as obnoxious as artists.” She gave a finger wave and said, “You may want to take the afternoon off.”
“I can’t,” Anita said despondently. “Too much work to be done.”
Cayce couldn’t deal with that either. She just nodded and kept on walking. She stood outside the gallery, taking several deep breaths, not even sure what the hell had just happened. Something was so cringe-worthy about Naomi, which was just another reason why Cayce had chosen not to use the woman in any more of her pieces. But, of course, there was a certain cachet to being one of Cayce’s models, and obviously Naomi had just now figured that out. Which was sad, but, at the same time, what else was Cayce supposed to do about Naomi but fire her? “It is what it is.”
She headed out, not sure what she was supposed to do at this point, but she needed to know that she was free. She turned and walked back home.
This was something she could do.
She walked aimlessly, her mind spinning from Naomi to the guy that she had watched Richard chase across the road, to the poor victims, wondering if maybe she should just shut it all down until the investigation was over.
As she headed across the street, just a half block from her apartment, the blow came out of nowhere. She fell to her knees and cried out. Somebody was after her purse, and she tugged back hard on it, and the young male grinned at her and bolted. She struggled to her feet and sat down on a bench close by to catch her breath.
She didn’t recognize him. She thought she knew the local pickpockets in the area. But that was not classy, that was not smooth, and that would not get him the money that he wanted.
She sat, shaking on the bench for a long moment. Then she saw Frankie racing toward her. He sat down beside her, grabbed her hand, and asked, “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” she said, and the damned tears welled at that.
“Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Did you see that?”
“Yes,” he said. “I just caught it out of the corner of my eye and saw you go down.” He checked her purse. “Did he get anything?”
“No,” she said, “but I think he said something as he raced away, about payback from a friend.”
Frankie stared at her, a tick in his cheek flicking. “That bitch Naomi.”
*
When Richard looked down at his phone to see Cayce was calling, he answered it immediately. “Hey, you okay?”
She hesitated.
He repeated his question with a sharper tone of voice.
“I just wondered,” she said, “if you already knew about it.”
“Knew what?”
“I was just attacked on the street,” she said, taking a slow breath.
He could hear her shaky nerves in her words. “How?” he asked, bolting from his chair, his mind racing to the homeless guy he’d seen at the installation.
“I think just a pickpocket,” she said. “He grabbed my purse. I pulled it back, and he ran, tossed me a grin, and said ‘payback from a friend’ for some reason.”
“Payback?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what that means. Frankie thinks it’s a message from Naomi.”
“I’ll ask her. But it could be nothing, could mean that you deserved a tumble to the cement because you wouldn’t let him have your purse. Providing you kept your purse?”
“Yes,” she said, in a stronger, almost relieved voice, “that I did. And that makes a lot of sense. He was such a punk-looking kid.”
“Good.” Or not so good as that meant it was someone other than the homeless character. “How are you? Are you okay?”
“Just a little shaky,” she said. “But tha
t’s to be expected. Frankie is here now, and he’s taking me home.”
Richard swore softly under his breath. “Good. That’s where you need to be.”
“Yeah,” she said. “At the same time, I don’t know if it’s related or not, but Frankie thought I should tell you.”
“Definitely should tell me,” he said forcibly. “I’ll come over when I’m done at work.”
“No,” she said hurriedly. “You don’t have to.”
“No, I don’t have to,” he said, “but I will be there nonetheless.”
“Does that mean I’m to wait with the rest of the spaghetti?” she asked in a teasing tone.
Just hearing that tone made his heart lighten. What a fool he was, but he said, “Unless you want me to pick up Chinese.”
“You can’t just sit here and feed me all the time,” she exclaimed.
“Sure I can. Listen. I’ll be there in a couple hours, and I’ll bring dinner. So, if you’re hungry in the meantime, have at the spaghetti.”
“I thought I’d have a shower and maybe a nap,” she said.
“That works for me.”
As soon as Richard hung up from that phone call, he looked over to see Andy walking toward him, his face grim. Richard’s heart sank. “What?”
“We’ve got another one. Not sure what plans you just made with the artist right now,” Andy said, his tone matching the look on his face, “but you won’t make it.”
He sagged in his chair. “When you say, another one—”
“Another one.”
“Do we know who it is?”
“No,” he said. “At least I don’t. I haven’t gotten an ID on the victim yet.”
Richard reached down, grabbed his jacket, and said, “Let’s go.”
*
Failure was not an option. But it’s all he seemed to churn out. How did that work? He stared in frustration at his canvas in front of him. He used to do the same kind of artwork that she did. He just needed to get it back again. Then he could be on top of the world too. If it hadn’t been for that time of his life, he would have been there.
And he knew everybody else would say it was just an excuse to get out of it, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He was completely frozen every time he tried. It sucked. He looked up as a woman walked into the room. “Hey, Bellamy, how you doing?”
“I’m thrilled,” she said, walking closer, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For looking after me,” she said, as she squeezed him tight.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
“I hope you’re feeling okay now.”
“I feel much better,” he said.
“Do you think so?” She walked around, took a look at his painting, and smiled. “It’s getting better,” she said.
He knew what she was trying to do, and he appreciated it, but she was lying. “Sweetie, I know it’s not.”
“No,” she said, in a firm voice. “It is getting better.”
“And that’s a long way from what I was.”
“It takes time,” she said. “Remember that.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, “but it’s still frustrating.”
She kissed him gently on the cheek and said, “Of course it is. Come on. Let’s get to it.”
“I don’t know about dinner tonight,” he said.
“You need to eat,” she said. “Come on. You can’t just keep this up.”
If only he could get back the talent he had lost.
“Come on. Forget about it for now,” she said, tugging him toward the kitchen.
He glanced to the other room that she never went into, wishing he had time to go in there and to work a little bit more. But he didn’t dare. He turned, smiled at her, and said, “You’re right. Let’s get something to eat.”
Chapter 16
When Richard didn’t show up in the two hours he’d promised, Cayce finished off the spaghetti. She couldn’t hold off anymore. She realized that his job would probably keep him away from her on a regular basis. And there wasn’t as much spaghetti as she had thought, so she was happy to polish it off.
She curled up in front of the fire with a glass of red wine, thinking about her day and Naomi. Surely Naomi wouldn’t have done anything for that payback comment from the thief. And it could just as likely have been his version of payback because she managed to keep her purse, but she took a tumble. Any and all of it was possible, and that was the problem.
When her phone rang, she looked down at it, not surprised to see it was Richard. “Hey,” she said. “I gather you got detained.”
“We have another one,” he said, his voice grim.
“Shit,” she said, putting down her wineglass before she spilled it. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll send you a photo.”
“Do I have to?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m sorry,” he said. “We need an ID, and this is the fastest way to get it.”
She took several deep breaths. “Fine,” she said. “Send it.”
Sure enough, he sent it. Staying on her phone, she brought up her email and looked at the photo. “That’s Liana,” she said softly. “I used her on one project about eight months ago.”
“Why?”
“Because the person commissioning the art piece asked me to,” she said. “Where did you find her?”
“In a dumpster between the other two,” he said.
She winced at that. “So somebody really thinks she’s just a piece of garbage to throw out. Is that it?” she snapped, her voice gaining strength.
“Some people do look at it that way, yes,” he said. “And, no, I’m not one of them.”
“No, of course not,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. “No forensic evidence? Nothing?”
“No,” he said, his voice even darker. “Once the media gets hold of this, it will get nasty. I think you should avoid going to work tomorrow.”
She gave a startled laugh. “What am I supposed to do instead?”
“Are you ready for the next installation?”
“Because I needed something to focus on,” she said, “I am a little ahead.”
“Then please stay home,” he said urgently.
“But it doesn’t make any sense that he would be targeting me. He’s after my models.”
“Do you remember what you body-painted on Liana?”
“Of course, dolphins,” she said with an aching sadness. “Turtles and dolphins.”
“So, a waterscape.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And how did it work?” he asked.
She frowned at that. “Meaning?”
“Did it have something special in it, like on Elena? Was it something that this guy would be looking for?”
“But it would have been six or eight months ago,” she said, bewildered.
“Yeah,” he said. “We need to contact her next of kin.”
“I’m not sure there is any,” she said slowly. “She was a talker and was friends with the investor. But there was something about not having any family. Or at least nobody nearby.”
“Do you have a last name for the investor?”
“No, but I will phone Anita and find out.” With that, she hung up and quickly called her assistant. When it went to voicemail, she groaned. She sent him a text. She’s not answering. I’ll check my records to see if I have any paperwork for it.
Good. And that was all he wrote.
She went into her home office and went through her emails. It was probably the fastest way. The company was called Waterscapes. With that in the search box, she quickly pressed Enter, found what she needed, and texted Richard back. Phil Hennessy, and she gave him the phone number.
She got a thanks back and that was it.
She slowly made her way back to her couch, where she sat on the floor, this time in front of the fireplace, just rocking in place. “Poor Liana,”
she whispered to herself. It made no sense that she’d worked for her all that time ago. Where had she been since?
She frowned, wondering if Liana had been doing other modeling or something else since then. A short time later, when Hennessy called her, she stared at her phone and frowned as she answered. “Hello?”
“I haven’t seen Liana for months,” he said preemptively. “When did you last see her?”
“I think when she did the modeling for me,” she said sadly. “She wasn’t my regular model. I put her in the picture because of your request,” she said, “and I don’t know what happened after that.”
“That’s what I was afraid you would say,” he said. “The cops just called me.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I had to give them your number. Do you know where she’s been these past months?” she asked him.
“No clue. She was here one day, had been back and forth, around a lot prior to the art thing,” he said, “and then she wasn’t. And I realized what a fool I was.”
“Meaning that, by giving her that body-painting gig, you thought she would stick around and pay more attention to you?” She kept the judgment out of her voice. She knew a lot of these men with money just didn’t seem to care about helping young people, as long as they stayed with them. It wasn’t always about sex. It was often just about companionship.
“I guess,” he said. “Maybe I’m just a fool. But now I’m really hurt to think that she’s been murdered.”
“Me too,” she said. Her intercom buzzed. She stared at it and said, “I have to answer the door,” she said.
“That’s fine,” he said. “We should get together and have coffee sometime.”
She responded in kind, knowing that he didn’t mean it. As soon as she hung up, she walked over to the intercom. “Hello.”
Graham called out, saying, “A package is here for you.”
“From whom?”
“No sender is noted,” he said, “and it doesn’t have your apartment number on it, just your name.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Somebody’ll come by and pick it up. Just keep it off to the side, will you?” She couldn’t understand what upset her about this delivery, but she just knew it was bad news, whatever it was. She didn’t want anything to do with it. She quickly dialed Richard’s number.
