by Sam Cheever
We all stared at the little man for a long moment and then Ida Belle nodded. “You know that’s all hogwash, right?”
The man shook his head, obviously writing us all off as idiots.
“Mr. Pleece, my name is Cal Amity and these are my associates. I’m a private investigator.” Cal pulled a photo from his pocket and showed it to the gallery owner. “Have you seen this man around here?”
Pleece glanced quickly at the photo. “Brother Mike? Is he all right?”
“So you know him?”
“He’s a loyal patron and a talented artist in his own right. In fact, recently I’ve been having discussions about him providing some of his artwork for sale. I’ve been experiencing an influx of requests for smaller pieces.”
“When was the last time you saw him,” Fortune asked.
Pleece frowned, pursing his lips in thought. “Two days ago, I believe.”
I glanced at Cal. That would have been the day Brother Mike disappeared.
Cal’s expression told me he hadn’t missed the significance. “What time was he here?”
“Around six o’clock. I remember because I was prepping for a showing. A local artist. My assistant told him I was in the middle of something and asked him to wait. But he seemed in a hurry and didn’t wait around to talk to me.”
“How’d he look?” I asked.
“Look? Like he always did, I guess. Except a little more agitated than usual.” Pleece frowned. “Is Mike all right?” he asked again.
“We don’t know,” Cal told the owner. “He’s missing.”
Pleece’s eyebrows shot upward. “Oh! That’s not good.”
“Has he said anything recently that might lead you to believe he was in trouble?” Cal asked. “Or have you witnessed anything out of the ordinary pertaining to Brother Mike?”
Pleece scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “No. I feel rather badly now that I didn’t have time for him.” His gaze shot toward mine. “What if he’d needed my help?”
“What kind of help could you have given him if he was in trouble?” Cal’s question was taut with innuendo, clearly probing.
Pleece’s tiny form stiffened with affront. “Only artistic I assure you, Mr. Amity. As I’ve already told you, I have no idea what kind of trouble Brother Mike could have gotten himself into.”
“We need to talk to one of your artists, sir. A Charlie Spift.”
Pleece’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, Mr. Amity.”
“Why not?”
“I have no idea who Mr. Spift is.”
Frowning, Cal pointed to a large, spectacular statue of Jesus, surrounded by wildlife and flowers. “That’s one of his pieces isn’t it?”
I blinked, shocked by the intrepid Cal’s observational skill. I hadn’t even noticed him perusing the piece.
“It is, yes. But I’ve never met the artist. He just sends me a piece every six months, routed through a middle man who protects Mr. Spift’s identity.”
“How do you compensate him when a piece sells?” Fortune asked.
“Through the middle man.” Pleece’s face took on a pensive look. “Believe me, I’d love to meet the genius behind that.” He pointed to the statue Cal had indicated. “I’d be honored to handle a show for him.” He sighed. “But Mr. Spift is as private as he is talented I’m afraid. His identity is a closely guarded secret. Rumor has it he’s an odd creature, strangely protective of himself.” Pleece shook his head.
“Can you give me the name of the middle man?” Cal pushed.
Shaking his head, Pleece said, “I’m sorry. I won’t risk losing Mr. Spift as a client.”
“Daddy? Is something wrong?” A young woman, probably in her mid-thirties if I had to guess, walked over and slipped her arm through Pleece’s. She probably stood a good three inches taller than him, even without the two inch high heels on her stylish boots.
Pleece’s ugly face transformed when he looked up at her. “My daughter, Monika. I couldn’t run the gallery without her.” Pleece reached up and plucked a piece of debris from his daughter’s dark hair, smiling indulgently.
Monika had a ferret-like face but her elegant posture and long, mink-colored hair saved her from true ugliness. She extended a hand to Cal, smiling seductively. Despite her well-dressed, elegant demeanor, her fingernails were short and ragged, unpolished. “It’s nice to meet you…?”
“Cal Amity.” Cal gave her his trademark, turn a woman’s knees to butter, smile. Monika Pleece was not immune. She swayed a bit, her eyes going soft with instant lust. “Can I help you find something, Mr. Amity?”
It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. I found myself moving closer to Cal, leaning against him in an instinctual bid to lay claim as the other woman all but licked him like an ice cream cone.
Before Cal could respond, Monika’s father spoke up. “They were just leaving, my dear.”
Cal inclined his head. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Pleece.” He handed the owner a business card. “Will you call me if you hear from Brother Mike?”
“Of course.”
I frowned at Cal as we headed for the jeep. “You cut that interview short pretty quick.”
“He wasn’t going to tell us anything. He’s protecting his business. Besides, we don’t need him. We can get what we need ourselves tonight.”
My eyes went wide. “You’re thinking we’ll break into the gallery?”
Swamp Team 3 knocked knuckles behind me. Apparently we were speaking their language.
“Not necessary. He’s having a show tonight.” Cal opened my door and stepped back, grinning down at me. “It’s time for Bayou Felly to step back and give socialite Felly her head.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes, Felly. You’re going to buy some buttocks tonight.”
I glared past Cal at the snickering threesome. They didn’t bother to look chastised. In fact, Ida Belle doubled down. “We’d better get there early. I’m sure there will be tons of people who want that piece.”
I slid into my seat, settling a pout on my face. “What in the world am I going to do with a stone butt?”
Sliding into the back seat, Fortune offered a suggestion. “Use it as a vase. It looks really good with flowers sticking out of it.”
“I’m sure it will look great in my living room,” I mumbled, spurring even more giggling from the back seat.
I glanced at Cal as he pulled away from the curb in front of the gallery. He turned his head and winked. “I’m sure you’ll find just the perfect spot for the piece, Felly. And I can’t wait to see where it ends up.”
CHAPTER SIX
We arrived at the Mudbug Art Emporium at seven o’clock sharp, just as the doors opened to allow the first group of patrons inside. We slipped in behind a large, noisy group of couples who were all dressed like they had more money than God. Avoiding Pleece’s eye was easier than we’d thought since he was transfixed by the diamond and emerald set. He barely glanced our way.
Cal handed me a glass of champagne from a passing tray and I reached up to tug his bow tie straight. “You look very nice in a tux, Cal Amity.”
Cal’s big, warm hand found the small of my back as he leaned close to whisper in my ear. “You look absolutely delicious.”
I’d picked the skin-tight, low cut cocktail dress with Cal in mind. I knew he liked me in red…he’d told me so before…and I liked being able to wear three inch spike heels and still have my date tower over me.
Tremors of awareness jolted through me at his touch and the soft caress of his breath across my face. For a brief moment our surroundings drifted away, along with the reason for coming there.
Then Gertie spoke up behind me, ripping me back to painful reality. “You’d better get over and claim your butt, Felly. Several people are eyeing it with a speculative gleam in their eyes.”
I sighed. “It’s probably laughter. I can’t believe anybody would want to actually buy that thing.”
But even as I said the words,
a man in a perfectly tailored dark blue suit lifted his hand to hail Pleece. Astonished, I realized he was going to buy the buttocks out from under me.
So to speak.
Cal glanced at Fortune. “You know what to do.”
She nodded and melted away through the crowd. Gertie and Ida Belle headed for the hors d'oeuvre table, ready to create a ruckus if it was necessary.
My intrepid PI branded the small of my back with his hand, pressing me gently forward. “Let’s go haggle for some buttocks.”
Pleece frowned when he saw us coming, his narrow shoulders stiffening. The man he was speaking to stopped talking to turn as we joined them in front of the ugly piece. He slid a cold gray gaze over Cal and then scoured me with heat. I fought the urge to cover my cleavage with my clutch and gave him a quelling look.
“Mr. Amity,” Pleece said in a questioning tone. “I’m surprised to see you and…”
I offered him my hand. “Felicity Chance. Pleasure.”
Pleece inclined his head. “I didn’t expect you back.”
Cal’s fingers wrapped around my waist, nearly managing to distract me from my horrible task. “Felicity hasn’t been able to get this incredible piece out of her mind.”
Well, that was certainly true.
“She’d really like to buy it.”
Unable to force words of agreement past my lips, I forced a smile and nodded.
Pleece’s ugly little face broke into a pleased smile. “How fortunate for you.”
My stomach twisted with dread. I’d been secretly hoping the man in the expensive suit had beaten me to the punch.
“This is the artist, Gabriel.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Like the angel?”
The man laughed smoothly, reaching for my hand and lifting it to perfectly sculpted lips. His eyes were a little on the beady side and so dark they looked black. The warmth his mouth hinted at never even came close to reaching his gaze. “Ms. Chance. I’m charmed you like my work.”
Clearing my throat I forced myself to respond. “It’s truly incredible.”
He held my gaze, clearly looking for more. Reaching deep into my ever-ready stash of bunkum, I dredged up more nonsense. “Yes, it’s um…such a dichotomy. Representative of the beauty available beneath the unpleasant if only one knows where to look for it. A perspective in seeing what isn’t there as well as what’s hidden. Pure genius.”
Cal lifted a dark eyebrow and I jabbed him with my elbow, feeling a giggle dancing in my throat.
“Precisely!” Gabriel exclaimed. But I was pretty sure I saw derision in those black eyes. In that moment I realized he was creating faux “art” to flip off the world. And he was enjoying the results immensely. It was all I could do to stand there and keep smiling.
“How much for the piece?” Cal asked.
Gabriel razored a disgusted look over my sexy investigator. “If you have to ask, Mr. Amity…”
Cal nodded. Far from being insulted, he looked perfectly relaxed. Even amused. As if he were having a wonderful time. I assumed he was. At my expense of course.
“Obviously I have to ask so we can pay for it,” Cal responded calmly. “Felly might not have enough cash in her clutch, and if she doesn’t I’ll need to go fetch her checkbook for her.”
My stomach twisted at the idea of spending what would no doubt be a very large amount of my inheritance on such an ugly piece. I forced my attention away from the conversation, letting Cal set the hook as I glanced around at the other patrons.
I was surprised to find that the gallery had gotten crowded while we were talking to Pleece and Gabriel. Dozens of people were milling around the pedestalled artwork and gazing at paintings on the walls that resembled nothing more than ugly splotches of brown paint flung into globs over canvas. Judging from the buttocks piece, I could only assume Gabriel had entitled the paintings “Poop on Snow” or something equally ridiculous.
Monika Pleece was speaking to a tall man with a hook nose at the very back of the gallery, her body language clearly seductive as she caressed an ugly bust―and I do mean bust since it was nothing more than a dimpled pair of silver boobs…no doubt more of Gabriel’s work. I prayed Cal didn’t spot the boobs or he might insist I needed a matched set.
A dark head flashed past on the periphery of my vision and I blinked in surprise. Unfortunately, when I looked again I couldn’t find him. I touched Cal on the arm. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” I left the men to their haggling and pushed my way through the crowd, stretching to see above the swarms of patrons and servers carrying an array of tasty snacks on large trays. I spotted Ida Belle and Gertie over by the appetizers and Ida Belle perked up when she saw me looking. I pointed toward a door at the back of the gallery, which was cast in shadow and partially obscured by a metal and rice paper screen.
She elbowed Gertie, who appeared to be shoving shrimp into her oversized purse and started toward the door.
I headed that way too, diving behind the screen as they reached me. “I might be losing my mind but I thought I saw my father back here. He disappeared before I could be sure but I’m betting he ducked through this door.”
“Your father?” Ida Belle frowned. “What on earth would he be doing here?”
I shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe he got bored after sending us after Brother Mike and decided to follow the trail himself.”
“But if he did,” Gertie offered, flinging a shrimp tail into a nearby planter, “Then that means he knew about the gallery and didn’t tell us.”
Her words sank into my stomach and twisted there. I realized she was right. Felonius Chance had always been a multi-layered individual. Most of his layers were sneaky. I’d hoped I was one of the few people he was honest with. But there was forever that niggle of doubt where he was concerned. “It looks like he might not have been totally honest.” But I had no idea why he would ask us to find his friend and then not tell us what he knew so we could. Sighing, I motioned toward the door. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“After you,” Ida Belle said. She glanced toward Gertie. “You guard the door. If anybody tries to come through here, do whatever you need to do to stop them.”
“Like what?” Gertie asked, frowning.
“I don’t know, faint or something.”
Gertie pulled another shrimp from her bag and bit into it. She flung the tail into the planter and nodded. “I can do that.”
I grimaced. “You know that’s a fake plant, right?”
She blanched and then firmed her jaw. “Of course I know that, Felly. I’ll dig the shells back out before I leave.”
“Sure you will,” Ida Belle said, shaking her head. “Try not to draw attention to the door. That might defeat the purpose.”
Gertie saluted crisply, a shrimp flying from her hand to ping against the fancy upsweep of a nearby patron. It stuck in the woman’s thick, dark hair, looking like a bad hair pin decision. Ida Belle and I quickly slipped through the door, leaving her to deal with the fallout.
We stepped into a narrow hallway with another door directly across from the one we’d just ducked through. A plaque bearing the universal sign for a restroom explained the purpose of the darkened room.
Ida Belle stopped a few feet from the door and I ran into her with an umph. She held up a finger and I listened carefully, hearing nothing. Leaning close, I whispered in her ear. “What is it?”
She shook her head and then pointed to the restroom. “Check that out.”
Clutching my purse in front of me like a weapon, I slipped up to the door and reached inside, flipping the switch. A dusty light filled the room, illuminating cracked linoleum and stained porcelain and nothing else. “Empty,” I whispered loudly.
Ida Belle nodded, motioning toward a light at the end of the short hallway, and took off in that direction. My heels clicked on the hard floor and she turned to glare at me.
I shrugged. When I’d selected my outfit for the show it hadn’t been with the idea of sneaking around back rooms. My t
houghts had been weighted more heavily toward creating heat in Cal’s gaze when he looked at me. I reached down and pulled off one shoe and then the other, praying there was nothing sharp or tetanus-bearing on the floor as I padded silently after Ida Belle.
The room we entered appeared to be some sort of storage room. It was filled with crates and painting shaped boxes slotted into a large frame on the wall that resembled a bicycle rack. In the center of the cluttered space was a long, rough wood table. The surface was littered with packing peanuts and boxes. A roll of packing tape sat perched on one edge, a length of twisted tape sticking out from the end.
Glancing around, I saw no sign of my father. There was an office on the back wall, and Ida Belle headed that way. “I’ll see if Fortune’s found anything.”
I blinked. In all the commotion I’d completely forgotten about Fortune. She’d been dispatched to find the name of Spift’s middle man. I leaned a hip against the table and it moved sideways with a screech.
Ida Belle stopped, her shoulders rising in a clear indication of pique, and turned to glare back at me.
“Sorry,” I whispered, lifting my hands in surrender. “I’ll just stand here quietly.”
She rolled her eyes, heading for the office. She called Fortune’s name softly as she approached, no doubt to avoid being clocked on the head by a painting or something more deadly. I’d figured out really fast that Fortune might be a beauty queen turned librarian, but she had an aggressive streak a mile wide and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
A soft thud had me stilling. I looked around and saw nothing. A moment later I heard it again. It was coming from the shadows at the back of the room. I started in that direction, one shoe with a deadly stiletto heel lifted. If something jumped out at me it was going to be digging stiletto out of its throat.
Another thud was followed by a scraping sound. I narrowed my gaze and saw a shift in the dust beside one large crate. As I watched the crate moved again. I jumped, my shoe weapon lifting higher.
