Arden decided he must be heading to Reid’s office, and she told herself just to wait inside the café until he’d put plenty of distance between them. Why take a chance on being seen? Hadn’t she promised Reid she would be careful?
Still, an opportunity had presented itself. Brody had spent hours watching Reid’s place and tailing him around town. Why not turn the tables? She could follow at a discreet distance and observe his behavior and interactions. If he tried to break into the house, she would call the police.
Fishing her sunglasses out of her bag, she slipped them on as she waited underneath the awning to make sure he didn’t turn around. But she didn’t want him to get too far ahead, so she fell in behind a family of five strolling by. The two adults and tallest child would provide enough cover so that if Brody happened to glance back, he wouldn’t be able to see her. That worked for about two blocks and then the family turned a corner, leaving Arden exposed. She hugged the inside edge of the sidewalk, hoping the shade of the buildings would somewhat protect her.
What are you doing, Arden? What on earth are you thinking?
She shoved the voice aside as she hooked her bag over her shoulder and kept walking. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a plan took shape. What if Brody really was working for someone powerful who wanted to frame Reid for murder? What if he was on his way to meet that person right now? It was a long shot and not without risk, but wouldn’t it be something if she could solve this whole mystery simply by tailing Brody to his final destination? The trick was to stay out of his periphery. It was broad daylight and traffic was fairly brisk. Just don’t let him get so far ahead of you that he can double back without your knowing.
They were headed west on Queen Street. If his final destination had been Reid’s office, he would have turned right on Logan, but instead he kept going all the way to Rutledge, finally turning left on Wentworth. Then came a series of quick turns onto side streets that left Arden completely disoriented. She didn’t know the area well and might have thought Brody was deliberately trying to lose her, but from everything Reid had told her, evasion was hardly Brody’s style. He was more likely to turn around and confront her openly.
Still, she widened the distance between them, trying to blend into the scenery as best she could. He made another turn and she finally recognized where they were. The houses along the street had seen better days, but the yards were shady, and every now and then, the breeze carried the scent of jasmine over garden fences.
Traffic dwindled and Arden crossed the street to trail behind a pair of college students, who undoubtedly lived in one of the nearby apartment complexes. Up ahead, Brody stopped in front of a two-story house with a wrought-iron fence encasing the front walkway and garden. Arden broke away from the students and darted into an alley, where she could watch Brody from a safe distance. As he opened the gate and stepped into the garden, a middle-aged woman wearing shorts and a baggy T-shirt came down the porch steps to confront him.
Their raised voices carried across to the alley, but Arden could make out only a word now and then of the argument, something about late rent. The woman, presumably Brody’s landlady, gestured toward the outside staircase that led up to a second-story apartment. Brody became so agitated that Arden worried he might actually assault the poor woman.
Although she braced herself to intervene, the disagreement never became physical. Brody headed up the stairs and disappeared inside the door at the top of the landing. He came back out a few minutes later and flung money at the woman. She screamed an oath and then scrambled to grab the bills before the breeze carried them away. Brody watched her for a moment, then turned on his heel and exited the gate, heading back up the street the way he’d come.
Arden pressed herself against the wall, trying to disappear into the shadows until he was safely past the alley. Then she glanced up the street. She could still see him in the distance. She would have left the alley to follow except for the woman across the street, who had once again caught her attention. She plucked the last of the bills from the ground, folded the wad and tucked it into her shorts pocket. Then she came through the gate and stood on the sidewalk, hand shading her eyes as she watched Brody’s receding form. Once he rounded a corner, she went back inside the fence and marched up the stairs, pausing on the landing to glance over her shoulder. Satisfied that she was alone, she retrieved a key from a flowerpot and let herself into the apartment.
By this time, Brody was long gone. As much as Arden wanted to try to catch up with him, she was intrigued by the woman’s behavior. She waited in the shadows, her gaze fixated on the door at the top of the stairs. The woman reappeared a few minutes later, glanced around once more to make sure no one had seen her and returned the key to the flowerpot. She came down the stairs and rounded the house to the porch. A moment later Arden heard a door slam.
Leaning back against the building, she placed a hand over her pounding heart. The adrenaline pulsating through her veins was a rush she hadn’t experienced in years. She was reminded of the time she and Reid had taken his father’s boat out for a midnight sail. They’d stayed on the water all night, drunk with freedom and adventure as they contemplated how far they dared go before turning back.
Now, a little voice goaded her. Now is the time to turn back.
Arden once again ignored that voice.
Leaving the alley, she glanced both ways before crossing the street. Without hesitation, she made for the garden gate, rehearsing in her mind what she would say if she were caught. She wasn’t so worried about the landlady. Arden had always been able to think on her feet. She’d make up an excuse about having the wrong address or looking for an old friend. Brody was a different story. She’d glimpsed his temper and had no doubt he was dangerous. Now, though, she was more convinced than ever that he had to be working for someone. The area was seedy, but apartments this close to downtown didn’t come cheap no matter the neighborhood.
How could she pass up this chance? Someone was trying to set Reid up for murder. What if she could determine the identity of the real killer by searching Brody’s possessions? What if she could prove Reid’s innocence once and for all? Wasn’t he worth taking that risk?
On and on, the devil on her shoulder goaded her.
Arden knew what Reid would say. He’d tell her to go back to the office and lock the doors. Hunker down until he returned later that afternoon. But cowering inside locked doors wouldn’t help him out of his current predicament. There’d been a time when he would have applauded her efforts.
In a way, she was doing this as much for herself as for him, Arden decided. She wanted to be that girl again. The one who threw caution to the wind and followed her heart.
Let’s not get carried away.
She found the key in the flowerpot, unlocked the door and then returned the key, using her foot to hold open the door. She slipped inside and took off her sunglasses. The apartment was dim and overly warm. Or maybe she was just overly excited. A scene from one of her favorite movies came to mind. A determined young woman risking life and limb to get the goods on a murderer so she could prove to her adventurous lover she was more than his match.
Focus, Arden. You are not Grace Kelly. And this is not a movie.
She stood with her back against the closed door and drew in air as she tried to quiet her thundering heart. Then her gaze darted about the small space, taking it all in before she began to explore. To the left of the entrance was a tiny bathroom; to the right, a bedroom. The narrow foyer opened directly into a living area and the kitchen was just through an archway. The space was tight but efficient.
Her gaze lit on a wooden table beneath the only window in the living room. An expensive laptop and printer were set up, along with a flat-screen TV. How did someone fresh out of prison afford such expensive devices?
She moved across the room as silently as she could manage on aging floorboards. After taking a quick peek through a sta
ck of papers on the table, she turned her attention to the laptop. It opened to the desktop and she navigated to the Pictures folder, scanning dozens of thumbnails before she found the incriminating photos of Reid. Brody must have been following him for days. He’d captured Reid through his office window, at the courthouse on Broad Street, on the sidewalk in front of Berdeaux Place. When she reached the images from the bar, Arden grew even more agitated. The angle of some of the shots made it look as though Reid and the victim were interacting.
Arden could have spent hours examining every nuance of those photographs, but she’d already spent too much time in Brody’s apartment. She’d pressed her luck long enough. Panic had set in so she did the only thing she could think of in the moment. She attached the images to an email and sent them to her account. Then she deleted the message from the Sent folder. What else? What else? Grabbing a tissue from her bag, she wiped down the computer and anything else in the vicinity she might have touched.
She was just finishing up when she heard footsteps on the wooden stairs outside the apartment. Quickly she gathered up her bag and took one last look at the table, then hurried to peek out the front widow.
Brody was coming up the stairs. He was almost at the landing.
Arden cast a frantic glance around and then darted inside the tiny bathroom. She flattened herself in the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed.
The door opened and Brody came inside the apartment. She listened as he clomped through the rooms, praying he wouldn’t need to use the bathroom or, even worse, decide to take a shower.
A ringtone sounded and he answered with an impatient grunt.
“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m late. Unforeseen circumstances.”
Arden heard a drawer slide open. She hadn’t left anything on the table, had she? She hadn’t moved his laptop enough so that he would notice? She squeezed her eyes closed and waited. Into the silence came the metallic click of what she imagined to be a switchblade. She pictured him testing the vicious blade with his thumb as he glanced toward the bathroom...
“Relax, dude. I’m on my way now. You just make sure you have the money.”
He left the apartment and slammed the door behind him. Arden waited to make sure he wasn’t coming back, and then she climbed shuddering out of the tub. She went back over to the table to make sure nothing was amiss and quickly exited the apartment.
By the time she got to the street, Brody was well ahead of her. She accelerated her pace, trying to shorten the distance between them without calling attention to herself. He strode along, a man on a mission, turning here, turning there until they finally reached King Street and she lost him.
Arden came to a stop, glancing up and down the street. The sidewalks were crowded for a weekday, but his appearance would make him stand out among the tourists and shoppers. Maybe he’d gone inside one of the boutiques. That hardly seemed likely, but he couldn’t have just vanished.
As she stood there contemplating where he might have gone, a hand fell on her shoulder.
She jumped and turned with a gasp. Her arm went back in self-defense. Instead of swinging her bag at Brody’s head, she said incredulously, “Uncle Calvin! What are you doing here?”
A smile flashed, disarming her instantly. “I was just about to ask you the same thing, but then I assumed you’d come for a tour of the studio.”
She tried to act natural as she dropped the bag to her side and smoothed back her hair. “Actually, I was just out doing a little shopping. Although if I’d known the address of your studio, I would have stopped by.”
He motioned to a building across the street. “I’m on the second floor. Lots of beautiful light. Come up. I’ll fix you something cold to drink and give you the grand tour.”
“That sounds lovely.” Arden shot a glance over her shoulder before she followed her uncle across the street and up to his studio. Despite the heat, he looked cool and collected in khaki chinos and a cotton shirt that complemented his eyes and the white-gold hair that curled at his collar.
Arden marveled at how young he looked for his age. A stranger would never have guessed that he was well into his forties. It was only when he turned at the top of the stairs and gave her a little smile that she noticed the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the deeper crevices in his brow. “It’s a working studio,” he said. “Nothing too fancy and it’s a bit of a mess right now. I’ve been inspired lately and painting like a madman.”
“I’m eager to see it.”
He stepped back for her to enter, and she stood gazing around. The space was wide open, with an industrial flavor from the original plank flooring, brick walls and long windows that reached to the beamed ceiling. Canvases were stacked at least three deep along the walls and an easel had been set up to take advantage of the morning sunlight.
“It’s a wonderful space,” Arden said as she moved into the center of the room. “Bigger than I imagined, and the light really is beautiful. So soft and golden. I can see how you’d be inspired here.”
“It’s not the studio that inspires me, though I do consider myself lucky for having found this place,” Calvin said. “It’s one of a kind.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A while.”
“You mentioned that you live nearby?”
“Only a few blocks away. It’s very convenient.”
Arden walked over to one of the windows that looked down on the street. “If I had this studio, I don’t think I’d ever want to leave.”
“You haven’t seen my apartment,” he said with another smile.
“That’s true.”
“Minuscule compared to Mayfair House, but it suits my needs perfectly.”
“I’ve decided big homes are overrated,” Arden said. “Not to mention overwhelming.”
“Yes. We tend to take those grand old places and all the accompanying creature comforts for granted when someone else is footing the bill. But there is something to be said for freedom.” His gaze darkened before he reclaimed his good humor. “Anyway, you’ll have to come to dinner soon. I’m not a bad cook.”
“That would be nice. Just let me get settled first.”
“Of course. In the meantime, what will you have to drink? I have iced tea, lemonade...”
“Iced tea is perfect.”
He disappeared into another room. “Make yourself at home,” he called out. “I’ll be right back.”
“Is it okay if I look at your paintings?”
“Certainly. Nothing in the studio is off-limits.”
She wandered around the perimeter of the room, examining the canvases and admiring the iconic landmarks that he had painted. The church towers, the cemeteries, the pastel homes on Rainbow Row. Even Berdeaux Place. The paintings were colorful, the subject matter dear to Arden’s heart, and yet an inexplicable melancholy descended. She was home now. She could visit any of these places whenever she liked. But studying her uncle’s art was like observing her beloved city through a mist. There was an unsettling disconnection. Was that how Calvin had felt as a child visiting Berdeaux Place? A lonely little boy observing from a distance a happier life that should have been his?
She shrugged, dismissing the thought, deciding it was best to leave the psychoanalysis to the experts.
Circling the room, she finally came to a stop in front of the easel. The unfinished painting jolted her. She blinked and then blinked again. It was like her previous thoughts had suddenly materialized.
“You’ve painted Mother’s cereus.” Through a greenhouse window. From the outside peering in.
“I’ve attempted to. It’s a rather complicated plant. The texture of the leaves is tricky.”
“Are you kidding me? The detail is amazing,” Arden said in wonder.
“Thank you for that.” He came back into the room and handed her a frosty glass. “I’ll paint a companion piece
once the blooms have opened. That is, if you have no objection.”
“Of course not. Your work is very beautiful and you seem to be quite prolific. I had no idea.” She glanced around the room at all the canvases. “Do you paint everything from memory?”
“Not always. I sketch and sometimes I work from photographs.”
“This painting almost looks like a photograph. I feel as if I’m gazing through the greenhouse window.” She took a sip of tea as she gave him a sidelong glance. “I went out to the garden last night, but I didn’t see you working.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you again. Besides, there’s little point in coming every night until the blooms are further along.”
“I can’t get over the colors,” Arden murmured, her attention still on the cereus. “It’s almost as if...” She trailed away, shy about her thoughts all of a sudden.
“As if...what?”
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
Her uncle smiled. “Artists are by nature crazy. Who am I to judge?”
Still, Arden hesitated. “It’s like Grandmother is there in the greenhouse. Mother, too. You didn’t paint them. You can’t see them. But I can feel them.”
He drew a sharp breath.
“I’m sorry,” Arden said. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just so rare to find someone who feels about your work the way you do. You couldn’t have known what was in my heart or in my head when I painted that scene and yet...” Now he was the one who broke off. “Forgive me. I’m just... I’m blown away by your insight.” He walked over to the easel and picked up the canvas. “I think you must have this.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. As beautiful as it is, I can’t take your work.”
Killer Investigation Page 13
