‘Alec said he bought most of his paintings at auction and a few from other collectors. I guess that means his are all originals.’ He chewed his bottom lip.
‘What?’ said Lexie.
‘I’m wondering whether it was a good idea to point it out to you.’
Lexie looked back at the painting, a funny knot tightening in her stomach. Now Nathan had pointed out the similarity in the painting, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it herself, but did it mean anything?
If she did anything, she had to be careful. She wasn’t brave. The research she’d done so far on her laptop couldn’t hurt.
She doubted that she would be able to clear Patrick’s name, but if she knew what was behind it, she could tell Alec, then the people that mattered to Caroline would know the truth. How would Nathan feel about that?
All through dinner she considered what she might be able to do and finally decided she’d start by getting in touch with Alec and asking him about his painting. This might be nothing. The painting in the photo could be a copy or a print. She’d have to find out where the photo was taken.
Lexie woke early the following morning. She lay in a pleasant, dozy state, knowing she didn’t have to greet the day just yet. Her mind ranged over the tasks she needed to do. In her head she phrased an email to Alec. She’d scan the magazine cutting and ask Alec if it was the same painting.
A small image on a white background flashed into her mind. She jerked upright. Of course. Nathan grumbled in his sleep and dragged at the duvet. Lexie slipped out of bed and down to the dining room. She switched on her laptop then pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from the pile of clean linen waiting to be put away. When the laptop booted up, she hunted through her list of folders for the one with the unlocked files from Peter Webber’s laptop. She opened the file containing the images of paintings and searched through it. Nothing. She opened the second file and there on the penultimate page was an image of the autumnal painting. She hurried into the kitchen and pulled the cutting off the corkboard so she could compare it. Definitely the same painting.
Under the image in the document was a typed notation — James Jackson, Autumn Leaves. Lexie looked at the magazine photo of Dominique with James Jackson’s painting in the background then at Peter Webber’s document. This must be more than a coincidence.
There was the familiar sound of the floorboards creaking as Nathan got out of bed. Lexie closed her laptop and switched on the kettle. This would have to keep until she was on her own, and she’d have to consider whether she should do anything.
By the time she got home from the morning school run, Lexie still hadn’t made any decisions. She scanned the image of the magazine cutting then drafted an email to Alec. The few lines taunted her. Should she send it? She hadn’t mentioned anything about Caroline or Patrick. This was merely a simple question about a painting. The phone rang, and she clicked Send before she could second-guess herself.
Veronica launched straight into her usual instruction-like request as soon as Lexie answered the phone.
‘Can you come up to London the day after tomorrow? There are a few things we need to talk about. Oh, and Peter’s throwing a bit of a thing for the staff. Webber Media has won some awards so you might as well come for that.’ She didn’t even try to sound magnanimous.
Veronica hated waiting for decisions, so Lexie agreed and then worked out how she could manage the trip to London as well as the children. She had looked after Rachel and Jake a couple of times for Helen and also picked them up from school when Helen had taken her mother out for birthday lunch and shopping. If Helen wasn’t able to pick the children up, she’d still be able to do the trip but wouldn’t be able to stay for Peter Webber’s do. In her present mood she wasn’t sure she fancied hanging around the office for drinks and a few nibbles while everyone congratulated themselves on some awards.
Lexie sat at the dining table with her laptop and checked through her notes for the Women in Business features. She’d made a number of preliminary requests for interviews and to her delight she’d had positive replies. This morning she was going to conduct two more telephone interviews. When the women had accepted, she’d sent them a list of the questions she wanted to discuss so they could prepare. She read through the questions again and then checked the notes she’d made from the previous interviews. Everything was fitting in well with her ideas for the articles. She was enjoying the work more than she’d anticipated.
As she drove the children home from school that afternoon, Lexie saw Miriam and Grace walking along the road. On impulse, she indicated and pulled over. She wasn’t sure if Miriam had called in to visit her. It could just be coincidence, but she’d invite them in anyway.
Miriam didn’t appear overjoyed at the invitation, but Lexie pressed, using Tilly as a reason. Grace might enjoy playing with another child for a change. Fortunately, Tilly seemed keen on the idea and as they were only a few strides from Cherry Tree Cottage, Miriam eventually gave in to Tilly’s pleading.
Lexie pulled out some snacks for the children, and they all disappeared upstairs to Tilly’s room.
Miriam wasn’t very forthcoming and so the conversation was stilted and one-sided. This was yet another example of her not-so-great ideas. When Miriam said she had to leave, Lexie was relieved and went upstairs to collect Grace. She stood on the landing, listening to Tilly and Grace chattering.
‘I call this one Barbie-super-model, and the one you’ve got is called Barbie-dancer,’ said Tilly.
‘Do you call all your dolls Barbie?’ asked Grace.
‘Course, ‘cos that’s what they are. What do you call your dolls?’
‘My best one is Kristie Connell. It’s my favourite name. I wish I was called Kristie. Her boyfriend is Ken Dance.
‘My best doll’s called Dolly,’ said Ruth.
‘That’s a stupid name,’ said Tilly.
Lexie pushed the door open before it turned into an argument that would inevitably end in tears.
‘Hello, girls, I hope you’re having a nice time. Grace, your mum needs to go now, but you can come back any time and play.’
Grace gave Tilly back her doll and went downstairs. Lexie looked at her in amazement. If only she could get Tilly and the twins to be so obedient.
It was the following morning before the implications of the overheard snippet of conversation struck Lexie. Miriam’s surname was Connell and Grace had said Kristie was her favourite name. But where did she get the surname for the Ken doll. It hadn’t sounded like a proper name at the time, and now she couldn’t remember what it was. She wandered around the room, but it wouldn’t come. Finally, she climbed the stairs and stood in the same spot as the previous afternoon.
Ken… Ken… What was the surname? It began with D. The actor. That was it. Dance.
Why was she so hung up on finding out other people’s secrets? She was gradually settling into Nettleford, had made some friends, and even had a job of sorts now and couldn’t use those things as an excuse for being so nosy. Lexie went downstairs and circled the table a number of times before sitting at her laptop. No way was she another Veronica, she just wanted to help. And it would hone her research skills. She opened a search window and typed in the name Miriam Dance. There were lots of links about dancing and females called Miriam, but nothing that helped her in the first few results screens. She scanned the next page and skimmed the text beneath the links. At the bottom of the screen she stopped and scrolled up partway and re-read the entry before selecting the link. It was an old blog post by a now defunct company, about a weekend course. There was a photo at the bottom of the screen with a list of names beneath it. Among the names were Miriam Donnell and Richard Dance. Lexie scrutinised the photograph. In the back row, with the slightest of smiles around her lips, was Miriam, and if the names were in the correct order, the man next to her was presumably Richard Dance.
Lexie sat back in her chair. She’d found Miriam. Miriam Donnell. Crafty. She’d changed her surname to Con
nell. Close enough that if she, or more likely Grace, slipped up they’d be able to cover it easily. Lexie stared at the photo. There was no date, but Miriam’s hair was much longer and dark blonde, rather than the cropped brunette style she wore now. The man standing next to her had a thin face. Lexie stared at him trying to see any resemblance to Grace. Was it too much of a leap to assume he was Grace’s father? Grace called Barbie’s boyfriend doll Ken Dance, and here standing next to Miriam in a photograph was a man called Richard Dance.
Lexie switched back to the search window and typed Richard Dance. She clicked on several of the Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn users, but none of them looked like the man in the photo. On the third page of links, among results about dancing, she found an obituary notice for a Richard Dance. The dates showed him to be in his late twenties, which was about the right age for the man in the photograph, but there was no mention of Miriam or Grace.
Richard, you were everything to me. Each breath is anguish because there is no one to replace you.
Your loving mother
Richard Dance had been dead for eighteen months. On another page of the website, Lexie found a remembrance notice dated the anniversary of his death. She felt like a voyeur reading them. His mother’s pain came through so clearly in the words, Lexie felt as if the woman was in the room with her.
She looked through more pages of search results but couldn’t find anything else. Lexie thought for a moment then searched for Miriam using the surnames Connell, Donnell and Dance. If Richard’s mother missed him so much, she would want to know where Miriam and Grace were. What had happened to make Miriam not only leave, but hide?
How could she trace the woman who’d placed the obituary notice? Lexie checked the notice again. In a tiny font below the message it stated the original notice had been in the Norwich News. Lexie found the paper’s number, and after working her way through the automated system managed to talk to a real person. That was the best part of the call; from there it went downhill. They had online records, and the woman checked through them, but when she finally found the correct entry she discovered the person had paid cash and hadn’t left a name.
The woman on the phone apologised. “We’re supposed to get their details — name, address and phone number — but it’s hard. They’re usually distressed, and often we have to help them with the wording. If they’re very upset we don’t always press them for all the contact information.’
‘Or any at all, in this case.’
There was an audible intake of breath on the other end of the phone. The woman hadn’t been much help, but that wasn’t her fault.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I can imagine you have to deal with some very distraught people. It’s just that Richard was the partner of an old friend of mine. I lost contact with her some time ago, and I was hoping to get in touch with his relatives so I could try and find her.’ How easily the lies seemed to come these days.
‘Oh, that is frustrating. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be of more help.’
Should she ask to speak to the person who’d taken the details? But they wouldn’t remember anything from so long ago. Every step forward seemed to end in a brick wall.
Lexie walked into the garden and stared up the hill, but from this angle she couldn’t see Miriam’s house. She sat on the warm wood of the garden bench and watched the clouds scudding across the pale blue sky. There were some ominous grey clouds in the distance, but nothing as dark as her mood.
It was ridiculous to feel this exasperated, but her frustration didn’t have anything to do with Miriam. It was all about Patrick and her fear and inability to discover the truth. Before they came to Nettleford she’d never been this insatiably curious about people. She’d been too busy to even keep up with friendships. She had to find some middle ground or she’d drive herself insane.
20
As Lexie walked to the Webber Media offices in London, she noticed Anita coming out of a café with some takeaway coffees. She increased her pace and caught up with her.
‘Hello,’ said Anita. ‘Are you here for the celebration later?’
Lexie shrugged. ‘Veronica asked me to come up for work. She mentioned the do, but I’m not sure if I’ll stay.’
‘If you’ve got the time, it’s worth it just to have a look around Peter Webber’s house.’
‘It’s at his house?’
‘Yes. The first time we’ve ever been invited there.’
That changed things. Lexie didn’t know why, but if she had the opportunity to have a poke around his house, then she’d damn well take it. She texted Nathan to let him know she’d be later than she originally planned. Veronica was nowhere to be found and so Lexie spent her time working on some resources Anita showed her. At least the trip to London hadn’t been a waste from the work perspective.
Later that afternoon, Lexie went down to sixth floor reception to meet up with Anita and a few others who were going to Peter’s together. Lexie took half the group in her car and the others went with one of the journalists.
‘I’ll follow you,’ Lexie called to him as they left the office.
‘Don’t worry if we get separated,’ said Anita. ‘I checked the address earlier, so I can direct you.’
It was just as well Anita knew where they were going as Lexie lost the other car at a red traffic light. She found a place to park one street over from Peter’s and they wandered along the wide, tree-lined pavement together, laughing like kids being let out early from school. She hadn’t felt like this since leaving Raines.
Wrought-iron palings marked the boundaries of the gardens. A paved path led to a four-storey Georgian house and a waiter met them inside the front door with a tray of champagne. Lexie took a glass and checked out the large reception area before following Anita into a room already buzzing with conversation. She recognised some of the people from Veronica’s flurry of introductions on her first visit but couldn’t remember many names. The furniture in the room was formal but not antique as in so many of these older London houses. A few people sat on the Wedgwood blue couches but most stood in small groups. The walls were papered, which Lexie didn’t like, but it suited the high ceilings and style of the room. Peter had no doubt instructed some upmarket interior designer.
Anita introduced her to the people in one of the groups. During the conversation, Lexie discovered the casually dressed woman opposite her had won the Best Columnist award and Michael, the lean-faced man to her left, had been photographer of the year the previous two years. She commiserated with him on missing out on an award this year. He merely shrugged and took a drink of his beer. They talked for a few minutes and then something Anita had said came to mind.
‘You used to work with Patrick Sinclair, didn’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Is that why you didn’t get an award?’ She hated sounding so offhand about Patrick, but she wasn’t sure how Michael might feel.
The photographer’s eyes narrowed. ‘Patrick did some great work but unfortunately the awards aren’t just about that.’
‘Were you working on his last story?’
Michael took another swallow of his drink and studied her, his chiselled features moving into a frown. ‘What do you know about his last story?’
‘Not a lot.’ Lexie tugged on the strap of her bag as if it were slipping and turned slightly, angling herself away from the others in the group. ‘I knew his mother, Evelyn, and met Patrick at her home. I knew him as a friend rather than professionally.’
Michael’s posture relaxed slightly. ‘I worked with Patrick on most of his corruption investigations. He knew no fear once he had the sniff of a story. Some of the places we went terrified me, especially if they had any idea we were on to them. We had to leave a couple of countries rather swiftly.’
‘Did you know his girlfriend?’
Michael shook his head. ‘Patrick kept things very close and I didn’t want to know. We had a rule not to talk about our personal lives, too dangerous mostly. If you d
on’t know anything, then you can’t give away information. I’m divorced anyway, my ex found someone who was there every night and wasn’t likely to get himself shot trying to get a photograph.’
‘What do you mean, too dangerous?’
‘There were a few times when people would have tried to stop a story by putting pressure on our families.’
This conversation felt surreal in an expensively furnished house in London.
‘When you said people would have tried to stop a story, did you mean the people you were writing about, or people here?’
He was either a good actor or his surprise was genuine. ‘The people we were writing about. Why would it matter about people here?’
Lexie shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to get things straight in my head.’ Patrick hadn’t told Michael about Caroline, and yet Veronica knew she was Patrick’s girlfriend. It probably wasn’t too much of a surprise; her job was to find out things that people would prefer to keep to themselves. But who else knew about their relationship? Another thing troubled her about Patrick. ‘The story he was working on before he died was closer to home than usual, wasn’t it?’
‘In what way?’ Either the guy didn’t know anything or he was being cagey.
‘I know Patrick’s last trip was to Germany.’
Michael gave the slightest of smiles; it could almost have been relief. Lexie wasn’t sure.
‘I didn’t go with Patrick on all his trips. He did a lot of the initial research on his own. I think the contact was a no-show.’
That wasn’t quite what Patrick had said. The contact hadn’t turned up initially, but Patrick had met with him the following day. Lexie wasn’t sure why she kept digging on this subject; it had nothing to do with the paintings. Patrick had always steered their discussions away from anything to do with his research. He’d done it so subtly she hadn’t realised until now. He’d played up the risk of them not having much time before someone else came to visit Evelyn and their conversation terminating.
Still Death (A Lexie Wyatt murder mystery Book 1) Page 19
