Dying Scream

by Burton, Mary

  “Really?”

  “I turned back and saw Adrianna whisper something to her mother. The lady shut right up.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Gage said.

  “And tell you what? That I thought I heard something? Rhonda’s case was cold.”

  He was right. There’d have been nothing he could have done with such scant information.

  “I’ll tell you one thing about that Adrianna woman.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Never play poker against her. She can hide her emotions better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  Gage and Vega arrived at the Thornton Gallery located in the historic section of Richmond called Shockoe Bottom. The building had once been a tobacco warehouse but had been converted twenty years ago. Black paint covered the exterior and large picture windows gave a view into large white rooms that showcased works of art ranging from modern to classic. Pine floors with a heavy lacquer finish glistened.

  The detectives were greeted by a large bronze sculpture of a ballerina. “How much you think it’s worth?” Vega said.

  “Hell if I know. My tastes run to beer signs and football posters.”

  “I hear ya.” This place, this world of art and fine pieces, eluded him. “A lot of money for stuff.”

  A twentysomething woman appeared from a secret door that blended seamlessly into the wall. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt, white blouse, and red high-heeled shoes. Red hair pulled back in tight curls highlighted the sharp bones of her face. One glance at them and her eyes turned from boredom to annoyance. “May I help you?”

  Gage pulled out his badge and showed it to her. “We’re here to see Janet Guthrie. I have a few questions about her late partner Craig Thornton.”

  The receptionist managed a smile. “Let me just tell her you’re here.” She vanished back through the invisible door. Seconds later, she reappeared. “I’ll show you to her office.”

  As they followed, Gage said, “Did you know Rhonda Minor?”

  The woman hesitated mid-step. “We went to art school together.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Ambitious. Smart. Talented painter.”

  “What did she like to paint?”

  “Everything.”

  “Any of her stuff still around?”

  “Maybe. In storage.”

  He pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Do me a favor and look.”

  “Why? She left the area. Her sister said she moved to Europe, I think.”

  “We found Ronda Minor’s body two days ago. She was murdered.”

  The girl’s face paled. “Oh.”

  “Find those paintings.” He managed a smile he suspected was more like a snarl.

  Her gaze flittered away. “Sure.”

  They followed the receptionist down a carpeted hallway to an office in the back corner. After a quick knock and introduction they were seated in front of Janet Guthrie. Late thirties, she wore her long dark hair loose around her shoulders. Her suit was a deep blue, designer no doubt, and diamond stud earrings winked from her earlobes.

  After brief introductions, Janet Guthrie held out a manicured hand. “Detective Hudson. What can I do for you?”

  “I was here a few years ago.”

  “Craig mentioned it. I was away around that time.” She acted like this was a social call. “You have questions about Craig.”

  Gage noted her grip was firm, her gaze direct. “Just a few.”

  She gestured toward the two chairs in front of her desk and moved behind her desk. “Please have a seat.”

  The trio sat. Once fortified by the desk, she relaxed.

  “Do you remember Rhonda Minor?” He was careful to keep his tone even.

  The woman grimaced. “How can I forget? She’s the one you were looking for a couple of years ago. Craig told me everything about your visit.”

  “As I remember, you were in Europe?”

  “Good memory.”

  He flipped through the pages of his notebook as if he couldn’t remember. “Thornton said Rhonda took off a lot and missed work.”

  Janet lightly touched the diamond earring on her right ear. “She missed some time but not an excessive amount. I don’t think it was all that bad. Did you find her?”

  “Yesterday, as a matter of fact.”

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Don’t tell me. She was sunning herself on a tropical beach.”

  Vega’s gaze skimmed and catalogued the room. “Not exactly.”

  “Then where did you find her?”

  “It appears she was murdered shortly after she vanished.” Gage watched Janet’s face pale.

  Janet drew in a sharp breath. “That’s awful. Where was she found?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “That’s the puzzling part.”

  “Why is that puzzling?”

  “Can’t really go into detail about that now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not ready to tip my hand.” Gage noticed she kept touching her earring. He wondered what she was hiding.

  “How did she die?”

  “Shot.”

  “Okay. What can I do?”

  “Last time I was here, Craig Thornton was adamant that he and Rhonda had only a professional relationship.”

  Her smile faltered just a fraction. “Okay.”

  Vega crossed his legs and straightened the cuff of his pants. “Is that true?”

  Janet traced a manicured finger around the bottom edge of her pristine blotter. “I kept my nose out of Craig’s personal life.”

  Gage flipped a page in his notebook. “Ms. Guthrie, the man is dead. What good would it do to protect him now?”

  She brushed an imaginary strand of hair from her forehead. “I’m not protecting Craig.”

  Vega adjusted the cuff on his pants. “The press hasn’t sunk their teeth into this story, but the clock is ticking. When they do get a hold of this story, they’ll put two and two together and then you’ll have an ex-partner gallery linked to murder. Knowing how conservative folks are around here, that can’t be good.”

  Anger and fear darkened her eyes. “Craig wouldn’t have killed Rhonda.”

  “Because…” Gage prompted.

  Janet spoke carefully, deliberately. “Craig was very, very fond of Rhonda.”

  “They had a sexual relationship?” Vega said.

  “Yes.” She lifted her chin. “They’d been sleeping together for about a year before she went missing.”

  The news didn’t shock Gage. The outrage he felt for Adrianna did. “Craig was engaged to Adrianna Barrington during that time, wasn’t he?”

  “He and Adrianna had dated since college. Everyone thought they were the perfect couple. And they were in many, many ways.” A bitter smile lifted the edge of her lips. “Look, I liked Craig. He was a good man. But he grew bored very easily. Even with Adrianna. Rhonda offered him a distraction.”

  “You think Adrianna knew her fiancé was cheating on her?” Vega said.

  “He was discreet but I’ve no idea. She was a bit naïve in those days. But I can tell you that Craig did love Adrianna. He drew strength from her and he never would have left her.”

  “But he liked to cat around with lots of different women,” Vega added.

  “Those women meant nothing to him,” she said.

  Vega leaned forward. “The guy makes a habit of screwing around and Adrianna didn’t know?”

  “She married him, didn’t she?” Janet retorted.

  “Maybe she’s the forgiving type,” Vega said.

  “Adrianna wouldn’t have tolerated that kind of behavior. I think Craig’s mother understood this. Those last years she was alive she kept him on a short leash. Threatened to cut him off a couple of times.”

  Gage kept his expression stoic. He switched the conversation’s direction. “Rhonda knew Craig was getting married.”

  “Yes. Craig and Adrianna announced their engagement in September.”r />
  “And she was okay with that?”

  “Rhonda fancied herself in love with Craig. She wanted him to marry her, not Adrianna. About a week before the wedding she tried to force the issue. Craig told me later that she threatened to go to Adrianna if he didn’t break off the wedding. He offered her money if she’d go away.”

  Gage sat back, silent. He wanted Janet to do all the talking. Silence generally made people uncomfortable and he used that to his advantage.

  “Two days before the wedding, Craig came into my office. He said Rhonda had taken the money he’d offered her and had agreed to leave town. Crisis averted. End of story.”

  “He paid her off,” Vega said.

  “Yes. And it worked. She didn’t want him. She wanted his money.”

  “What makes you think she left town?” Gage said.

  Janet shrugged. “Craig told me she did.”

  Gage watched her face closely. “Never occurred to you that he might have killed her?”

  “No. Craig wasn’t like that. He was a charming, funny man, but in so many ways he was weak. He wouldn’t have the stones to kill someone. If there was a tough decision to be made, I made it. His mother made it. Adrianna made it. Not Craig.”

  Her appraisal offered little solace. Many underestimated killers before the cops tallied the body count. “What if he thought he could lose Adrianna? Would that drive him to murder?”

  “He didn’t have the balls. Didn’t like to get his hands dirty.”

  “Would you have killed for Craig?” Vega asked.

  “No.”

  “What about this business? Your reputation?”

  She arched a plucked eyebrow. “Ask me any more questions like that and you can ask them through my lawyer.”

  Janet’s unblinking gaze revealed nothing Gage could use in court. “You’ve cleaned up your share of Craig’s messes.”

  “Sure.”

  And he’d bet she’d bent laws to do it. But did loyalty include murder? “Do you still have Rhonda Minor’s personnel file?”

  “It’s most likely in storage by now, but I’m sure we can have it sent to you.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Your receptionist also mentioned you had some of Rhonda’s paintings in storage?”

  “She’s mistaken. I cleaned the room out about eight months ago.”

  “Mind if I look?”

  “I do. We’ve got delicate pieces down there that I don’t want disturbed by cops mucking about.” Janet’s fingers curled into fists. “You’re looking in the wrong place, Detective.”

  “That so?”

  “Craig wouldn’t have hidden anything on the property that was incriminating.”

  “Where would he have kept it?”

  “An apartment that Adrianna didn’t know about. Moondance Apartments. It’s a modest complex in the west end.”

  This valuable nugget of information hadn’t been tossed to him out of kindness. “I know it.” It pissed him off that this information didn’t come up three years ago. “Was the apartment leased under his name?”

  “I doubt it. Most likely he leased it through a dummy corporation. He didn’t want a paper trail connected to him.”

  “That where he met Rhonda?”

  “Among others. I didn’t pay much attention to his love life as long as he pulled his weight at the gallery.”

  “He didn’t always pull his weight here?”

  “Like I said, he could be easily distracted. Daily routines were a bore.”

  Vega leaned forward. “You two are an unlikely pair.” How’d you two hook up?”

  “His father hired me.”

  “That would be Robert Thornton,” Gage said.

  “Yes. He hired me about fifteen years ago. I interned here and he saw potential. When he offered me a paying job, he made no bones about my duties. I was to keep an eye on Craig.”

  “You were his babysitter?”

  She shrugged. “It started out that way but as time passed I learned the ins and outs of the business and got to know the movers and shakers in the art world. I am Thornton Gallery now. Through my guidance it’s become one of the premier galleries on the East Coast.” She lifted a brow, clearly pleased. “Not bad for a girl from a small town in southside Virginia.”

  The raw determination burning in her eyes mirrored Gage’s. “The Thornton name carries a lot of weight in the art world.”

  “It certainly does. I never would have achieved the success I did if not for the Thornton family. But they would have failed several years ago if it weren’t for my management.”

  “Who received Craig’s portion of the gallery when he died?” Gage said.

  “Adrianna. I bought it from her last year.”

  “Before he died?”

  “Yes. She had power of attorney and sold me Craig’s interest in the gallery.”

  “Why?”

  “She needed the money.”

  “For what?” Vega asked.

  “Medical expenses, I’m sure. That nursing home was eating her alive.” She shrugged. “The doctors told her last November that even though Craig’s brain was irrevocably damaged, his body was strong. He could live another twenty-five years.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Yes. That news prompted the gallery sale. Adrianna hides her feelings well, but that day she was shaky and scared. I made her an offer and she took it. If I’d waited a few more weeks, she might not have sold. Craig finally did something that helped her.”

  “How so?” Gage said.

  “He died.” She seemed to realize how harsh her words sounded. “Look, I don’t want to sound callous. But let’s face it, Craig died the day that drunk driver slammed into him. He was just pulling Adrianna down. The woman visited him almost daily in the nursing home. She’s a young, beautiful woman and she deserved better.”

  “Where was she when he died?” Vega said.

  Janet shrugged. “At a design show in Alexandria. It was a day trip, from what I hear. And honestly, by waiting until she was out of town, he spared her the trauma of watching him die.”

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Guthrie,” Gage said.

  Neither Gage nor Vega spoke until they’d reached their car.

  Vega put on his dark glasses. “She rolled over on Craig pretty fast when you suggested she might have killed Rhonda.”

  Gage fired up the engine. “Janet Guthrie does what is best for Janet Guthrie.”

  Vega relaxed back in his seat. “Odd Craig died at a convenient time.”

  Gage blew out a breath. “Yeah. Might be a good idea to talk to Craig’s doctor and get his theories on Craig’s passing.”

  “You think he was murdered?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like convenient deaths.” He pulled into traffic. “I’d like for you to get a warrant for the gallery’s basement. I want to see if any of Rhonda’s painting still exist.”

  C.C. Ricker arrived at the upper-middle-class home in the far west end of the county an hour after her meeting with the homicide team. The streets were quiet, the lawns and flowerbeds neatly manicured, and the homes all had a similar Williamsburg kind of colonial feel. They were expensive, nice but too Stepford Wives for C.C.’s tastes. She preferred the quirky and mismatched.

  She climbed brick front steps and rang the bell. Before she’d come, she’d called Sandra Lable and asked for the appointment. The woman had been hesitant at first, then agreed.

  Footsteps echoed in the house, curtains by the front door fluttered briefly, and then the door opened. The woman standing there was short, petite and just as manicured as her lawn. Short hair dyed brown. French nails and toes. Dressed like she was headed to the gym.

  “Mrs. Lable?”

  A plucked eyebrow arched. “Detective Ricker.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have a few questions about Jill.”

  “Your call surprised me. Jill has been missing for over fifteen years. Have you found something?” No hint of emotion seeped into her words.

 
“Ma’am, do you mind if we don’t have this conversation on the front porch.”

  “Why not? Jill had no problem airing dirty laundry in public. Have you found something?” The woman radiated a hard, brittle energy as if one tap and she’d shatter.

  “We’re working another case that might be linked to your daughter’s disappearance.”

  “You mean death?”

  “No body was found, from what I understand.”

  “She’s dead. I know it.”

  “When was the last time you saw Jill?”

  “Two days after she was released from detention. June fifteenth. She’d missed the last two months of school and we were arguing about getting her into summer school. She didn’t want to go back. She stormed off. I thought she’d come back when she cooled. She always did. But she never came back.”

  “Did you see her with anyone unusual?”

  “No.”

  “What can you tell me about Craig Thornton?”

  She frowned. “Her prom date? He died last year.”

  “I know, but about the time he was dating your daughter.”

  “They went out just a couple of times. Prom night they got arrested. Drugs. I remember seeing him at the police station. He looked shook up.”

  “His parents came and got him?”

  “No. Was a friend of the family. Whoever he was, Craig was thrilled to see him. The guy bailed him out. Family lawyer spun it so that it looked like it was all Jill’s fault. That’s why she did time and he didn’t.”

  “Anything else you can think of?”

  She sighed. “I try not to think about Jill. We failed each other so many times. I find it’s better not to remember.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I pulled her scrapbook out from the attic. The whole book is about prom night. She worked on this while she was in detention.” Mrs. Lable leaned to the left and picked up the book. It was decorated with large flowers and hearts.

  C.C. took it. The spine creaked when she opened the book full of fading pictures, napkins, and a dried corsage. “Funny she’d want to remember that night so much.”

  “She really liked Craig. I think she thought they’d get together when she got out.”

  “Did they?”

  “No. He was in Europe that whole summer.”

  “They never saw each other again?”