Shelved Under Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “With pleasure, my lady.” He offered me a graceful bow before taking my arm. “Although,” he added, flashing me a wicked grin as we walked into the hall, “I expect things to turn much more pleasurable later.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As we walked arm in arm to the party, which was apparently being hosted at a nearby art gallery, I told Richard about meeting Trey, my encounter with Lila, the missing painting, and my suspicions concerning Uncle Andrew.

  “So you’re afraid your uncle might have been mixed up in some forgery work too?” Richard punched the elevator button.

  After observing our surroundings, I wondered how and why the Ad Astra company had selected this venue. The glass-and-steel skyscraper felt eerily quiet, as all of its offices were closed for the day. If you didn’t know the gallery was on the top floor, you wouldn’t ever have guessed an event was taking place. Although maybe, I thought, that was the point.

  “Yeah. Probably not with the same group, of course. But those paintings that resemble old masters are rather suspicious.” I stepped into the hall, which was so plain I wouldn’t have suspected that there was anything but a storeroom behind the wood-paneled double doors that faced the elevator.

  “He may have just been copying their work as a sort of practice.” Richard held one of the doors open for me.

  “I might believe that, if he hadn’t copied another painter’s signature. That, linked with the painting that resembles a Van Gogh, is pretty damning evidence.”

  “Yeah, that does lead one to think he meant to forge a Van Gogh, at least.” Richard glanced down at me, cutting his eyes toward the crowd. “We’d probably better discuss this later.”

  “Agreed,” I said, as we walked into the gallery.

  It was a loft that had been renovated to retain an industrial feel. The entire space was off-white except for the pipes and vents, which were painted a flat black so they would disappear into the dark ceiling.

  Paintings were aligned along each of the four walls. There were also a few museum-style dividers set up to display more pieces. I glanced at the informational poster displayed near the entry doors and realized that these were all the works of a single artist. It was someone I had never heard of, although that wasn’t surprising. Despite my background in art history, I’d been out of the loop of the modern art scene for several years.

  The open space was filled with a hum of voices and occasional bursts of laughter. I looked over the milling crowd while Richard handed off my coat to a volunteer at the coat check table. It was easy to tell the dancers from the other guests, since they tended to be younger, fitter, and more casually attired, while those I assumed to be patrons of the charity were older and decked out in outfits that made me feel distinctly underdressed.

  “Richard!” An elderly woman, her wrinkled neck draped in diamonds, bustled forward. She threw one rather dismissive glance at me before grabbing Richard’s arm. “Darling, you must come chat with my friend, Agnes.” She pronounced this name in the French fashion so that it sounded like “Ayn-yes.” “She has inherited quite a fortune from her late lamented husband and needs someplace to spend it. And”—the woman cast Richard an arch look—“she has been dying to meet you ever since she saw you dance last winter.”

  Richard smiled brightly but didn’t move. He motioned toward me with his free hand. “Leah, may I introduce Amy Webber? Amy, this is Leah Carlisle, one of the contemporary dance world’s most generous supporters.”

  “Hello,” I said, eyeing the older woman, whose petite figure was swallowed up by her billowing lavender chiffon gown.

  “How do you do,” Leah Carlisle said, sucking in her rouged cheeks. She surveyed me, her dark eyes opaque as those of some predatory bird. “This your new girlfriend, then, Richard dear? I did hear you’d found someone.”

  Richard tightened his grip on my arm. “Yes, although I didn’t exactly find her. She wasn’t for sale in a gift shop.”

  Leah tittered, obviously trying to fake amusement despite the lines that had formed between her penciled-in eyebrows. “Ah yes, I suppose you two met after Meredith left you … Well, these things happen, don’t they? Now where is that darling girl? She was quite brilliant this evening too. I do so love watching the two of you dance together.”

  I’d already spotted Richard’s former fiancée chatting up an attractive older gentleman, but apparently Leah had not. “They do make excellent partners,” I said, causing Leah to snap her sharp gaze back to me. “As dancers, I mean.” I looked up at Richard. “And that reminds me—I haven’t told you how absolutely wonderful you were tonight. Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Will you be okay on your own for a bit? I must do the rounds. For the charity, you understand.”

  “Sure. I want to take a closer look at the paintings anyway.” His lips were close enough to mine that I gave him a swift kiss before stepping back. “And I think there’s champagne. Perhaps I’ll grab some of that first.”

  He winked at me, his gray eyes alight with mischief. “Just save me one glass.” He turned and extended his arm to Leah, and raised his voice. “So, introduce me to this friend of yours and let’s see if we can relieve her of some cash. All for a good cause, of course.”

  Leah tittered again and took hold of his arm. As they strolled off into the crowd, I caught her words—“Quite a change from Meredith, dear boy.”

  I made a face but smiled when I heard Richard’s reply—“Yes, thank God.”

  The refreshment table sat at the back of the room, near a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. I grabbed a glass of champagne and stared out at the view. The lights of the city sparkled beneath a dark sky, dimming the stars but creating their own web of glittering color.

  “Hello, you must be Amy,” said a voice behind me.

  I spun around, sloshing the golden liquid in my glass. Thankfully I’d downed enough that nothing spilled over the fluted rim. “Oh, hello,” I said to the silver-haired lady standing before me. “Yes, I’m Amy Webber. Nice to meet you.”

  “Delighted.” The woman, whose posture and toned figure granted her simple black sheath more elegance than the more flamboyant outfits at the party, smiled warmly. “I’m Adele Tourneau.” She extended one fine-boned hand.

  I shifted my glass to my left hand and clasped her fingers for a second. “Are you a dancer? You have that look.”

  “I was,” she replied, inclining her head slightly. “Then a teacher for many years. Now I’m primarily retired, although I occasionally still do some coaching.”

  “So you’re here to support the charity?”

  “Yes, and a few of the dancers.” She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her loose chignon behind her ear. “You probably aren’t aware of this, but I’ve known Richard for many years.”

  “Oh?” I polished off my champagne and set the glass on a small pedestal side table. “Were you one of his teachers?”

  “Indeed I was.” Adele looked past me, into the crowd.

  I turned and followed her gaze to Richard, who was chatting with a couple who were both dressed as if they’d just come from some royal court. Meredith was at Richard’s side, leaning against him.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.” Adele touched my arm to draw my attention. “It’s just business, dear. Anyway, the last time I talked to Richard, I could tell that he had fallen head over heels in love with someone, and it wasn’t Meredith Fox.”

  Heat tingled the back of my neck. “He mentioned me?”

  “Mentioned you? He couldn’t stop gushing about you.” Adele’s smile was beatific. “Which I must say was delightful to hear. He’s been lonely for far too long.”

  “Lonely?” I followed Adele’s lead and grabbed another glass of champagne from one of the passing waiters. “What do you mean? Richard is such an open-hearted guy. I can’t imagine why he’d ever be lonely.”

  “Can’t you?” Adele took a sip of her drink and studied me intently. “Yo
u haven’t met his parents, then?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “I see. They are—how shall I put it?—not the most affectionate people on the planet. And you know they don’t approve of his dance career.”

  “I’d heard that.”

  “Yes, if it hadn’t been for his great-uncle Paul Dassin, Richard wouldn’t have had the opportunity to dance.” Adele raised her feathery eyebrows as she studied my face. “I see you know about that as well. It was so fortunate that his great-uncle left money in his will to support Richard’s training. Otherwise the world would’ve been deprived of a great dancer and choreographer.” She smiled, but I could tell by her expression that her thoughts had turned inward. “I met Richard when he was quite young, when he’d just started at the conservatory. He had so much promise, even then, but that caused problems. So many of the other dancers were jealous of him. They resented his looks, his athleticism, and his innate talent. So there was that. And I understood, from things he said, that he’d been ostracized in high school, since he was a guy who preferred dancing to other, more mainstream, sports.” She shrugged. “It was a public school and you know how young people can be. Anyway, there was all that, and the cold and disapproving parents, and being an only child … So yes, he was very lonely. Such a warm-hearted boy, with no one, really, to love.”

  “Except Karla?” I met Adele’s intense gaze and held it.

  “Yes, except Karla Dunmore.” Adele took a long swallow of her champagne. “They were magic, those two. Like twin souls. When they danced together … well, let’s just say, take what you saw tonight with Meredith and Richard and multiply it times ten.”

  “This piece, Return, is really about losing Karla, isn’t it?”

  Adele’s eyes were liquid with sorrow. “You saw that too? I believe so. She was his closest companion, and the sister he never had. When he lost her, he didn’t just lose a friend and partner…”

  I couldn’t hold back a deep sigh. “He lost his family.”

  “Yes.” Adele looked me over. “But now I think he’s finally found another one. Which makes me very happy.”

  “Me too,” I said, sharing a smile with the older woman.

  “It’s like I told Kurt…”

  “What?” This time, champagne did slosh over the rim of my glass. “Kurt who?”

  “Kendrick, of course.” Adele’s hazel eyes widened. “You did know that this is his gallery?”

  I glanced around the room. “No. I thought his gallery was in Georgetown.”

  “One of them is. But for his New York shows, he uses this space.” Adele clasped her fluted glass between her hands. “You know Kurt?”

  “Yes, he lives in my town. Well, part-time, anyway. So we’ve met. And years ago, he was Paul Dassin’s foster son, so that’s another connection.”

  “Yes, and the reason he was so eager to host the party here tonight. He’s followed Richard’s career for years, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know that.” I finished off the champagne. As I plunked down the glass, I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself. I was feeling a little light-headed, which wasn’t surprising, seeing as I’d had only a snack on the airplane and nothing since.

  Except too much to drink, too fast.

  “Anyway, Kurt heard about this charity production and decided to offer up this space, free of charge, to Ad Astra for the after party.” Adele set down her glass and touched my arm. “Richard didn’t ask him, from what I was told. Kurt approached the company on his own.”

  “You know him well? Kurt Kendrick, I mean.”

  Adele lifted and dropped her slender shoulders. “No. I doubt anyone knows him well. But we’ve had some dealings in the past. He’s donated money to several dance charities I’m involved with.”

  “And you think he’s a legitimate businessman? I mean, not a crook?” After I blurted this out, I lowered my head in embarrassment. It’s the champagne, I told myself. Still—it wasn’t outside the realm of probability that the murder of Rachel LeBlanc could be linked to Kendrick’s business dealings. If Adele knew information that would clarify this mystery, I had to try to ferret it out.

  “Dear child, I really don’t know.”

  I met her expressionless gaze. “From things I’ve heard, it seems that he might have some shady connections.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard those rumors as well.” Adele tugged down the long sleeves of her dress. “I suppose there’s probably something to them, since they are rather widespread, but I make it a practice not to look gift horses in the mouth.” She tapped the tips of her fingers together. “I did run into him once in a restaurant, and the people he was with were not exactly what I would call gentlemen. And last year he wanted to give me a small Degas as a gift but asked me not to report it on my property taxes. I found that odd and said no to the gift. But those instances don’t prove anything, of course.”

  No, but they did show a pattern. I looked out over the city. A gallery on the top floor of a skyscraper in New York? That took lots of cash and connections.

  Possibly questionable connections.

  “Does Richard know?” I asked, turning my gaze back to Adele. “I mean, that Kurt Kendrick has been following his career, and maybe even assisting him from afar, over the years?’

  “No, I don’t think so. He’s never mentioned it, anyway. Apparently he didn’t even know about Kurt’s connection to his great-uncle until recently.”

  “It’s all very strange,” I murmured, as Adele’s face lit up.

  “Ah, and look who’s here,” she said, as I felt a familiar pair of arms slide around my waist. “Hello, Richard. I was just chatting with your delightful girlfriend.”

  “I knew you’d approve.” Richard pulled me back against his firm body, his lips at my ear. “Now confess. Has Adele been telling tales from my early days? She knows quite a few.”

  “Uh, no,” I said, catching Adele’s almost imperceptible shake of her head. “I should have wormed that out of her before you showed up, but I’m afraid I didn’t.”

  “Just as well.” Richard kissed my neck before lifting his head to gaze at Adele. “She’s wonderful, just like I told you, isn’t she?”

  Adele cast him a beaming smile. “Well, I haven’t had a chance to get to know her very well, but I can see how happy she makes you, so that’s good enough for me.”

  Richard’s fingers caressed my waist. “Speaking of feeling happy, I’d certainly be more so if I could get out of here. Adele, please tell me I’ve spent enough time playing the dutiful artiste and allow me to leave.”

  She shook her finger at him. “Have you managed to sufficiently charm enough of these people?”

  Richard released his hold on me and stepped around to stand at my side. “Oui, madame, and several have promised some rather significant donations.”

  “Then I think you have been a very good boy and may be excused.” She examined Richard’s face. “You do look exhausted, my dear. And no wonder. I suggest you take Amy and sneak out of here. I shall make your excuses if anyone asks.”

  “You are an angel.” Richard moved forward and kissed Adele on the cheek.

  She playfully waved him off. “You know better than that. Now go before another wealthy grande dame corners you.”

  Richard grasped my hand and led me through the crowd, tossing off “Hello,” “Good to see you,” and “Thanks for coming” at anyone who appeared poised to stop our progress toward the exit.

  We grabbed my coat and made it to the hall without incident. In the elevator, Richard pushed the ground floor button before slumping against the wall.

  He was exhausted. I eyed him with concern as we headed outside.

  As Richard glanced up and down the busy street and said something about hailing a cab, I considered sharing Adele’s comments about Kurt Kendrick. But gazing up at his tired face, I changed my mind. A very lonely boy, Adele had said, and in that moment, as his mask of good humor was washed away by the streetlights that hollowed out his face,
I realized what she meant.

  It was in his choreography, and his dancing. It was in his fierce loyalty to those he cared about, and his willingness to give love without measuring it against what others gave him.

  I laid my fingers over his arm and stroked the soft wool of his jacket.

  “Hey you,” he said, glancing down at me with a smile.

  No matter how tired he was, always that smile for me.

  My fingers tightened on his arm as I looked him in the eyes. “I just want you to know that I will never leave you. Not voluntarily, anyway. You will not lose me. You won’t.”

  He inhaled sharply before pulling me to him. He kissed me passionately then, in the middle of a sidewalk, with pedestrians walking around us, with a whole city watching, with no concern for what anyone else thought of such a spectacle.

  We missed quite a few taxis before we finally nabbed one and headed back to the hotel, but neither of us cared.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The drive back to Virginia on Sunday took over four and a half hours, so Richard and I had plenty of time to toss around theories concerning recent events.

  “Not really sure how Reese and Lila LeBlanc meeting up in the woods ties in with some guy surveilling Mel Riley,” Richard said, after I finally remembered to call Brad and relay my information on the strange man at the festival.

  “I don’t think it does, actually,” I replied, tucking my cell phone back into my purse. “Seems like it’s two entirely separate instances of weirdness, if you ask me.”

  Richard shot me a smile. “A whole lot of weirdness, for sure. Oh, did Brad mention anything about locating Caden or Reese? They’re both still suspects, so I assume the search for them is pretty intense.”

  “He said they hadn’t found either of them yet. It seems like both guys have just vanished into thin air.”

  “Speaking of vanishing—no trace of your uncle’s painting either?”