The Murder Motif: An Austin, Texas Art Mystery (the Michelle Hodge Series Book 2)

by Roslyn Woods

  The Murder Motif

  An Austin, Texas Art Mystery

  Roslyn Woods

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  About the Author

  Also by Roslyn Woods

  Copyright © 2014 Roslyn Woods

  All rights reserved. No part of this

  book may be reproduced or

  transmitted in any form or by any

  means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording,

  or by any information storage and

  retrieval system, without permission

  in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  It seemed as if the Corolla groaned a little under the weight of everything Michelle Hodge had loaded into it only a few hours earlier. She checked her speed a little, anxious as she was to get to Austin before midnight.

  When she thought of the capitol city of Texas, she always thought of The 360 with its forty-four stories and needle-like spire. It was a great building with art deco lines. Four years earlier, she and her mother had sublet a condo there from a doctor who had taken an extended vacation to Majorca. She could see the rooms in her mind’s eye as if she had been there yesterday. Mostly she remembered the great room with its open feel and huge, picture window. It was the room her mother had liked best. And there had been two good years before the cancer had taken hold.

  “I don’t want to take to my bed,” she had said. “I want to be in here with you. I want to look at you standing at your easel, and I want to look out that window and see the river and this beautiful city.”

  She had spent the last weeks on the sofa. Shell remembered her head on the pillow, her large eyes looking kindly at her. In the end she had lost the ability to speak, but she nodded and even smiled when Shell spoke to her. And then it had been over. Margie had been there through it all, the friend who wouldn’t leave you when times were tough.

  And it’s Margie I’m returning to now, she thought.

  She disliked driving in the dark, and she knew she must be tired. In fact, she hadn’t even eaten since breakfast, and she hadn’t thought of it till now. How could she think about food when her thoughts were stuck in a constant circle of questions about how her life had become so confused?

  Why had she allowed herself to get involved with Brad in the first place? She had to chalk it up to their having had mutual friends in Dallas. That, and the fact that she had lost her mother only a year earlier. She hadn’t recovered, and in all her twenty-eight years she had never felt so alone. She had wanted to suppress the sadness she had experienced in Austin. She had wanted to be anywhere else. After finding a job in a Dallas gallery and getting situated, everyone had told her that she and Brad belonged together, that they were so much alike, that they both loved art, even that they were both blond.

  And he had plenty of money. That hadn’t hurt him.

  She had to admit that there had been a kind of attraction and security for her in knowing he was wealthy. He had seemed like such a catch with his eye for nice paintings and the pocketbook that allowed him to buy what he wanted. That had been why Lisa had introduced them. After buying several of Shell’s paintings he had asked her out. He had taken her to great restaurants and introduced her to important people in the Dallas art community. Shell hadn’t gotten to really know him for quite a while, and the whirlwind of courtship and society had lured her in.

  He made me feel less lonely, she thought.

  But it hadn’t lasted. For weeks, maybe longer, Shell had known that they were all wrong for each other. They were so different. He had been happy and goofy and light, but she had assumed that there was some depth under the surface. In the months they had spent together, she had been unable to discover any. He spent an inordinate amount of his time playing video games, and he never read, never even seemed to think about things. He was smart, but he was uninformed and unconcerned, and this was more than strange to Shell. She had begun to feel lonelier with him than she had felt when she was alone. He might be the nicest guy in the world, but Shell knew she was never going to fall in love with him. He was the kind of guy who needed a mom, and some other woman was going to have to fill the post.

  She had tried to think of a way to break up that wouldn’t be hurtful, but she knew there wasn’t one. Still, deciding to break up on the very morning of the day she learned he was cheating on her was just confusing. She wanted to be angry, and her pride did smart a little, but she had to admit that part of her was relieved. Now she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about leaving. Now she could just pack up and go. She didn’t like living in Dallas, and her job at the Southwest Gallery had grown dull. In preparation for telling Brad she wanted out she had quit the job. Today was the day she had intended to quit Brad.

  Traffic started to thicken up just south of Pflugerville, and Shell was forced to slow down a bit. She pushed a long lock of ash blond hair from her face and tried to find a radio station with a traffic report, but her thoughts were too jumbled to keep trying. She was wondering if Brad was okay and if he would call or just give her the space she wanted.

  Her mind kept poring over the day’s events. She had decided to show up at Brad’s gallery and take him to lunch. He was always asking her to do that. Over lunch she would explain how she felt. She had planned to lay it out in such a way that there could be no argument, and she would try to make it as easy as she could. She knew he would argue, but she also knew he didn’t really love her. If he did she was sure he would show it more. It would be okay. At least, that had been her plan. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

  Arriving at Brad’s business, The Bauer Gallery, she had walked into the courtyard and seen him. He was sitting on the bench by the founta
in. What was he doing? He seemed to be leaning over someone. No, he was kissing someone. Shell had stood still in her tracks and stared. Who was it? Lisa? Her friend Lisa?

  After that, the day just happened without thought. She had turned on her heel and gone back to her car, sure that Brad hadn’t even seen her. She had driven back to the apartment and called Two Guys and a Truck. As luck would have it, they’d had a cancelation and sent a crew right over. In a couple of hours she had most of her stuff on its way to a storage facility in Austin. The rest she had loaded into her car. She had written a short note: It’s time for me to make a change. Good luck. Was that uncivil? Did he deserve more of an explanation? No. No, he didn’t.

  And now I have to do the hard work of being truly alone, she thought.

  Shell picked up her phone and asked Siri to text Margie. About ten more minutes. To the right of Interstate 35 she could see the UT Tower, signaling she had almost reached the university. To her left was East Austin, the part of town that was both seedy and artsy. It was experiencing gentrification, and it was the place where Margie and Donald had found a charming house to renovate.

  There was the Austin skyline, glowing gloriously above the antlike cars on the interstate. That’s my next painting, she thought. Shell didn’t want to be anywhere else. She didn’t want to resist her sadness anymore. She took the Martin Luther King exit and headed east past Oakwood Cemetery and the baseball stadium toward Chicon. Why wasn’t she feeling unhappy? Why wasn’t she feeling at least a little bit hurt? She was actually feeling a strange mixture of relief and anticipation. A weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she was ready to get on with her life. Right on Chicon. Left on 16th. At last, there was Margie’s little house with the porch light on.

  Chapter 2

  Dean Maxwell was heating another frozen meal in the microwave. He knew he wouldn’t enjoy it, but he needed to eat. His dog hovered near the kitchen door waiting for an invitation.

  “Come on in, girl,” he said as he walked to the pantry to get her a can of food.

  “What would I do without you, Sadie?” he asked, bending down to pat her amber-colored head. She was the dog he had always wanted, and he had finally decided to get her a year ago. She was what he called, his “beautiful mutt.” There was no telling, but she appeared to be mostly German shepherd with some smaller breed mixed in. All he knew was that when he found her at the shelter he knew she was his. He had trained her himself, but she was smart, and it had been a labor of love.

  Amanda hated dogs. It wasn’t really the dogs themselves that were the problem. It was the mess of having a dog.

  “They’re too much work. They smell, they shed, and they slobber. And besides, you’ll just get a nasty rescue dog with no papers.” She had been adamant.

  And she didn’t want to have children either. That had been the biggest surprise to Dean. When they were dating she had been completely enthusiastic about having kids. And she loved his mother. She loved the idea of living in Austin’s Hyde Park in the lovely bungalow his mother wanted to buy for them. She didn’t mind at all that his mom would live next door. She was thrilled.

  “Your mother is so sweet! I just want to take care of her,” had been her words. That was then.

  Amanda hadn’t really taken care of his mom, but as far as Dean could tell, she had actually been pretty good to Lana Maxwell until she died. But other things had gone south. Amanda had reconnected with her brother Danny, a sibling she hadn’t seen in years who suddenly appeared in Austin wanting to be a part of her life. He had started a bar down on 6th Street, and he enjoyed having his sister around to “class up the place.” She had begun spending time with him and some people from work. She started going out without Dean, saying she would be back at a certain hour and not returning till morning. She was drinking more than he thought she should, and he hadn’t known what else she might be doing. They had fought. In fact, they had been arguing for nearly a year when Dean’s mother’s health took a turn for the worse.

  After Lana Maxwell’s death, Amanda waited for the reading of the will before she asked for a divorce. It wasn’t much of a surprise to Dean. They had been separated for the past six months. But it was bad timing. He was grieving, and the realization that Amanda was going to try to get everything he had, including the inheritance from his mother, was a lot to take.

  “Has it occurred to you that you’re being unfair?” he had asked.

  “Has it occurred to you that I’ve been unhappy with you from day one? I don’t like the life you lead,” she had said coldly. “I don’t like your books or your garden or your dog! I want a life.”

  To Amanda, life meant nightlife. Not once or twice a week, but every night. She enjoyed being out and about, and she enjoyed drinking enough to lose awareness of what she might say or do next. She thought nothing of coming in late and sleeping it off till two the following afternoon.

  The truth was, he would have been willing to give her a lot of what she wanted in the divorce if she hadn’t been so greedy and mean. In some part of him, the part that wasn’t angry, he knew Amanda was an insecure person who thought money and position would give her the importance she longed for. And he blamed himself for not seeing the seriousness of her personality problems before they married. Sometimes he was as angry with himself as he was with her.

  Sadie finished her food quickly and whined to go outside. Dean thought about getting her leash and taking her for a run, but tonight he was feeling low on energy. I’m depressed, he thought.

  The dinner he had heated was getting cold. He let Sadie out the back door and went to the fridge for a beer just as his cell buzzed. He picked it up off the counter and saw it was Ray.

  Ray Hoffman was a friend from Dell who had helped Dean by partnering with him after he started his web business. Dean had been designing web pages for Austin businesses almost from the time he moved there, slowly building up a clientele. After he quit Dell he decided he needed a web master to keep his sites up and working. Ray had stayed on at Dell and thought he could manage both jobs.

  Things had gone swimmingly for about three months. Then Ray began to make mistakes. Dean started getting complaints from his accounts, and he’d had to go in and fix things himself in a few cases. Ray had tried to laugh it off, but the problems didn’t stop. The two finally decided to not be business partners. Dean took over all the work he had hired Ray to do, and he had managed on his own ever since. Even so, Dean and Ray had remained friends. He figured the extra work was just too much for his friend.

  “Hey,” he said after putting the phone on speaker.

  “You busy?” Ray asked.

  “Just about to eat,” was all Dean said.

  “I was thinking I’d come by and we could have a few beers,” Ray suggested.

  Dean had asked Ray over before, but he knew a few beers could turn into a long drinking fest with Ray staying over on his couch because he was too drunk to go home. Besides, Sadie had never liked him, and Dean had never understood it. Her hackles would rise, and while she would do as Dean instructed, she would lie on the floor near Ray, periodically growling, and always ready to spring. Dean had taken to keeping her in his bedroom while Ray was there.

  “Actually,” said Dean, “I’m behind on my accounts. I’m back to work as soon as I eat.”

  “Too bad, man,” said Ray, sounding as if he might have already had a beer or two. “You seen Jason lately?”

  “We played handball yesterday. Why?”

  “No reason. Haven’t seen him in a while. How about Amanda? You seen her lately?”

  “Not lately. Should I have?” Dean asked.

  “No, just checking in on you guys.”

  “We’re nearly divorced, Ray. We haven’t been ‘you guys’ for a very long time.” For some reason, he felt annoyed. “Gotta go,” he said, hanging up.

  “C’mon Sadie!” he called at the door, and she ran back in. He sat on the couch with his beer and his meal and clicked on the TV. Sadie settled at his feet.
This is my life, he thought. Me and Sadie watching cable news. Suddenly, she was up and barking at the front door.

  There was a loud knock. Dean looked through the small window at the top of the door and saw two men. One was about medium height with dark, graying hair. The other was taller and younger. They were well dressed in a rumpled way. Plain clothes cops, he thought.

  “Cut!” he told Sadie. She stopped barking but whined nervously. “Sit!” he said, and she did. He opened the door.

  “Evening, sir,” the shorter man said. “I’m Sergeant Gonzalez and this is Detective Wilson. We’re with the Austin Police Department.” He briefly held up a badge. “Are you Dean Maxwell?”

  “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “Are you the husband of Amanda Lopez Maxwell?”

  “Yes, yes. What’s going on?”

  “Sir, may we come in?” asked Sgt. Gonzalez.

  “Yes. Come on in,” he said, “Have a seat.” Dean ushered them into his untidy living room. Sgt. Gonzalez carefully shifted the newspaper Dean had left lying on the couch and sat down. His eyes took in the bookshelves, the furniture, the book on the coffee table with its slightly skewed bookmark, Man’s Search for Meaning. On a table across the room was a chessboard. To the sergeant, who had never played chess, the black and white pieces were placed randomly on and around it.