They fell into her car and she started it without putting on her seatbelt. She looked at Pixie and let out a long breath.
“Funny like something bad is going to happen,” she said.
“I guessed that as we were sprinting to the car.”
Grace’s pulse sped up as she stepped on the gas and spun out of the garage into traffic. She almost felt silly about the sense of urgency that overwhelmed her.
Fifteen minutes later, Grace pulled up to the curb directly in front of the Newbury Street Gallery, The Palladian, where Lester was the manager. She parked her Mustang in a parallel maneuver that gave her a thrill of accomplishment ever since she’d mastered it as a teenager.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Pixie said.
“It took lots of practice.”
“No, I mean I don’t know how you always manage to find a parking spot on this street—exactly where you need it.” Pixie opened the door and got out.
Grace shook her head and joined her friend on the sidewalk in front of the gallery, purposely slowing herself down. “Timing and a keen eye,” she said as she peered into the window, not seeing anyone inside. She checked her watch to see that it hadn’t been more than twenty minutes since Lester called. It wasn’t noon yet. “Oh, and luck too.”
Pixie rolled her eyes. “Let’s go in and get this over with before I get fired for wasting time on the clock.” Pixie pushed her along to the door.
“Wait a minute.” Grace stopped. “You can’t get fired. You’re with me and I’m an official partner, remember?” She frowned as she stood in front of the door.
“I know, I know. I was kidding to make a point,” Pixie sighed. But before Grace could respond she heard the sound of crashing glass inside.
“What was that?” Pixie said.
“I don’t know, but it didn’t sound like good news for an art glass gallery.” Grace pushed the door open. She told herself not to worry as she stepped inside.
“Are you sure we should be here?” Pixie said from behind her. “The place looks empty.”
“Hello? Lester? It’s Grace. Everything okay?” she said in a louder voice. She could ignore her sudden rash of goose bumps, but the kick of adrenaline urged her to wind through the displays toward the back of the shop where Lester’s desk sat. He wasn’t there. The papers were strewn around and drawers open, one on the floor upside down. That ratcheted up her urgency and the need to do something.
“This doesn’t look good, Gracie. We should go now.” Pixie tugged on the bag attached to Grace’s shoulder.
Grace needed to find Lester. She looked at the door to the back room. Even though she felt a row of goose bumps rise from her skull down her spine, she had to see Lester.
“Lester?” she called out one last time but quieter. She tiptoed to the door, pushed it open slightly and peeked around it. The light was dim, so she couldn’t see anything and reached for the wall switch, flipping it on. The shelves of boxes on the opposite wall looked normal, and she breathed again. She pushed the door all the way open and walked into the room.
“Lester, I’m sorry it took me a little longer—”
“Aaah!” Sophia shrieked. Grace spun around. Sophia was pointing to the floor directly in front of where Grace stood. Grace looked down and immediately felt lightheaded. She’d never seen a dead body before, but she was darned sure this one was dead—facedown dead with blood oozing from the back of his head and glass shattered all around him.
Her hands flew to her face and she covered her mouth. There was no reason to cover her mouth, she realized, because her brain was paralyzed and she couldn’t have spoken a word on a bet or a threat. She knew the body was Lester, but she bent to turn him over to see his face without a thought.
“No! What are you doing? Are you crazy? Don’t touch him—leave him alone—they’ll think you killed him!” Pixie grabbed onto her bag with a fierce and surprising strength.
Grace slipped the bag from her shoulder and gently turned the body just enough to confirm that it was Lester Lump. Dead. She let him drop back down and stood. Then she took three deep breaths and told herself not to panic. And not to blame herself.
What would David do in this circumstance, she asked herself?
“Are you crazy? You touched him! Now the police will think you did it. We have to call the police.” Pixie started bouncing up and down. Grace put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and kept her in place for a second to force her to calm down—or at least stop bouncing. It was time to speak and Grace wasn’t sure if her voice worked anymore or if she was still paralyzed, but she tried it.
“Honey, it’s okay. You’re my alibi,” she said. That stopped her friend short and then Pixie gave her a sheepish grin.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“Let’s go call the police, like you said.” Being in sight of Lester’s dead body caused her skin to crawl. Grace put her arm around her friend’s shoulder and they stepped carefully back out to the gallery. She reached inside her bag and found her phone in one try. That never happened. She slid it open and scrolled through until she found Dan O’Keefe’s number—his cell number. Luckily Theresa had given it to her the other night. That night seemed so long ago now as she listened to the ringing on the other end of the line.
“Dan O’Keefe here.”
The minute she heard his official-sounding voice, the enormity of finding Lester’s dead body hit her. She tensed at the thought of telling Dan. Her voice seemed to stop working again.
“Hello?” he said again.
She heard some rustling on his end and didn’t want him to hang up, so she rushed to speak.
“I found a dead body.”
“What? Who is this?”
“Grace.” That was all she could think to say, but there must be more she needed to tell him.
“Grace? Where are you?” His voice changed from gruff to concerned in a flash. The coil in her gut unwound some.
“I’m at the Palladian Gallery on Newbury Street. We came to see Lester Lump. He called me and asked me to come over because he had some information for me—a clue—and we found him dead on the floor in the back room. Oh, and his desk and files are a shambles,” she said. She felt her old self for the moment as she stood in the gallery with Pixie staring at her wide-eyed.
“I’ll be right over. Stay put. By the way, who’s ‘we’?”
“Sophia. The Pixie,” she said and scrunched her nose at her friend. Looked like the name was spreading in popularity and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Pixie squinted her eyes, evoking the pose of standing with her hands on her hips and tapping her toes without actually doing those things.
“He said we should stay put.”
“Great. I guess that’s the way of important police business. They think we have nothing better or more important to do.”
“We don’t. What could be more important than poor Lester Lump’s murder right now? Certainly not decorating,” she said. Then to annoy her friend, she added, “Besides, this is related to David’s murder case and we always help our clients in any way we can.”
But teasing Pixie didn’t lighten the situation and her mind returned to the image of Lester’s face. “Do you think if we got here sooner Lester would still be alive?” Grace couldn’t stop the regretful thought from popping out.
“Are you serious? We’d have ended up on the floor with him! He was hit in the back of the head, Grace, minutes before we found him.”
Pixie was right, but she couldn’t let herself dwell on that now. It was too bad Lester didn’t have a chance to tell her whatever it was he wanted her to know. She suspected it would have been a big clue for David’s case since someone killed him before he divulged it. She wished she could call David, and then decided this was an extremely good reason to call him—even in London. She scrolled to his mobile number and had tapped the send button when she heard the police siren.
“Who are you calling now? Geez, the police are here already. If I wasn
’t so scared stiff—sorry about the horrible pun—and if it wasn’t poor Lester lying dead in there—I might think all this was exciting,” Pixie said. She started opening the door and Grace followed as she listened to David’s line ringing on the other end. She held it to her ear with her fingers crossed that he’d answer, as she waited just inside the gallery entrance. The sirens were loud now, and she barely heard when David answered.
“I have some news about a terrible development in the murder case,” she said in a loud and anxious voice.
“What? What’s all the commotion—what are you doing on the case? Grace, you’re not a detective, not really.”
Grace had to cut him off because the chief had slammed his car door behind him and was moving toward them fast.
“Lester called me. We had to go—and then Pixie and I found him dead,” she said as the chief came in the door and glared.
“What?” David almost shouted.
“Who are you talking to?” Dan asked.
“Ten to one she’s called Batman,” Pixie said. Several officers in blue uniforms crowded around them at the gallery entrance, and Dan motioned for them to hold up.
“It’s David,” she whispered to them. “David, Lester Lump is dead—he was murdered,” she said with a small crack in her voice.
“Give me that phone, please.” Dan put out his hand. Grace gave it over reluctantly.
“David, this is Dan. Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control. Grace was smart enough to call me in right away—we’re checking the scene now. I’ll get back to you. What? Okay.” Dan handed the phone back to Grace without shutting it off. “He wants to talk to you. But make it quick. You’ll have to give a statement.” He turned to Pixie. “That means you too.”
“Do whatever Dan says, Grace. No more involvement in this case—it’s getting too dangerous. I’ll be home tomorrow. We’ll talk then,” he said. She said good-bye and clicked the phone off. Her tension eased and she felt a small smile inside. He had such a strong protective streak that it made her melt every time it showed.
She and Pixie followed Dan and the rest of them to the back room with the uniformed men, the ones with cameras, in the lead.
“What were you ladies doing here?” Dan turned to them after they reached the door. Without waiting for an answer, he looked around the place.
“Lester called me. He said David had called him, but he wanted to talk to me and he made it sound important—like it might be important for the case,” she told him again.
“Any idea what he was going to tell you or show you?”
Grace shook her head.
“Okay, then, everything in this place is evidence. We can’t locate the owner and the manager is dead. This gallery is out of business as of now,” Dan said. He took on a very police-like seriousness that caused a mild bounce of trepidation in Grace’s pulse.
“You ladies didn’t touch anything did you?”
“No sir,” they both said in unison. Except the body.
“Tell me everything that happened from the moment you entered—or even before that if you heard anything—until you called me. Don’t leave anything out no matter how insignificant you may think it is. Wait a sec. Let me get a digital recorder over here—Barney!” he yelled over to one of the detectives. “Bring your recorder and listen with me. The middle-aged, pudgy man trotted over with a black square box that looked like an iPod in his hand.
“Okay now. Tell me everything,” Dan said. They were standing in the back of the gallery with cops everywhere and cameras flashing. Grace looked at Pixie. There was an exchange of sisterhood between them, silent and shared. Grace took her hand and squeezed it, holding on.
“We—I—heard some glass breaking when we were standing outside the door just before we went inside. But there’s a lot of glass in here so I didn’t think it was necessarily anything sinister—just clumsy and very unfortunate. So we went in even though we didn’t see anyone because the door was open and the gallery was supposed to be open for business.”
Dan listened intently and rolled his hand for Grace to continue. She gained confidence now and finished the story, including the part about Pixie being concerned they’d be accused of murder because Grace touched Lester.
“You’re not going to take me in for questioning as a suspect, are you?” She had to ask him to make sure. This was all new ground for her—exciting, but intimidating too. Dan gave her a suppressed smile.
“Don’t you worry. You’re not a suspect. I’ll let the CSI people know you touched the body and they might possibly find a trace from you. But for future reference, the Pixie here is right—you shouldn’t go touching dead bodies.” He sent them on their way.
She gave him a grateful nod, followed closely by a shudder at the thought of “next time.”
“Don’t leave town—we may have more questions for you,” he said with a raise of his brow and a mischievous smile as she and Pixie walked toward her car.
“What do you mean don’t leave town?” Pixie’s eyes popped with alarm.
“Don’t panic, Pixie—I’m your alibi. Besides, the chief was just pulling your leg. He knows we’re not going anywhere. I’m practically an assistant deputy on the case. Isn’t that right, Chief?” Grace raised her chin in his direction. He was grinning now.
“Is that what your boyfriend Sherlock told you?” He shook his head and waved them away.
Grace frowned as she got in the car. She wasn’t very reassured about her role in this investigation, but she’d clear all that up with David. After all, she was one of the few people who knew the truth about Nick not being dead. And she’d found the smuggled relics in the vase, and now she and Pixie had found Lester’s dead body. She couldn’t possibly get any more involved in the case than that. Although she wondered if that was a good thing or a dangerous thing. One more thing to drive her mad until David came home. She couldn’t wait to see him.
But she would have to wait, she realized, as she checked her watch.
“I have to be at the warehouse in twenty minutes,” she told Pixie and rushed to get in the car.
“Hey, don’t forget you have to get me back to the office.” Pixie hastily hopped into the passenger side.
“No problem,” Grace said. It was an automatic response because she’d always refused to consider anything too big a problem. No matter what. Ever.
“I hope David’s inquisition is going well. He didn’t say anything about it. I forgot all about asking in my rush to tell him about poor dead Lester.” Grace bit her lip in remorse. Her hand itched to reach for the phone and call David again. But she had to get to the warehouse and finalize the hardware choices for the plumbers to start work on his bathrooms. She really should have told him about that too. Poor David’s bathrooms would be under construction for a week, and he’d need to make plans to stay somewhere else for the duration.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell David about the bathroom construction that’s scheduled to start tomorrow,” she admitted to Pixie as they pulled up to the curb right in front of their building. Pixie’s head snapped around and her mouth was open for a full five seconds before she uttered a word.
“You’re kidding. What were you thinking? Oh, I can’t wait for this—too bad I won’t be there to see the look on his face when he gets in from London to find he hasn’t got a loo.” Her hand poised on the door latch, Pixie leaned forward, ready to jump from the car. But the look of amusement on her face turned to concern and she stopped. Grace felt compelled to explain.
“I know, I know. I don’t know why I didn’t say a thing about it. It’s all the excitement of working on the murder case. I guess it must have distracted me,” Grace said. It was a lame excuse, she knew.
“No. That’s not it. You wanted to put David in a position where he’d have nowhere to go except to stay with you. That’s what you’re doing,” Pixie said with only a small amount of accusation and mostly an amused shake of her head.
“I could dream, but the truth is Davi
d has a million other places he could go—like Mabel’s or the chief’s. He wouldn’t be stuck at all.” She realized the acknowledgement bothered her. “You’re right, but I can do better. I’ll win David over because we’re right for each other. I don’t need to force him to stay at my apartment with me—although it would be a heavenly experience. All I need is time with him. Working with him and laughing with him.”
“You’ll have that. Speaking of Mabel—I wonder what Oscar is up to? Never mind. I have no business wondering that. I have to go,” Pixie said. She gave Grace a pat on the arm as the car came to a stop at their building. Then she flew out the door as if she really were a pixie.
David and his barrister, Roland, left the building through the front door but had to hurry as if they were butchers being chased by a pack of wild dogs. The mob of press had found them. David realized their mistake in not taking a rear exit from the Empress State Building. The commissioner thought that holding the proceedings at the administrative offices instead of at Ten Broadway where New Scotland Yard was located might allow them to avoid media attention, but no.
“Damn. I’ll handle the press until we catch a cab and get you to the hotel,” Roland said under his breath.
“How about if we take a walk to the Inspectors’ Pub down the street? Too late to duck the publicity.” David didn’t mean to rub it in, but Roland’s dramatic behavior at the inquisition had guaranteed they’d get every reporter on them the minute they walked out the door. It was big news that he’d blown up at the magistrates on the committee for browbeating his client. David chuckled at the memory.
“I know. I can’t say how sorry I am,” Roland apologized for the fiftieth time in twenty minutes.
“We may as well meet them head on.” David gave his friend a slap on his back for fortification. They walked down the steps, and the onslaught of questions began. David waved and smiled. Not all the questions were meant to skewer him, after all. He and Roland got to the bottom step and waved the cabbie away. Reporters and photographers followed, chattering more loudly in their excitement.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 51
