The Girl With the Dragonfly Tattoo: An Austin, Texas Art Mystery (The Michelle Hodge Series Book 4)

by Roslyn Woods

  “You okay in here?” his low voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Startled, she turned from the photo and looked at him. At that moment she was almost overwhelmed with admiration. “I had no idea,” she whispered. “I should have. But I—”

  He looked confused for a moment before he glanced over her shoulder and realized what she had just seen.

  “Oh. I’d forgotten that was there. Maddie put it up ages ago. I should take it down,” he said dismissively. “Let me get the milk and carry the tray.”

  He reached past her and opened the door, taking out the two percent and turning to pour it into the pitcher. “I appreciate your staying,” he added. “I want you here.”

  “I’m happy to stay if you want me.”

  “Good.”

  Once the coffee was distributed and all were seated in the living room, Sgt. Gonzalez leaned forward, stirred two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, and looked up at Gus.

  “Dr. Kerr,” he began, “I never heard exactly how it was you learned that Edwin Bishop had died.”

  Gus put his mug down on a wooden coaster and looked steadily back at the sergeant. “My cleaning lady, also Ed’s, came over last Tuesday morning. She was pretty upset. Said Rand Miller had called and told her to clean the house. Told her Ed’s daughter would be coming to Austin to bury him.”

  “And this affected you how?”

  What a question, Tavy thought.

  “I was upset,” Gus responded, unfazed. “Ed was my friend—my close friend.”

  “Would you say he was like a father to you?”

  Gus just looked at him, his dark brows drawn together. “No. I’d say he was like a close friend.”

  “But he was older,” Gonzalez argued. “You’re what? Fifty? He was seventy-seven?”

  “I’m fifty-two, and Ed would have been seventy-nine in October, Sergeant,” Gus corrected.

  “So, you were conscious of his birthday?”

  “Like I said. He was a close friend. We had a small to-do every year. Last year, my daughter made a cake, I grilled burgers, and Florencia and her husband came over. We were planning to invite some other friends this year.”

  “Other friends?”

  “Food is Free people. People who worked in our gardens. People become friends, Sergeant. It happens.”

  “And how is it you know Florencia?”

  “I met her at the Capital Area Food Bank. She and her husband and I were packing food deliveries for Christmas a few years ago and got to talking. She told me about her line of work. I told her I needed a house cleaner.”

  “And how did Edwin Bishop get to know her?”

  “He asked me about my house cleaner. She started working for him, too.”

  “And you think she’s an honest person? A trustworthy person?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Yes. She’s the salt of the earth.”

  “Do you know what happened at Edwin Bishop’s house on the Tuesday you learned about his death?”

  “Just that Florencia was over there crying her eyes out while she cleaned it from top to bottom so it would be ready for its new owner.”

  “How long was she there?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Did you go over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? My best friend had died! Florencia made coffee and we sat at Ed’s dining room table and talked, Sergeant. We were distressed.”

  “And the next day?”

  “What about the next day?”

  “Was anything happening over there on the Wednesday after Bishop died?”

  “Yes. Rand Miller was there. Florencia told me he was going to be there recording the contents of the house because of the will.”

  “And did you see him there?”

  “I saw his car parked in front of the house when I took my dog for a run at around nine in the morning, and it was still there when I took her again in the evening.”

  “How many hours would you say?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I was pretty upset.”

  “And how did you recognize his car?”

  “I’d seen it before. It’s a white Buick. He came around to Ed’s every once in a while.”

  “How is it that you got into the house to rescue Miss Bishop the other night?” the sergeant asked, changing the subject rather suddenly.

  “I had a key,” Gus answered without hesitating.

  “You had a key? Miss Bishop told us she thought she might have forgotten to lock the backdoor.”

  Gus looked at Tavy then. She hoped her face wasn’t reddening. “She was exhausted,” he explained. “She told me she hadn’t been sleeping and wasn’t tracking very well. I’m sure she just thought she hadn’t locked it. I tried the door when Blue wouldn’t quit barking. I called and she didn’t answer the phone. So I went home and found my key and came back. You know the rest.”

  “How long have you had that key, Dr. Kerr?” Gonzalez asked.

  “I don’t know. Three years. Maybe four.”

  “And where did you get it?”

  “Ed gave it to me when I was building the cabinets. It took a long time, and he asked me to keep it so I could look after the place when he took a trip anywhere. I’d go in and turn on lights at night, things like that, so the place wouldn’t be robbed.”

  “And it never was?”

  “As far as I know, that’s right.”

  “But that means, Dr. Kerr, that you had access to Bishop’s house at all times, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose it does. You’ll find, if you go through his keys, that he had access to mine, too.”

  “Where is the key he gave you?”

  “Now? It’s useless now. Tavy had the locks changed.”

  “We’d still like to have that key.”

  “Okay,” Gus said. “I’ll give it to you before you go.”

  “Do you know of any reason why anyone would want Edwin Bishop dead?”

  “No. He said his ex-wives didn’t have a lot of affection for him, but he never said anything about anyone wanting him out of the picture. I would think you’d be talking to Rand Miller. He knows far more than I do.”

  “But we have talked to Rand Miller, Dr. Kerr. He tells us that you have something substantial to inherit.”

  “Me? I know nothing about that.”

  “He tells us there’s some valuable artwork—very valuable—with your name on it. Wouldn’t that be a motive for you?”

  “To kill someone? For a painting or two?”

  “For the money you could get for them.”

  “I’d have to have been the kind of person who would kill for money. I’d have to want the money more than I wanted the art, and I’d have to have known about it in the first place, which I didn’t.”

  “And yet you say you were so close.”

  “He told me nothing about his will.”

  “So you say. What can you tell me about Edwin Bishop’s dual identities?” Gonzalez asked.

  “Nothing. I just this morning learned about Ed painting with a pseudonym.”

  “You knew nothing about it before? How long were you friends?”

  “Almost six years.”

  “And you expect me to believe you didn’t know he had two identities?”

  “Oh for God’s sake!” Tavy interrupted. “I’m his daughter and I didn’t know until Rand Miller told me! My father was secretive! Why are you badgering Gus like this? Why did you imply to me on Saturday that he had some sort of history with the law? You had to know why he’d been arrested!”

  “It’s okay, Tavy,” Gus said. “He’s just doing his job.”

  “He could have been more honest with me,” she answered.

  “I genuinely didn’t know the arrests were about your activism, Dr. Kerr,” the sergeant countered. “Not until Detective Wilson looked into it. I just knew you’d been arrested a few times—not that the arrests were for peaceful protests. Four arrests didn’t look good at first
glance.”

  “And what does it look like now?” Tavy asked. “Here’s a man who works to make things fair, who grows food for the poor, who’s trying to do what he can for the planet! You really think he’s the kind of man who—”

  “I’m just trying to get answers, Miss Bishop. I’m trying to figure out who—”

  “Well, why don’t you try questioning someone else? Why don’t you figure out who’s been following me? Why don’t you—”

  “What’s this? Someone’s been following you?”

  “Yes. Someone in a gray Cadillac. And, by the way, someone tried to kill me. I know you don’t believe me. I know you think I tried to kill myself, but someone else did it, and if it weren’t for Gus Kerr, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now!”

  Tavy’s anger seemed to go right over the sergeant’s head.

  “I need to know more about this gray Cadillac,” he said, leaning forward. “Where have you seen it, and how many times?”

  Chapter 49

  Tuesday, August 11, 2 p.m.—Shell

  Shell pulled the Corolla into a parking space in front of Quack’s Bakery. She thought Dean would be there because he often was, sipping an espresso, working on his computer. She could see him through the window, his hair carelessly tousled, his fingers rapidly moving over the keyboard. He was busy working on something.

  What should she say to him? That Vincent Bishop had come into Jensen’s and suggested she go out with him? Wasn’t it strange to come home early from work to tell your fiancé that a man had made a pass at you? She wondered what Dean would do if some woman made a pass at him. Would he ignore it, forget it?

  Well, that wasn’t why she was coming home anyway. She was tired and annoyed. Billie had made it clear that he saw her as weak and helpless. He was a close friend, so he would certainly be aware of her struggles, but she would have expected him to believe in her more, to want to buck up her confidence. It was true that Dean worried about her all the time, too, but at least he was in a better position to understand. He knew about her nightmares. Billie didn’t believe she was up to normal life.

  But hasn’t Dean made me feel that way, too? she asked herself. How many times has he warned me against trying to help Tavy?

  She wondered, suddenly, if Dean believed in her ability to recover from her trauma and be sound again.

  Before she knew it, she was backing out of the spot, turning the car south on Avenue H, past Garrett’s house, still sitting empty since his murder two months earlier, and down toward 42nd Street.

  In a short while she had crossed the I-35, made it all the way to 16th Street, and was parking her little car in front of Margie’s house. She sat outside with the air on while she texted her best friend.

  I’m outside. Can I come in, or will I wake Max?

  In a moment the front door opened, and Margie, with Tabitha under one arm, was beckoning to her.

  “Hey, you!” Margie whispered as Shell reached the top step. “Did you sneak away from work?”

  Tabitha yipped happily at Shell.

  “I didn’t sneak,” Shell answered, petting the top of Tabitha’s head. “I left. Is Max asleep?”

  “Yes,” she answered, still whispering. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing big. Billie made me mad.”

  “Billie? That doesn’t sound like him. He thinks the world of you!”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Come in and sit down at the table,” Margie said quietly. “We can close the kitchen door, and I can watch Max on the iPad.”

  “Okay,” Shell answered, following her friend through the living room and into the kitchen where copper pots gleamed from an overhead rack. She took a chair at the cherrywood dinette while Margie put Tabitha down and turned the iPad so they would both be able to see the baby sleeping in his bassinet.

  “I’ll get us some iced tea, and you tell me what you mean by not anymore,” Margie said.

  Shell was looking at the baby on the computer screen, sleeping peacefully, his little face smiling for a moment as he dreamed. “How’s Max?” she asked, changing the subject and reaching down to pet the dog that was jumping against her knee.

  “He’s good. Keeping us up at night, but that’s not unusual. We’re very happy, just a little tired. Anyway, what do you mean by not anymore?”

  “I mean,” said Shell, “that since the kidnapping, Billie thinks I’m helpless, can’t make my own decisions, and I’m just an all-around wimp.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Margie asked, dispensing ice into a glass from the refrigerator door.

  So, while Margie got the tea and sliced two pieces of chocolate zucchini loaf, Shell relayed the details of Vincent Bishop’s pass, of the flowers he’d sent to the gallery, and of Billie’s decision to keep her in the dark, both about the flowers and the visit on Friday.

  “Well,” said Margie at length, “I’m sure Billie meant well. You and Dean did have that huge fight two months ago, and it was over jealousy, and you have been having panic attacks ever since the kidnapping.”

  “The fight was over his believing I’d been unfaithful, Margie. I don’t think that’s the same thing as jealousy exactly. He felt betrayed.”

  “Now you’re defending Dean!”

  “Not really. I just don’t think it was just jealousy.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, Billie just wants to protect you.”

  “Yes, but do you realize how disrespectful and condescending it is to have something like that hidden from you?”

  “Not really. It seems kinda sweet, doesn’t it? He’s trying to give you time to recover before you have to deal with jerks like that guy.”

  Shell bit her lip and frowned at her friend. “I suppose he’s trying to help,” she said at last.

  “Besides, what would you have done?” Margie asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With the flowers.”

  “I might have given them to Mary Anne. Or, you’re right,” she answered, conceding the point, “I’d likely have thrown them away.”

  “And would you have told Dean?”

  “Of course. I don’t like hiding things from Dean.”

  “And yet, you’re not being completely open with him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About your fears.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re worried that he wouldn’t have come after you that night—that night after we learned you’d been abducted.”

  “How do you know that? I just realized it myself!”

  “I’ve known you for a long time, Shell. Anyway, he would have.”

  “You can’t know that. You didn’t see how angry he was when he broke up with me.”

  “Shell, you can’t hold him responsible for that! He’d seen you in another man’s arms in a hotel room! God! If I’d seen Donald like that I wouldn’t have listened to him either!”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It would have been a very hard thing getting back together, even if he was as innocent as you were.”

  “But would you have gone after him—believing he’d cheated on you—if you learned he’d been kidnapped?”

  “Yup.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just know. I love him. I know I’d love him and try to save him even if I thought we’d never be able to recover from the infidelity.”

  “And you think Dean would have come after me even if he still thought I’d slept with another man?”

  “I do, Shell. He’s crazy in love with you.”

  Shell linked her fingers around the cold glass of tea and looked at her friend. “I’m glad you said that. I don’t know if it’s true, but it makes me feel a little better. I know I’d have gone after him if it had happened to him.”

  “Of course you would, and that’s the most important thing, isn’t it? Not so much that he loves you—which he does—but that you love him enough to want to help him even when you think
there’s no hope for the two of you. What’s the quote? Love bears all things?”

  “Now you’re a philosopher,” Shell said, but she was smiling at her friend.

  “Try the chocolate loaf. It’s a new recipe and I think it’s really good. Not too sweet but still very chocolatey.”

  Shell looked at the slice of chocolate loaf Margie had placed in front of her. “You know, I didn’t eat the lunch I’d ordered from Mary Anne because of Vincent Bishop coming into the bakery and being obnoxious. Now I’m starving!”

  “Should I make you something more substantial?”

  “This chocolate zucchini loaf will do just fine,” said Shell, slicing into it with her fork and taking a bite.

  “I made two loaves. I’ll wrap one in foil and send it home with you. My brother loves chocolate.”

  “Oh! You don’t have to do that!”

  “It’s only fair. Dean grew the zucchini.”

  “This is so good!” Shell exclaimed. “He’ll be glad I left work early.” Then looking up at Margie she added, “I really miss you. I miss just you and me getting to talk like this.”

  “I do, too, but I can’t leave Little Max. You just have to sneak away from work more often and visit me when Donald’s working.”

  “I should. Our weekly dinners aren’t enough. I should find a way to schedule time for us to visit,” she agreed. “Any advice about what I should do about Billie?”

  “You have to decide, but I do think his offense was forgivable. Don’t you?”

  “I guess I do. I think I’ll let him worry about it for another hour or two, though.”

  She got home at four, still three hours earlier than Dean expected her. She parked behind the Jeep and locked her car to the music of the dogs barking.

  Dean opened the front door, surprised, before she reached the top step.

  “You’re early!” he said, his brows furrowed.

  “Yes, I decided to go by and see Margie. I was missing her,” she said, looking up at him.

  “Must be a slow day at the gallery?”

  “No—well, actually, yes it is—but I got irritated with Billie and decided to let them manage without me today.”