The Point of Death: An Austin, Texas Art Mystery (the Michelle Hodge series Book 1)

by Roslyn Woods

  “Micky was just telling me,” Shell began, “that he’s going to the memorial tomorrow.”

  “I doubt anybody in the co-op would miss it,” said Gina, her eyes passing over his part of the table but not landing directly on him. “Plus all the students she had at UT will probably be there along with the faculty.”

  “I think so, too,” said Micky. He was looking at her curiously, and Shell wondered if it was the long silence between himself and Gina that made him look like that, or if it was the way Gina looked today with the addition of black mascara and peach lipgloss.

  “Micky,” said Shell, “I want to ask you what I asked Gina after her interview yesterday morning. What do the detectives know, and what did they think you could tell them?”

  Micky ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and sighed. “This is kind of awkward,” he said, and he looked out the window at passersby.

  “How so?” Shell asked.

  He glanced at Gina before proceeding. “She and I used to date not so long ago,” he said, looking only at Shell. “Apparently the cops have it in their heads that Gina had it in for Dr. Leone because I spent some time alone with her before class a few times. I explained to them that there was no way that Gina was jealous of that because she was the one who broke up with me, but it took some explaining to make that clear.”

  See, Gina. He thinks you broke up with him.

  “Did they accept your explanation?” Shell wanted to know.

  “Not until I told them they were way off base looking at a nice person like Gina when there was an asshole like Jeremy Bird blackmailing Dr. Leone.”

  “Oh!” said Shell. “You told them that?”

  “Yeah, I thought it had to be done. A lot of good it will do, though. I doubt they take it seriously, but they did ask quite a few questions about it.”

  “Maybe they will, though,” Shell answered. “I’d like to get together to talk about what we know and get your best ideas, Micky. You too, Gina. And there are a couple of other people I’d like to talk to. Maybe you could come over to my place on Sunday evening? My friend Margie is cooking, so there’s a free dinner in it for you. I just want to see what we can come up with.”

  “Sunday?” Micky asked, surprised.

  “Is another day better?”

  “No, no. I think I can make it.”

  “I’ll text you the address.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does Margie know she’s cooking for a crowd on Sunday night?” Gina wanted to know.

  “Sure. I suggested it to her last night and she said she thought it would be fun. Besides, it gives her an excuse to invite her friend over for an evening and show off her cooking skills.”

  “Does he know anything about the murder?” Gina asked.

  “He knows a lot about Jeremy. That qualifies him to be part of the conversation, don’t you think?”

  “I guess. I just wish we could talk to more people. After seeing Jeremy’s car in front of Lacy Michaels’ house the other day, I just can’t imagine she would talk to us, but she probably knows something.”

  “I wonder if there’s a way to turn her against him,” Shell suggested.

  “Like how?”

  “I don’t know. I wonder if there’s some way to show her the awful things he’s done to Margie. It seems like that would change her view of him.”

  “Who are you planning on having at this dinner, anyway?” Gina asked.

  “Patrick, Micky, Donald, you, me, Margie.”

  “No way! That sounds like a couples night.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Look, Margie and Donald insist they’re just friends, Patrick and I truly are just friends, and you and Micky aren’t even together. This is just a gathering to discuss the murder, and it will take awhile, so we’ll eat.”

  “It sounds like a set-up to me.”

  “Who else would you suggest we invite?”

  “James Beringer? Dr. Moreno?”

  “No,” said Shell. “Dr. Moreno would feel weird. James would be okay, but then we’d have odd numbers.”

  “We could invite Lacy.”

  “Hell, no. She’s been cheating with Jeremy! That would be too weird for Margie.”

  “Brigitte?”

  “You can’t stand her!”

  “True.”

  “Let’s just leave it the way it is.”

  Margie came home at 4:45 with Tabitha.

  “Did you get the three wedding cakes finished?” Shell asked.

  “I did, but I had such a weird day!” she said.

  “What happened?” Gina wanted to know.

  “Jeremy came by the bakery and threw that dummy wedding cake against the wall and called me a bitch. I was really frightened until Donald came in and threw him out.”

  “What?” Gina asked while Shell looked on, dumbfounded.

  “He came in and literally threw him out of the bakery. It was a sight to behold!”

  “Oh my God!” said Gina. “He’s a real hero!”

  “It was kind of heroic,” said Margie. “Hopefully I can get a copy of the video surveillance from Pete later. I need to take it to the police. The only problem is, was it legal for Donald to throw him out like that? It would be, wouldn’t it? I don’t want Donald having a problem because of it.”

  “He wouldn’t. Not if it captured Jeremy breaking the example cake. Can we see the recording?” asked Shell.

  “I don’t see why not. You won’t believe it! Anyway, I’ve gotta get ready. Donald’s coming by to take me to dinner at six.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Shell. “Why did Jeremy do that?”

  “He said something about the restraining order and what did I think I was doing.”

  “Well, this is very entertaining,” said Gina.

  “Yes,” said Shell. “It would be if it weren’t so scary.”

  “I don’t think he’ll come back,” said Margie. “Donald said something to him that made him run off.”

  “You don’t know what it was?” Gina asked.

  “No. And I didn’t ask. I was just grateful,” she answered.

  Shell nodded slowly. “You’d better get started,” she said. “I’ll feed Tabitha, and you go shower and fluff up!”

  “Anything we can do to help?” Gina asked.

  Margie laughed. “You can write out Sunday’s menu. Maybe you and Shell can shop for ingredients while I’m out with Donald tonight. Pete and I have to go set up three cakes for wedding receptions tomorrow, so there’s no way I’m getting off work to shop.”

  “That’s a good idea. Did Shell tell you the guest list?”

  “Yep. We’re just going to have an easy meal. Lasagna, green salad, garlic bread, and a fruit salad. Dessert, some kind of cake.”

  “If we had your recipes, we’d know what ingredients to buy.”

  “I brought my cookbook from the house when I picked up Tabitha. Oh, and my windows are fixed!”

  “Yay!” said Shell. “Now we just need someone to jail Jeremy so you feel comfortable in your house again.”

  “We really do,” Margie agreed.

  “On the other hand, I love having you girls staying with me! When was the last time we did a dinner party together?”

  “It’s been a while. Tell me what part of the menu you want to handle.”

  “I’ll do the fruit salad!” Gina volunteered. “I think I can cut up fruit.”

  “Shell makes a killer sauce for the fruit salad and a great dressing for the green salad.”

  “And I’ll do the veggies for the green salad and pick up bread at Upper Crust,” said Shell.

  “Okay,” Margie replied. “I’ll do the lasagna and the cake. Be sure to let me check your list for ingredients.”

  “Divide and conquer!” said Gina.

  Chapter 20

  Eastside Cafe was nestled in a cozy neighborhood northeast of downtown, and Margie liked the fact that the restaurant was in an old bungalow. Their table was in the dining room, a polished oak craftsman, clearl
y antique, and there were flowers and candles in its center.

  “This is nice,” she said, as Donald pulled her chair.

  “I like their food. I’m afraid I’ve only eaten alone here,” he said, “and in the spring and summer I like to walk around in their garden.”

  “Yes, I noticed they grow a lot of veggies.”

  “And they even have chickens! They do mostly organic foods, I guess. I figured you’d be into organic since you’re so food-conscious.”

  “I am, but I have to admit I cheat. Especially if I’m eating out. Last night Shell and Gina and I ordered a pizza from Homeslice and sat up talking.”

  “Then you had to get up early so you could go to work and be harassed by your ex,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah. That was unpleasant, but I enjoyed the rescue.”

  “You did?”

  “I think of myself as a feminist, you know, but I’m still a girl, I guess. My secret belief is that nearly every girl likes to be rescued. I think it’s ancestral or evolutionary or something.”

  “I was afraid you’d be mad about it.”

  “Nope.”

  The menus arrived and Margie read hers with interest while glasses of lemon water were put in front of them, and Donald made recommendations. Apparently, he did know this place.

  “Okay then,” she said after a few minutes. “I’ll try the artichoke manicotti.”

  “And I think I’ll have the pork tenderloin, and maybe we’ll share a bottle of this Chardonnay?” Donald asked. Margie nodded and the waiter took down the order with a smile.

  “I’m really looking forward to Billy Collins!” she said when the waiter had retreated.

  “Me, too,” said Donald. “I just hope our seats are good.”

  “We’ll probably enjoy it no matter where we’re sitting.”

  “You enjoy life, don’t you, Margie?” he asked.

  “I guess so,” she answered, surprised.

  “I need a dose of whatever it is you’re taking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you seem to find pleasure in the ordinary aspects of life.”

  “Like what?”

  “Cooking, your dog, your friends, your job, whichever seats you get at the Paramount,” he said. “It seems as if you enjoy everything. It’s very healthy. That’s all.”

  “But I’ve actually been kind of unhappy lately,” she said, considering his perspective on her temperament.

  “Unhappy in the midst of being excited about culinary school and delighting in decorating cakes. You laugh a lot.”

  “I thought you must think I’m a great big problem.”

  “No.”

  “What about you? Do you see yourself as unhappy?”

  “Not exactly. But kind of unfeeling. Since Aida died, I’ve felt frozen, I guess.”

  “I think that’s normal, isn’t it?”

  “It’s been two years.”

  “That’s not very long. They say it takes seven years to get back to feeling normal. When my mom died I was a sophomore in college. That was five years ago, and I still miss her every single day.”

  “But you had a good relationship with her?”

  “Yeah. We had the normal mother and daughter issues, but I loved her, and we didn’t have any big stuff we were fighting about. It’s just you can’t fix anything after someone’s gone, so even the small things needle you.”

  “You have some of those things?”

  “I suppose it’s kind of a big thing in a way. I think I never understood her relationship with my dad. He was married, you see, when she got pregnant with me. He left his wife and my half-brother and married her, but he was unhappy, and when I was old enough to understand what had happened, I blamed her. I thought what she’d done was terrible and that I was the result of a corrupt relationship. I blamed her because I never felt loved by my dad, and he died when I was only ten, so I felt abandoned by him, too. All typical reactions, I guess. Even though I loved her I kind of blamed her—not my dad—my whole life. I regret it now. Now I see that people are complicated and everything wasn’t her fault. I wish I could tell her.”

  “You couldn’t be expected to have the maturity of an adult back then.”

  “I just wish she knew that I don’t blame her anymore, that I know I shouldn’t have blamed her then either.”

  “I know. I want to apologize to Aida for things. I want to know she didn’t blame me for things not being perfect.”

  “Nothing is ever perfect,” Margie replied, just as the wine was arriving.

  Donald deferred to Margie to taste it after the waiter had opened the bottle, and she did. She nodded, and he poured. “Enjoy,” he said, bowing slightly before leaving them alone again.

  “Are you getting any happier as time passes?” Margie asked, returning to the earlier subject.

  “Happier is too strong a word, but I’m a bit better just lately. Fact is, I still resist social things. The partners at work are always asking me to do things with them, and I usually decline.”

  “But you enjoy poetry.”

  “Kind of a solitary interest, though, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Not tonight,” she answered. “Maybe you can make yourself start doing more social things little by little.”

  “Which one of us is the psychologist?” Donald asked with a laugh. Then he leaned forward and said, “The thing is, I just don’t want to do things with these people. I want to take classes, read, and go to bookstores. There’s a woman at work who keeps asking me out. I really don’t want to do that.”

  “Because it’s social, or because it’s maybe too datey?”

  “Probably both.”

  “Maybe she’s just not your cup of tea.” The evening was feeling pretty datey to Margie. Donald seemed to be enjoying himself for the moment. For her, everything had come into focus when he had kicked Jeremy out of the bakery that afternoon. She liked Donald. She knew she liked him, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with it.

  “She’s definitely not attractive to me. I lied to her on Tuesday and told her I’d met someone.”

  “So you’d have an excuse to say no?” Hmm. He didn’t meet me till Wednesday.

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with that. If you don’t like her it might not be because you’re anti-social or frozen. Maybe you’re just not into her. So what?”

  “I just want her to leave me alone, I guess.”

  “My friend Shell wouldn’t like this advice. She’s crazy honest! But I say, in a case like this, keep lying. It’s the kindest way to say no.”

  “But then one lie leads to another, and she suspects. She’s already told the partners I’ve met someone. Now there’s a work party on Saturday night, and I’m going to have to create a reason my girlfriend can’t make it!” he said with a shake of his head.

  “So you show up and she thinks you never really met someone?”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, it’s not very common for someone to be working on Saturday night! I don’t suppose you can tell them she’s a truck driver.”

  Donald laughed again before adding, “I thought of telling everyone she had a family emergency, but see how one lie leads to another? Then they’ll want details and I’ll be making all kinds of shit up. I just shouldn’t have lied. Geraldine is going to find out I never met anyone, and she’s going to come on even stronger than she did before.”

  “Take me. You can pretend I’m your girlfriend. Then when she’s given up on you or found a new guy to chase after, you can say our relationship fizzled out or you moved on or whatever. It would get you out of the current crisis.”

  “You’d be willing to do that?”

  “If you want me to. We’re friends. You rescued me today. It’s the least I can do.”

  “You sure?”

  “Not if you’d rather not, Donald.”

  “I didn’t say that. I think it would be—” he paused searching for a word, “—nice
. It would be great. It would get me out of an awkwardness.”

  “What kind of party is it?”

  “Just a cocktail party at the home of one of our partners. It’s supposed to be a social event where some of the donors to the practice get some credit and socialize with the psychologists.”

  “So the women wear dresses.”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure. I think so.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  The poetry reading was very enjoyable. Billy Collins was a good reader. Unpretentious, sometimes funny, and Margie and Donald both liked him. There were moments when he leaned close to her to say, “Here’s one I really like,” or, “I think this is a new one.”

  On the way out of the theater, Donald suddenly stopped as if surprised.

  “What is it?” Margie asked.

  “It’s the woman from work I told you about,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine why she’s here. Pretending to like poetry, no doubt.”

  “Did you tell her you were into poetry?” Margie asked in whisper.

  “No, but I have a bookshelf in the office. There are a few of my books there.”

  “It’s no big deal, Donald. Introduce me.”

  “I really didn’t expect this.”

  “Just be natural,” she said, slipping her arm through his.

  In another ten seconds, Geraldine Engstrom was approaching them, a saccharin smile on her lips, her eyes as cold as ice.

  “Hello, Geraldine!” said Donald. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you here either,” she answered, but she didn’t ask who was standing beside him.

  “This is Margie,” Donald said. “Margie, this is Geraldine. She and I work together at the center.”

  “Hello,” said Margie. “How nice to meet someone from Donald’s work!”

  “Yes, it’s nice to meet you, too,” Geraldine replied, not very believably. “And what is it you do?” she asked as if speaking to a child.

  “I’m a baker.”

  “A baker? As in, you bake cookies and things?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Well, that’s surprising.”

  “She made the carrot cake everyone was eating in the conference room today,” Donald interjected.