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

by Roslyn Woods

  “But, I thought it was from a bakery.”

  “Yes, I work in a bakery.”

  Geraldine smiled condescendingly. “Well, isn’t that nice?” She gave a false laugh before she added, “Somehow I imagined you would be more of an academic.”

  Wow. What a total bitch.

  “Not at all,” Margie responded. “I can barely read.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that!” Geraldine said, backtracking. “It’s just that Donald is such a literature buff.”

  “Margie has an extensive collection of poetry books, Geraldine. She’s just like me,” Donald said as he put a hand over Margie’s on his arm.

  “Well, isn’t that nice?” she said again, her eyes shooting daggers at Margie.

  “So sorry, Geraldine,” Donald added, “but we should go. Margie has to get up early, and I promised I wouldn’t keep her out late.”

  “Lovely meeting you!” Geraldine said.

  “Yes, you too,” Margie replied with a nod.

  Chapter 21

  The memorial for Doris Leone was held at the Camden-Wilson Funeral home on north Lamar, and the place was teeming with people. There were faculty members, administrators, students, more students, and Doris Leone’s family and friends from California along with her husband’s. People were standing at the back of the sanctuary, and there was a line of people outside who couldn’t get in.

  Shell had been seated toward the back of the sanctuary next to Patrick and Gina, and she was just watching and listening. It was quiet except for the soft organ music and the whisper of voices.

  “…and no one knows who did it,” someone was saying. “No, they’re still not saying how…I’m guessing it was a gunshot, but someone said she might have been strangled…no leads in the case…”

  “I heard she was poisoned,” said another voice.

  At least they seem to know it was a murder, thought Shell.

  She could see Sgt. Bill Moore standing at the back of the sanctuary with Detective Gonzalez and dozens of people who had been allowed in but couldn’t find seats. The detectives seemed to be watching the crowd. Who knew what they expected to see? There were Lacy Michaels, James Beringer, Brigitte Gersten, Daniel Garza, and Micky Lindstrom just two rows ahead. Up at the front of the room she could see Dr. Moreno sitting with her husband and a few of the faculty members. Two rows in front of them were Irving Jansen and, presumably, the rest of Doris Leone’s family. It was going to be a sad event.

  The organist had progressed from “In the Garden” to “Shall We Gather at the River” and was now playing “Nearer My God to Thee” as Shell noticed that Donald Carter was walking up the aisle and taking a seat ahead of her and across the aisle next to a pale blond woman. She wondered what he was doing here and who the woman was who had saved him a place.

  The minister, in his long black robe, was standing at the pulpit in front of all the pews now, opening his Bible, arranging his notes, looking at the large group over his glasses. Shell wondered if he would say all the things she had heard before. Probably he would. In a moment he started, the cadenced roll of his voice the exact sound of the Methodist minister she’d heard as a child as she sat in the pews of St. Paul’s. It was Reverend Black all over again.

  “Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered here this day to say goodbye to Doris, the deeply loved wife of her husband, the adored daughter of her parents, the cherished sister of her brother, the revered teacher of her students, the respected faculty member of her colleagues, and the admired friend of all who knew her, but Doris Leone was a great deal more than these things. I am not speaking of her success as an artist. I am not speaking of her success as a leader of young people. I am not speaking of her success in life generally. No. I am speaking of who Doris Leone was on the inside. For Doris, like you, like all of us, was a most loved child of God!”

  The minister kept on, and Shell felt tears aching in her throat. It wasn’t his words. It was the realization that this was happening, that Dr. Leone was gone, that she wasn’t coming back. And it was the realization that she herself felt a deep connection to the woman who had been her teacher and guide.

  Shell, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never said to another student, she remembered. You’re gifted. You’re already an artist, but you’re going to be a great artist. Great.

  Shell gritted her teeth against tears, willing herself not to cry, willing herself to examine the crowd. Which one of you killed my teacher?

  Up ahead, she could see that Dr. Moreno was dabbing her eyes with tissue, her husband’s arm around her for comfort. Several of the students in front of Shell were also crying, and even Gina beside her was rubbing her face with a handful of tissues.

  The minister kept speaking, reminding everyone of Doris Leone’s successes—the ones he said he wasn’t speaking of—quoting scriptures about the beyond, admonishing all to heed the word or God. Shell turned and looked behind her again. There was Jeremy, nearly hidden in the crowd that was standing at the back, his eyes straight ahead, his countenance cold, impossible to read. She kept her gaze on him for a few moments, and his eyes finally met hers for a half-second. He was the one to look away.

  Outside, the family waited to speak to people as they left the sanctuary. Shell figured she recognized Dr. Leone’s mother. A gray-haired woman in a black coat with a black veil covering most of her head stood by Irving Jansen. An older gentleman stood on her other side, a younger man beside the older one. Shell guessed the younger man might be Doris Leone’s brother.

  Irving Jansen looked overwhelmed, red-eyed, exhausted. He didn’t seem to recognize Shell when she approached the line, but Doris Leone’s mother looked at her with a question in her eyes.

  “Hello,” said Shell, leaning close and whispering to her, “I want you to know the Dr. Leone was the best instructor I ever had. I’ll always be grateful that she was my teacher.”

  “Oh, thank you!” said the older lady, grasping Shell’s hand in both of her own. “I loved her so!” she added, and Shell could see through the veil that tears were streaming down her face.

  “Of course,” Shell answered. “Her students all loved her, too. We’ll all miss her.”

  “Tell me something,” said the lady. “Was she happy? Was she happy when she was teaching?”

  “Yes,” said Shell. “Yes, I think she was. She was animated and excited about art. We all loved her classes!”

  “Thank you,” the lady repeated as the next person in line was reaching for her hand. Shell moved forward, shaking the hands of her teacher’s father and brother, quietly telling them she was sorry for their loss while they thanked her.

  As she walked away from the line thinking it was time to tell Gina and Patrick she was ready to leave, Dr. Moreno approached her.

  “Hello, Michelle?”

  “Hello, Dr. Moreno!”

  “I can’t talk to you right now,” she said in a low voice, “but there’s something I need to tell you.” She was looking around to see who was within hearing distance.

  “Oh, when can we talk?” Shell asked.

  “Tomorrow? Could you come by my house tomorrow morning around ten?”

  “Yes, yes I think so. I don’t know where—”

  “My address is here,” she said, handing a business card to her student.

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  Shell hurried to her car with Gina and Patrick following. “What next?” Patrick asked.

  “A few of the students are meeting at Ginger Man,” said Gina. “I’d like to go. We’re none of us invited to Dr. Leone’s house.”

  “I wouldn’t want to go anyway,” said Shell. “We won’t learn anything there, I don’t think. All the people at Dr. Leone’s house are here from out of town.”

  “Except the faculty and administrators from UT,” said Gina.

  “Do you think any of them could have done it?” Patrick asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Shell, getting into the driver’s seat of her Corol
la. “I don’t know anything.”

  “Did you see anything interesting today?” Gina asked as they pulled out onto Lamar and headed south.

  “I noticed Jeremy was there.”

  Shell was waiting on the couch when Margie got home from work. Her friend came in with Tabitha’s crate and dropped her purse near the coat rack by the door before opening the crate.

  “Hey, you,” said Margie. “How was everything?”

  “Weird. Funerals are always weird,” Shell answered as she bent down to pet the dog.

  “I know,” Margie answered sympathetically. “Where’s Gina?”

  “Her place. Her mom came down to stay with her tonight. She’ll be back tomorrow. Did you get the receptions set up with your cakes?” Shell asked.

  “Yes. That second one was hard, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Just trafficky up on North Lamar.”

  “Because of the memorial?”

  “Probably. It doesn’t matter, though. We got it done.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “So there were a lot of people?”

  “Yeah. I knew there would be.”

  “You learn anything?” Margie wanted to know, seating herself beside her friend on the couch.

  “Jeremy was there.”

  “Oh. Did he talk to you?”

  “No.”

  “I wish he’d just go away so I can get back to a normal life.”

  “I know, but I love having you here.”

  “I’d wear on you after a while.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You learn anything else?”

  “Do you know of any reason why Donald Carter would have been at the memorial?” Shell wanted to know.

  “No. He didn’t mention he was going.”

  “Hmm. He sat with a blond woman. Platinum blond.”

  “I don’t know anything about it. We’re just friends, Shell. He’s a free agent.”

  “I know. I just thought he might have mentioned it to you.”

  “I have no idea, but I can ask him about it.”

  “Only if you want to,” said Shell, deciding her curiosity didn’t need to be appeased in this case. “I saw Dr. Moreno and she said she had something to tell me. I’m to go by her house in the morning to talk about it.”

  “I wonder what it’s about?”

  “Maybe it’s about Dr. Leone’s affair.”

  “That would explain Jeremy blackmailing her, I guess,” Margie suggested.

  “Yeah, but I said I kind of doubted it, and she said she’d seen her with someone. She was at the airport, and she saw Dr. Leone in this guy’s arms. A very handsome man.”

  “So she was having an affair,” Margie mused.

  “It sounds like it. I have to admit I was kind of disappointed.”

  “But you don’t know what she was going through. You yourself think her husband is a jerk.”

  “Yeah, but I got the feeling she loved him.”

  “People sometimes have conflicting parts. Maybe she did and didn’t.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, Shell? Could I ask you another favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Could I wear your dark green wrap-dress tonight?”

  “Of course! What’s going on?”

  “Donald’s taking me to a cocktail party.”

  “Ooh! Let me fix your hair!”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s do it up!”

  “Whatever you want. It’s one of those ritzy events for donors to the center.”

  “Center?”

  “Travis County Emotional Wellbeing.”

  Shell sat very still for a moment, staring, the words playing through her head. Travis County Emotional Wellbeing.

  “What?” Margie asked.

  “Nothing,” Shell answered, but Margie could see her wheels turning before she changed the subject. “I just hope you’re not getting too attached to Donald. I don’t want you getting hurt. You’ve seen each other everyday since you met.”

  “I know, but this is a fake date. We’re making one of his work partners think I’m his girlfriend.”

  “Why on earth?”

  “Because she won’t stop coming on to him and it’s driving him crazy.”

  “Just don’t let yourself get too—too involved.”

  “I’m not.”

  Chapter 22

  Shell had done Margie’s hair in a braided, French twist. A few stray curls escaped from the borders of the updo and added just the natural look Shell was trying to achieve.

  “You’re an artist with a paintbrush and a hairbrush!” said Margie, looking at her reflection.

  “I try!” her friend answered, stepping back to take in the total affect of the hair and outfit. The dress was fitted and short and wrapped snuggly around Margie’s curves. “You look really good,” she said, shaking her head. “If you’re trying to stay away from relationships, you’d better be obnoxious or something. I’m afraid you’re going to win the heart of every straight guy at that party you’re going to.”

  “Not likely, especially in Donald’s case. He wants to stay away from relationships, too.”

  “Or, so he says.”

  “He means it!” Margie answered before adding, “Thanks for doing my hair. Which earrings?”

  “My emerald CZ teardrops. They’re totally fake, but they look real,” Shell responded.

  “Fake emeralds for a fake date!”

  “And which shoes?” Shell asked. “It’s so lucky we’re the same size! I have some gold heels, or some green ones. I actually bought the green pair to go with this dress. They have just the same shimmer as the fabric, but maybe you think it’s too much green.”

  “I love green,” said Margie.

  “It balances nicely with your hair.”

  “Hi, Donald! Come on in,” said Shell as she took in his charcoal-colored jacket and gray shirt. His silk tie was black with a dark green and gray paisley detail. “Did Margie tell you she was wearing green?”

  “No,” he answered. “Is this okay?”

  “I think you look great,” she said, as Margie came into the living room.

  “Wow,” said Donald, pausing for a few moments and staring before he added, “I’m speechless.”

  “She cleans up pretty good!” said Shell, laughing as Margie put on her black shawl and picked up her clutch.

  “Wait a minute, Donald,” she said. “I forgot to put my compact and a lipstick in this purse!”

  “Sure. We’re in no rush,” he said, his eyes following her out of the room.

  Shell couldn’t keep from making a comment. “I noticed you were at the memorial today, Donald.”

  He looked startled for a moment. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “You must have known Dr. Leone,” Shell pressed.

  “Actually,” he said, seeming to recover himself, “she and her husband donated to the center, so my partners and I were all there. It seemed a courtesy.”

  “I figured it was something like that,” said Shell as Margie returned to the room, but her expression remained doubtful.

  “Okay, I’m ready now,” she said.

  “You kids have fun!” her bestie said with an enigmatic smile.

  Chapter 23

  It was just eight when Donald parked his truck in front of the home of Edward Steinberg. They were in Rollingwood off of Walsh Tarleton, and it was a large place, built on two levels, since the lot was hilly. It was a fairly new house, and it was apparent that an effort had been made to leave the existing oak trees in place when the building went up. One large oak seemed to grow out of the center courtyard, and another’s branches spread across the xeriscaped front like arms reaching for something in the fading light.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Margie as she climbed the steps to the front door, noticing that it was only a mildly cool January evening.

  “Remember,” said Donald, “just be yourself. I think it’s enough that you
’re here.”

  “You don’t want to make it believable?”

  “I do, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—”

  “It was my idea, Donald. Are you okay with this?”

  “I’m okay if they think we’re engaged,” he said quietly.

  Oh yeah. What difference does it make? It’s all just pretend.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go quite that far,” she answered.

  “We don’t have to stay long,” he added as he rang the bell. “I need to talk to you about something later on.”

  “Okay. We’ll see how it goes, but what—”

  Just then the door opened and the smiling host said, “Donald! We’re finally going to meet your girl!”

  Edward Steinberg was a short man. His bald head was fringed with white hair, and his small eyes looked amused.

  “Finally?” said Donald. “We haven’t been together very long.”

  “How do you do, my dear?” said Edward Steinberg, reaching for Margie’s hand.

  “I’m very well, thank you. Call me Margie.”

  “And I’m Ed. This is Sophie,” he added, proudly introducing the woman who appeared to be his wife.

  “Hello, darlin’,” said Sophie, her Texas accent most apparent. She was both taller and slimmer than her husband and dressed in a fitted black pantsuit with high heels. Her ears dripped with gold and diamonds as she reached past him and took Margie by the hand. “Bring yourselves right into this house!” she added in a friendly way. “Honey, there are a whole bunch of people who want to meet you!”

  Sophie had the look of a former beauty queen, her brown eyes made up perfectly, her artfully dyed hair arranged in a long pageboy, she was definitely still pretty at sixty-five or so, and she gave the impression of sincere southern hospitality.

  In a moment she had pulled Margie into the large living room, already full of people who were mostly standing and conversing with one another while a pianist in a corner of the room was quietly playing “You’re Nobody ’Til Somebody Loves You.”

  Where are you, Donald? I have been kidnapped by a former beauty queen! Margie looked back and saw that her escort was still talking to Ed Steinberg.