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

by Roslyn Woods

  “This is Thomas and Sally,” Sophie was saying, gesturing toward a couple that was seated on the sofa. The man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, was Thomas Rios, a psychologist whose picture Margie and Shell had seen on the website a few nights earlier. He had black hair and large, brown eyes. The woman was new to Margie, petite and very fit, with ash brown hair, big green eyes, and a dress of gold lamé. Thomas stood up and shook Margie’s hand while Sally smiled and nodded.

  “And this is Geraldine!” said Sophie, turning to the platinum blond woman in the red dress with the plunging neckline. She was standing beside a large armchair looking down at Margie, and the younger woman was struck by how tall she looked in her heels.

  “Nice to see you again,” said Geraldine.

  “Likewise! And so soon!” Margie added cordially.

  “Oh?” Sophie asked. “You girls know each other already?”

  “We met last night at the Billy Collins reading,” Geraldine answered. “Apparently she’s a poetry buff like Donald. And she’s a baker, too.”

  And apparently Blondie is avoiding my name and speaking as if I’m not standing right here.

  There was the slight look of a sneer on the blond woman’s crimson lips, though Margie couldn’t be sure that the look wasn’t just Geraldine’s standard expression.

  “Well, wonderful!” Sophie continued. “See how easy that was? Now you’ve met all of Donald’s partners,” she said before adding, as she looked back at Thomas and Sally, “Oh! Did I say that this is Margie? This is Margie!”

  Thomas and Sally laughed and Sally jumped in, “I’m glad to meet you. You know, Donald has been like a monk since he moved to Austin. Thomas and I have tried to set him up several times.”

  “Well,” Margie answered, “I guess it’s lucky for me he was reluctant till I came along.”

  “Is someone talking about me?” Margie heard Donald’s voice.

  “We were!” said Thomas. “We were telling Margie that you’ve been an ascetic these past two years.”

  “You didn’t believe it, did you?” he asked Margie as she slipped her arm around his waist.

  “I did, actually,” she answered. “Y’all wouldn’t believe the way I chased this guy to get a date!”

  “And if you believe that,” said Donald, draping an arm over her shoulders, “I have a bridge I’d like to sell you in Brooklyn.”

  “How long have you known Donald?” Geraldine asked, her nostrils slightly flared.

  Margie realized she should have planned a backstory, but it was too late now.

  “Oh, Donald! You have to tell them how we met!” she said.

  “Well,” he said, without missing a beat, “there I was sitting at the LBJ Library waiting to hear Phil Levine—”

  Good idea. Tell something that’s a little bit like the truth.

  “This is only like two months ago?” Geraldine asked, clearly aware of when Phil Levine had been in Austin.

  “Right,” Donald answered. “And down the aisle walks the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. And—”

  “Oh, I like this story!” Margie interrupted.

  “Anyway,” he said, smiling down at her, “what luck! There was one empty seat in my row, and she took it. The rest is history.”

  “What?” said Sally. “We want to hear details!”

  Donald rolled his eyes. “Okay, well I begged her to go out with me after the reading.”

  “He didn’t beg,” Margie interrupted. “He asked very nicely.”

  “And she said no,” he continued.

  “Donald! I had to work the next day!” This is like an improv skit.

  “I was actually kind of upset. But she let slip where she worked. So I just happened to stop in there to buy a pastry the next day.”

  “Oh! Nice move! Very classy,” said Thomas.

  “I thought so,” Donald said.

  “And I said yes the second time he asked,” said Margie.

  “I was careful to find out when she wasn’t going to be working, so she couldn’t use that excuse.”

  “You basically forced her to go out with you,” said Thomas, laughing.

  “I was willing to try anything.”

  Geraldine was smiling with her mouth, but her eyes were telling a different story, and Margie had a moment of feeling almost sorry for her.

  Just then Ed came up to the group and said in a low voice, “Could you psychologists stop schmoozing with each other and start schmoozing with the donors, please?” Then looking apologetically at Margie he added, “Sorry, it’s a work party.”

  “No problem. Can I help schmooze?”

  “You would be most welcome to!” he answered. “I imagine you’ll be better at it than Donald and Thomas!”

  “Come on,” said Donald. “I’ll introduce you to Dr. Alan. He teaches—”

  “Psych at UT,” Margie finished for him.

  “You know him?”

  “I’ll do better than that! I took his psychology course, but he won’t remember me. Those classes are huge.”

  They took a few steps in the direction of Margie’s former teacher. He was medium height with a stocky build, and his hair, which had once been red, was white and wispy. He had a drink in his hand, and Margie guessed from his pink nose that it wasn’t his first.

  “Hello, Dr. Alan?” Donald began. “I’d like you to meet my friend Margie Maxwell.”

  “Margie Maxwell?” asked Dr. Alan. “Is it you?” His voice was rather loud, and Margie noticed that a few people, including Geraldine Engstrom, had turned to look at him as he put his glass down on the fireplace mantel behind him. He was taking her hand in both of his and and saying to Donald, “This little lady took my Developmental Psych class not so long ago. She did the most magnificent study on child development I’ve ever read from a student. Margie Maxwell! It’s so nice to see you again! You remember your old teacher don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, Dr. Alan!” said Margie with a smile. “I loved your class!”

  “You can always tell,” he said to Donald knowingly, “which are the brilliant students.”

  “I imagine you can,” Donald agreed as Dr. Alan’s wife came up to the group looking apologetic and pulled him away.

  By eleven, many of the people in attendance were already making their excuses and leaving.

  “Join us in the den,” Ed said to Donald in a whisper when the last of them were putting on coats and Sophie was thanking them for coming. The pianist was leaving as well, and so was the caterer and her two helpers. “We can actually visit now that the others are leaving.”

  “Uh—” Donald began.

  “Now don’t try to run out on us, Donald!” Sophie said as she closed the door behind the last group, and only the partners and their dates, Sally and Margie, remained. “We haven’t had a chance to get to know Margie yet!”

  “Yeah,” Sally joined in. “I heard Geraldine saying you’re a baker.”

  “I am,” Margie said.

  “Is it okay with you?” Donald asked, looking down at her.

  “Of course! You know I want to get to know your friends!” she answered.

  In another minute they were all seating themselves in Ed and Sophie’s book-lined den, Margie snugly beside Donald on a smallish, antique loveseat, and the hosts were bringing in plates of appetizers and a couple of bottles of wine.

  “I noticed how complimentary Dr. Alan was to you tonight,” Sally said to Margie as she reached for a stuffed mushroom.

  “He was drunk,” said Geraldine. “Margie probably never even took a class from the guy. He came on to me like that the last time we had one of these parties.”

  “That’s not true,” said Donald, looking down at Margie, “didn’t you say you took a class from him?”

  “Only Psych One-A. Geraldine is right. I never wrote that paper he was raving about!”

  Everyone was laughing uproariously over this when Sally piped in, “Did you hear what Dr. Alan’s wife was saying tonight?”

&nbs
p; “She has a name, dear,” said Sophie. “She’s the money in that relationship with her parent’s oil fortune, and her name is Janene Staples. She’s also a distinguished lawyer.”

  “Well anyway,” Sally went on, ignoring Sophie who was shaking her head, “she was saying that she heard that they’re no further along in the Doris Leone case today than they were the day it happened. She also said there’s a rumor that the woman was seen around town with a man. She was having an affair!”

  “How many days has it been?” Sophie asked.

  “Since the murder? I think five days,” said Geraldine. “Ask Donald. She was his client. God knows he must know all kinds of sordid things about Doris Leone! Was she having an affair or not, Donald?”

  Margie was stunned. Here she had been telling Donald all the details she knew about Dr. Leone beginning with Shell’s pain at finding her body to her attempts to figure out who had killed her. The whole thing had been terribly upsetting, and she had even told Donald that Jeremy might have had something to do with it.

  And you didn’t tell me she was your patient?

  She felt her back stiffen, and she knew her expression changed, but she couldn’t help it.

  “What’s wrong, Margie?” Sally asked.

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “I think I just need some air,” she said, abruptly getting up from the loveseat and heading out of the room.

  “What the hell are you doing, Geraldine?” she could hear Thomas asking.

  “I didn’t know Donald kept her in the dark about his work. Besides, she’s dead!” Geraldine was saying. “What difference does it make now?”

  Margie went into the main living room and walked past the piano before opening one of the French doors that led onto the patio. It had gotten considerably cooler since they had arrived at the party, so it was much colder than she expected outside, but she didn’t care. There was only moonlight, and she was glad. She leaned on the railing and took several deep breaths while she tried to get a handle on her disappointment and anger.

  “Margie?” said Donald, coming through the French door. “I can explain.”

  “No. Don’t explain. You don’t owe me anything. But I’m ready to go now. I want to go.”

  “Margie,” he said, standing behind her now, “I was going to tell you tonight. I’d already decided to tell you after the party.”

  “Why should I believe that?”

  “Because it’s true. Remember I said I needed to talk to you about something? There’s a thing called ‘doctor patient privilege,’ and I take it pretty seriously, but I’d already decided I didn’t feel right not telling you about Doris.”

  “Doris? Were you having an affair with her?” She couldn’t believe she’d just asked that.

  “What?”

  “Were you? Dr. Moreno told Shell that she’d seen Doris Leone at the airport and that she was in the arms of a very handsome man. Was it you?”

  “God, no Margie! She was a client! I’d never do anything like that!” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and gently turning her around. “You think I’m handsome?”

  “Damn it, Donald!” she said, leaning back against the railing now. “You should have told me!”

  “You’re right. I didn’t know how to handle what was happening. I felt—I’m not sure how to put it—compromised about telling anyone about the things she told me in confidence. She didn’t even want anyone knowing she had a counselor, and she’d been killed! Today when I was sitting at the memorial I realized I had to tell you and Shell about my connection to her. I realized we may be the only people who can figure out what happened to her.”

  “Because she was so special to you, Donald?”

  “I cared about her as a client and a person, Margie. I also realized I didn’t like keeping anything from you.”

  “Because we’re friends?” she asked, her eyes hurting, her feelings relenting a bit.

  “Because we’re very good friends,” he answered quietly. “Haven’t we already become very good friends?”

  “Geraldine is watching from inside the French door,” she whispered.

  “I don’t care,” he said. “I just can’t stand it if you’re mad at me.”

  “You’d better kiss me.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do, but he pulled her against him, carefully lifted a wisp of hair away from her face, and bent his head. It was a long, sweet kiss with parted lips.

  “How was that?” he whispered against her mouth.

  She couldn’t answer for a few moments. Finally getting her breath, she said, “Very convincing.”

  Chapter 24

  Since Margie was out with Donald, and Gina was back at her own place, Shell had the evening to herself. She couldn’t help but think it was a good time to do some detective work, and she was just putting on her jacket when her cell rang.

  “Hi, Patrick.”

  “Hey, beautiful!” he said. “I was thinking maybe we could take in a movie tonight.”

  “I don’t think so, Patrick. I’ve got some stuff to do.”

  “What are you up to?” he asked.

  Shell could hear the suspicion in his voice, and she didn’t really want to answer. She knew he’d offer to go with her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend her evening defending her activities.

  “I—”

  “If you’re planning on doing more sleuthing, I’m your man. I don’t think you should be nosing around by yourself at night, Shell.”

  “Has Margie been complaining to you?” she asked.

  “No. I just know how obsessed you are with figuring out what happened to your teacher. When we were at the memorial earlier I could see you pondering every time I looked at you, and I know what you’re likely to do.”

  “Oh really! What am I so likely to do, then?”

  “I don’t know. Go snooping around in Irving Jansen’s flower beds trying to get a look in his windows, maybe? It wouldn’t be a smart thing to do, Shell. People in Texas aren’t like Californians. Everybody and their uncle has a gun, so think that one through before you start—”

  “Irving Jansen is from California.”

  “His neighbors all around are Texans, and they’re all chomping at the bit to shoot somebody.”

  “Okay, you can go with me.”

  “Oh geez, I was right! I knew I was right!”

  “Would you get off your high horse and get yourself over here? It’s already after eight. We don’t have all night.”

  “Could you wait in the car?” Shell asked when Patrick had parked on 18th Street. She had decided she needed to talk to Lacy Michaels before she went over to see what was happening at Irving Jansen’s house.

  “What? I thought the whole idea of this evening is that you don’t do anything alone.”

  “Later I’ll need you to stick with me. Right now, I need you to watch from outside and come in and get me if Jeremy shows up.”

  “I don’t even get what you’re doing.”

  “I’m going to talk to Lacy. I need to tell her a few things about Jeremy, and I need to see if she’ll tell me anything.”

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

  “I’m not going to defend this, Patrick. If you weren’t in, you should have stayed home. I was ready to do this by myself.”

  “Okay. But what am I supposed to do?”

  “Just watch for Jeremy. If he shows up, come in and get me.”

  “By the time I see him coming it’ll be too late to keep him from seeing you.”

  “I know, but he’s not likely to attack me or anything if you’re here. I also think it’s unlikely he’ll be violent in front of Lacy. He’s probably still on his best behavior with her.”

  “But what reason will you use for talking to her?”

  “I lost a painting. I wonder if she knows anything about it.”

  “Did you lose a painting?”

  “The one I gave to Dr. Leone.”
/>   “Okay, but if you have a problem—”

  “I won’t have a problem.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s nine-twenty now. If you don’t come out in fifteen minutes I’m coming in, Jeremy or no Jeremy.”

  “Okay.”

  Shell put her phone in her jacket pocket and walked up to the porch steps before glancing back at Patrick. He gave her a lazy salute through the car window but didn’t smile. He was trying, and she wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake allowing him to come with her. She pressed the doorbell and waited.

  Only a few seconds passed before she could hear the sound of the deadbolt turning, and then the door opened.

  “Shell? What are you doing here?” Lacy asked. She was standing in her entry with a quizzical look on her face, her dark brow furrowed, her large, brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. She was wearing a paint-spattered shirt and jeans, and she held a palette knife and rag in her left hand.

  “Hi, Lacy. I got your address from Gina. I’m trying to find a painting I lost, and I thought you might be able to help me.”

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I was going to be in the area, so I thought I’d see if you were around.”

  Lacy looked at Shell through the screen for a few seconds before she reluctantly unlatched and opened it.

  “Okay,” she said.

  As Shell walked in she noted that it was a sort of cockeyed old house, probably built a hundred years earlier, the whole place likely to be no more than a thousand square feet with a floor that wasn’t quite level. Someone had thought to make it a rental. This district east of the university was full of students who needed cheap housing, and Lacy had decorated the inside in a hippie style with colorful throws on her yard sale furniture and offbeat lamps on mismatched tables. Leaning against one wall, Shell noticed one of Lacy’s paintings from Dr. Leone’s class.

  “What painting did you lose?” Lacy asked, rubbing her palette knife with the rag and looking at her suspiciously.

  “I gave it to Dr. Leone to examine,” Shell said as she breathed in the aroma of mineral spirits blended with incense. “She was supposed to bring it to the co-op on Tuesday, but it wasn’t there when I found her. I was wondering if you know anything about it.”