I caught Finn’s eye and smiled as another piece of the wedding puzzle clicked into place. Just then, laptop girl cut across the room and disappeared down the side hallway. Finn nodded, seeing her too, and followed after.
“What did you think about those economic strategies?” A conference attendee asked me.
“Oh, um, yeah, they were brilliant,” I said.
“Breaking into the market is such a challenge. I really feel that productivity and sustainability will continue to drive the economy.”
I nodded in agreement even though my mind was on Finn. I cased the joint for about ten minutes before I spotted him again.
“Excuse me, there’s someone else I need to speak with,” I told the group of ladies. Finn walked across the room in my direction, snagging a glass of rosé for me along the way.
We stood facing a painting of rather menacing-looking clowns and I shuddered, looking at the artist’s name in hopes of remembering to never buy their work, but the signature was hard to decipher.
“What did you find out?” I asked him, taking a sip of the pink bubbly.
“There’s an office supply room right next to the bathrooms. The girl’s walked in and out of it a handful of times. It doesn’t appear to be locked.”
“I’m on it.” I downed the glass of champagne and handed the flute back to Finn. He just shook his head. It was hard to tell if he was amused or exasperated. I’d like to think a little of both. “Keep an eye on laptop girl and try and keep her occupied,” I said.
“How would you like me to do that?” Finn asked.
“You’re cute. Flirt with her!”
I walked into the supply room and shut the door quietly after me. A floor lamp had been left on, casting the room in warm light. I stared around at the workroom, looking for Melanie’s laptop, my eyes landing on the working industrial printer instead. I walked over and looked at the glossy sheets that were being outputted. Each 11 x 17 sheet had a picture of a painting with text next to it. The two painted rectangles seemed to contrast one another and yet still blended in with the background. Rothko was a master of color. I leaned closer to read one of the descriptions next to the paintings.
Rothko is a pinnacle example of abstract expressionism. His works Untitled (Yellow, Orange, Yellow, Light Orange) from 1955, as well as Untitled, 1970, both attracted some of the larger prices seen at the recent high-profile New York auction. This prestigious sale sent headlines around the art world when Untitled from 1955 sold for 36.5 million dollars, far higher than initially predicted, underlining how the investment side of the art world is in exceptional health at the moment.
This piece No. 20 is a prime example of what Rothko called the “inner light,” a quality of luminosity that suggested vivid depths. The painting itself holds its own meaning.
A small stack of completed catalogs sat on the counter behind the printer. Thick white envelopes with hand-scrawled addresses were waiting to be filled. I looked at one of the names and thought it was familiar. I took my phone out and quickly scrolled through my camera roll until I came to a picture of one of the notecards I found in Melanie’s desk drawer. The address was a perfect match. The girl who had taken the laptop must’ve known about the secret compartment in Melanie’s drawer as well. The question was, why was Melanie providing the art gallery with addresses? Could it be that the gallery was just looking to target the right clientele or was something more sinister going on?
I picked up the completed catalog and thumbed through it, noting the works of Max Ernst and Heinrich Campendonk. Artists who were slightly less popular, but I had a feeling that was by design. The catalog didn’t explicitly state it, but I assumed these were paintings the gallery had procured and were now available for purchase.
Someone walked in and I quickly tucked the catalog down the front of my pants, using my flowy shirt to cover it.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for the restroom, but I walked in here by mistake,” I said as I came face-to-face with the laptop snatcher.
The woman glared at me, not believing what I had said for a second.
“You need to start minding your own business.” Her accent was as thick as the ice in Siberia.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s incorrect,” she said.
“Really? Because what I’m thinking is that Melanie gave you her client’s contact information for you to target. Why, I’m not sure. Blackmail?”
The term evil eye was created for situations like this. I could feel the hate radiating off this woman.
“Or maybe I’m talking to the wrong person. Is Viktor around?” I asked. Did I mention how much this case was starting to irk me? I wasn’t playing around.
“My father has nothing to do with this,” the woman practically spat at me.
“Your father? You mean Melanie’s father.”
“It is the same,” she said.
“Your Melanie’s sister?”
“Half-sister. That’s all I’ll claim her as.”
Wow, talk about cold. Maybe I found myself a new murder suspect. “Why are you so sure of your father’s innocence?”
“Because I know his anger. The way he acts now. He will not settle until there is justice.”
“Neither will I,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Then know this, nothing that is going on here has to do with her death. I promise you that.”
I held the woman’s gaze, unsure if I believed her or not.
The woman turned and walked back to the door, holding it open for me to exit. I did, quickly.
“Let’s go,” I said, catching up to Finn. I grabbed him by the arm and headed for the exit. Finn attempted to grab another lobster toast, but I steered him toward the doors instead.
“Hey, a two-second delay wouldn’t have killed us,” Finn said when we made it outside.
“I’m not too sure about that.” I hailed us a cab. “What happened with you flirting with Laptop Girl? I asked Finn as we climbed into our ride.
“Apparently I’m not as hot as you think.”
“I wish you would’ve done something. She totally just busted me. I’m sure I’ll be on her radar now.”
“What did she say?” Finn asked.
“Other than she’s Melanie’s sister and I need to mind my own business? Not much.”
“I didn’t know she had a sister,” Finn said.
“Either did I. Technically she’s her half-sister. They have the same father and she made sure to emphasize the half part.” I then went on to tell Finn about finding the catalog along with the names.
“Melanie was providing her client’s names to her sister. Why?” Finn asked.
“That’s the question. I have a loose theory, but I’m not going to think it to death. I might be totally wrong. I need to get ahold of Mrs. J.”
“Mrs. J.?”
“Her niece is an art history professor at SCAD. I want to have her take a look at this catalog and confirm if I’m on the right track or not.” Besides, I needed to call Mrs. J. anyway and talk some wedding details. I had a favor to ask her.
17
I had to wait until the next morning to call Mrs. J., forgetting that it was already after 11 PM in Port Haven. Mrs. J. would chew my ear off if I called her after 9 PM and someone hadn’t died. Let me clarify that: someone that she knew hadn’t died.
At our hotel room, I used the app on my cell phone to take pictures of the catalog and convert it to a PDF that I could email to Mrs. J’s niece, Tasha. Sometimes I loved technology. Mrs. J. was more than willing to help out when I gave her a call.
“This is for a case, isn’t it?” Mrs. J. said when I asked for Tasha’s phone number. I wanted to speak with her before shooting the email off.
“That it is,” I said.
“Oh, girl, you can’t even go on vacation without stepping into something,” she said.
“You know it,” which reminded me to check my email a
nd see if Izzy had sent me that positive energy ritual.
“I know my Tash will help you in heartbeat. Let me get her number for you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. J.”
Mrs. J. came back on the phone and read off the information I was looking for.
“I have another reason for calling.” I had to tread carefully here because once Mrs. J. knew what I was up to, so would the entire town of Port Haven. “What’s your schedule look like next weekend? I have a favor to ask.”
Mrs. J. was down with my secret wedding plans even if she didn’t know exactly what she was agreeing to. I kept it vague on purpose. She had also been right, Tasha jumped at the chance to give me a hand. “Aunt Birdie’s always going on about your super sleuthing skills, as she calls them.”
“Well, I don’t know how super they are, but thank you. I’m hoping you can give me a hand with this case. There’s a gallery out here called Studio One. I came across a catalog of theirs and I want you to take a look at it and tell me if anything jumps out at you.” I left it at that, not wanting my suspicions to influence Tasha.
“No problem. Send it to me and I’ll look at it between classes.”
“That would be awesome. I’ll email it in a minute,” I said.
While I waited for Tasha to get back with me, I got ready for my business meeting with the Senses’ executives and called Aria to have valet pull the Mercedes around. I swear I was driving the car more than Aria was. I should’ve offered to split the rental with her, and I was going to, even though she would’ve never accepted a penny.
My drive over to Senses was uneventful. It’s when I walked into the building that things got interesting. As I stepped into Senses’ circular roundabout door I saw Veronica exit the spa. The urge to stay in and follow the door around and exit back out to see where she was going was strong. Veronica was up to something shady. I was positive of it. Her actions did not match up to a grieving mother. There was definitely more going on there.
All throughout my meeting with the Senses executives, which went awesome by the way, I kept thinking about Veronica. She was supposedly suing her daughter, but yet heartbroken over her death. She publicly blamed her daughter’s fiancé for her murder, and also made accusations about Zane being jealous, but never backed those claims up. As far as I could tell, dancing didn’t pay the bills. And she just dropped $800 on a mid-century typewriter. Unless she was into restoring old typewriters and flipping them for some serious cash, I was at a loss as to what she could be doing to support the lifestyle it was apparent she enjoyed living. All I kept thinking was she had to be working with Viktor somehow. As soon as Tasha called me back I’d be able to know if the idea that had been forming in my head was totally ludicrous or entirely possible. However, even if I understood what was going down between Veronica and Viktor at Studio One, it didn’t it still didn’t explain who killed Melanie and why.
Irene called me back while I was navigating through downtown traffic. “Hey, just real quick. When did you set up camp there?” I asked.
“Bright and early Thursday morning. We pulled into the camp just before sunrise and I set everything up. Eileen drove the last half of the trip. I let her take a nap while I set things up. In fact, we didn’t leave camp at all Thursday, taking a day to recover from the cross-country trek.”
“And you never saw anything suspicious or anyone else nearby where Melanie’s body was found?”
“Not a thing. You guys were the only people we saw that entire day.”
I suspected as much. Melanie must have been murdered sometime in the middle of the night or in the very early hours of Thursday morning. Irene’s story seemed to corroborate that.
“Okay, awesome. That’s all I needed to know. Thank you!” I hung up with Irene and steered the car in a new direction. It was time to find out where Veronica was Wednesday night.
I knocked on Veronica’s door and took a step back to see if she would answer. Mitsi was at least home. The Yorkie went into overdrive at the sound of my knocking. Veronica answered a moment later, wearing a fluffy pink robe and with her short hair sticking out in clumps every which way. A silk nightgown skimmed her ankles. She looked night and day from how she had been a couple of hours ago.
Unless the day had worn her out.
“Hi, Ziva. I’m sorry, but I’m not much up for company at the moment,” she said, Mitsi wiggling in her arms.
“I met Melanie’s sister,” I replied.
“What did Sasha have to say?” Veronica looked leery.
I went with the truth. “That I needed to mind my own business.”
“Sasha, she’s a piece.” Veronica held the door open for me to come in. We walked down the foyer and into the kitchen. Veronica put the puppy out and I looked around the room, stopping at the stacked boxes of tea on the counter. Veronica was drinking coffee. I don’t know why I found that strange, but I did. I knew it was a clue somehow.
“Coffee?” Veronica offered.
“Um, sure, I’ll take a cup.”
Interviewing suspects would be so much more enjoyable if I actually enjoyed drinking coffee. Why couldn’t people offer me chocolate whenever I stopped by? I had a mental picture of trying to squeeze into my dream gown. Perhaps it was a good thing that they did not.
“What’s Sasha’s deal? Should I consider her a suspect?” I asked Veronica.
“Sasha hates everyone. Don’t take her attitude personally. Plus, she worships the ground her father walks on and thinks everyone else should too.”
“But Melanie didn’t,” I said as a statement.
“No. She was always a bit of a rebel, not that I blamed her. Viktor can be a bit overbearing. That’s why I never married him.”
“But you have a relationship with him?” I asked.
“When I want to,” Veronica replied.
I left it at that.
“Any idea where he was Wednesday night?” I asked.
“We were together at The Met for the opening of the Rodin exhibit. In fact, he was with me when they called about Melanie.” The Met was in New York City, which meant neither Veronica nor Viktor had directly killed their daughter. Obviously, they could’ve still hired someone to, a thought I hadn’t speculated much on.
“What about Sasha? Where was she?” I asked.
“Moscow.” Veronica poured more coffee into her mug.
Well, that put an end to that.
“Does Zane have an alibi?” Veronica asked me.
“He doesn’t,” I said.
“What do you make of that?”
“I’m not sure. He’s a complex sort of fellow,” I replied.
“Just make sure you’re looking into him as closely as you’re looking at me.” Veronica held my gaze over the edge of her coffee cup. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t squirm a bit.
“I will.” With that nice little threat, I thanked Veronica for her time and left her to her coffee.
Getting back in the car, I thought about what Veronica had just said. Did I need to take a closer look at Zane? And how would I go about doing that? I wasn’t convinced I should bother.
Sometimes I do my best thinking in the car and today was no exception. Instead of hitting the glitz and glam of the Strip, I followed my instincts and drove back to the storage unit Veronica visited yesterday. Just as I expected, the gate required a code to open. Unless I came up with the correct code, I’d be stuck on this side of the fence for the time being. I backed up from the gate and drove to the other side of the parking lot to think things through. As I sat there debating my best move forward, Viktor drove into the parking lot. His black Cadillac drove right past me, giving me a clear shot of the driver.
I was wrong. They weren’t using the gated self-storage unit around back, but rather the available inside storage. I re-read the storage company’s sign. Below the company’s name were the words “climate-controlled solutions.” The concept never occurred to me, but it should have. I imagined the heat would destroy several personal belongs if they
were left to the fate of the elements. I parked at the other end of the strip mall in front of a thrift store and watched Viktor from afar. He was a portly sort of fellow. I saw that clearly now as he heaved himself out of the car and took a minute to regain his balance. Equilibrium in check, he began to waddle toward the storage building. The image of him reminded me of one of the Tweedle Twins from Alice in Wonderland, minus the yellow-flagged baseball cap.
This time, I was going in. As far as I knew, Viktor didn’t know who I was. Even if Sasha or Veronica had told him about me, I was yet to make his acquaintance. I was planning on keeping it that way.
I gave Viktor a five-minute head start and then walked in the building after him. Inside was much like how a storage unit looked outside. Rows and rows of rolled down doors and lockers in various sizes. Some of the units were as wide as a single-car garage. Others were the width of a regular-sized door. And yet others were small lockers, stacked on top of one another. The floors were glossy concrete, the bolts padlocked, and the lighting, fluorescent. My heels clicked on the concrete, echoing down the hall. I waved hi at the first man I passed. He was using a furniture dolly to load concession equipment into his unit. I’d recognized a cotton candy machine anywhere.
“Excuse me,” I said, dashing in front of him as he attempted to maneuver the machine backwards into his space. The concession man tipped his hat to me in a polite gesture. I thought it was a shame that not everyone had such nice manners these days.
At the end of the hall, I debated which way to go, right or left? The sound of someone speaking Russian had me turning left. It sounded as if Viktor was talking on his phone. What he was saying I obviously had no clue and I didn’t think Google translate would work from that far away.
I decided to play it cool and just casually walk by his storage unit, pretend I was on a mission to someplace else. As I walked by, I turned my head ever so slightly and casted a glance inside.
The side wall of the unit contained slotted storage with wrapped parcels tucked between each slot. Paintings, I surmised. Off-site storage for the gallery. But then I caught sight of a filing cabinet with another table set up to the side of it. A workstation with Veronica’s newly purchased typewriter set on it. What was that about?
Pedicures & Prejudice: A romantic, cozy mystery: Beauty Secrets Mystery Book 4 Page 12
