“My cousins did,” Camilla said, “but I highly doubt they thought much about it after I told them. Both have more money than they know what to do with. One shows horses and is currently on the show-jumping circuit. The other cousin is pregnant with twins and has been on bed rest for the past six weeks. Unless I’d told her there was secretly a how-to guide on parenting twin boys underneath our ancestor’s paintings, I’ll bet she forgot about it ten minutes after I left her house.”
“And your brother?” I said, bracing myself for a snappish reply. If anyone insinuated to me that my sister, Maeve, might do something as terrible as intentionally hurt someone, I’d jump down their throat faster than double-struck lightning. Still, Camilla brought it up, so why not ask?
Camilla, however, just scoffed. “Tor? Yeah, he joked about how it was a good thing I pulled the painting out from his garage sale a few years ago, and then spent the next twenty minutes telling me about the new fishing boat he just bought. I think he was about as interested in the painting now as he was back when he tried to sell it.”
Ben had moved to my side and was looking skeptical at Camilla’s statement in a way that said he doubted Tor Braithwaite wasn’t interested in the painting anymore. To be honest, I did too.
I thought about going to Houston. It was my home, I loved it, and I hadn’t been back there in months. This was mostly because my parents, now proud retirees, were avid travelers and were gone so much of the time that it was pointless to go back to Houston except for holidays or the occasional trip to see friends Serena and I had known since childhood.
I thought about it. It wouldn’t be so bad. I could drive the two and a half hours to Houston, go over to Camilla’s to snag her painting, then hang out with my parents and sleep in my old bedroom overnight. I always loved seeing my parents, so it would be fun, even if it meant missing out on twenty-four hours with Ben.
Plus, if I had enough time, I could go to the Clayton Library Center for Genealogical Research and get some work done on Charles Braithwaite’s war records. It wasn’t that I couldn’t research them from my laptop; it was more that it would be hard to get any work done at my parents’ house from the moment I drove into their driveway.
I glanced up at Ben, noting how the particular shade of blue of his casual button-down gave the color of his eyes a lovely intensity. We’d only been dating in person a couple of weeks, even if, technically, it had been just over two months since we’d gotten together on New Year’s. I then thought back to Nick, my previous boyfriend. When I’d initially begun dating him, I was still living in Houston, and the first few times I tried to get him to drive in from Austin to meet my parents, he had come up with ten different reasons why he was too busy. However, when he finally met them, during our sixth month of being a couple, he’d loved them, as everyone does.
Later, Nick told me I’d just moved a bit too fast with the parents thing and it had made him nervous. As much as I wanted to harangue him for being weak and commitment-phobic, I’d actually understood. So, I could hardly expect Ben to want to go to Houston with me when we’d spent so little in-person time together, couldn’t I? In fact, I decided I wasn’t even going to ask.
Covering my phone’s speaker with my hand, I whispered, “Camilla’s asked me to do her a favor and go to Houston to get her third of the triptych. I’ll stay with my parents and be back tomorrow. Sound good?”
Before he even had a chance to reply, I’d thought of another question.
“Camilla,” I said into my phone, “just curious—why can’t one of your other friends go get your painting? Or maybe your ex-husband? Or even Roxie or Patrice? I’ve never even been to your house—I don’t even know what part of town you live in—but I know Roxie and Patrice do. They were always talking about how y’all would do brunch every so often. So why not ask them?”
Camilla was silent for a second, then sighed. I moved closer to Ben so he could hear.
“All right, I’ll just say it,” she began. “You’re the only person I trust for this, Lucy.”
She seemed to know I would be suspicious of this comment, because she continued. “My nonwork friends in Houston are great and thoroughly trustworthy, yes, but there’s various reasons I don’t want to bother them with this. For instance, one is about to get married and is in major bridezilla mode. Another one’s car is in the shop. Two more are in the process of moving—”
“I get the idea,” I said, rubbing my forehead with my free hand.
“As for Roxie and Patrice …” Camilla paused, then rushed out, “Even though we’re friends, I just don’t want them involved in my personal life any more than they already are. If that makes any sense.”
Well, wasn’t that an interesting statement? I looked at Ben and he tilted his head in a way that said he was going to refrain from commenting on the way women chose to conduct their relationships with other women.
Probably a smart move on his part. We’re an interesting, but complicated, bunch.
Camilla was still talking. “I mean, they know about the lawsuit because I got the call when I was at work. And they know about what happened”—I heard her take in an emotion-filled breath and blow it out—“to Uncle Charlie. I did a conference call this morning to tell them so they’d know I won’t be in this week, and so they wouldn’t hear about it from the news or anyone else.” She paused. “Um, you should know that in the stress of it all, I mentioned being on the phone with you while I was out picking up dinner.”
“Oh? Okay,” I said, for lack of anything better coming to mind.
“But they don’t know you were with me when … I found Uncle Charlie.” She had to clear her throat before she continued. “Anyway, when Roxie asked why you and I were talking, I told them you had an appointment with Uncle Charlie to get the maternal side of his genealogy done and I was setting up a meeting with you and Uncle Charlie for when … he felt better.” She said these last three words quietly, which made me feel a real pang for her that mingled oddly with the exasperation I felt at hearing that Camilla felt she had to lie to her coworkers about why she was in touch with me. I kept the latter feeling out of my voice, though, and replied with kindness instead.
“I understand that there are certain aspects you might not want others to know,” I said. “What about Gareth? Could he possibly take the painting from your house and store it somewhere safe before he and the boys go camping?”
I heard sounds like she was pacing, and several moments ticked by without her answering me.
“Camilla?” I said finally, after indulging myself in an exaggerated heavenward glance. “What gives? Is there something weird going on with your ex?”
Camilla paused another second, then said, “Gareth has been having money problems, okay?”
“All right,” I said. Then it hit me what she wasn’t saying. “Are you concerned he might try and sell the painting or something?” I looked into Ben’s eyes and asked her, “Or do you think Gareth came into town and stole Charlie’s third of the painting and—?”
“No, there’s no way he would have hurt Uncle Charlie,” Camilla said firmly, but there was anguish in her reply. “I can’t imagine it. He loved Charlie, and he actually cried when I called him to tell him what happened.”
“But …?” I prompted.
“But he’s struggling to pay his bills. He lost his job a few months ago and he was never good at planning for the future in terms of finances.” Camilla sounded like she was hating saying every word, but she added, “And he was one of the people who was most interested in both Uncle Charlie’s find and mine. He thinks there might be a Civil War battle scene underneath the top painting, and he spent hours researching prices of battle scene paintings.”
“What did he find out?” I asked.
“That, under the right circumstances, the paintings could be worth quite a bit,” Camilla said. “Even if we never found the third piece, there’s what’s called ‘crossover markets’ or something like that, which could still bring in good money
for the two pieces, depending on the subject.”
“I think a crossover market is when, say, you have a group of interested buyers who will pay more for a painting because it has a certain theme or subtheme,” I said. “Like if the painting or photo or whatever has, say, Irish wolfhounds, or a poker-playing theme.”
“Yes, I know,” Camilla said, through gritted teeth. “That’s what I was about to say, Lucy. Christ, and you wonder why we didn’t want to be around you all the time at work.”
I felt myself flush and was thankful that Ben had received a text and was currently concentrating on typing a reply. Blinking, I felt the threat of tears pricking at my eyes. Hurt, embarrassment, and the desire to hide all those emotions from Ben didn’t make it any better. I turned away, trying to center myself again.
Not that Ben didn’t already know I could be a know-it-all sometimes. Heck, I’d said the same thing about him, preceding it with the word insufferable as an extra descriptive adjective, and I’d repeated my assertion many times. Still, I’ll admit I wasn’t quite ready to have someone else take me to task for, well, anything in front of Ben quite yet. I mean, logically, I knew it was just a matter of time—especially with my mouth—but a few more days of the particular ignorance-filled bliss that is new-coupledom would be great, thank you very much.
I hadn’t said a word in response, and it seemed Camilla understood she’d gone too far. “I’m sorry, Lucy, I shouldn’t have said that,” she said. “I’m stressed out and worried and I let my temper get away from me. Please forgive me.”
“It’s fine,” I said, trying not to sound curt, and failing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ben’s head come up at my tone as I continued. “Look, I’ll go to Houston for you, Camilla. I’d like to see my parents anyway. You’ll need to send me your address. Would you either be able to bring me a key or meet me halfway? I’d like to get out of town and into Houston before the going-home traffic hits.”
“You won’t need a key,” she said. “I have the same automatic door lock that Uncle Charlie has. We actually have the same code, so you already know it. That’s another reason I’m worried. It really looks like someone gained access to the house without force, so they either had a key or they knew the passcode for the door.”
Now it was my turn for gritted teeth. If she had started with this information, I might not have spent the last five minutes questioning her. I could be halfway to my condo by now, with maybe enough time to do some heavenly things with Ben before I left. Turning back to him, and knowing my color was back to normal, I looked him up and down, my mind going to a more pleasurable place. A slow smile spread across my face as my eyes lingered on his mouth.
This time, when his eyebrows went up, it was with a smile that clearly said he was fully okay with my objectification of him, and would be willing for me to act on it in any way I chose. He beckoned me forward. When I complied, he bent and let his breath tickle my ear in delicious ways.
“Mind if I come with you to Houston?” he said.
I don’t know what made me weaker in the knees: his words or his lips. Putting my hand on his stomach, I managed to lean back, cover my phone’s speaker with one hand, and goggle at him.
“You want to come to Houston with me? Really?” Then I gave him a slanting look. “You know this will mean meeting my parents—for real this time, not just the quick handshake and hug you got when they came in after New Year’s.”
With the FBI claiming his time for wrap-up meetings on the separate case he’d concluded at the same time I’d unmasked a killer who’d targeted my grandfather and me, my parents had met Ben for literally one full minute. Enough for an introduction from me, a warm handshake from my father, a teary hug and several thank-you kisses on the cheek from my mother, and another grateful handshake from Grandpa before Ben’s phone had rung and he’d had to leave again.
“I know,” Ben said.
My eyes narrowed some more. “This also means staying at their house … actually conversing with them—potentially for hours—and you should know my mom’s a talker.”
Ben tried to work his face into not smiling, and failed completely. “I’ve been in a few dangerous situations in my career, and I survived working with you last fall. I think I can handle the people who created you.” Then he pointed at my phone. “I think Camilla is trying to get your attention.”
I’d been hearing a distant squawking, and now it came again. “Lucy!”
“Apologies, Camilla,” I said hastily, putting my phone back up to my ear. “I’m back, and Ben’s coming with me. We’ll leave for Houston as soon as possible.”
“You will?” she said. Relief was flooding her voice. “Oh, that makes me feel better.”
Ben was already indicating that we should get going. Camilla, too, had moved on to explaining some of her house’s quirks that we should watch out for, including a squeaky floorboard that, if stepped on in the right spot, made a moaning noise that sounded almost human, and a light switch in the hallway that was wired incorrectly and would set off the garbage disposal.
Back inside the office, Josephine was still on her conference call and Ahmad was pouring himself some tea. Ben picked up my tote bag for me and made small talk with Ahmad as I shut down my computer and scrawled a note to Jo about going to Houston, all with my phone still to my ear. Camilla was still talking as Ben and I started down the three flights of stairs, hand in hand.
“And watch out for the rug when you get to the living room. One edge is curling up, and if you’re not careful, you’ll trip over it and go sprawling into the coffee table …”
SEVENTEEN
After one quick stop at Ben’s place to let him pack, and a longer stop at my condo, where packing was the last thing on our minds as soon as we stepped into my bedroom, we dropped by Big Flaco’s Tacos long enough to grab a to-go order and then cruised an hour and a half down highway 71 before heading east on I-10 toward Houston.
On the way, I called Helen, hoping to talk to her about why she’d been at Charlie Braithwaite’s house last night before he was murdered. I also hoped she might help me with another of Camilla’s requests—to get an appointment with a reputable art conservator in Houston to have her piece of the triptych inspected.
Helen didn’t answer, so I left a voice mail. Around the time Ben and I made a brief pit stop for gas and kolaches at Hruška’s Bakery in Ellinger, Texas, I received a text from her. It was lacking Helen’s usual effusive use of exclamation points and the occasional emoji, making it read rather curtly.
“I think she might be angry with me for ID’ing her to Dupart,” I said, feeling down as I read the text again, which merely gave me a time—3:45 p.m.—the name Cisco Ramos, an address for Morris Art Conservation, and instructions to meet Cisco at the side-entrance loading dock. “Helen’s one of the coolest women I know, and we’ve been friends for a long time. But I’ve seen her upset a couple of times, and she doesn’t cool off quickly.” I sighed, adding, “Damn.”
“You only did what was right,” Ben said as we walked into the bakery. “She’ll come around to that, especially if she has nothing to hide.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t,” I said with a fierce glare.
At this, Ben smiled. “I agree with you, and so does Dupart.”
I turned and walked sideways so I could face him. “Wait, what? How do you know this? What exactly did Dupart say?”
Ben, however, merely put his Fed Face back into action as we stood in line for a dozen of Hruška’s famous kolaches to take as a gift to my parents, including Mom’s favorite, peach, and Dad’s favorite, cherry and cream cheese. No matter how many ways I tried phrasing my question to get him to tell me what Dupart had said, it was to no avail. Once in the car, though, he pulled me into a long kiss that did a pretty good job of making my mind go blank, so that was some consolation.
Just over an hour later, as we were in the heart of Houston and fighting the traffic while crossing town, I attempted to regale Ben with stories of how all ou
r freeways went by multiple names.
“It even confuses the hell out of longtime residents, but it doesn’t stop us from calling US 59 the Eastex Freeway when it heads—get this—northeast, then change to calling it the Southwest Freeway when it heads, logically speaking, southwest.” I held up a finger. “Oh, but there’s more. With the new interstate from Mexico to Canada, US 59 is also I-69. And don’t even get me started on how I-45 is both the Gulf Freeway and the North Freeway, and I-10 is both the Katy Freeway and the East Freeway.”
Ben thought about this. “So, basically, each freeway is nicknamed in different places for whatever direction it takes you when you’re heading out of town.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “Insufferable know-it-all.”
Ben laughed all the way to our exit ramp, which put us out onto Kirby Drive, heading south.
More ridiculous stop-and-go traffic later, we both muttered, “Finally,” as Ben took a right turn into the quiet beauty of the West University subdivision, so named because it was situated west of Rice University, one of Houston’s multiple institutions of higher learning. Others included the University of Houston, Texas Southern University, the University of St. Thomas, and my former workplace, Howland University.
A couple more turns as directed by GPS, and we were on Camilla’s street, which was tucked away into an even quieter part of the subdivision. Here were mostly older one- and two-story houses, and unlike on the other streets, there were no residents on the sidewalks, walking with their kids or their dogs as they enjoyed the warm spring weather without the intense humidity that is the usual tropical norm for Houston. Ben parked on the street in front of Camilla’s two-story, redbrick colonial with ivy trailing over the garage. We were both ready to get out and stretch our legs.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I checked the time. “We’ve got an hour until our appointment at Morris Art Conservation at three forty-five. Let’s get this painting and then drive a few streets over. There’s a little restaurant with a walk-up window that serves nothing but warm chocolate chip cookies and coffee.”
Fatal Family Ties Page 11
