by Tessa Kelly
“You want Hemingway to stay with us? Like, all the time?”
“Sure. Why not?” I shrugged. “Not that I ever asked, but it's too much trouble getting him into the cat carrier every time Dad sends him over. It would be easier to let him stay here indefinitely, right?”
Felisha's eyes darted around, searching for a way to say no without offending me. “What about your dad? Won’t he miss him? He already lives all by himself in that big house of his.”
“His house isn’t that big, and the book store keeps him busy. I’m sure he won’t mind. He’s always saying Hemingway is a handful. Or "a pain in the keister", as he puts it.”
Felisha looked at the cat on the floor. He had finished licking the peanut butter off the bread and now sat cleaning his white whiskers. Perhaps sensing her gaze on him, he paused and gave her a narrow-eyed stare.
Felisha wrinkled her nose. “I mean, your dad isn’t completely off base. You know?” She glanced at her phone again and gave a long sigh. “Why isn’t he texting me back?”
I gave up on my attempts to distract her with Hemingway. Maybe there were reruns of Sex and the City on TV.
The doorbell rang and we jumped. Felisha’s eyes grew wide with fear. “It’s, like, ten o’clock. Who could it be?”
“Maybe it’s Will,” I said. “He mentioned he might stop by.”
“But he always calls before coming up!”
“Well, only one way to find out.”
I got up from the table. With a loud gasp, Felisha grabbed my wrist. “Sandie, what are you doing? Don’t open it!”
“Felisha, calm down! I’m just going to see who it is.”
I freed myself from her grasp and headed down the hallway.
She followed me, clutching Asimov in front of her chest like a shield, and thrust a rolling pin in my hands. “Here. Take this. For protection!”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Do you think the killer followed us home or something? That would be pointless. Neither of us has any connection with the crime.”
“That we know of,” she whispered pointedly, then added, “If it's a stranger, don't open it.”
This time, I did roll my eyes. “What kind of a fool do you take me for?”
Still, Felisha was right. It was pretty late for a social call.
The doorbell rang once more and she yelped, dropping Asimov who hissed and hurtled into the living room to hide under the sofa. Whoever was at the door, it was not my brother. He’d be banging on the door with his fist by now, irate that we weren’t opening up.
Squeezing the rolling pin with my fingers, I crept to the door and leaned in to look through the peephole.
A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with fear.
It was Josh.
Chapter 5
He unbuttoned his shirt collar and loosened his tie, but the overall effect was far from relaxing. The tie hanging from his neck put me in mind of a noose. His rumpled hair, the slumped shoulders, and the deep shadows under his eyes only amplified the impression of a condemned man heading for the gallows.
My protective instincts instantly went into overdrive. “Josh, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“Sorry to barge in on you so late.” He ran a hand through his mussed up curls. “Sandie, I need to talk to you. I need your help. Can I come in?”
“Uh... yeah.” I hid the rolling pin behind my back and stepped aside as I opened the door wider. “We can talk in the living room. But take your shoes off. It’s... kind of a house rule.” I glanced at Felisha who nodded. There were no exceptions to the no-shoes-in-the-house rule.
While Josh obediently complied, I passed the rolling pin to Felisha behind my back. She stashed it in the dark corner by the storage bench.
“Is this going to be a private conversation?” she asked. “Or can I stay?”
Josh shrugged. “You can stay. I’m sure by tomorrow the whole neighborhood will know about this.”
Felisha and I exchanged looks of alarm. Did it have to do with the murder? What more could’ve happened after we left the gallery?
I led Josh into the living room where we sat on the opposite ends of the couch, while Felisha curled up with Asimov in the plush armchair.
For once refusing to be the odd one out, Hemingway ambled in from the kitchen, jumped up on the Moroccan ottoman by the coffee table and pretended to go to sleep while keeping one eye half-open.
“What’s going on, Josh?” I prodded when the pause stretched on for too long. “Why do you think you need my help?”
He gave a sigh so heavy I wondered the couch hadn't sagged under its weight.
“Back in the summer when your dad was accused of murder, you were so great. I mean, what you did, how you solved that murder... murders... it was amazing. Who knows if the police would’ve gotten there if you hadn’t?”
“Uh...thank you.”
A compliment from Josh? I felt my cheeks grow hot. If getting on my good side was his aim, he had succeeded. But he still hadn’t told me what he wanted.
“So what’s this all about?” I asked.
“I’m asking you to do it again,” he said. “For me. Please. I think I’m a suspect in Alexa’s murder.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Felisha jump and scrunch deeper into the armchair. Sensing her discomfort, Asimov stood up on his front paws and rubbed his head against her chin, purring.
Was Felisha regretting letting Josh into the apartment? I almost smiled. Josh was our friend, not American Psycho on a rampage.
Besides, the whole thing had to be some sort of a misunderstanding. Maybe he noticed one of the cops give him a searching look and thought he was being evaluated, that the cops were watching him. Or maybe the detective questioning him had a brusque manner, which Josh interpreted as suspicion.
All that meant was Josh needed a good night’s sleep since he obviously wasn’t thinking straight. But witnessing a body being pulled from an art installation—like a rabbit out of a deranged magician’s hat—will do that to you.
Whatever the case, we would have it all sorted out in no time. But first, Josh needed to calm down, and I knew just the thing that would help. I rose from the couch.
“Hold that thought while I get you something to drink.”
On my way to the kitchen, I glanced at my reflection in the hallway mirror. That made me stop.
The hair had a messed up bedroom look, and the eyeliner under my left eye had smudged. Tired, I must’ve been rubbing my eyes without realizing. Great.
I darted into the bathroom and gave my hair a once over with a brush, then wiped the dark smudges off my face as best I could. Then, standing back, I surveyed the result in the small cabinet mirror. The face that stared back from its depth mocked me. Who exactly are you prettying up for?
Fine, Josh and I were just friends. That didn’t mean I couldn’t look my best when he was around.
Whatever passed for best at ten o’clock on a Friday night, after an evening of discovering corpses in art galleries.
In the kitchen, I poured the remaining mint tea into a mug and added a spoonful of organic honey. That should do it.
Coming back into the living room, Josh and Felisha looked like they hadn’t moved or spoken a word to each other. He was staring at the carpet, deep creases between his eyebrows. She watched him with an odd mixture of compassion and weariness.
I walked over and handed Josh the mug. He took it and squeezed his fingers around it, but didn’t drink. I sighed. It was time to put an end to this whole misunderstanding.
“Josh, if you’re upset because the police questioned you, that’s only standard procedure. It doesn’t mean you’re in trouble. Your boss was murdered, and the police have to question everyone who works at the gallery. That’s normal.”
He swallowed visibly and shook his head. “You don’t understand. Sandie, last night I was the last person out of the gallery. I was there, inside the building, when Alexa was being murdered.”
It
was my turn to swallow. Felisha gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. We weren’t talking about a misunderstanding. Josh’s fears were suddenly very real. Slowly, I lowered myself on the couch again.
“Go on.”
He leaned forward to put the mug on the coffee table, then turned to face me.
“You know how tonight we had the opening night for the exhibit? Well, last night there was a private viewing event. It’s exclusive, by invitation only. It’s normal to have those before the exhibit opens up to the public.”
I nodded. “I overheard the associate curator telling Marcel Bright that his tree installation was functional the night before. Was that what he meant? That it was working during the private viewing?”
“Yeah. The viewing went well. Everyone was impressed with Marcel’s collection, and we sold several pieces.” He kept the inflection out of his voice, but the right side of his mouth gave a tiny twitch. If he was still bitter, I couldn’t blame him.
“Would’ve been nice if we’d been invited to that,” Felisha said with a pout.
I gave her a sharp look. Josh hadn’t wanted us to come in the first place, on account it wasn’t his exhibit.
“Okay. So there was a private viewing,” I said. “Then what happened? Was Alexa there? Did she seem normal?”
“She did. If there was anything off about her, I didn’t notice it. After the event, I helped make sure everything was ready for the next day. Then everyone went home, but I decided to stay.”
Felisha straightened. “Why?”
There was an edge in her voice. Josh winced.
“There’s an art festival coming up soon,” he said. “It’s not as prestigious as having your paintings up at the AGER, but it’s still an opportunity to show your work. Some people even get scouted by talent agents or sell a few of their pieces. Anyway, I figured I could wallow in self-pity and call myself a failure, or I could see this as a setback and keep going.”
“And you decided to keep going.” I couldn’t hide the admiration in my voice. I’d been feeling sorry for Josh, thinking about how his biggest dream was ripped away from him so unfairly. Now he showed me he was a lot more resilient than I’d given him credit for.
He shrugged. “What choice did I have? Giving up isn’t an option for me. It would mean going back to Portland to work for my dad at his shoe factory. Anyway, I stayed late because I wanted to use the computer in Alexa’s office to print out an application and to update the photos in my portfolio.”
“Couldn’t you have used your home computer for that?” I asked.
His eyes flicked to me and his jaw tightened. He looked down in apparent embarrassment. “I don’t have a home computer. All I have is a small laptop but it doesn’t have any of the advanced art programs the AGER has. That stuff is expensive. I was hoping to buy the programs with the money I got from the exhibit, but that went down the drain. Now it’ll take me months to save up for them.”
Awkward. I felt my cheeks grow hot, but kept my voice even. “I’m sorry, Josh. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I had to ask, though. I’m sure the police will be asking these questions, too, if they haven’t already. They’ll probably be double-checking your answers to make sure everything adds up. If you were at the gallery at the same time that your boss was being murdered, you need to have a solid reason.”
Josh stared at me with eyes full of desperation. “The cops know Alexa canceled my show. That gives me the motive to kill her. I overheard one of the cops say I must’ve stuffed her into the sculpture as some sort of sick revenge. And also to ruin Marcel’s opening night.”
“I’m sure Will doesn’t think that,” I said. “He knows you, he’ll be reasonable.”
“He already told me not to leave town. I don’t know if he’ll look too far for other suspects now.”
I clasped my hands in my lap, tension making my knuckles hurt.
“Josh, you know I’m not a real investigator. And I promised Will I wouldn’t go near his case, except if I had helpful information. My brother is a very good detective. What do you think I can do for you that he can’t?”
He paused and took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sure your brother is good, but I’ve seen what you can do. I trust you, Sandie. Please, help me.”
Under his intense gaze, my resolve weakened, liquefying like melted butter. From her armchair, Felisha stared at me with big, red-rimmed eyes that said “you gotta help him!” Even Asimov turned to face me, and only Hemingway remained indifferent as he yawned and closed his left eye. The petty drama of humans didn’t concern him as long as his meals continued to be delivered on time.
Still, three against one. I sighed. “Okay. I can’t promise anything but I’ll look into it, see what I can find out.”
Josh smiled weakly. “Thank you, Sandie.”
I bit my lip at the sight of his relief. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything yet.”
“I know. But it means a lot that you’re willing to try.”
What else did he expect when he was looking at me like that? Making me feel like I was falling right into his eyes. It would be so easy to forget the times he acted aloof and guarded, and how much he reminded me of my ex, a disastrous relationship that even two years of traveling hadn’t quite erased from my mind. If I didn’t take control, I would keep falling until I was lost.
I lowered my gaze to the floor. Focus, Sandie!
“So...uh... Did you hear anything strange while you were in Alexa’s office?”
Josh shook his head. “I finished what I had to do and then left by the side exit. I never even went into the showing room.”
“Why not?”
“Because I knew Marcel would be there, and I didn’t want to see him.”
What, another twist? I leaned back against the couch cushion and crossed my arms. “I thought you believed you were the last one to leave. Now you’re telling me Marcel was still there?”
“Right.” Josh rubbed his forehead. “I forgot to tell you that part. Everyone in the art community knows Marcel’s got this thing about exhibit openings. He has a ritual where he sets up vigil for the first three nights, to make sure the showing is a success. He lights candles and incense and I don’t know what else. Kind of like what you’ve got going on here, I guess.”
He nodded his chin at Felisha’s many candles. Forgotten, most of them had by now turned into puddles of melted lavender wax, but some were still burning. I got up and went around the room blowing them out.
Felisha stared dreamily into space. “Marcel Bright is so interesting. I wonder if he is a Libra.”
Josh gave her a wry smile. “Glad you’re so fascinated. I’ll let Marcel know he’s got a new fan.”
I came back to the couch, scraping a bit of wax that had dripped on my hand. “I still don’t understand. If Marcel was keeping his vigil in the showing room, how does that make you the last person out of the gallery? And what does any of this have to do with Alexa?”
“That’s the thing. It turns out, Marcel didn’t stay around last night,” Josh explained. “He had to leave because he was feeling queasy from some bad seafood or something.”
“So he didn’t do his ritual. That must’ve upset him,” I said, remembering the artist swooning when the cops broke the glass on his sculpture.
“This is what I’m getting at,” Josh said. “Marcel made Alexa stay in his place.”
“And she agreed to that?”
I never met the woman when she was alive, but if the description of her character John Edwards gave me was accurate, I couldn’t picture the uptight, punctual art curator sitting an all-night candlelight vigil in an empty art gallery.
“Marcel says she agreed,” Josh said. “But I doubt she was going to stay all night. She probably told him that to placate him. He’s an important client so she was always trying to cater to his eccentricities. But, you know, there’s a limit.”
“Sure.” I looked off to the side, building the scene in my mind. “So if that’s true, th
en when the killer showed up Alexa was probably getting ready to leave. Probably turning off lights and blowing out the candles. I’m guessing there’s no way she would’ve left them to burn unattended with all that art around.”
“That sounds like her,” Josh said. “Then what?”
“Then...” I sighed. “I don’t know. That’s what we’ll have to find out. How many people knew Marcel had gone home and Alexa stayed?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. Not many, I think."
“Good. That should narrow down the number of suspects.”
“Dan Cobbs had to know,” Josh said. “He's the associate curator.”
“The one in the tan suit?” I thought of the guy with the macarons Caroline had pointed out. The man with no career prospects. “Didn’t he want Alexa’s job?”
Josh nodded. “He was up for that promotion. He’d been at the AGER much longer than Alexa, but the director knew she was more capable.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s motive. Who else?”
“I don't know. I'll try to find out.”
“And get me the list of everyone who was at the private viewing,” I said. “Can you do that?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” He reached for his mug on the coffee table and finally took a drink of his tea, probably cold by now. “Hey! This stuff's not half bad. I usually don’t like tea, but it's got a lot of flavor.” He finished the rest of the drink in one big gulp and got up. “It’s pretty late. I should go.”
Felisha and I rose too. We walked him out into the hallway.
“Try not to worry,” Felisha told him as he put on his shoes. “It’s going to be okay. You'll see.”
“Hope you’re right.” Josh gave her a strained smile.
“I am.”
She locked the door behind him and turned to me, worry creasing her forehead. “What do you think?”
“It doesn't look good for him,” I told her. “He had motive and opportunity. In the eyes of the police, that makes him a suspect.”
“But you’re going to help him. Right?”
