The Cruel Ever After (16 page)

Majid had phoned shortly after eight, saying he wanted to spend the day cleaning and detailing what was lost at the gallery. He suggested that he also start the reorganizing if he had time. The police had removed the crime scene tape from the front and back doors but left it on the back stairs leading to the second floor, which was still off-limits. The gallery would need to remain closed to the public until further notice. Irina told him she had other matters to attend to but agreed that he should go ahead and start without her. She asked him to concentrate on the main room and to make sure he photographed the damage. He seemed annoyed that she didn’t offer to help.

“My mother just died,” she told him.

“I know that.”

“I need some time to grieve.” She wasn’t about to let him in on what had happened last night.

“And I need to work.”

“Fine. Have at it.”

Irina finished scrubbing the bedroom floor, wiping the last of the water and soap up with a bath towel. When she walked out into the living room, she found a disheveled man in ratty black jeans, a Nirvana T-shirt, and a black leather vest, sitting with one leg draped over the arm of a chair.

She shouted at him, “Get out of here! Take that filthy cigarette with you.”

Misty came out of the the kitchen with a beer in her hand. “You can’t order my friends around.”

“I can and I will. Get him out of here,” she said, kicking at an empty taco chip sack.

The guy made a circling motion next to his head with his finger.

By now, Irina was used to the implication, but she wasn’t about to take it, not anymore—and not from him. “Leave now or I’ll call the police.”

“You can’t call the police,” said Misty. “I live here and he’s my friend and I get to have my friends visit me.”

“Leave,” she yelled at him, balling her hands into fists.

Moving with infinite slowness, the man stood. He took a drag off the cigarette and blew a couple of smoke rings. “She’s a freakin’ nutcase,” he said to Misty. “I’ll catch you later.”

Misty glared at Irina as the guy left. “I spend the last two hours at Target buying all that crap for you and
this
is the thanks I get?”

“I never want to see that man in this house again. Not as long as Dusty and I are staying here.”

“You don’t tell me what to do. You don’t own this place, I do.”

“Not until the trust is executed.” Looking at her sister, at the hurt in her eyes, she softened her expression. They had to stick together, be a family, help each other. “I don’t want to fight with you, but I can’t have people smoking in this house. You know why.”

“You’re a freak, that’s why.”

“If calling me names makes you feel better, then go ahead. I’m only protecting my baby. People bring germs with them. I’m fighting a battle, Misty, for my son’s
life
. If you love me, you need to help me.”

Her sister let out a shriek and threw herself on the sofa.

“Let’s not fight. I’m drained. I’m scared.” Irina lowered herself down on the oak coffee table in front of her sister and nodded to the can in her hand. “You told me you weren’t using.”

“It’s just a beer.” She tipped the bottle back and finished it off.

“It’s alcohol.”

“No kidding.”

“I care about you.”

“I care about you, too. That’s why you need to see a shrink. This,” she said, pointing at the hallway into the bedroom, “it’s not right. You need help.”

The cell phone in Irina’s purse trilled. She didn’t have the energy to answer it.

“I’ll get it,” said Misty, heaving herself up. “It’s probably Steve. I talked to him a little while ago, told him what happened. He’s driving back. Maybe he’s already home.” Flipping the phone open, she pressed it to her ear and said hello. She listened a moment, then said, “It’s somebody named Chess.”

“Tell him I’ll call him later.”

Misty relayed the message, then listened a couple more seconds. “He says it’s really important.”

Irina’s gaze rose to the ceiling. She just didn’t have the steam to tell him about last night. He should have been there, should have protected her. “Do me a favor. Tell him what happened. I just can’t do it, but he needs to know.”

“Who is he?”

“A business friend.”

She stretched out on the couch, closed her eyes, and listened to Misty tell Chess that someone had broken into her house last night, that Irina had called 911 and then fired sixteen shots into the bedroom door. She ended by saying that when the cops arrived, whoever had broken in was long gone.

Misty held the phone away from her ear. “He wants to talk to you.”

She breathed out, held out her hand. “Oh, all right. Will you check on Dusty?”

Misty groaned. Oozing attitude, she handed the phone over and then stomped out of the room.

“Are you okay?” asked Chess, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“That’s kind of a dumb question, don’t you think?”

“You’re upset with me.”

“I have a right to be.”

Silence. “Do the police have any idea who broke in?”

“Of course not, but I do. It was the same people who murdered Melvin and my mother. They’re after me now. And when they find you, they’ll be after you, too.”

He didn’t say anything for several seconds. “I have a buyer for the bull.”

That got her attention. She sat up. “You do?”

“I told her that I’d bring it by tonight. That means we have to go get it.”

“How much did you ask for?”

“A million and a quarter.”

It was a good price. “She’s got the money?”

“She’s loaded. If she buys it, we don’t have to string along that woman you told me about. This will be so much quicker. I told her about the gallery, said you could authenticate it and give her an appraisal. She wants one of the cylinder seals, too. Two hundred and fifty thousand. We’re just about home free, baby. Once the money’s in the bank, we can get out of here for good.”

Her heart sped up. “We?” He’d never said that before, not directly. She wasn’t sure how she could travel with Dusty. She wouldn’t risk his life, not for Chess or all the money in the world. She had the gallery to think about, too.

“Of course,
we
. I know there are details we need to figure out, and we will, I promise. As long as we’re a team, everything’s possible. When can you pick me up?”

“I left my car at the house in Apple Valley.”

“Doesn’t your sister have a car?”

If Irina had to leave the house, Misty would have to babysit, so she wouldn’t need it. “Tonight,” said Irina. “I need to get some sleep first.”

“What time and where?”

“Where are you now?”

“The Caribou Coffee at Ninth and Second.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

17

Jane and Cordelia waited for Chess to return to Jane’s house, but by two, Jane couldn’t wait any longer. She had a meeting with her head chef at the Xanadu Club. Cordelia extracted a promise that Jane would call if she learned anything new. Several hours later, as she was standing at the Xanadu’s bar pouring herself a cup of coffee, Nolan returned a call she’d made to him.

“Boy, you sure know how to get yourself in trouble,” he said without preamble.

“What can I say? I’m blessed with interesting friends. Were you able to find anything out about the man who was murdered in Minnehaha Park?”

“He wasn’t murdered there,” said Nolan. “He was dumped. Name’s Melvin Dial, a retired businessman.”

Jane took her coffee and moved to a far stool. “What sort of business?”

“CEO of a medical software company until he retired about ten years back.”

“Any idea how he died?”

“Knifed, according to my source. They found your friend’s passport in the grass about ten feet away. The police think it fell out of his pocket when he dumped the body.”

Jane turned to look out the window. It was rush hour in Uptown. Traffic was starting to back up along Twenty-eighth. “Should I be afraid of him?”

“Yeah, you should.”

“I suppose I should call the police, tell them I know where he is.”

“That would be my advice. And then I’d kick his ass to the curb. You don’t need friends like him.”

“What if he’s innocent?”

“Apologize later. Put your safety first.”

Jane had already come to the same conclusion. “I’m about to head home.”

“You need me, you call. Anytime, day or night.”

*   *   *

The doorbell rang just as Jane was letting Mouse into the backyard. Hoping that it was Chess, she rushed back through the house to the front door. She looked through the peephole before opening it, finding a plainclothes cop standing on her front steps. He detached the badge clipped to his belt and held it up.

“Jane Lawless?” he asked, looking her over.

“Yes?”

“You Ray Lawless’s daughter?”

“That’s me.”

“Thought so. I voted for your dad.”

“Wish more people had.”

He was black, like Nolan, though not as tall or barrel chested, and he was younger. Jane glanced over his shoulder and saw a dark blue Crown Vic parked in front of the house. She supposed there was a reason cops drove that kind of car, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, think of one.

“I’m Sergeant Kevante Taylor. I need to talk to you. Won’t take long.”

She led him into the dining room. “Actually, I was about to call you guys.”

They each took a seat at the shiny mahogany table. Jane offered him a soft drink, but he shook his head. “How come you were about to call us?”

“Chess Garrity. That’s why you’re here, right? You’re a homicide cop?”

He hesitated for just a second before saying, “Yeah.”

“How did you connect us?”

“My partner’s been digging into Garrity’s past. We found a marriage license database with your name—and his—on it. Since you’re the only Jane Lawless in the Twin Cities, I took a chance and drove over.”

It was the last thing she wanted to hear. She needed that part of her life to remain buried. Now, with Chess’s name on the front burner because of a possible murder charge, it would be a miracle if it didn’t make the papers and the local nightly news.

“So tell me, are you married to this guy, because I’d heard—”

“We’re divorced,” she said, cutting him off before he could say any more. This was a bad dream coming true. She wondered what he was reading in her face.

“You have any idea where I could find him?”

“He’s living upstairs in my third-floor apartment.”

The cop’s eyebrows shot up. “My LT said this trip would be a waste of time.”

“Guess your LT was wrong. I just got home, so I’m not sure if he’s here. I left him a couple of cell phone messages, but he hasn’t returned them.”

“Not surprising. He probably knows we’re looking for him.”

“You’re welcome to go up and see if he’s there. I’ll give you a key. If nobody answers, you have my permission to go in.”

“That’s great, thanks.”

She might as well be cooperative. She had nothing to lose except her sterling lesbian credentials. She waited at the table while he ran up the outside steps. She heard him bang on the door. Heard no response. He returned a few minutes later.

“Not home. I went in and looked around, but nothing jumped out at me. I’d like to come back with my partner.”

“No problem.”

He sat back down at the table. “Maybe you can fill me in on some background information. The passport we found indicated that Mr. Garrity lives in Istanbul. That right?” He removed a notepad from the inside suit-coat pocket.

“He’s here on a business trip—he buys and sells antiquities.”

Taylor made a few scratches on the pad. “You been in touch with him since the divorce?”

“We were only married a few months. We stayed friends for a while, but I haven’t heard from him or seen him in over twenty years. Not until he showed up at my restaurant on Wednesday afternoon.”

“Wednesday.” He thought about it, then nodded. “Did he give a reason for the sudden appearance?”

“Just said he was in town and wanted to say hi. I was surprised to see him after all these years, but he seemed like the same old Chess. He’s a friend, Sergeant. I have a hard time believing he’s a murderer.”

“That’s understandable. We’re just beginning our investigation.”

“Chess is gay. Apparently, his boyfriend here in town kicked him out. He was mugged coming out of a gay bar in downtown Minneapolis and showed up on my doorstep Wednesday night with scrapes on his face. I felt sorry for him.”

“The guy’s
gay
?” asked Taylor, giving her a quizzical look.

Jane was determined not to go there. Catching sight of movement out the dining room window, she rose from her chair. A cab was pulling up to the curb.

“There’s Chess,” she said, watching him get out and hand the driver some cash.

“Ask him to come inside.”

Jane crossed into the front hall and opened the door. “Hey, Chess,” she called, sounding friendly. “I need to talk to you for a sec.”

“Sure,” he called back, flashing her a smile. He breezed in through the door and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Hot day. What’s up?”

Taylor stepped out of the dining room, drawing his suit coat back to reveal his badge. “Sergeant Kevante Taylor, Mr. Garrity. We need to talk.”

Chess’s smile disappeared. He looked from Taylor to Jane and then back to Taylor. “What about?”

“You haven’t heard the news?” asked Jane.

“News?” repeated Chess, his expression growing wary.

“Do you know a man named Melvin Dial?” asked Taylor.

Chess hesitated, then shoved a hand in the pocket of his dress slacks. “Ah, yeah, I do. What about him?”

Jane read the hesitation, and the attempt at a casual gesture, as guilt. She figured Taylor did, too.

“His body was found in Minnehaha Park this morning.”

“Are you saying he’s dead?”

“They found your passport in the bushes, not far from the body,” said Jane. “He was murdered.”

Chess looked away. He appeared to be absorbing the shock, or trying to figure out what to say. “Are you here because you think I had something to do with it?”

“Can you explain how your passport ended up in the grass?” asked Taylor.