The Fine Art of Murder (3 page)

I’d started my day planning to indulge in a leisurely lunch, but after rushing out of the Pierce Gallery, I felt too keyed up to relax. Now all I wanted was to just get some food in my stomach. When I spotted a place on the corner, I steered the Cherokee toward the drive-in window. After paying for my order, I parked in a spot that would afford me some good people-watching time.

Halfway through my cheeseburger, I realized I hadn’t recognized any of the faces passing by. And as I finished the last fry, it dawned on me that once upon a time, a pet store had been on this corner.

If you want to really see how much a place has changed, leave it for a while. If you’ve lived on the same street in the same town for most of your life, change happens very slowly. A house you drive by every day is just part of the landscape. Over time, it slowly deteriorates, its occupants move out, the fence falls down. Each day, it’s taking up less space. One day a construction crew shows up out front, and maybe
one of their trucks catches your attention. But within a few days, their presence is expected and taken for granted. All this happens over the course of a month or year. Finally, there’s only a vacant lot, spotted with two industrial-size dumpsters and some workers cleaning up the mess. That takes a few more weeks. And now when you drive by, you’ve been conditioned to not expect to see the house anymore. Soon you can’t remember that it was even there.

Now imagine you’ve been away for a few years. You drive by the old neighborhood expecting to see the Johnson house that’s forever fixed in your childhood memories. But now it’s gone. Just vanished overnight. And you’re stunned.

***

It was a chilly afternoon, but the sun was bright and warmed my face as I drove down streets I’d traveled most of my life. Checking the clock in the dashboard, I realized there was still plenty of time to get my hair cut before the kids got home from school.

I’d gone to The Beauty Mark and taken Lizzie there for years. It was owned and operated by a high school friend of mine, Margaret Ann Wilson. After graduation, we had gone to Minneapolis to finish our educations—she to cosmetology school and I to the police academy. As soon as Margaret Ann completed her training, she rented a storefront, hired a decorator, and set up shop.

The Beauty Mark was elegant yet comfortable. There were three kinds of coffee available to customers, fresh pastries, and the latest issues of all the best magazines. The girls
who worked there were constantly going to beauty shows to learn the latest styles and cuts. As I got closer to the salon, I was eager to see my friend and hear the latest gossip.

But when I turned down the familiar street, I could see the façade of the small building had been transformed into a Fabulous Cuts. The large flowerpots, normally brimming over with seasonal plants, were gone. And I was not only surprised but a little hurt that Margaret Ann hadn’t told me about this big change in her life. We used to share everything.

I hesitated for a minute. My hair only needed a slight trim; it wouldn’t take that long. And I was right in front of the place. So I parked in front of the bushel of balloons that decorated the storefront and locked the car.

As I pushed the door open, I just hoped something would look familiar. The walls had been covered with celebrity head shots; the black and white movie stills that used to hang there were gone. The spot where the coffee station had been was now taken up with shelves of products: shampoos, conditioners, thickeners, and sprays.

“Katherine Sullivan! Is that you?”

There she sat, behind the receptionist’s desk.

“Margaret Ann Wilson!” As I walked over to her, she ran out from behind the desk and hugged me.

“I haven’t seen you since your retirement party. Last I heard from Lizzie, you were living in the Southwest.”

“For now,” I said. “And the last time I saw you this place was still The Mark. What happened?”

“One sweet deal is what happened. The location is perfect and our clients are loyal. After a few meetings, we came up
with a price with the stipulation that I still manage the shop. It’s all good.”

Her joy was contagious, and I smiled with her. “I’m so glad it all worked out for you.”

“So is this a social or professional visit?” she asked.

“Professional.”

“Well set your fanny down and let’s see what we can do.”

While my hair got washed, dried, and trimmed, Margaret Ann chattered away, filling me in on all the local news. Throughout our conversation, one name kept coming up: Dean Bostwick, the man who’d replaced me as chief of police.

“That son-of-a-you-know-what, always telling anyone who’d listen that you were too old for the job. We all hated him, Kate. You know we were always on your side, right?”

“Oh, there weren’t any sides to be on. He was a good cop and deserved the promotion.”

“And you’re still so nice, even after all the hell he put you through. I’m surprised Sully never took a swing at him.”

I laughed. “He wanted to but I’ve always been able to fight my own battles.”

“You certainly have.”

“Have you checked out the Pierce Art Gallery? I just came from there.”

Margaret Ann stopped trimming my hair. Standing back, she said, “Not my scene, but since you mentioned the Pierce family, do you know who’s in town?”

“Other than Randolph?”

“Jacqueline—she’s such a pathetic, crazy lady. Reminds me of Gloria Swanson in that old movie
Sunset Boulevard
. She
gives me the creeps walking around town in that mangy coat of hers, all made up like she’s going out on the town instead of just to the drug store.”

“Remember when she was married to that producer; they lived in Hollywood next to Jimmy Stewart? Her picture was always in the society pages, showing her at some premiere or Washington fundraiser. She was so delicate, so glamorous . . . and rich.”

Margaret nodded. “I remember reading something about an actor drowning in her swimming pool when she was living in Rome.”

“That would have been her fourth husband.”

“But she always had Randy, her favorite nephew,” she said.

“The two last surviving members of the Pierce family.”

Jacqueline’s father had died years before. He always blamed her for the death of her younger brother, Leland. Marshall Senior was horrible to everyone, but Jackie got the worst of it.

After another ten minutes, she put her scissors down. “There, how’s that?”

I looked myself over. “Perfect.”

“Do you color your hair? There’s not a speck of grey that I could see. You must do something.”

“For Redheads Only, number two-oh-five, crimson sunset.” I shrugged, “It keeps me young and costs a lot less than a facelift would.”

“Don’t you ever go under the knife!” she commanded. “You’ve always been a knockout, Kate, and always will be. You’re just one of those natural beauties that make the rest of us look bad.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to feel sorry for the successful business woman? The same person who was head cheerleader? The homecoming queen? Miss Teen Minnesota? Get real.”

After we got done stroking each other’s egos, I took out my wallet.

“Oh no, you don’t. It’s on the house.”

“And I’ll take it.” I laughed. “Thanks.”

We promised to be better with phone calls and texts. She told me she’d try to come out and visit me before winter. But we both knew she never traveled outside her home state.

***

I was putting a chicken and rice casserole in the oven when I heard the kids come in the front door.

“How was school?” I asked.

Chloe stuck out that bottom lip of hers. “It sucked. Jennifer thinks she’s all that, just because she’s got a stupid boyfriend. All she ever talks about is that lame-oh nerd.”

Cameron shrugged.

I walked over to Chloe and smoothed her hair. “Well, you’re going to have plenty of boyfriends, luv, you’ll see.”

“But I don’t have one now. And even if I did, I couldn’t talk to him on account of I don’t even have a phone.” She shot me a dirty look but didn’t move away from my touch.

No matter how angry she got, I had to stay strong. So I acted as though her bad mood was having no effect on me. “I made chicken and rice for dinner.”

Cameron hugged me. “Thanks, Grammy.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Do you have homework?”

“I did it in study hall,” he said.

“How long ’til we eat?” Chloe asked, separating herself from me and her brother.

“About an hour.”

“I’ll watch TV now and do homework later”

As she bolted out of the room, I called after her. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Whatevs,” she said under her breath.

“Sisters are very complicated,” Cameron said.

“I hear that,” I said. Then, noticing the sketch pad sticking out of his backpack, I asked, “Can I see what you’re working on?”

He took out the pad and laid it on the table. “Let me get rid of this,” he said holding up his backpack. Then he went to his bedroom.

My grandson and I had spent many hours together drawing. I’d learned early on that it was the best way to get him to open up to me. It was his comfort zone, and I hoped that he would always have it and that it would always be something that we could share.

When he pulled out a chair, I sat down on the one next to it. After he got comfortable, he flipped the notebook open.

“Wow, so you’re into pencil now. Last time I was here, it was colored markers. Big bold pictures with lots of super heroes.”

He nodded. “That was years ago, when I was a baby.”

It was only last winter, but who was I to argue?

I held the picture closer, admiring the extraordinary details he’d obviously worked on for hours. “It looks just
like this kitchen. Every tile in the floor, so exact. You have a remarkable sense of proportion, Cam. I can read the labels on every spice jar in the rack on the wall. It’s almost like a photograph. You have all the cabinets and knobs, every magnet on the refrigerator. Do you realize how talented you are?”

He looked up at me, and when our eyes met, he smiled. It was a glorious moment to feel so connected to him.

“But what’s up with the ceiling?” I asked, scrutinizing the sketch again. “Why does it have birds and branches on it?”

“It’s a convertible ceiling, like in Dad’s car. You can open it up and see the sky and trees that hang over the roof.”

“What made you think of that?”

“I wanted it to be easier for Dad to come see us. He’s always so busy, on a plane going somewhere else. I just thought if he looked down and saw all of us inside, waiting for him, that he’d want to come here more. And maybe if he saw how much we miss him, he’d never want to leave.”

My heart was breaking as I realized how much the divorce was affecting him. “I think that’s a great idea. Maybe every house should have a convertible ceiling.” I tried lightening his mood but it wasn’t working.

“It would also make it easier for him to fly away when he’s done with us.”

I leaned over and hugged him. “Your father will never be done with you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I guess. But it still makes me feel bad.”

“Do you and Chloe ever go visit him?” I asked.

“Sometimes. But his apartment’s real small and we don’t have our stuff there.”

“Maybe, when you’re older, you can go on a trip with him. That would be exciting, wouldn’t it? You’d always have your mom here at home, making sure your things are safe in your room. And she’d always be here to welcome you back. But you’d also have a dad who takes you on adventures. Maybe a safari in Africa, or a boat ride down the Nile. That way you’d have the best of both worlds.”

Cam shook his head. “He doesn’t like me sometimes. I can tell. He wouldn’t want to take me on any kind of trip.”

“Oh, that isn’t true.” I wanted to cry but kept a stupid smile plastered across my face. “Why would you think such a thing? Has he ever told you that?”

“He doesn’t have to. I can feel it.”

Cam had always been the quietest kid in any room and the most sensitive one.

All I could do was hug him tighter.

“You know your father loves you and Chloe to pieces. He’s just not like you and me. He’s a very practical, serious man. He has to know procedures and medicines . . . lots to remember. It’s all very important work. If he messes up, his patient might die. Not like us artists. If we mess up, we can just paint over our mistakes or erase them.”

He sat up and smiled. “I know. But, Grammy, why does everything have to change?”

“You know, Cam, I was wondering about change myself today. It’s never easy, is it?”

Both kids were quiet during dinner. Cameron was quiet because that was his nature and Chloe because she was thirteen and still angry with me. I tried several times to start a conversation but got nowhere. After the dishes were cleared away and I brought out the chocolate cake, I finally got a reaction. Chocolate is a happy food—it’s a scientific fact.

In spite of herself, Chloe smiled as she licked icing off her fingers and Cameron told us about a baking show he liked to watch on the Food Network. But when the treat was gone, so were their sunny moods.

Cameron took his dish to the sink. “I’m going to my room now, okay Grammy?”

“Sure, honey. Your mom said you go to bed at nine. I’ll be in to say good-night.”

“Okay.” He left the room.

“Dinner was good, Grandma, thanks.” When Chloe started toward her bedroom, I stopped her.

“Come sit with me. We haven’t had a chance to visit—just the two of us.” As I expected, she heaved a heavy sigh and slowly, grudgingly walked back to the kitchen.

I smiled, acting as though I hadn’t noticed her demeanor, and patted the chair next to me.

She threw herself down on the seat. “Will this take long? I have homework.”

“Do you know what I was thinking on the flight here?”

“No,” she said, staring down at her shoes, kicking her feet back and forth.

“I was wondering, what can I do to make Chloe miserable? What can I say to make her really mad at me? And I tried to think of something horrible but—”

“I don’t hate you,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

“Darn. I must be losing it.” I made a serious face and pretended to be upset with myself. “Guess I’ll have to try harder. ’Cause my only reason for visiting you and your brother and mother is to make all of you thoroughly miserable. And when the three of you are unhappy, I’m good.”

She finally looked up, and the confusion in her eyes was delicious to see. Now maybe we could have a real conversation.

“Why would you want to make us all miserable?” she asked.

“Have I ever done anything intentionally to be mean to you? Ever?”

The arrogance was gone now and she answered in a tiny voice. “No . . . never.”

“So why would I start now?”

“But you took my phone. Daddy gave me that phone—it’s mine.”

“Is that the only thing he’s ever given you?” I asked. “You mean to tell me he’s never given you presents for your birthday or Christmas? What about Easter and Valentine’s Day? Nothing?”

“That was before—when he lived with us. The phone was the first thing he gave me when he moved away. It’s special ’cause he bought it just for me, so we can talk or text—whenever.”

“So if I looked up the call history on that phone, the only number I’d find would be your dad’s, right?”

“Well . . . and maybe some friends. But you can check, Grandma. I call Dad every day, swear.”

“I’m not going to check up on you, Chloe. I trust you.” I held my arms open. She didn’t come to me, as I’d hoped, but she started to cry.

“I know you’d never hurt me. But I used to think Mom and Daddy wouldn’t either. Now he’s far away taking care of all the sick people in the world, leaving me alone here. I’m just so mad at him!”

“You’re not alone, sweetie. You have your mom and your big brother.”

Chloe straightened up, swiping at her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Mom’s never here anymore. Not since she got all involved with her
important
work. All she cares about is helping other kids and their mothers. And if she isn’t worried about some strangers, she’s worried about Cam. I know he’s got Asperger’s, everyone knows, that’s all she talks about.
But he gets good grades—better than mine. It’s not like he’s gonna die or anything.”

“You feel left out,” I said.

She nodded. “Majorly.”

“Have you told Mom any of this?”

“I try. But sometimes I think she’d like me better if I was sick. Then maybe I’d be important like those other kids.”

“Come on, you know that isn’t true. Don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

I leaned back and studied my sweet Chloe girl. “You know, you’re strong and fearless like all the women in this family are. You can accomplish anything. I never give up, your mom’s always been a fighter, and you’re just like her. But along with the good comes the bad. It isn’t easy being us.”

“What’s the bad part?” she asked.

“People just assume we don’t need help because we don’t ask for it. So they move on to someone they think needs them more than we do. But they’re wrong. People like us do need help, just in smaller doses. And we get afraid like everyone else but try not to show it.”

“Mom’s not afraid of anything,” Chloe grumbled.

“See? Because she tries to stay strong for you and your brother, you assume she doesn’t need your kindness. But she does.”

“What about me?” she asked. “Maybe we’d all be better off if I just went to live with Daddy.”

“Didn’t you just tell me he’s hardly ever home?”

She thought about that a moment.

“And his apartment’s small. All your stuff’s here, right?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Look, Chloe, it doesn’t matter where you live; you’re always going to be a member of this family. You’re always going to have a brother and a mother and father. A different address won’t change a thing.”

“But . . . I think it would be cool.”

“Maybe you’re right. A girl like you wouldn’t have trouble fitting in at a new school, I guess. You’ve always been good at making friends. And when your dad’s out of town, you’re old enough to cook for yourself, clean the apartment, and do the laundry . . .”

That did it. Her eyes grew bigger with each challenge I threw at her.

“I’m only thirteen; I can’t live by myself.”

“But you’re so miserable here,” I said.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Why don’t you have a nice long talk with your mother? I bet she doesn’t even know how her work makes you feel.”

“Could you?”

“No prob. Now why don’t you go do your homework?”

Chloe stood up and walked over to me. “You’re cool, Grandma.”

“I try.”

***

I was watching the news when Lizzie got home a little after ten. I’d left a place set for her at the kitchen table and
went to heat up the leftovers from dinner after she hung up her coat.

“So how was your day?” I asked, pouring myself a glass of wine.

“Exhausting. I don’t know how you did it for all those years, Mother. A woman came in this afternoon with her three children—all under the age of five. Her husband locked her in everyday before he went to work, and today she’d had enough, so she grabbed the kids and ran. She has no money, no place to live.”

I took her plate out of the microwave. “So what happened?”

“We coordinate with several shelters but it’s hard finding a place that will take the kids, too. My assistant Josh and I worked for hours, making calls. All the time she’s hysterical that the bastard will find her. I kept assuring her she was safe. And just when we’re getting in the car to move her, she decides to go back home.”

“She wasn’t ready,” I said.

“It’s so frustrating. I’ll never understand—”

“—It’s not your job to understand her; you’re not a therapist, Lizzie. All you can do is be there when she’s ready.” I walked to the table with her food and my wine.

“I know. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“It certainly does not.”

Lizzie started to eat while I sat down. “So what’s been going on here?” she asked.

I told her about my conversations with Chloe and Cameron. At first, she just listened and nodded. But after she heard that Chloe was thinking about moving in with Tom, she
got defensive. By the time I was finished, she admitted that she should slow down a bit and spend more time with both of them.

“Do you have room for dessert?” I asked when her plate was clean.

“Please say there’s chocolate cake with double chocolate icing.”

“Do I know my daughter or what?” I got up to cut her a slice.

“You’re an angel.” Lizzie sat back and relaxed her shoulders. “So, tell me what you did before the kids got home, besides getting your hair cut. It looks great, by the way. I’m guessing you went to The Mark.”

“How come you never mentioned, not one single time, during any of our many conversations, that the place is now a Fabulous Cuts?”

“Oh, it’s basically the same. Margaret Ann still runs the show.”

“And she still looks great. Once a beauty queen, always a beauty queen, I guess.”

We laughed.

“Talking about looking the same, I went to the Pierce Gallery this morning. Randolph was there. He’s still as handsome as ever.”

“What did you think of the place?” she asked.

“I was expecting something more traditional, but I liked it. And you were right; he does seem more down to earth. His assistant is cute.”

“So you met the beautiful and oh-so-talented Stacey? I thought she spent most of her valuable time at the mansion.”

Was I detecting a hint of jealousy? “Not today, I guess.”

“What did you and Randy talk about?”

“New York, the gallery . . . stuff like that. But then he got a phone call and needed privacy, so he scurried off to a corner. Which was weird considering he has an office and it was obviously a personal call.”

“What made you think it was personal?”

“Well one minute he’s charming, going on and on about his new outlook on life. Happy and relaxed. Then he gets that call and turns into a maniac. He’s shouting, waving his arms, telling someone to stop nagging him.”

“Randy’s always been . . . eccentric,” Lizzie said, concentrating on the last few bites of her cake.

“But why didn’t he just go in the back? He obviously knew who the caller was; I saw him check the screen before he answered the phone. There were other customers in the gallery, and he didn’t seem to care if he was making a scene. Why would he—”

“Mother,” Lizzie put down her fork. “What do you care? You’re retired now; stop analyzing every situation.”

Her remark irritated me, but before I could say anything in response, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” I said, hoping to walk off my anger.

I looked through the peephole. Standing on the other side of the door was Nathan Walker, Sully’s former partner and one of my closest friends.

“Nathan!” I said as I opened the door. “What a surprise.”

“Kathy!” He rushed forward and gave me a big hug.

“What are you doing here so late?”

“I was hoping you were up. There’s been a murder at the Pierce estate.”