The Art of Love and Murder (15 page)

“Well, like I said, I found out the name of the collector. And if I can get hold of him, maybe he’ll have some answers.” She stared out the window. “I seem to be getting closer to my mother, Kaya, as I unravel some of the mystery around Muuyaw.”

A tight ping sounded somewhere inside. “Here we are.”

He jumped from his truck, intending on opening her door, but she’d already exited by the time he’d reached the front of the truck. She waited. He smiled and avoided touching her even though he had the notion she expected it as they strolled into the restaurant.

They sat in a corner booth and scanned the menu. After ordering mushroom burgers and iced tea, Lacy leaned her forearms on the scarred wooden top. “So, what can you tell me about Professor Sheffield?”

“My daughter takes his class. According to Jenny, rumors abound.” He related Jenny’s revelations about the professor.

Lacy looked amused.

“Yeah, may be college kids’ imaginations gone wild. Still, there’s the fact they called him in when Muuyaw’s sculptures were stolen. I know it was more as a consultant because he’s the expert. He gave little help, if I remember correctly.”

“Well,” she sighed and leaned back, arms across her lovely chest. “I guess I’ll have to meet the charming professor myself and see what I can weasel out of him.”

Chance held his comment while the waiter set the plates before them.

“Anything else, folks?”

He raised his brows in question; she shook her head, and he dismissed the young man. “My gut tells me the professor is more than he seems.”

Lacy swallowed her bite, brows raised. “Like what?”

“Not sure.” The ping in his chest tightened. He clenched his stomach muscles, then relaxed them in an effort to shake off the vision in a dark alley eight years ago. He stirred a French fry around the blob of catsup next to his burger. “Jenny’s story may seem like silly college myth, but some thread of truth spawned the tale. If he’s such a Muuyaw expert, so connected to her...” He dropped the fry and lifted his chin to regard Lacy.

He needed to protect her, and he wasn’t even sure from what.

The smile left her face; her green eyes still sparkled in spite of a slight frown across her forehead. “It’s more than Muuyaw for me now, Chance. I’ve been handed this partial vision of the mother I never knew—never cared about knowing. And now, I care. I want to squeeze out every bit I can about her. She’s real to me for the first time in my life.”

The glow on her face reflected her excitement. He wanted to be a part of that and help her. “Will you wait until I do some more digging?”

“I’ve already called him. I hope to see him tomorrow.”

“You haven’t set the meeting yet?”

“No, but—”

“Okay, then if he calls you, can you stall him?”

“Why are you playing sheriff with this? He’s a professor, an art collector, a respected man of the community. And he’s old.”

“His age doesn’t seem to be a factor.” He couldn’t help but snicker, considering Jenny’s tales of the college co-eds swooning over him.

“I need to talk to him, and if I can, see him face to face. He knew my mother, and... I have a theory.” She took a long drink of tea.

“What theory?”

“I think Muuyaw and my mother are the same person.” She popped a French fry in her mouth then picked up her hamburger. “If I’m right, this man has a load of information for me.”

Chance’s neck grew hot. His wariness pricked every hair on his body. Nothing fit together, and yet somehow everything related, including the murder of his wife. “Then let me go with you to see him.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she hurriedly swallowed her food. “Are you serious?”

“Of course.” He set his jaw.

“No, Chance. How forthcoming do you think he’d be with the Coconino County sheriff breathing down his neck?”

“If he has nothing to hide, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Give me a break. He’s timid about people knowing he’s hoarding Muuyaw’s art. He had an affair with my mother. You’re already associated with a theft and murder that he was contacted about. How the hell would he feel relaxed?”

“I’m not worried about his comfort zone.”

“Well, I am.” She flicked her gaze over his face, pushed her plate aside and touched his fisted hand. “I really
do
appreciate your concern.”

Her fingers glided over his knuckles, and he felt the tingle all along his arm as his hand relaxed.

“This isn’t eight years ago. No one is in danger. I’m meeting with a respected professor that knew my mother. My mother, Chance. She was important to him, most likely. He’ll want to talk to me. I just know it.” Her hand slid back to her side of the table.

He flinched with the desire to clutch her hand back in his. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around three fries. She smiled, and he thought of the kiss in her hotel room. He filled his mouth with the potatoes and nodded his head. If he hoped to keep this professional, then he had to back off and not insist she do things his way. That didn’t make him feel any better.

“I’ll let you know what happens.” She took another bite of her hamburger. “Promise.”

Again, he merely nodded, not trusting himself to listen to his brain instead of his heart.

She pushed her plate aside as the waiter came to the table. “I’m finished.”

He did the same although he’d barely touched his food. “I’ll take the check.” He stood, plopped the cash on the bill. “Shall we go?”

The serious expression on her face and the shrug of her shoulders relayed her hesitancy in ending their meeting. He followed close behind her out the door and to the truck. This time, his hand reached the handle before her. When he held the door open, she faced him close enough to breathe in her warm patchouli-rose scent and see the variegated yellow and green of her eyes. He couldn’t move, clenched his thigh muscles and willed his body not to react.

“I have no plans for the rest of the evening. Would you like to have a drink in the Rendezvous?”

“I...ah...can’t. Jenny is...ah...expecting me.” He looked to the skies and back to her. She wouldn’t let him off so easy. “Lacy, I’m trying real hard to keep this professional.”

“Keep what professional, Chance?”

“Lacy—”

“I just thought it would be nice to have a drink. I’ve got nothing to do the rest of the evening except wait for a phone call. But I understand, you have...a life.” She hoisted onto the seat and pulled the door shut from his loose grip.

He meandered around the back of the truck, not wanting to come into visual contact with her for the few moments it took to reach his side. If only he could have a drink with her, follow her to her room and climb into her bed. Satisfy both of them. But it wouldn’t. How could it? She deserved more. And he couldn’t give her any more than that.

They rode silently until the Grand View Hotel came into view, and as if on cue, they spoke each other’s name at the same time.

She laughed; he shrugged.

“You might not be able to have a drink tonight, Sheriff Meadowlark, but tomorrow, after I speak to the professor, I’ll call you.”

He pulled the jeep next to her Z4, let the engine idle and half-turned toward her. “I wish...”

She raised her hand. “I have wishes, too. Let’s talk tomorrow.” She didn’t wait for his reply, but bolted and shut the door. With a wave and a smile, she rounded her car and entered the hotel.

His heart beat a rapid thump against his chest. The woman wouldn’t be avoided. He didn’t know whether to be glad or annoyed.

Easing out into traffic, he smiled. Tomorrow.

****

The remote control airplane skimmed the air above his head, fifty feet out. Myles worked the controls, a steep climb and a sharp nosedive, while the exaltation of owning the action charged his ego.

Kaya glided beside him, stroked his arm and cooed in his ear. “Let me try, Myles.”

“No, darling. I’m the master. Stay back.”

“But, Myles—”

“No.”

She darted from his side as the sky grew dark.

“Kaya, no!”

A high-pitched ring pierced the clouds. The plane dove, erratically zigzagging as Kaya reached up and collided, sending the plane and her body crashing to earth.

Myles screamed. His arms flailed, knocking his teacup to the carpet, and he sat up gasping. He grabbed his heaving chest, glanced at the teacup beneath his feet then to the ringing phone. With deep gulps of air, he calmed his beating heart as the telephone went silent. He brought his wristwatch close to his face. Not yet seven. He must have dozed off while watching the news. His stomach churned—maybe from dinner or maybe from his disturbing dream.

After blotting the tea from the carpet, he lifted the receiver. Hesitantly, he retrieved his voice mail. Her voice. Again. He slammed down the phone without listening to the full message.

On shaky legs, his feet stumble-stepped back to the sofa, and he fell into the cushions. With head in hands, the chill washed over him and the feared desire consumed him. He hugged his body and rocked until the chill lessened. The child was here, now a woman with the voice of Kaya. Would she possess her spark, the spark that lit his world?

There was only one way to find out.

Chapter Eight

The room phone rang, a foreign and momentarily confusing sound. Lacy’s heart skipped a beat. Chance? She kicked the covers off and leapt out of bed and over to the small desk in the corner of the room.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Dahl, John Archibald here.”

“Good morning, Mr. Archibald.” She couldn’t help the sigh of disappointment slowing her heart rate.

“I hope I haven’t called too early. The morning is busy, and the day can get away from me. I imagine you’ll be out soon, er, having breakfast or on appointments.”

“No, that’s fine.” She pulled back the curtain and squinted at the bright morning sun. “I should be out running by now. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, you’re a runner. Should’ve known. You’re obviously fit.”

“Gets my heart going for the day.” And she needed him to get on with his point so she could get on with her day.

“Well, I won’t keep you. Wondering if you sent for the intriguing chest I saw the picture of yesterday.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I’m expecting it this morning.”

“Good, good. This morning, you say. You’ll bring it around when it arrives? No need to call ahead.”

“I will, although I’m not sure when today. I have an appointment this morning.” Or hoped she would with the professor. “I’m not sure how the chest is of any use to you.”

“Well, Ms. Dahl, the connection between Muuyaw and your mother...I’m certain I’ll have more information later today. The chest may hold a clue.”

“A clue? What kind of clue?” She glanced at the khaki bag, open on the corner of the desk.

He chuckled, the sound of nervous mirth. “Oh that’s just museum-speak. Let’s have a look at it for sure.” He cleared his throat. “Is it definitely arriving this morning?”

“That’s the promise.”

“You know how to reach me. I look forward to seeing you. Goodbye, Ms. Dahl.”

Lacy cradled the receiver, stretched her arms toward the ceiling and yawned. His attempt to create a fog of mystery was about as murky as cellophane. Could Muuyaw and Kaya be one and the same? Archibald thought so. Why be so evasive?

She dialed the front desk.

“Front...just a moment. Front desk. Can you hold a moment please?” The man’s voice didn’t wait for a reply.

Lacy pulled the edge of the curtain back farther while she waited. In a perfectly clear sky, the sun glared and reflected off the shop windows. Her legs twitched for a run, while her stomach raised the question of breakfast.

“Sorry. How can I help you?”

“This is Lacy Dahl in room two eighteen.”

“Yes, Ms. Dahl. How can I … yeah, just a minute. How can I help you?”

“I’m expecting a package this morning. Just wanted to alert you.”

“Sure. We’ll keep it.” Voices in the background drew him away as his last word wasn’t spoken into the phone.

Rude. If he were her employee at the Lacy Latte, he wouldn’t last long.

She stripped out of her pajamas and tossed them on the bed. She should call Hazel today, see how life at the coffee café moved along. She retrieved her running clothes from the back of the desk chair and shimmied into snug leggings and tee. The café would be fine, and for the first time in three years, something else felt more important.

A half-hour later, her strides were long as she jogged on her return trip to the hotel.

She thought of calling the professor again when her phone vibrated against her hip. She pulled up, caught her breath and answered. “Hello.”

“Ms. Dahl? This is Professor Sheffield.”

“Professor Sheffield. Thank you for calling me back.” She moved to the edge of the sidewalk, took another deep breath and rolled her shoulders. Near the end of her run, still a touch breathless, she stretched side to side and did three half squats as a quick cool down. “I wasn’t sure you’d get my message, yesterday being Sunday and all. I hope I haven’t pestered you too many times with my phone calls.”

“I understand you have some interest in Muuyaw’s sculptures.”

“I do.” She lifted one foot then the other in nervous excitement. “I have some sketches I hoped you might have the time to look at.” Her phone clicked in her ear—someone trying to call in.

“I’d be most happy to. Are you available this morning? Say ten o’clock?”

A couple passed by her and she smiled. “Sure. Would you like to meet somewhere?”

“Would you mind coming to my home? I have some things you might like to see.”

“Of course.”
Yes!
Her fist pumped at her side, and she bit her bottom lip.

“Let me give you directions.”

“All I need is an address. I have a GPS.” Lacy repeated the address twice and hung up.

The elusive collector wasn’t so unapproachable after all. Now she could get to the bottom of how her mother and Muuyaw were connected. And if all went well, the sketches would be Muuyaw’s and worth something for August.

Before the phone made it back to her pocket, the vibration tickled her palm.
August.