Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set (78 page)

“
No. This was an art heist,” he said. “Three galleries were robbed that night. All evidence so far supports the theory that Glenn tried to stop the thief and was shot for interfering. The only eyewitness to the crime thinks he saw someone exit the Fleming gallery around the time a gunshot was heard, but he couldn't describe the person or the car he was driving. Our best bet is to wait for one of the stolen paintings to surface so we can trace it back to a suspect. Either that, or a gun shows up that matches the bullet found in Mr. Fleming's body.”

“
How about the medical examiner's report? Could I have a copy of that?”

“
I'm sorry,” he said. “You know how this works.” After a long pause, Detective James cleared his throat. “Do you have a lead, Sarah?”

“
No. Nothing solid. I've been focused on Glenn's gambling, thinking he got messed up in some kind of bad deals, but there's no proof to support that.”

“
I see. Well if you do come across anything, you need to call me, all right?”

“
Of course. I know the rules.”

After my phone conversation with the detective, I got dressed in my usual black jeans, cotton sweater, and sneakers, slapped on some make-up, brushed my hair, and assessed my grey roots. Something had to be done. I made a mental note to pick up some hair dye at the drug store as I grabbed a baseball cap. The outside temperature was mild so I opted for a light nylon jacket instead of my suede coat. I gathered the file together, stuffed it into my bag, and left my apartment by eleven-thirty.

* * *

When I walked into Sambuca's at noon, an older woman of about sixty stood behind the counter, serving a customer. Most of the stools were already occupied with a bevy of interesting-looking characters.

I walked to the end of the bar and got the woman's attention. “Excuse me. Is Chloe working today?”

The woman shook her head with exasperation. “That little witch quit this morning.”

“
She quit?”

The woman chuckled. “Yep. On a Saturday of all days. I could wring her neck.”

“
Did she say why?”

“
Nope. But if you talk to her, let her know she's not welcome back.”

I could tell the woman had her hands full, so I thanked her and left.

I decided to stop by the Fleming gallery to see if Elizabeth was around. The door was open and I could see her in there, seemingly trying to get her husband's business affairs in order. Several paintings were lying on the floor, others propped against the walls. Her auburn hair seemed even brighter as the sunlight glistened off her red curls.

I knocked softly on the doorframe so as not to startle her. “Hello?”

At the sound of my voice, she looked up and removed her eyeglasses. “Oh, hello Sarah. Come on in.”

“
So you've decided to sell the gallery?” I asked.

“
It's been a difficult decision but I'm going to move in with my daughter in California. I have so much work to do here before I can leave. I'm in the process of calling each of the artists with works on consignment to let them know. I've decided to auction off the rest.” She took a breath and looked around. “So where is Carter today?”

“
He got called away on some personal business. He should be back in a day or two.”

“
Do you have any new information?”

“
That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“
Let's go outside and sit on the patio.” She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. “I need a break from all this. A little fresh air would do me good.”

Outside the gallery was a small picnic table, a few potted plants, and a metal sculpture of a horse. The sun was shining, its warmth a reminder that summer was on the way.

Once we got settled, Elizabeth placed her hands in her lap, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled. Her eyes focused intently on me. “Okay. Tell me what you found out.”

“
Carter and I went over to Sambuca's yesterday. Chloe was there. She's a bartender. When we asked her about Glenn, she got real weird. She claims she never met him.”

“
Do you believe her?”

“
No. I stopped by Sambuca's again just before I got here. Chloe had just quit her job.”

“
Can't you find her address and go visit her at home?”

“
Yes,” I said. “If that's what you want me to do.”

“
Do you think Glenn was sleeping with her?”

“
My gut says no, but she definitely knows something. I'm just not sure if it has to do with Glenn's death. We must have spooked her when Carter and I approached her. Why else would she have quit her job?”

“
What if you find her and she still won't talk?”

I paused. “I could offer her some cash in exchange for information. I've done that kind of thing before.”

“
Like how much money?”

“
Maybe a hundred bucks,” I said. “Depends on what you're willing to spend. I mean, it doesn't always work, but people are usually motivated by cash.”

“
If you think it might work, I'll agree to it.”

“
Okay. I'll try to get the information the old-fashioned way first.”

“
Which is how?” she asked.

“
Threats, lies … you know, basic intimidation methods.”

She offered a weak smile when she realized I was joking.

“
How are you holding up?” I asked her.

“
Some days are better than others. It helps to stay busy.”

“
Well, I should let you get back to it,” I said.

“
By the way,” she said. “Did I ever mention to you that Glenn was an artist himself back in his college years?”

“
Glenn's friend, Dom Bristol mentioned it to us. Do you approve of his work?”

“
He never wanted to show it to me. I think he was embarrassed for some reason. Well, yesterday when I was going through his things, I found a box in the storage closet with about two dozen unframed oil paintings Glenn had done. All of the same girl.”

“
Any idea who the girl is supposed to be?”

“
Only person I can think of is Glenn's sister. She looks about nine or ten years old in the portraits. Glenn told me his sister died at that age.”

Goosebumps broke out all over my arms. “Wow, his sister's death really must have affected him in a profound way. May I see the paintings?”

“
Of course. Come on back inside,” Elizabeth said, getting to her feet. “I'll show you. And there's something else I found in the box along with the portraits.”

I followed Elizabeth through the main gallery to the storage room. The portraits were lined up on a table. I was immediately transfixed by them. The bold colors and the heavy brush strokes jumped off the canvas and grabbed me. I walked closer to examine them. Each painting was different, but the girl always wore a sad expression, her brown hair braided into pigtails. Green eyes and rosy cheeks, but never a smile. “I wonder why he captured her that way. She doesn't seem very happy.”

“
I don't know. Perhaps it's a mirror reflecting how he felt inside over losing her. I wish he would have talked to me about it. I don't understand how he could keep it bottled up for so long. But anyway, here's what I wanted to show you.”

She handed me what appeared to be a handwritten note. “What is it?” I asked.

“
A letter from Glenn's mother. The date on the top is January second of this year.”

“
You said his parents were dead.”

“
That's what he told me,” she said. “Go ahead and read it.”

Dear Glenn,

It's been twenty-five years. I can't believe how quickly time has gone by. I hope this letter finds you well. I have no idea if you have received my other letters, but I figured I'd try one last time.

I regret to inform you that your father passed away this week from a heart attack. He was outside shoveling snow – you know how the Chicago winters can be. I'm sure New Hampshire gets a fair amount as well. We plan to have a memorial at the church with friends and relatives next weekend, and I hope you will consider making a trip out. I tried calling the last number I had for you, but it was no longer in service.

I pray that you will be able to set your emotions aside for a few days to attend his funeral. It would mean the world to me, and to your father who now looks down from Heaven. Please, dear, I need you.

I love you with all my heart, and hope to see you next week. You are always welcome to stay with me anytime.

Mom xoxo

When I finished reading, I looked at Elizabeth. “Did Glenn end up going to the funeral?”

“
No. He never went on a trip in January. In fact, since I've known him, he's never gone away by himself anywhere. He told me his parents were dead. Had I known about this I would have insisted that we go. I don't care what happened in the past. Glenn would have benefitted from the closure. I'm sure of it.”

“
It's obvious he didn't want to share his past with anyone,” I said. “Was there an envelope this letter came in?”

“
Yes.” She handed it to me. “I was thinking of writing her back, but … I don't know what to do. She has a right to know that her son is dead.”

“
I can find out what her phone number is by using her address. Would you like me to call her for you?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. I mean, I should be the one to call her, but I'm afraid I would be a blubbering mess. I don't think I'm strong enough.”

“
I understand. I'll break the news to her – as gently as I can.”

“
Sarah, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“
Not at all.”

“
Has anyone close to you passed away?”

“
Yes. I lost my mother to cancer.”

“
Then you must understand loss and how it changes you.”

I nodded and swallowed, my gut clenched. “Yes. It absolutely changes you.”

“
I know I'm not the only person in the world to lose a loved one, but it
feels
like I am. Like I'm so alone in my grief that no one could possibly fathom the depths of my despair. Have you ever felt that way?”

“
Yes.”

“
Does it ever go away? Does it ever get easier? Will I ever feel normal again?”

“
If there's one thing I've learned about life … there's no such thing as normal. But trust me, you learn to live with it.”

“
Yes,” she said. “For the sake of my daughter and grandchild, what other choice do I have?”

* * *

While walking back to my car, I noticed it was almost noon and my stomach was growling. I stopped to get a smoothie for lunch, slurped it down, then sat in my car examining the file on Chloe Goodwin. Carter had written her address in his chicken-scratch handwriting, which I could barely read. My first instinct was to call him, but I decided it wasn't a good idea. Whatever business he was attending to was evidently more important.

By 12:30 I was on the road to Chloe's place.

Eight minutes later I arrived at a sketchy-looking apartment building in the not-so-posh area of town. Did Chloe live by herself? I had no idea what to expect, or if she'd even talk to me.

I parked my Toyota across the street and sat there for a few minutes, assessing the neighborhood. There were three nondescript, four-story apartment houses in a row with balconies on each floor. Most of them were littered with toys, folding chairs, and withering potted plants. I noticed a rusty scooter parked on the lawn at Chloe's address, the leather seat torn and faded.

Across the street was another set of buildings containing offices: a lawyer, a CPA, and a dentist. Further down the road was a park with a dilapidated swing set and monkey bars. I kept my eye on Chloe's place, 2C, on the third floor of the middle apartment building.

I checked to make sure I had all the necessary accoutrements I usually stored in my pocketbook: cell phone, pepper spray, notebook and pen, and a pocketknife. I exited my car, crossed the street, and headed up the stairs. Once I was on the third floor I approached the door and knocked, all the while paying close attention to my surroundings.

I could hear the T.V. on inside, but no one answered the door. I knocked again and tried to peer through the window, but a dense curtain blocked my view.

I finally heard a click. The door opened about an inch and I caught a glimpse of a shirtless man with a shaved head. “Who are you?”