Still Life: The Randi Lassiter Series, Book 1 (21 page)

Chapter Fifty

The sun streamed in through the bedroom window and warmed Randi’s face. It felt good for a few minutes and then became an irritation. She rolled over to escape the light.

She was conscious of Jon’s strong arm tightening around her waist as she moved. He pulled her in close to spoon and she was suddenly aware of his erect state. Without thinking she pushed her backside up against him and was rewarded with a pleasurable moan. She smiled sleepily.

“Mmm…good morning.” Jon’s voice rumbled in her ear.

His breath tickled her neck and sent shivers over her body and she moaned in return.

He smoothed her hair back off of her face and kissed her temple. Jon’s lips traced a path down to her ear. “This is nice. I love waking up this way,” he said.

Randi found his hand beneath the covers and threaded her fingers into his. “Me too.”

“Thank God you’re not mad at me.”

The comment slipped in past the fog of sleep and alcohol saturation. The events of last night began to play in her head and then she remembered why she
was
mad at him.

She pulled out of his grasp and leapt out of bed. A wave of nausea assailed her and she grasped the tall dresser for balance. She wasn’t hungover—not the
quick get me to the toilet
kind of hungover anyway. More like the fifteen percent range—the
get me some freaking food
kind of hungover.

“You bastard.” Randi stood in her underwear and pointed at him as she tried to figure out what happened. He hadn’t…they hadn’t…had they?

Jon shrugged as he lay on his side, propped up on his elbow. “You were too drunk to hear what I had to say and I didn’t want to leave until you heard me out. Besides, you were in no shape to stay alone last night.”

Randi balked and yanked the sheet off of the bed to cover herself.

Naked from the waist up, Jon still had his jeans on and the bulge in front was bidding her a good morning too.

Jon looked down. “Hey, I’ve got no control over that. I’m just here to talk.”

She had to force herself to look away. “I am not interested in what you have to say.” She picked up a pillow and tossed it at his swollen distraction.

“Well, you seemed mighty interested a minute ago.”

Randi’s cheeks bloomed red and she launched herself at him, ready to slap the lecherous grin off his face.

Jon was too fast for her. He grabbed her, forced her back down on the bed and held her by her waist. She tried to pull his arms off but his grip was like a vice.

“Now I thought we had an understanding. We both spoke of having a chance at some kind of future. You know—white picket fence and all that.”

Randi had no idea what he was talking about. How could she not remember having a conversation like that? He was playing her. He had to be.

“Right,” she said sarcastically. “Like I believe that.”

Jon turned her around, gripping her shoulders as he studied her expression. “You…really don’t remember? We…I…you said…shit.”

Randi saw the sadness on his face, as if one or maybe both of them were only now waking from a dream.

“I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I told you we did have that conversation.”

Randi snorted. “Oh, I could believe it. And I’d believe at the first opportunity you try that same line out on someone else. And judging from that kiss at the restaurant, you apparently got the answer you were looking for. Maybe that’s why your ex broke it off, you couldn’t keep it in your pants for her, either.” She struggled against him, but he held her fast.

“That
was
my ex-fiancé.”

Randi went still.

“As my luck would have it, she has been assigned to handle a multi-jurisdictional investigation on a possible serial killer in this area. She showed up at the station yesterday. Surprise!”

Randi’s eyes narrowed. “What about the kiss?”

“We had a long day working the case and decided to catch up over dinner. That’s it. She regrets leaving me and maybe that kiss was what she imagined would be a foot back in the door. She caught me off guard. But I told her that I’ve moved on. I have someone new in my life. At least, I hope I do.”

Randi didn’t know what to say or if she should even believe him. She’d heard these kinds of convincing lies before, and knew full well how genuine they could sound at the time.

Jon let go of her and sat up. She stopped fighting and rolled onto her back. He stared deep into Randi’s eyes, giving her the full measure of his sincerity. “I am sorry.” He kissed her forehead. “Sorry, that you witnessed her indiscretion and thought it was mine. Sorry, that you felt humiliated. Sorry that you thought you couldn’t trust me. Trust is at least as important to me as it is to you, so I understand how you must feel right now.”

Jon hovered over her, patient for an answer. When none came he swung his legs off the bed and grabbed his shirt.

“It’s your decision. I can’t force you to believe me, but I’ve told you the truth. You know how I feel.”

Randi wanted to say that she believed him, or at least that she wanted to believe him. Instead it came out as, “Do I?”

Jon got dressed and left without another word between them.

Chapter Fifty-One

“What do you mean the problem is
solved
?” Manfred Klassen’s words came out as shrill as nails on a chalkboard, the kind of high-pitched nasal screech that’s instantly under your skin. It even echoed off the vaulted ceilings of the studio. He and Truman were in the semi-private section off of the big lodge, a shared space for them to store components of their art and finished work that wasn’t currently displayed.

The little man was unpacking a box the UPS man had just delivered, pulling out and categorizing his new shipment of acrylic paints. “The problem is not fucking
solved
!” Manfred spun in his chair as if to make his point, the curls on his head bobbed like loose springs.

Truman raised his hands trying to calm Manfred. “I told you, my lawyer is handling everything. The police want to see some of our art and that will be the end of it.”

“And just because your muse has chosen to do art that displays blood, bone and gore we all have to suffer the consequences?” Manfred began placing his new composite items into protective trays. “Do you realize the shadow you’ve cast? There is an air of suspicion thick on all of us Truman—all of us!”

“You worry too much, Manny.” Truman was mounting a recent canvas in a wooden frame and taking care not to stretch the weave too taught. “These country bumpkins won’t chase this for long—they can’t pin anything on either of us.”

“And what of the pretty private investigator? Wasn’t she just here pumping Georgia for information? Then she showed up at the gala with that detective? They even made the paper.”

“Not exactly in a flattering way, as I recall. I’m not worried. When the official investigation falls off she’ll have no reason to snoop.”

“You are missing the point, you arrogant piece of shit,” said Manfred. “Even if nothing leads to our door—it will create enough of a stink to keep buyers away.”

“At its worst the bad publicity would incite people to buy. People will be like—did you read about Manfred Klaussen and all those bad things they say he did? I simply
must
have one of his pieces for my collection before he gets the gas chamber and the prices skyrocket!” Truman teased.

“Humor? Now? Really?” Manfred put away his supply cases and turned. He took an aggressive stance with his feet wide and hands on his hips. “This troop has been together long enough to have a following—one that draws in fat bastards dripping in money—patrons who pay our way so that we can do our art. Fans of what we create. Patrons who—astonishingly—buy way too much of the vomit you create.”

“Beware Manfred, your speech smacks of jealousy.” Truman gave him a smile that turned into a satisfied smirk as the little man turned away.

Ignoring the last comment, Manfred came over and got in Truman’s face. “You think of no one but yourself in this. If you can’t think of me, at least think of Georgia. If anything comes of this she’ll be ruined. Is that what you want? She took us in when we weren’t producing a dime between us. She didn’t have to do that. We’d be nothing if not for her and don’t you forget it!”

Truman’s normally slicked back hair flopped loose on either side of his head. “Of course not. I would never allow anything to hurt her. But I am telling you, this is all going to blow over.”

Manfred shrugged off the hand Truman had placed on his shoulder. “I’m warning you Truman, if you don’t take care of this—” The men went silent. A sudden noise from the hallway caught both their ears.

“Quiet!” Truman said in a hushed voice.

“It’s the vacuum,” said Manfred.

Truman shook his head. He stepped over to the door and looked around the corner. He saw Davina’s monkey, Kotori, on the floor playing a game of chicken with Georgia’s Roomba. He darted around the robot vacuum, then looked up at Truman, bared his teeth and went on with his entertainment.

“It’s just the damn monkey.”

Manfred gave a sigh of relief, then returned to what worried him most. “I mean it, Truman. I won’t let you take anyone down with you.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Maple Bluff Lodge & Resort

Ripon, WI

Celia felt the blood in the back of her throat as she fought for breath—sticky bubbles forming and popping, forming and popping—as she struggled to move air into her burning lungs.

Conscious thought came and went as she struggled. Why couldn’t she remember how she’d gotten here…where was here?

Her murderer had to think she was dead or close enough to leave her. Her throat had been sliced open and she’d felt the warmness of her blood stream over her cold skin. But the jugular must have been nicked, not severed. How else could she still be alive? As a surgical nurse for twelve years she had no doubt of the progression of her death. She’d seen people bleed out. She knew the stages, what the odds of survival were, what could be done…and when nothing could be done.

She just never thought she’d be on this side of the equation.

Celia tried to clear her throat but couldn’t. She’d landed against something big and metal when she fell, and her head was being pushed down into her chest. Her folded neck was the only thing delaying the inevitable. It was too dark to see, but she was pretty sure it was a dumpster. She could smell the garbage.

She felt tears trail across her skin. She had been thrown out like the trash.

Time slowed as her life slipped away, her heart struggling to pump. Celia could feel it resonate in her chest and echo in her head.

As Celia drifted towards oblivion the flash of light and a staccato
clickclickclick
pulled her back from the brink. Even with her eyes closed she was aware of the camera. Her death was being documented, a way for her killer to enjoy her final moments forever.

In what Celia knew was the end her thoughts turned to her husband and his love for her. She knew he could raise their daughter alone. He was capable and intelligent. But she tucked in a tiny prayer anyway, one that she hoped would protect them both—keep them safe.

Chapter Fifty-Three

“Sure you don’t want me to go with?” CJ offered for the forty-seventh time.

Randi dismissed the notion. “No, I need you to hold down the fort. I’ll be fine.” She made one final entry on the lengthy to-do list she was leaving behind for her assistant. “I’m not searching for anything. The police have their man, just not an arrest.”

“Then why go?”

“I need to get away, so I might as well meet some of the people in Larissa’s life, you know. Perhaps get some closure while I’m at it.” She did not mention the nightmares she’d experienced since that night, figuring CJ was worried about her enough as it was.

“Too bad her parents aren’t going to be around.”

“It’s okay. They don’t need me to remind them how their daughter was found. They’re trying to heal.” Randi could relate since that was exactly what she was doing with this little getaway—ridding herself of Larissa, Jon and any other baggage she could dump in Minnesota.

CJ handed Randi a packet of travel information. “I’ve got you booked at The Foshay W for two nights. I scheduled you for a massage tomorrow morning at ten. Suitcases?”

“In the car.” Randi looked around, taking in the orderly office. She couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about leaving. “You sure you’re okay taking care of Tater?”

CJ nodded. “We’ll bond over long evenings of yoga and catnip.”

Randi paused. With that comment she had doubts as to who would be indulging in what. “Please don’t smoke the catnip, CJ.”

“Gad, you are such a buzzkill.”

Randi slung her purse and gave CJ a hug. “All right, I’ll give you a call when I get there.”

“I still think you shouldn’t be going alone,” her friend said, reluctant to let go.

Randi shot her an annoyed look. “Really? I’m not a child, CJ.”

“No, but you never take vacation time. Even if you did, you’d never go alone. This is so out of character.”

There was some truth to the statement. It bothered Randi that she left the impression of being so vulnerable and dependent. Was that how Jon saw her? Had that behavior made her an easy target? Did people think she was someone they could take advantage of?

The thought pissed her off. She vowed to work on that. And this trip was the perfect starting point. Straightening her shoulders with new resolve, she said, “Well, maybe I’m turning over a new leaf, damn it.”

“At least try to enjoy yourself.” CJ called out as Randi made her way to her car.

Randi figured it to be a five-and-a-half-hour road trip, including bathroom breaks. She had packed a small cooler with fruit and veggie snacks as well as gummy bears for her sweet tooth. Traffic was light due to the fact that it was a weekday.

She had the top down on her little red car. With sunshine beaming onto her head, her hair blowing in the wind and Mt. Ouisco at her back, Randi finally relaxed as she roller-coasted along the interstate highway system. Verdant landscapes turned steep and hilly as she neared the Mississippi River and continued on the other side into Minnesota, then transformed once again to rolling farmland outside the twin cities.

Randi had made it to downtown Minneapolis before the commuters made their mass exodus for the suburbs. She checked in with CJ once at the hotel, then took a nap that lasted a good hour. She woke just in time to clean up before her meeting with Natalie Stratford. She pulled out a sleeveless summer dress and paired them with flat sandals for the walk over to the Amuse Bouche, the nearby restaurant they’d arranged to meet at.

Natalie entered the eatery just as Randi got seated at a corner booth. She recognized Larissa’s short and effervescent coworker from her Facebook page. She wore leggings and a tunic that, if not for the superior quality of fabric, would have made the hefty woman look sloppy.

Natalie spoke about Larissa as a best friend would, even though they spent very little time together outside of work. She and Randi sipped wine and decided to share a large order of the hors d’oeuvres the restaurant was named for.

“It’s so great of you to continue working on Larissa’s death. I was afraid the police had already forgotten it.” Natalie’s nose crinkled up as she spoke, making her freckles dance.

“No, no. I know for a fact that they haven’t. It just takes time to follow up on leads. Law enforcement have a protocol to follow which can be tedious.” She repeated Jon’s words.

“Do they have any suspects?”

“They do, but that’s all I know.” It wasn’t like she could tell Natalie who.

Natalie gave a half shrug. “It’s okay, I’m not trying to be nosy. I’m just glad the case isn’t dead in the water.” She waved down a waiter and ordered another round of wine. “I’m assuming it’s one of those oddball artists Larissa was so enthralled with. I did some digging on my own. Did you see any of those deviants?” The woman shuddered. “And the prices they haul in for that crap is shocking!”

Randi laughed. “Yeah. They’re a strange bunch.”

Natalie’s face turned stoic. She lowered her voice. “I never could figure out why she followed them around. But she did it long enough that if something was off with one of them they would have gotten suspicious of her, I think. Whether they thought she was fan or foe, who knows?” She seemed lost in thought a moment. “Strange, you know, how Larissa began to obsess about the art troop after her sister died.”

Randi remembered the strange Facebook comment from a girl named Flip. “You said her sister died of cancer, as I recall?”

“No! I was wrong about that. It was a car accident.” Natalie saw the surprised expression on Randi’s face. “I was talking to a coworker since I last spoke with you and she reminded me. I guess no one felt the need to share the details with me at the time it happened. I was new to the store. Liv’s death was hard on her sister, they were so close. ”

Randi shook her head. Such a tragedy for the parents to bear—two daughters both killed in the prime of their lives. “Were they twins?”

“No, but the resemblance was strong enough that they could fool you.”

“Tell me about Liv,” asked Randi.

“Liv worked at Middle America Magazine and traveled cross country a lot.” Natalie continued. “One night on the road she fell asleep at the wheel or something. I didn’t really know Larissa that well back then, I had just started working. I remember how she fell apart, though.”

Randi shook her head. It was the first she’d heard any of these details.

“Well like I said, after that Larissa started spending every free moment she had in the art world, a lot of it following the troop and the artists.” Natalie paused long enough to shove in a spoonful of tiramisu into her mouth. “Everyone thought it was good that Larissa had something to throw herself into, keep her mind off her sister. But it turned to obsession pretty quick. I was so worried I contacted her parents. They had no idea what it was about either.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes to eat, letting the conversations of the other diners wash over them—the clinking and tinkling of china and silverware a symphony around them.

Natalie broke the spell. “Well, if it was an artist who killed Larissa, maybe now we’ll know why she was obsessed—and why it was worth killing her.”

Stuck in her own head, Randi could only nod in absent response.

Soon they’d finished and said good-bye, promising to keep in touch. Randi was glad for the walk back to The W, it gave her time to think. Until Natalie had mentioned it, she’d never thought about the motivation Truman Perry had for killing Larissa. If he didn’t confess to the murder, the police would need motivation to make their case.

The night air was chilly and Randi had left her jacket in her room. She hugged herself as she walked. Flashes of Truman’s performance ran through her mind as she hurried down the darkened street. There were a few people walking downtown, but not as many as on a weekend.

Randi heard footsteps behind her and a chill ran up her spine. Coming from a small town she couldn’t help but add up
big city
with
late night
and come up with
possible mugging
. She glanced over her shoulder as she picked up her pace and could have sworn she saw a shadow duck into another building. Other than that, no one was behind her. Randi tried to laugh off her paranoia, no doubt the result of an overactive imagination and her conversation with Natalie.

As she reached her hotel, she pulled out her cell and called the woman back. “Hey, I’m at the hotel. I forgot to ask—who is Larissa’s friend Flip?”

“Oh, that’s not her friend—Flip is our hairdresser.”

Once inside, Randi popped an ibuprofen to ward off any ill effects of the wine and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She saw a half inch of outgrowth at her scalp since the last time she had her color done. Perfect.

She sat on the bed and did a Google search on her laptop for the salon Flip worked at and tried to make an online appointment to get her roots done. The stylist was booked solid for three weeks. Randi would call her in the morning and arrange a time to meet anyway.