The Art of Love and Murder (28 page)

“The curator?”

Myles nodded his head.
Yes, that would do
. He poured more wine.

“Yes, I do know. I’m sorry.”

The Chianti went down easily, half a glass, and soothed his parched throat. Muuyaw’s final sketches could be his—everything could still be his. He could make her whole again, he would be whole again, and Kaya would forgive him.

“...and as soon as I have them—”

“I’m sorry, my dear. What were you saying?”

“It might take some time to get Kaya’s sketches back.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He finished his wine. “You still have the chest and—”

She grimaced. “I don’t. They took it from me. The blood...” Her voice trailed off as she peered into his face. “Myles?”

“We have to do something about this.” The spinning slowed.
Help me, Kaya
.

“I don’t think we can do anything.”

“They can’t keep your art.”

“Do you think they’ll release them to me before Clark goes to trial?”

Clark. Carol. What to do? It was their word against his—a college professor. No matter. First things first. “I think so. It’s what Muuyaw would want.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

He stood, swayed a bit. Couldn’t hold his wine like he once did. Kaya would find that amusing.

“Are you sure you’re okay? We could sit a bit longer.”

“I’m not drunk, darling.” His darling. “I’m a bit unsteady after the news about John. Fresh air will do me good.” He tucked more than enough money under the wine bottle.

“You still seem a bit out of sorts.” She licked her lips, not convinced.

He smiled his most charming smile, splayed his fingers on the small of her back and guided her toward the door.

****

Chance’s hands fisted at his sides. In the interrogation room, on the other side of the glass, Clark rambled while his lawyer tried to keep him calm. The gist of his red-faced, watery-eyed confession put Professor Myles Sheffield smack dab in the middle of all things gone wrong.

“Son of a bitch,” Chance hissed.

Ranclin stood beside him, hands jammed in his jean pockets. “Sheffield is behind the White Wolf theft. He—”

On the other side of the glass, the lawyer pushed Clark back down in his seat as the kid verbally threw his grandmother under the bus.

“Whew,” the detective shook his head. “What a nice granny. Sounds like Sheffield gave her the task of securing the sketches and she enlisted her grandson.”

“Then she sent him for the chest. Carol may have put her grandson up to the attempted theft of the chest at the museum, but I know damn well Sheffield had something to do with all of it.” Chance raked a hand through his hair, untied and retied the leather holding it back.

“Even the murder?”

“Yeah. Why else would a punk like Clark mention the professor? For all we know, he killed the curator.” His stomach knotted so tight he could feel the bulge pressing against his shirt buttons.

“Why? There’s nothing to back that up.”

“Yet. I’m not sure of the reason, but my gut says so, Ranclin. He should’ve been looked at closer eight years ago.” And somehow, some way, Sheffield would lead them to the truth behind his wife’s murder.

“We’ll bring him in for questioning. Right now, at most, he’s part of the theft of the sketches. We still need some corroboration on the punk’s story.”

“Try Grandma. You can charge her as an accomplice.”

“Well—”

“She’ll talk, especially if she knows that if they can’t come up with any proof otherwise, her chip off the old block is going up for murder.”

The detective stared at the scene in front of them. “She’s outside. She’s the one who got the lawyer here. Little, but looked like she could rip anyone of us apart.”

“Believe me. She’ll save his ass.”

“In the meantime, we’ll go pick up the professor.”

The knot churned in his stomach. “If you can find him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lacy and Sheffield met for lunch. I’ve been calling her and only getting voice mail.” He rubbed his eyes. “Hell, Ranclin, I’ve got a very bad feeling about this.” He briefly filled in the detective on the relationship between Lacy and the professor. “I don’t know what Sheffield will do when he hears Clark has been arrested. She’s bound to tell him. Why wouldn’t she?”

“He can’t be sure Clark would implicate him.”

“He can’t be sure he won’t.”

“It’s a theft. The kid’s word against his.” The detective played devil’s advocate, but what did he know? “And the professor is...well...a respected member of the community.”

Chance groaned. “And the only one who owns Muuyaw’s sculptures and who mourns for Kaya.” And who could be Lacy’s father, if her fears were correct. “He put Granny and Clark up to the theft. And like I said, my gut tells me he’s a crazy bastard that we all missed the first time around.”

“You mean behind your wife’s murder?” Ranclin blurted it out. “Sheriff—”

“They never found the sculptures. Get a warrant for his house. I’d wager my first born grandchild it’s there.”

“You know we’ve no reason to do that. All of the art from
this
theft has been recovered.”

“Damn it, Ranclin, he’s guilty.”

“Hold up, Sheriff, we’ll get there. Let us do it legally ’cause if you’re right and we blow it...”

“Fine.” He snatched his keys out of his pocket, stomped to the door and jerked it open with a parting sneer over his shoulder. “But you better find him before I do.”

Chapter Seventeen

Lacy stepped out into the yellow sunshine. The heat barely registered on her already warm face. The professor’s hand pressed into her back, his fingertips sharply felt through her blouse. Their feet touched the blacktop, and she slowed her steps in spite of the pressure at her spine.

“I’m a little worried that you aren’t feeling well, Myles.” Although he’d stopped and chatted normally with Paolo’s daughter, and his gait steadied, his behavior, not to mention his pasty countenance only moments before, alarmed her.

“I don’t want to worry you.” He slipped his hand to her side and turned to face her. “To tell the truth, the news that the sketches had been stolen added to the news of my dear old friend John meeting his death in such a violent manner...all very overwhelming. Surely you can understand that.”

His wan smile didn’t convince her.

As if on autopilot, his smile practiced, he told her what she wanted to hear. His fingers moved to her arm, damp and clammy on her bare skin. Something was definitely wrong, but she didn’t know what to do. The wine combined with his state of mind could make him dangerous behind the wheel of a car. This sort of news, taken all at once, for a man his age might be stressful. She hadn’t realized he felt so close to the curator, certainly not the impression Archibald had given her. His fingers dropped to her hand, took hold and he patted the back with his other.

“I’ve not been helpful enough to you. The news interrupted us. But I have a splendid idea.” With his hand returned to her back, he urged her toward his car. “You would like to know where and how we met. Let me show you, hmm? Visuals are always better when telling a story.” He opened her door for her. “What do you say?”

She hesitated. “Are you sure you’re feeling well, I mean well enough to, er, drive?”

“Is that what you’re worried about, dear?” He tilted his head toward her. “I’m perfect now. The fresh air did the trick.” He gestured expansively and looked toward the sky for a moment. “This whole day has put me in a nostalgic mood. And who better to share the mood and the stories with than you?” He tipped his head down and smiled.

“You’ll tell me everything you know about Kaya?”

“I would like nothing better.”

She sat on the passenger seat. He closed the door, then trotted around the front to climb in the driver’s side. His former mood returned, and his steadiness reassured her while a patter of anticipation cheered her. The restaurant said something about her mother. Now she’d learn the details.

“Where are we going?”

“Ah, one of Kaya’s favorite spots. It will make the perfect backdrop.”

****

Chance sat in his truck in the police station parking lot and punched the numbers on his cell. If Ranclin chose to drag his feet, he couldn’t sit around and wait. When the other end answered, he didn’t bother with formality. “Hey, Harvey, I need a favor.”

“Sure,” the desk-jockey cop agreed in his typical flat voice. “For the sheriff or for Chance?”

“Chalk it up in either column. Remember the theft at the Uptown Gallery eight years ago?”

“Well, sure, Chance.” Even for the normally dull voice of Harvey, he heard a softened tone.

“A professor consulted on the case. Myles Sheffield. Can you get me his address?”

“Looking as we speak.”

Harvey read the address, and Chance took it down on a pad. “And do me one more.” He started his engine. “See if you can scan the file for anything peculiar or more in depth about him. Maybe he owns another house somewhere. Anything that might help me locate him when he’s not at home or at the college, you know? Call me back on my cell.”

“You got it.”

He turned out of the parking lot, one hand on the steering wheel while his other dialed Lacy. The result was the same as the last two times. He shook his head. A trip to the professor’s home would most likely be futile, but he had to do something. Every fact he knew about Lacy’s exploration into Muuyaw—Kaya—whoever the hell the woman was, circled in his head. And no matter how he drew it, Myles Sheffield occupied the middle of the circle.

Two houses down, he parked and strolled to the professor’s home. A quick scan around the house netted what he suspected. No one there. He looked at his watch. A normal lunch would be over by now. But then, Lacy was on a mission and might keep the professor talking. He climbed back in his truck and pulled away from the curb. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the black sedan that slid into the spot he’d vacated along the street. Looked like Ranclin had set a stakeout at the professor’s. Carol must have implicated the man, just like he knew she would. Feared she would.

Son of a bitch
.

He set a route for the Grand View. Lacy might be there, might have forgotten to turn her cell on. He didn’t have a clear-cut reason to assume she might be in danger. Although Sheffield’s name came up every time Muuyaw’s name did, it didn’t mean the man was a threat. He tried to override the increasingly deep-gut instinct that told him otherwise.

At the sound of his cell, his heart thumped wildly.
Lacy
. But a glance at the readout had his mood spiral downward as quickly as it spiked.

“Hey, Harvey.”

“Not much to tell you, Chance. He wasn’t a suspect. They got some background on the artist from him is all.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, but there is one thing.”

“What’s that?” He sat up straighter, anxious to grasp at any clue that would give him a lead.

“The detective on the case, Obermeyer, made a note that Sheffield’s alibi held. It’s the only indication that anyone even looked at the guy in that light or asked him for an alibi. You know what I mean? So, I figured maybe Obermeyer had some reason to be suspicious. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him.”

“Good eye, Harvey. Is he still around, and can you get his number?”

“I can and did. He’s retired, lives in Phoenix, but I found him. He didn’t have much, Chance. Said no one else seemed concerned, yet the guy rubbed Obermeyer wrong. The gallery owner told him the professor had tried to buy the two sculptures more than once. He said the professor’s interest slid over the top. Obermeyer couldn’t find any reason to investigate further, but was never satisfied.”

“Any luck on finding out if he owns another house?” He pulled his truck along the curb in front of the Grand View.
Let her be here
.

“Still checking. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know.”

“Thanks, Harvey.”

He opened his door, and his cell rang again. This time he took a deep breath, and exhaled in an ache of disappointment.

“Jenny, honey, can I call you back?”

“Dad, they called Laura in for questioning.”

“They’re just covering all bases, Jenny.” He settled back on his seat and closed the truck door. “It’s a murder investigation, and her husband is the suspect.”

“She’s so upset. Clark used her master key to get into Lacy’s room. He made a copy or something. She didn’t know how he managed that. They’ll believe her, won’t they?”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay.” He darted a glance at the door of the hotel, willing Lacy to walk out into the sunlight.

“She’s bound to lose her job.” His daughter’s voice sounded thick with worry.

“Yeah, that might happen.”

“She is
not
an accomplice.”

“Jenny, the only thing they can prove right now is theft. He’s been charged with murder, but that doesn’t mean he did it.” He opened his car door, anxious to go inside and look for Lacy. “And since he’s a thief and has had a couple of run-ins... I’m sure Laura won’t be held responsible. But the hotel might feel differently.”

“I hate that creep!”

“I know, honey.” His need to comfort his daughter tore at him, but Lacy’s whereabouts overwhelmingly won out. Laura’s troubles could be handled, and Jenny’s worry would dissolve. Right now, Lacy might be in danger. “Listen, did you look in the guest room? Did Lacy leave anything behind, like her phone?”

“No, nothing. It’s like she wasn’t even there, bed is made and everything.”

Bed never got unmade, but Jenny didn’t need to know that much.

“Okay. Listen, I’ve got to go. Tell Laura to calm down. We’ll stick by her on this.”

“You can be a big help, right?”

“I’ll do everything I can, but I doubt she’ll need my help. Talk to you later.”

His feet hit the street before the phone disappeared into his pocket. When he opened the door to the hotel, it swung wide with his overzealous pull. He strode across the lobby, glanced into the Rendezvous and hesitated. No sign of her there. Behind the front desk, Penny yawned.

“What are you doing here in the afternoon, Penny?”