Flames, Frames, & Murder

by Jenna St James

  “What? Is Sophia okay? Is she hurt? I mean, of course she’s hurt, she was shot. Is she—where is she?”

  “At the hospital,” I said. “They did surgery on her last night and removed the two bullets. But she’s still in a coma in ICU.”

  “What?” Victor shook his head back and forth. “How can this be? I don’t understand.”

  “Victor, Mike is going to want to ask you a lot of questions,” I warned.

  “Me? Why?”

  I tilted my head and stared him in the eye. “Because a lot has gone on this week. Sophia was rear-ended by a thug and then harassed by said thug. I witnessed it firsthand. Then you have this woman, Carmen Hollins, going around telling people she’s having an affair with you, and—”

  “I don’t know this woman.” Victor shook his head. “I mean, I know her in the sense she came to my office and I cleaned her teeth once, but that’s it. I don’t know why she’s saying the things she’s saying, but it’s not true.”

  “Well, she’s claiming it is, and it just so happens that the week you go out of town your wife is shot and you’re robbed. Only Carmen has a pretty solid alibi,” I said. “Whereas you weren’t supposed to be back until Sunday. And here it is, Saturday at noon, and you’re home. If your seminar was in Bakersfield, what time did you leave this morning?”

  Victor scowled. “Are you accusing me of something, Jaycee?”

  “Should I be?” I asked.

  Victor’s face turned red. “How dare you. I thought we were friends.”

  “I think we need to step back,” Bridget said, “take a deep breath. Victor, no one is accusing you of anything, it just looks bad is all.”

  Victor huffed. “Look, I knew Sophia was having a rough week, first being rear-ended by Carl, and then this crazy woman harassing her. I had no idea that Carl was giving her grief. She never said anything. I knew she was upset about this Carmen woman, so I decided last night after my speech I’d just get up and miss the last day. Usually we end the seminar with a big party and then head out on Sunday morning, but I wanted to get back to Sophia. When I called her last night to tell her and she didn’t pick up, I figured she went to bed early.” Victor’s voice caught on a sob. “I checked out of the hotel around six this morning and drove straight through. I wanted to surprise her.”

  “I’m sorry, Victor,” I said. “We’re all just so shocked and upset by this.”

  “I’m still not understanding,” he said. “What should I do? Should I go to her? Should I call Mike? What?”

  “Go to the hospital,” Heidi said. “I’m sure Jaycee will call Mike for you and he can meet you there.”

  Victor nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I just want to get to her.”

  “Let me move my car,” I offered. “But do you care if we take a look in your backyard while you’re gone? Sophia had a landscaper out here this week, and we want to make sure everything is put away. You’ve already been robbed once this week.”

  Victor waved his hand. “Do whatever you think you need to.”

  I hopped in the Jeep and backed up far enough he could pull out and speed down the driveway. Turning off the engine, I jumped down and walked over to the girls.

  “Well?” I asked. “What do you think?”

  “He seemed genuinely surprised,” Heidi said.

  “Maybe what he was surprised about was the fact she didn’t die,” Bridget countered. “I mean, let’s be honest. If he hired someone to kill her and then rob the place, then he has to be really upset that Sophia’s not dead.”

  “But since he has a pretty solid alibi last night, we know he’s not the shooter, so Sophia won’t be naming Victor as the one who tried to kill her.”

  “Where does this leave us?” Heidi asked. “I’m starting to get confused.”

  I chuckled. “Me, too. I want to go inside real quick and look around. Heidi, you and Bridget look in Victor’s office, see if you notice anything that stands out. I’m going to riffle through Sophia’s office in the kitchen. I want to find Wyatt’s business card and brochure Sophia talked about and call some of the references he has. I’m still not convinced he’s not involved somehow.”

  Carefully ducking under the crime scene tape, I unlocked the bottom lock and pushed the door open. No alarm sounded which was a good thing. I hadn’t figured Officer Landry knew how to set it, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.

  Because I’d been in the house a few times before, I knew the kitchen had a nook with a built-in desk area where Sophia kept a laptop computer. Heidi and Bridget went down the hallway toward Victor’s office while I went to the sunny yellow and red kitchen.

  Sitting down in the rolling chair, I flipped through the stack of papers sitting on the desk. There were a couple bills, a grocery list, a recipe for pumpkin cheesecake bars, a hand-written postcard from Marco dated two weeks ago telling Sophia she would regret what she had done, and the item I was looking for…Wyatt Davidson’s business card.

  I scanned the card, taking note that his address was, in fact, in Novato. So he’d been telling the truth when he said he lived in Marin county. The card had been sitting on top of a brochure with Wyatt’s name. I read the front then opened the tri-fold glossy pamphlet. Inside were pictures of various jobs he’d done, with quotes from the homeowners.

  Digging out my phone, I took a picture of the threatening postcard from Marco, and then of the brochure, making sure I had the homeowners’ names and telephone numbers visible. I then called Mike and let him know Victor was in town and headed to the hospital. Once that was done, I shoved the phone back inside my jeans pocket and took off down the hallway to find the girls.

  “Find anything?” Heidi asked as I opened Victor’s office door.

  I nodded. “Yeah. You?”

  Heidi shrugged. “Nothing written in red that says for sure he’s having an affair, but I did find a receipt for dinner at Le Bistro.”

  “And we already know Carmen likes to eat there,” I said.

  “True,” Bridget said, “but it could also be he took Sophia there, or maybe someone looking to invest in the winery. We can’t jump to the conclusion that it’s Carmen and that he’s having an affair.”

  I growled. “You’re right.” I showed the girls the picture on my phone of the threatening postcard. “Let’s go see what Marco Manlo has to say for himself.”

  Chapter 11

  Marco Manlo was a diminutive man. I once asked Heidi how tall she thought he was, but she said it was hard to say seeing as how he wore lifts inside his shoes. I was betting even with his lifts on, he barely stood five feet four. He was rail thin with long black hair, soft hands, narrow nose, hollow cheekbones, pointy chin, and had a penchant for skin-tight black leather pants. How Sophia ever took up with someone like him was a mystery to me. She swore he had a knack for finding just the right buyers for her paintings, but I could never get past his weaselly demeanor to really see any of his advantages.

  Heidi rang the doorbell, and a few minutes later Marco flung open the front door. I groaned when I saw his outfit. Today he was dressed in black leather pants, no shirt, and one of those smoking jackets men used to wear years ago. He was also holding a martini.

  “Welcome, welcome, darlings.” He stepped back and motioned us inside to the spacious formal living room where a cathedral ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows let in copious amounts of natural light. An easel was set up in the middle of the room, with paints, brushes, and a rag sitting on a small table next to the tripod. A painter’s drop cloth covered most of the hardwood floor. Three feet in front of the easel was another table with a bowl holding grapes and tomatoes. Leaning against the bowl were three eggs and a banana.

  “As you can see, I’m painting and celebrating.” He gestured to the easel with his drink, sloshing some of the alcohol onto the floor. “Oopsies.”

  “Why are you celebrating?” Bridget asked. “Haven’t you heard abou
t Sophia?”

  Marco grinned. “Indeed I have. Which is exactly why it’s a red letter day for me. Now if only she’d take one for the team and die. Then her artwork—which I have plenty of—would be worth fortunes.” He threw back his head, laughed, then downed some of his drink.

  Heidi took a step toward him. “Why I ought to—”

  Bridget and I each grabbed one of Heidi’s arms.

  “Tsk, tsk, darling,” Marco said. “Don’t get all riled up.”

  “Funny you mention Sophia’s artwork and having plenty of it,” I said. “Did you know the person who broke into Sophia’s house last night stole quite a few of her paintings?”

  “Any paintings I have by Sophia Brockman I received fair and square.” He gave me a wink. “By the way, I really must know where your man shops. Those pants he had on today were to die for.”

  I scowled. “Drop dead.”

  Marco gasped. “Well now, aren’t you just a dash of wicked witch today.”

  “Are you painting?” Heidi asked.

  Marco beamed. “I sure am!”

  “I thought you only sold art,” Heidi said, “you don’t make it.”

  He shrugged, drawing attention to his paint-splattered puny little chest. “Yes, well…how hard can it be, right? I’ve been dealing for so long, I know what people want.”

  “Knowing what they want and giving it to them are two different things,” I said.

  He turned his dark, beady eyes on me. “And what exactly do you know of art? That John Wayne portrait above your bar doesn’t exactly scream chic and sophisticated.”

  I gave him a sly smile. “I’ll be sure and let Gramps know you said that about his beloved John Wayne.”

  A vein popped out and throbbed on his neck, and I saw genuine fear in his eyes. “No need to tattle to the big guy.”

  That’s what I thought.

  Heidi strolled over to see the canvas and her mouth dropped open. “Oh!” Her eyes flashed to Bridget’s. “This is really bad, Marco. You can’t seriously think you’re gonna sell this? I mean, it’s bad enough you’re doing still life, but this is bad.”

  Bridget grinned. “Now I gotta see.”

  As Marco huffed and cried out in indignation, I walked to the other side of the room where there were acrylic and oil paints, brushes, and a pile of blank canvases. Leaning against the wall, stacked one in front of the other, were about eight framed canvases of various sizes. The outward facing canvas depicted an ocean scene complete with frothing waves. It was poorly done. In fact, I was almost certain I could do something that good…or bad.

  I had my hand on the top canvas, and had just pulled the painting forward to look at the one behind it, when Marco’s voice rang out. “Those are not for you to look at!”

  I sneaked a peek at the exposed framed canvas before gently pushing the top painting back against the wall. I couldn’t be sure, but I think it was of cats playing with a ball of yarn. If Marco thought these were going to sell like Sophia’s abstract paintings had, he was sorely mistaken.

  “You have a real eye for the colors,” I said.

  Marco frowned. “You have no idea what you’re even saying.”

  I shrugged. “You’re right.”

  He huffed. “What do you people want? It’s bad enough I’ve been taken away from my work already once this morning.”

  “Did Detective Connors’ questions scare you, Marco?” I asked.

  Marco’s nostrils flared. He shook his long black hair over his shoulders and attempted a wounded look. “That Neanderthal had the audacity to accuse me of shooting Sophia last night. Why, I had no idea she’d even been shot until he told me.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Then he went on to ask if I stole paintings out of her house!”

  “Did you?” I asked.

  Marco’s mouth dropped open then he curled his upper lip. “You’re just as vile as him, I see. No, I did not shoot Sophia Brockman.”

  Bridget snorted. “I didn’t hear you say you didn’t steal the paintings, just that you didn’t shoot her.”

  Marco stomped his tiny foot on the ground. For a second I thought he might snap his bird-like leg in half. But when it didn’t break like a wishbone, I clamped down on my disappointment.

  “I didn’t shoot her or steal her paintings.” Marco lifted his hands in the air, once again causing his drink to spill. “There. Satisfied?”

  “Not really,” I said. “So, where were you last night around seven-thirty?”

  A muscle jerked in his cheek. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  Heidi bent down and lifted a brush off the easel. “You know what this painting needs? A little more color.”

  Marco gasped. “Put that down!”

  “Where were you last night, Marco?” Heidi repeated.

  “I met with a potential client until around seven.”

  “And then?” Heidi asked.

  “And then I came home and painted.” He gestured to the still-life fruit painting on the easel. “As you can see.”

  “You’ve been working on this for two days now?” Heidi asked. “Get out.”

  “I think that’s supposed to be my line,” Marco huffed. “I want you three out of my house right now!”

  I took out my phone and showed him the picture I’d snapped of the postcard he’d sent Sophia. “What did you mean when you told Sophia she’d regret what she’d done?”

  “Get out,” he said. “And don’t ever step foot on my property again.”

  “Or what, Marco?” Heidi asked. “You might shoot us?”

  “Do you own a gun, Marco?” I asked.

  There was so much rage inside him, his arms looked like they were going into convulsions. “Get out!”

  Without warning, he reached down, picked up an egg off the table, and hurled it at me. It hit me smack dab in the center of my forehead. Stunned, I stood there as the slimy contents of the egg ran into my eyes and down my nose.

  When he reached down and grabbed the tomato out of the fruit bowl, I kicked it into high gear. “Run!”

  I turned and pushed Heidi forward…which, in turn, caused her to run into Bridget. Another egg beaned me in the back of the head, and I screamed at the injustice of it all!

  By the time Bridget turned around and ran for the door, Marco had thrown the tomato. It landed with a thwack upside my right temple. I could feel the juices run down my hair. Still unable to fully open my eyes against the sting of the egg goo, I reached out and grabbed hold of the back of Heidi’s shirt.

  “You’re gonna have to pull me to safety!” I cried. “I can’t see a dang thing!”

  Heidi stopped, scooped me up in her arms, and cradled me against her chest. “In the words of the Skipper, ‘I’ve got ya, little buddy!’”

  Chapter 12

  “Let’s not panic,” I said, “but I think that’s Mike behind me in his police car.”

  Heidi and Bridget both whipped around in their seats and groaned.

  He gave a quick blast of his siren and put on his lights.

  Pulling over to the side of the road, I knew I was in for it. “Of all the times for him to spot me in town, why did it have to be now?”

  “Maybe he won’t notice,” Heidi said.

  I shot her a dirty look and both girls burst into gales of laughter. By the time Mike made it to the Jeep, they were wiping tears off their cheeks.

  “Hey there, Jaycee, I was on my way to the hospital to question Victor—what the—what the heck happened to you?”

  I looked in the rearview mirror and grimaced. “Long story.”

  He raised an eyebrow, reached through the window, and plucked something off my forehead. “Is this an eggshell?”

  I shrugged, still staring straight ahead. “Could be. Jax and I did some power baking this morning.”

  Heidi snorted.

  “Uh huh,” Mike said. “You forget I saw you already this morning and you looked just fine. Do me a favor and look at me.”

 
; Huffing, I turned in my seat and faced him.

  “And let me guess,” he said sarcastically, “the red in your hair is from Heidi or Bridget. What? They wanted to see what you’d look like as a redhead?”

  I stared him in the eye, not blinking. “That’s a pretty good explanation.”

  “Uh huh.” He grabbed a chunk of tomato from my hair and stared at it. “Well, I guess you could always save this for later and use it in a salad for dinner tonight.”

  I let out a bark of laughter. I didn’t want to laugh at his joke, but it was funny. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He dropped the tomato onto the ground, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared me in the eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the egg and tomato came from Marco Manlo’s house. He was in the middle of painting a horrific picture of a bowl of fruit and eggs when I stopped by to talk with him. But I’m sure you three wouldn’t be harassing a prime suspect, would you?”

  I shook my head. “Noooo, never!”

  “Uh huh.” His nostrils flared. “I’m totally keeping my cool right now because I’m telling myself it’s just food product. It will wash out. Had he hit you with bullets, it might be a different story.”

  I threw my hands up in the air, hitting them on the roof of the Jeep. “Okay. Okay. Okay. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m going to the bar and staying there for the rest of the day. I promise.”

  “One of these days, Jaycee, you’re not going to be so lucky,” he said. “Something will happen to you, and it will break my heart.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “Don’t say that. Now you’re making me feel guilty.”

  “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you go off half-cocked.” He leaned in and kissed me softly on my lips. “You know you have my heart. Please be careful with it.”

  He gave Heidi and Bridget a stern look before turning and walking back to his vehicle. I sat there, too stunned to move, even when he flipped his car around and headed the opposite direction.

  “You okay?” Heidi asked.

  “No,” I said. “I got too many emotions flooding me right now to think straight.”