by Jane Godman
“What?” Bree sat up straighter, her antagonism forgotten. “I didn’t know about this.”
“That’s because it’s not public knowledge,” Trey said. “I recused myself from the investigation because Wyatt is my cousin, but obviously I’m aware of what is happening. The body found on the Crooked C was that of a high-class call girl named Bianca Rouge. Initially, Wyatt came under suspicion because she was found on his land and he didn’t have an alibi for the time of her death. He was cleared when another man killed himself and took the blame for Bianca’s death in his suicide note.”
“You said she may not have been the only one,” Rylan said. “That sounds like it’s not conclusive.”
“That’s the difficulty my deputy, who took over the investigation, is facing. Shortly after Bianca was found, a woman called Ruth Thomas arrived in Roaring Springs looking for her missing daughter, April, who left Denver and came looking for work in Roaring Springs. She looks almost exactly like Bianca Rouge.”
Rylan frowned. “That’s a mighty big assumption. April looked like Bianca, so you think she might also have been killed here?”
Trey shot him an impatient glance. “The link is not that tenuous. The last time April spoke to her mom, she told her she had a job interview. Staff at The Lodge confirm it’s possible she applied for a post there. The point is that we are dealing with one confirmed murder, possibly more. I’ve no wish to sound alarmist, but the killer may be determined to hurt our family. Bianca was definitely on Colton property at one time, and April may also have been.”
“You’re saying it’s possible there’s a serial killer targeting women and, through them, getting at Coltons?” Bree’s voice was quiet.
“I can’t rule it out.” Trey gave her hand a squeeze. “I wish I could. At the same time, I don’t have anything that ties what happened to Bianca—and may have happened to April—to the person who is threatening you. Which is what I meant when I said I can’t justify allocating any of my officers to your protection.”
“We can’t take a risk that there isn’t a connection.” As Rylan reinforced what Trey was saying, Bree turned her head in his direction. He hated the knowledge that he was responsible for the hurt in her eyes. Hated even more that there was nothing he could do to take it away.
“Okay. I accept that I need a bodyguard.” Rylan anticipated what was coming next. “I just don’t want it to be you.”
The coldness of her tone was like a knife slicing his skin. She spoke to him as if he were a stranger when, for those few magical nights, they had been as close as it was possible for two people to get. It’s what I deserve. Although he knew he was to blame for them reaching this point, it didn’t take the pain away.
Trey appeared unaware of any hostile undercurrents. “I’m not sure changing the arrangement now would be such a good idea, Bree. Particularly as Rylan comes recommended by Blaine.”
“We can ask Blaine to suggest someone else,” Bree said.
“He won’t.” Rylan managed to keep his voice calm.
“How can you be so sure?” Her eyes were somber as they scanned his face. Would she ever smile at him again? It was probably too much to hope for.
“Because I’m the best.” It wasn’t arrogant or boastful. It was honest.
“That must be true.” Trey nodded.
“Just like that?” Bree’s tone was scornful. “He tells you he’s the best, and you take his word for it?”
“Think about it,” Trey said. “Mom and Dad asked Blaine to recommend someone to protect you. Where you are concerned, Blaine wouldn’t settle for anything less than first-class.”
Before Bree could respond, her cell phone buzzed. She scanned the message quickly. When she looked up, her expression was a mix of confusion and despair.
“That was Kasey. She’s been unpacking the Spirit artwork ready for the show. Some of the exhibits have been damaged.”
The lump in Bree’s chest alternated between red-hot coal and solid ice. Even though the heating system in the gallery kept the temperature at a comfortable level, the chill mountain wind seemed to be blowing straight out of the mountains and through her skin, leaving her insides raw.
Kasey was on her knees with the ruined paintings fanned out around her. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Who would do this?” Her expression was broken as she looked up at Bree and Rylan. “And why only your pictures, Bree? Every one of them has been slashed.”
Bree couldn’t answer. She wished she could speak, or cry, but nothing would come. No tears, no words. Not a sound. All she could do was stare at her precious pieces—the paintings she had so lovingly created—and scream inside.
Someone had taken a blade and repeatedly sliced through each canvas until it hung in shreds from its frame. It wasn’t about the hours of work she’d put into each one, or even about her artistic vision, or the senseless waste. Bree could feel the anger and hatred that had gone into the attack. It was directed at her artwork. The pieces by other artists were untouched. This was personal.
She was conscious of Rylan’s gaze on her profile. A day ago, she’d have taken comfort in his arms. And even though she would never admit it, his presence was reassuring. He was calm and focused. With the sensation that her world was crashing down around her, she still needed him to be that strong, stalwart figure keeping her thoughts on track.
Trey was right. Blaine had chosen Rylan because he was the best. From now on, she would keep her distance, but she would depend on him to do his job.
“Who had access to these pictures?” Rylan asked.
“Um...” Kasey got to her feet, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex. “They were in boxes in the basement storeroom. It’s not locked, but it’s not easily accessible to the public, and there’s no reason for anyone to go in there unless they need to.”
“But technically anyone who entered the gallery could have gotten into the room where the pictures were stored?”
“I guess so.” Kasey nodded. “Even so, they would have to know what they were looking for. And the gallery is busy during the day, so whoever did this was taking a chance if they took a knife into the storeroom to damage the paintings while the building was open.”
“You mean he risked discovery?” Rylan squatted to look at the pictures.
“Yes,” Kasey said. “A member of the gallery staff could have walked in and disturbed him at any time.”
“Specifically, who from the staff goes in there?” Rylan asked.
“Most of us do at different times.” Bree was glad to find her voice sounded normal. “We exhibit artwork here, but our main purpose is to sell it. Once a piece is purchased and removed from display, we have to replace it. That’s when we take new stock from the storeroom. The craft and coffee shops also keep their supplies in there. And, of course, we often have items like these—” her hand shook slightly as she indicated her wrecked pictures “—ready for the next show.”
“David goes into the basement fairly regularly as well,” Kasey added. “His main job is security, but he sometimes does maintenance. He keeps his tools and ladders down there. Oh, and if there’s a show coming up, Lucas Brewer stores his lighting equipment in the basement.”
Rylan straightened. “Are the boxes clearly labeled?”
“Yes.” Bree turned to Kasey. “Can you bring one of the boxes that contained these paintings, please?”
As Kasey went to a corner of the room where she had stacked a pile of cardboard boxes, Rylan spoke quietly to Bree. “Stupid question, but are you okay?”
She didn’t want him to care about her. It was easier to think of him as the man who had abused her trust because he wanted to have sex with her. If she tried to step past that, to analyze his motives, she would get lost in a world of what-ifs.
She tilted her chin. “I’m not going to fall in a heap on the floor. But...” Her eyes went to the paint
ings. “These were mine.”
“I’m going to find out who did this, Bree.” His gaze snagged hers and held it. She read anger and determination in his eyes, and despite what had transpired between them, she believed he would see this through.
Kasey returned with the box. “This is the label we use for shows.” She pointed it out to Rylan. “It’s a different color to our standard stock items. It has the show details, the date and the name of the artist.”
Rylan nodded. “So anyone who wanted to access Bree’s paintings for the Spirit show would be able to find them without any problem.”
As her assistant’s face crumpled and more tears began to fall, Bree placed an arm around her shoulders. “No one could have predicted this would happen, Kasey.”
“Of course not,” Rylan said. “I’m just pointing out how easy it would have been. Even so, whoever did it must have had some idea of how Wise Gal works.”
Kasey gulped back a sob. “What makes you so sure?”
“You said yourself that the gallery is busy during the day. While anyone can come in here, the person who did this was clearly looking for Bree’s paintings. He had to know where the boxes would be stored and how they’d be labeled. It had to be someone who was familiar enough with your basement to know how you store your artwork.”
Rylan’s eyes met Bree’s over Kasey’s head, and she knew what he was thinking. The person who had done this wasn’t a random visitor. He had sent threatening emails and delighted in scaring her by entering her apartment and moving her property. He had also fired a bullet into a light over her head just the previous night. Rylan had warned her things would escalate. She just never would have foreseen this.
“Your show is in two days. Can it go ahead?” Rylan asked.
Bree squared her shoulders. “It has to.”
Kasey gave a forlorn cry. “Without your work?”
“I won’t let the other artists down, so if that’s what it takes, yes.” She hooked her arm through her assistant’s. “We have our work cut out for us, so let’s get started.” She walked toward the door, turning to look back at Rylan. “What will you do now?”
His expression was grim. “Talk to your brother, then do some background checks on the people who have access to your basement.”
* * *
Trey was furious to learn the details of what had happened to his sister’s paintings and promised to send a deputy over to the gallery to investigate. Rylan ended the call, secure in the knowledge that the sheriff would play it by the book. Luckily, he wasn’t bound by the same constraints.
Although he’d sold his private security consultancy—and made a hefty profit from the proceeds—Rylan still had friends in the business. He knew they would come through for him whenever he needed a favor. Police background checks were bound by strict legalities and took time. Rylan’s former colleagues could cross lines that law enforcement didn’t even know existed.
A few calls later and he sank back into his seat, feeling some of the tension in his limbs ease. If anyone connected to this gallery had secrets, his PI friends would find them. He was sure of that. In the meantime, his mind returned to the information Bree and Kasey had revealed. He couldn’t criticize the security of the gallery, since there had been no reason in the past for it to be tight. There was no doubt, however, that a number of people had access to the basement.
“Maybe a visit to the coffee shop is in order?” He addressed the words in the general direction of his feet. “Seems as good a place as any to start.”
Papadum, who had been doing his usual impression of a large corded rug, grunted and shook himself.
As Rylan got to his feet, the dog bounced ahead of him toward the door.
“I can see what you’re thinking.” Papadum tilted his head at the words. “It would be easy to focus on Lucas Brewer as our chief suspect. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Until we find out otherwise, we treat him the same as everyone else. Okay?” Clearly deciding something more was required of him, the canine gave a soft woof. “Yeah, I know. We don’t like the guy, so it won’t be easy. But let’s try.”
The coffee shop, Arty Sans, was located at the rear of the main gallery. It was a bright square space with eight tables inside and doors leading into a courtyard with a further six tables and a children’s play area. The walls were decorated with paintings bearing discreet price labels. Shelves and boxes of tastefully displayed goods invited patrons to browse at their leisure.
The place was half full, with a small queue at the counter. Even so, as soon as Rylan entered, a middle-aged woman behind the counter pointed at Papadum. “Courtyard.”
“Can I get a smoked turkey panini and an espresso?” Rylan asked.
He wasn’t sure if the disapproving look she sent over the top of her glasses was meant for him or the dog. “I’ll bring it out to you.”
Once outside, Papadum was on the receiving end of a rock-star welcome from a group of little girls. Swings and slide were forgotten as they rushed over to him.
“Is it real?” one girl asked, as she reached out a hand to touch him.
Children were one of Papadum’s favorite things. He panted happily as Rylan lifted up his bangs to show that yes, he really did have a face.
“Does he do tricks?”
“Can I sit on his back?”
“Can Poppy-dum share my ice cream?”
Rylan answered the high-pitched questions until his order arrived, at which point Papadum’s fans were removed by their parents. The woman from the coffee shop placed his food on the table. Papadum, still high on little-girl adulation, offered her his paw.
“It’s a sign that he likes you.” Rylan checked her name badge. “Judith.”
“I’ve lived around here a long time, and seen many things, but a dog like that?” She shook her head. “That’s a new one.”
Rylan took his time counting out the cash to pay her. “If you’ve lived here for some time, you must have seen a lot of changes in the area.”
“Tell me about it. Not so long ago, the makeup of this place was very different.” Although her gesture took in the small courtyard, she looked upward at the redbrick facade of the gallery and beyond to the rooftops of the other units within the Diamond.
“This was a warehouse, right?” Rylan asked.
“Most of these buildings were originally used for that purpose,” Judith said. “There was an iron foundry and feed and grain mill nearby, so these warehouses were needed to store their products. The foundry closed first, but the area retained its industrial identity. This building housed a construction company.”
“You talk like someone who knows a lot about it.”
She looked self-conscious. “You got me started on my favorite subject. Local history, especially the Second Street area, is a real hobby of mine.”
“It’s fascinating.” It was true, possibly because she was so enthusiastic about it. “What happened?”
Judith shrugged. “The recession hit. Businesses closed one by one. These buildings started to fall into disrepair and there was talk of pulling them down. A foundation was set up to try and save them from demolition and preserve their identity. Some people were very passionate, talking about how it felt to have their future ripped away, but they just couldn’t raise the funds. Then a development company bought them up and renovated the buildings. With support from the city council, they sold them on with business incentives for the new owners. The Diamond is the result. Tourists come for the skiing, and this is an additional attraction.”
“Was there any bad feeling about the change in the area?” Rylan asked.
Judith pursed her lips. “Not that I’m aware. I run an online local history forum. The comments there were all positive. The developer bought these buildings about five years ago and, at that time, they were a real scar on the Roaring Springs landscape. I don’t think anyone would view
the way they look now as a bad thing. The Diamond has breathed new life into this area.”
She took the money for his meal, together with the tip Rylan gave her, and went back inside. Judith’s brief history had given him a new perspective on the Diamond, but he wasn’t sure it helped him in any way. It sounded as if the area had been dead, and the new businesses had revived it. Was there a grudge buried in there somewhere? If so, it wasn’t immediately obvious.
Although Judith had firmly banished Papadum from the interior of Arty Sans, Rylan was able to view the setup from his position outside. There were three members of staff, including Judith, all of them female. Two worked behind the serving counter while their colleague manned the cash desk. Every now and then, one person would step out from behind the counter to clear tables.
None of the three women looked like crazy stalkers. But that was the problem. Crazy stalkers didn’t usually advertise the fact.
Judith had admitted her devotion to local history. Was her positive attitude to the changes sincere, or did she wish the area’s true past had been preserved? Even if she hadn’t been truthful with him, was it a motive for harassment? And why target Bree? If this was about the Diamond, surely the other businesses would also come under attack? Maybe they had...
He sent a quick text message to Trey, asking him to check. It occurred to Rylan that the sheriff might not like taking orders from the hired help. He shrugged. Tough. They were in this together, and he would do whatever it took to protect Bree. If that included ruffling a few Colton feathers, he’d live with the consequences.
He finished his coffee. “Where next?” he asked. Papadum snorted. “Craft shop? Good idea. Maybe we should get you a beret. It would give you a creative air. And let people know where your head is.”
Chapter 8
Everything had been gearing up to this day. The gallery show would take place later that evening, and Bree was working with Kasey to make sure the final arrangements were in place. The excitement was like a buzz of electricity in the air and, even though her own paintings weren’t on display, she knew this would be one of the best shows Wise Gal had put on.