The Ghost Dances the Nutcracker

by Kristine Frost

  Tabitha nodded, looking up at Mark. “And he was very civil when you were there. Inspector Jarret was floored at the way he talked to me.”

  London frowned. “Daniel Jarret? He was the one who answered your call?”

  “I don’t know if his first name was Daniel. He was the one who told me to call Mark and Peter and let me do it from his phone. He told Parker that I’d made the call before he had them take me downtown.”

  “Daniel Jarret? That name sounds familiar.” Mark frowned, clearly trying to place the name.

  “He’s the one who risked his life when I got this.” He touched the scar that ran from his eyebrow across his temple to his ear.” He rubbed the scar. “I thought he was getting a transfer from Metro to CID. I signed the paperwork.”

  “He couldn’t have been CID.” Tabitha looked from London to Mark. “He was a first responder. Parker came later from Scotland Yard.”

  London pulled out his ever-present notebook. He flipped to a clean page and made a couple of notes.

  Mark’s phone chimed. “Tab, I hate to say this but I’m not going to have time to take you to the theater. They’ve changed the time of my court appearance.”

  London reached a hand down to pull her to her feet. “I can go with you. My car’s around the corner. I’m sure they won’t let you have the painting but I may be able to get them to let you look at it.”

  As she got to her feet, he took her arm. With a slight feeling of amazement, she looked at his gloved hand on her arm. He hadn’t been this friendly since the first time they met. The amazement grew when she thought of how he had treated her when their last case was over.

  Wonders never cease. She thought. Maybe dreams do come true.

  Chapter 11—Marylebone Theatre

  The big theatre doors were propped open when Tabitha and London got there.London parked in the no-parking zone just in front of the theatre, his police pass in the front window.

  As they got entered the theatre, they could hear saws buzzing, hammers pounding, and men swearing.

  Tabitha led the way past dozens of workmen who nodded and greeted her.

  “Tabitha, what are you doing here?” Cabot was standing with the theatre architect and general contractor.

  “I came to see my picture.” She smiled at him innocently.

  His face got red, his voice loud, his eyes hard. “That idiot Scotland Yard inspector tried to shut us down. Told me my men couldn’t work here. Crime scene or some such nonsense.”

  Tabitha’s grin broadened as she visualized Parker coming up against Leland Cabot. The fireworks would have been fun to watch.

  “I take it he didn’t get his way.” She couldn’t keep the giggle out of her voice completely.

  “Heck no. It only took a couple of calls and he backed down completely.” His chuckle turned into a loud guffaw.

  “Mr. Cabot, I’d like you to meet Detective Chief Inspector Charles London. He solved the Ghost Haven case and just saved my life.” Tabitha stepped back so London could shake Cabot’s hand.

  “This is Leland Cabot, my boss.” Tabitha couldn’t help but grin. London was about as opposite of Cabot as it was possible to be.

  London touched her arm. “We need to get going.” He nodded to Cabot. “Good to meet you.”

  Tabitha walked toward her workroom. She could see bright yellow crime scene tape stretched across the hall.

  “Your boss must have a lot of pull in some powerful places if he got Scotland Yard to back down from doing a full-blown crime scene investigation.” London’s voice was non-committal.

  “He donates a lot of money to a lot of charities. He also sits on the boards of a bunch of organizations.” She kept her voice low. “Besides being worth 10 to 15 billion dollars carries a lot of weight.”

  They reached the crime scene tape. A uniformed constable was sitting next to the tape. “You’re not allowed in here.” His voice was loud, authoritative, official.

  “Easy, constable.” London pulled his identification from his inside pocket.

  As soon as the constable read his ID he saluted. “I’m sorry sir, but my orders are that no one goes in.”

  “I understand. Who is over forensics?”

  “Jeff Wilson. He’d have my guts for garters if I let anyone in, even you.”

  “Will you ask him to come talk to me, please?” London’s voice was gentle, but there was a bit of a bite to his words.

  The constable saluted again. “Of course, sir.”

  A few seconds later, the constable returned. “He’ll be out shortly. They are fingerprinting the painting.

  “Grrr.” Tabitha’s hands tightened. She could feel her breathing quicken, to match the pounding of her heart. “I hope the fingerprint dust doesn’t ruin my work.

  “Easy.” London said. He looked at the constable. “Will you please tell Wilson that painting is worth what?” He looked at Tabitha.

  “125,000 dollars which is approximately 101,000 pounds.” Tabitha fought to keep her voice from betraying her agitation.

  “But it’s damaged.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Cabot said from behind them. “I know she can repair it. I want that one as a memorial to Jess Duval.”

  Jeff Wilson walked into the hall. “Detective Chief Inspector London.” He said respectfully. He nodded to Tabitha. He glared at Cabot. “I told you to stay away from here.” His voice was a growl.

  Cabot held up his hands. “I haven’t crossed your line. I want my painting.”

  “Well, you can’t have it. It’s evidence in a capital crime.”

  Tabitha could feel her blood pressure rising with her anger. Before she could say anything, London said, “Jeff, she can get a court ruling. I understand the crime was committed elsewhere.”

  Wilson closed his eyes for a moment, obviously counting to ten.

  “It works better if you count backwards from 1,000 in Swahili.” Tabitha couldn’t hide her grin. “Besides, all I want right now is to see if the painting can be repaired and what I’ll need to repair it.”

  Wilson swallowed. “Georgette thinks you didn’t do it and I owe her, but if Parker finds out he is going to have my hide for this.”

  He looked at Tabitha. “I’ll let you in if you’ll put on gloves and booties.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

  Wilson looked at the other two men. “You can stand outside the door and watch. I won’t have you all traipsing through my crime scene.”

  “That’s more than fair.” London said before Cabot could explode. “Miss Black is the only one who really needs to check the painting.

  One of Wilson’s tech’s helped Tabitha put on the blue booties. He then handed her a pair of latex gloves. Once they were on, Wilson lifted the tape to let them through.

  Following the tech, she walked to the painting, pulling a small magnifying glass from her pocket. She looked carefully at the cuts without touching the painting. After examining each cut carefully, she looked at Wilson. “May I see the back of the painting, please?”

  At his nod, the tech walked her around to the back. Again without touching it, she examined each cut.

  After thanking both the tech and Wilson, she walked back into the hall, removing the booties and the gloves.

  “Well?” Cabot demanded.

  “If there is no more damage, I think I can repair it so the repairs won’t show. It will take several hours to fix and I’ll have to have some help, but it can be done.”

  Cabot focused on one part of her statement. “There had better be no more damage.” His voice shook dust from the ceiling.

  “Mr. Cabot, we can’t interfere with their investigation.” Tabitha knew it wouldn’t take much to get thrown out of the crime scene area. She gripped his arm.

  He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “I understand that.” He looked at Wilson. “What are you going to do with the painting?”

  “It will have to be moved to the evidence locker.” Wilson’s voice was no nons
ense.

  “I don’t know much about your evidence locker but if it’s anything like the ones in the States, it will in the way because it is so big. It will get shoved around and the odds of it being damaged is greater, right?”

  “Possibly.” Wilson wasn’t giving an inch.

  “Would you object if I had my men build a frame the size of the painting with two sheets of glass? You and your techs could sandwich the painting between the glass. You could keep your evidence safe and I can get my painting back when the case is concluded.”

  Wilson thought for a moment. Tabitha could feel London fidget. She guessed it irritated him that he couldn’t just tell Wilson to agree.

  Wilson nodded. “I think your request is reasonable. I’m not sure the painting had anything to do with the murder, but Chief Detective Inspector Parker told me specifically to treat it as evidence.”

  “Thank you.” Tabitha could feel her heart relax and her blood pressure return to normal.

  “How soon will you need the frame?” Cabot went straight to the heart of the matter.

  “I’d like to get the painting out of here as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll have it for you in thirty minutes or less.”

  “Detective Wilson.” Tabitha smiled. “I just had a thought. When you were fingerprinting, did you fingerprint the top back of the picture?”

  When Wilson frowned, Tabitha said, “Whoever slashed the picture had to have held on to the painting. That canvas is tough. With paint on it, it is much tougher.”

  She pantomimed holding the painting by the top while she shoved a knife through the picture. “If he hadn’t held on to it, it would have fallen over while he was trying to get the point through the canvas, even if the blade had been super sharp.”

  Wilson stepped back into the workroom. They could hear him say something to the fingerprint tech.

  When he came out, Tabitha smiled at him. “Thank you for your help.”

  Cabot nodded to him. “I’ll have your frame in a few minutes.” He turned back toward his workmen and began issuing orders.

  Detective Chief Inspector Parker came striding down the hall. “What are you doing here? This is an active crime scene.” Even though his face was red and his voice loud, his blond hair was perfectly styled, his navy-blue overcoat fit like a glove, his shoes were perfectly polished.

  He glared at Tabitha, not seeing London who had stepped back from the group.

  “I’m sorry, Detective Chief Inspector Parker.” Tabitha kept her voice sweet and low. “I was just asking Detective Wilson if I could get my brushes since I have two more pictures to paint, but he told me they weren’t through in the workroom.”

  She thanked Wilson for the information then turned, following London who had moved down the hall, his back to Parker.

  When they were back to London’s car, he opened the door for her. “You handled Parker very well back there and probably saved Wilson a tongue lashing. I apologize for fading into the woodwork, but Parker wouldn’t have taken kindly to me being there. He would probably accuse me of trying to mess up his case.”

  “I understand. I was thinking it was smart of you to get out of there—for all our sakes.”

  Chapter 12 St. Marylebone Theatre

  Parker watched Tabitha and a man he couldn’t identify walk out of the building. “What did she really want?” His tone was ugly, wrathful.

  Wilson watched Parker. There was something about Parker. Something that didn’t ring true. Something that was a little off. It made Wilson’s teeth hurt.

  “She wanted to know when she could get back to work on the painting. I told her it was evidence. Cabot showed up.” Wilson stopped, not sure what to say.

  “He’s a headache, but a wealthy, well-connected headache. Superintendent Hinckley told me to handle him with kid gloves since he just donated a hundred thousand pounds to the police widows and orphans fund.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” Wilson tried to look impressed since he knew Parker would be impressed. Parker like money, status, adulation.

  “What did he want?” Parker was getting impatient.

  “He wants the painting back as soon as you find the killer. He’s going to have Ms. Black fix it, finish it so he can use it as a memorial to Jessica Duval.”

  “Hah! She won’t be finishing it unless she does it in prison.”

  Wilson’s eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. The investigation wasn’t close to being finished. Parker couldn’t know that Tabitha Black had done it. But he was careful not to show how he felt. But he made a mental note to let Ed Tolliver know about Parker’s comment.

  “He’s going to have his workmen built a frame complete with glass that will fit around the picture. I didn’t know how to tell him no.”

  Parker smirked. “I’m glad you didn’t. He will save us some frustration about keeping the evidence in pristine condition for Black’s trial.” Without a word, Parker turned and hurried down the hall toward the main entrance. He looked like a man with a mission.

  Chapter 13—Tabitha’s Flat

  Tabitha shut the flat door behind her, pausing to plug in the lights on her Christmas tree and then flip on the gas fireplace. She looked around enjoying the pine boughs on the mantel, the hand-blown glass carolers on the lamp table, the wreathes in the windows, their candles flickering against the dark grey clouds outside.

  Before she could get her coat off, her land line began to ring. She hurried across the room to grab the receiver.

  “Hello?” Her voice was breathless.

  “Tab, that you?”

  “Bob. I’m so glad you called. I was going to call you. How are you doing.” Although she tried to sound cheerful, she could feel the tears sting her throat. She knew he’d know from her voice that something was wrong. Her brother was very perceptive.

  “Okay, Tab. Tell me what’s going on.” His voice was kind, gentle, the voice of the big brother she loved with all her heart. The big brother she’d nearly lost a few months back when a case he was on backfired. The big brother that she’d marry if he wasn’t her big brother.

  “Is it Charles?”

  “Not really. He’s sort of involved.” Tabitha sighed. It was going to be really hard to explain what was going on to a man who was more than 5,000 miles away.

  “Just spit it out girl. It can’t be that bad.” His voice held a mocking tone.

  “Oh, yes, it can.” She snapped back, her voice slipping into her Texas twang. “I’m being accused of strangling one of the dancers I’ve been painting.”

  “Who’s accusing you—a cop from Metro?” Bob’s voice had dropped the teasing tone.

  “No. Detective Chief Inspector Parker from Scotland Yard. You remember me telling you that he arrested Courtney so I figured out who murdered Debbie’s parents and went to Charles London for help.”

  “I remember. I thought at the time he’d not be happy you went around him.” She could almost see Bob shaking his head.

  “What else could I have done, Bob? He arrested Courtney. She’s family.” Tabitha could feel her temper begin its travels up her legs.

  “Nothing. You couldn’t do anything else but what you did.” He was quiet for a few minutes. “Tell me what happened—everything from the beginning.”

  “Bob, it will cost you an arm and a leg. This is an overseas call.”

  “Sis, if it cost my whole body, it would be worth it. Now tell me what happened and don’t leave anything out.”

  Thirty minutes later, Tabitha said, “I think that’s everything.”

  Bob was quiet for so long; Tabitha tapped the phone. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes. I was just thinking. Since you know that Parker isn’t going to investigate and London can’t or says he can’t which I think is probably true, I think you’re going to need to do your own snooping unless you want me to come help you.”

  “Bob, I know you’re buried with cases. Since Mrs. Arbuthnot put you on retainer, you haven’t had a moment for yourself o
r for Ann either.” Ann was Bob’s fiancée.

  “Besides, I don’t want you to drop everything to come pick up the pieces. I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” She fought to keep the whine out of her voice.

  “At this point,” Bob’s voice was thoughtful, “I think it would be a good idea if you do some investigating on your own. You’ve solved two other cases so you have good instincts. If I come barreling in, it would put the murderer on guard as well as speed up his timetable. It would be better if he stays secure. It will be less dangerous for you.”

  “I’m all for less dangerous. So give me some pointers. “Where should I start?”

  “I’d start with the victim. Find out everything you can about her. Didn’t you tell me that Cabot had an affair with her and his wife found out?”

  “Yes. Liu told me about it. Cabot didn’t want to use her as a model, but Liu insisted. It was her picture that was slashed.”

  “But the picture was slashed before you found the body.”

  “The picture was slashed before the murderer brought the body to my studio.” Tabitha corrected.

  “I suspect the two are related.” Bob said. “The fact that your painting was slashed in such a brutal manner suggests that there is a lot of rage in the culprit. Trouble is, we don’t know if the rage is directed at you or if it was directed at Duval.”

  “Isn’t strangulation considered an act of rage.”

  “Yes, but the rage could still be directed at you because the murder occurred elsewhere. I’d be really careful, love.”

  Tabitha suddenly remembered the car racing out of nowhere to run her down. She also remembered how good London’s arms felt around her. It was probably the only time it would happen.

  “What did you remember, sis?” Bob demanded.

  She told him about the car, London’s rescue. When her voice choked up, Bob said, “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Tabitha swallowed. Her brother was way too perceptive. “There is, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the murder.”