Stroke of Death

by Dale Mayer

  “I know.”

  “Any connection between the three dead ones?”

  “Yes, they all died a while ago,” he said. “But the two who died in the car accident together were deemed an accident. Drunk driver hit them. He’s been convicted and long gone.”

  “Okay, so that wasn’t anything suspicious. What about the other one?”

  “Breast cancer.”

  Richard let out a slow breath. “You’re killing off all our possible suspects.”

  “I know,” he said. “I don’t think it’s anything to do with the will, but I could be wrong. Apparently a ton of money is there.”

  “Well, now two are left who stand to inherit a hell of a lot more.”

  “And, if those two aren’t around, then somebody else stands to inherit an even bigger portion.” Andy paused. “Do we have anything that suggests there’s more to the relationship between Elena and Cayce?”

  “Not that I’ve found,” Richard said, “but I didn’t ask her specifically.” He reached for his phone and called Cayce’s gallery. When Anita answered, he said, “This is Detective Henderson.”

  “I sent you the invoices this morning, Detective,” Anita said.

  He could hear the strain in her voice. She was one of the more bubbly type personalities who was suffering right now from the loss of Elena. “Yes, thank you,” he said. “We don’t have very much information from that. Nobody’s answering the phone on that order for Elena’s last installation. Of course, it’s early on in my investigation, but the company name isn’t showing up.”

  “He’s a private collector,” she said, “and he’s been fascinated with Cayce’s work for a long time. They’ve talked about him doing something multiple times, but this is the first time it’s come to pass.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Hallmark,” she said. “John Hallmark.”

  He wrote that down. “Do you know if Cayce and Elena have any history together?”

  When she answered, her voice was stiff. “If you’re asking if they had a relationship, outside of being friends and business associates, the answer is no.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking,” he said. “I’m truly asking about whether something more than just working together was involved. Like, were they friends a long time ago, or did they both get their start together, or how did they meet? Was it just as a model and an artist?”

  “I believe they were childhood friends,” she said. “Then they lost track of each other before reconnecting as adults.”

  He nodded. “That makes more sense.”

  “Well, if you think it does, maybe it does,” she said, “but I don’t see how.” Her tone was filled with doubt. “You have to understand that, even if they were the best of friends, if she didn’t fit the installation, no way Cayce would have put her in there.”

  “Right,” he said. “So it just happened to be that a lot of the installations were perfect for Elena?”

  “Well, you must understand one critical thing,” Anita said. “Elena knew what her place was in all this.”

  At that, Richard straightened. “What do you mean by her place?”

  “The model isn’t supposed to be the object of the art,” she said, as if instructing somebody who didn’t understand how art worked. “She’s supposed to be an element to temporarily enhance the actual piece, but isn’t the actual piece itself.”

  His mind took a moment to sort through it and said, “So she was not the art piece itself?”

  “No, not every time. But at this last show, because Cayce had body-painted all of her—her back as well—when she separated from the actual installation, she became an art piece on her own. Cayce doesn’t do it for the other models.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She would tell you that it’s because the others don’t have the same panache or the same ability to step out of the actual piece and become something on their own.”

  “And yet, say, this other model, Naomi, when she steps out, is she not an art piece?”

  “She isn’t in the sense that she isn’t part of the piece, then separated as a unique art piece on her own,” Anita said. “Besides, Naomi is far too brash to allow herself to be part of the installation. She wants to be the art.”

  “So then why does Cayce use her?”

  “It depends on who’s paying for the installation. Sometimes they determine the artist,” she said.

  “Ah, and so Naomi is getting requested for some recent ones?”

  “Yes.” But Anita’s tone was disapproving, as if Naomi wasn’t the model Cayce wanted.

  “And what does a model have to do in order to become somebody who’s requested for these types of jobs?”

  “Just do what people have been doing since forever. You either rise to fame because you fit and work the art world or because you have a way of getting people in power to request you.” At that, her tone turned businesslike. “I have no intention of gossiping about any of the models,” she said. “So, unless you have any direct questions, I need to get back to work.”

  As she started to hang up, he said, “Wait.”

  “What?”

  He sighed and said, “Can you tell me if anybody had specifically requested that Elena be at that installation on the last night she modeled?”

  “Yes,” she said, “because that collector, that artist who has helped us with many installations, was a big fan of Elena’s work. He preferred that Cayce use her whenever she could.”

  “So, she was requested to be there that night?”

  “Yes, but that’s not uncommon,” she said. “It’s happened many times.”

  “And it would be the same company who requested her?”

  “Well, that’s one of his businesses,” she said. “The philanthropist who ultimately pays us is John Hallmark. We call him R. John because he’s—” And then she stopped and said, “I guess that’s a fairly inappropriate joke. But it was a joke between us because he was always helping us. You know? Intentionally trying to help Elena and Cayce make their mark in the world.”

  “And what was the prior relationship between them, between Elena and Cayce?”

  “I don’t know what it was,” she said, her tone turning flat. “Detective, I’m not happy answering these questions. If you have more, please direct them to Cayce.” With that, she hung up.

  When he put down his phone, Andy looked at him. “Uncooperative suspect?”

  Richard gave a laugh. “That was Cayce’s assistant,” he said, “and she is fairly open and responsive, yet defensive at the same time.”

  “She’s probably protecting Cayce, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think it’s about protecting her because she’s done something criminal, just protecting her employer and a friend,” he said. “You can’t fault her for that.”

  “It depends whether she knows something else is going on or not.”

  Chapter 7

  Cayce straightened, just barely holding back the groan as she felt her back creaking. She would have to find a better way to work when she was on these installations. Maybe having the models up on a higher pedestal or something, but she knew that would just make Naomi way too happy.

  “I need a bathroom break,” Naomi said suddenly.

  Cayce stepped back and said, “Not a problem. I’m done with the bottom half anyway.”

  “Finally,” Naomi said with a note of disgust. She turned and walked away.

  One of the two men who had worked with her many times on the big jobs shook his head. “She really doesn’t get it, does she?”

  “Oh, Naomi gets it,” Cayce said with a smile. “What she gets is that she’s the center of the universe.”

  “She doesn’t even realize she’s a part of something much bigger,” he said, “and this one is particularly wonderful.” He stood back in admiration, as he studied the massive painting going on behind the scenes.

  “I’m behind on time,” she said, looked at her watch. “I’ve got what, e
ight hours?” She could feel the stress cramping her stomach, her chest seizing too.

  “Not really,” he said. “I think you’ve got an extra hour and a half. It’s not opening until seven o’clock, right?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I won’t have a ton of time.”

  “Do you want to paint some base on the kids?”

  The kids came racing over when she stood there, palette in hand, without the model in front of her. Their beautiful faces beamed up at her. “Is it us next?”

  “Well, I can do a layer,” she said gently, “if you think you can keep still and keep clean until later tonight.”

  Their mother walked over and said, “Hi, Cayce. I didn’t want them to disturb you, but—” she waved her hand helplessly toward the little bouncing girls.

  Cayce smiled at them and said, “I just wanted to match up a few things,” she said, “and then, if you’re okay, come back this afternoon to let me finish. I don’t want them to be painted for too long.”

  “They’ll love the paint,” she said, “but if you think it’s not good for their skin or something?”

  “It’s a special paint for the little ones,” she said, “but, no, we don’t paint all of them in order to keep them nice and healthy.” She smiled down at the sweet guileless smiling faces of the girls. “I’ll just be doing their fronts. Meaning, I’ll mostly be painting the nude-colored leotard they’ll be wearing, which gives them all the requisite big belly we need here.”

  The mother seemed relieved. “You don’t normally add children to the art, do you?”

  “No, but, in this case, it’s pretty important,” she said, “and I’ll have some help. This afternoon we have four children in all, and Frankie here”—she motioned at the tall twentysomething man smiling down at the kids—“will give me a hand. That way we can get it done faster, and the kids won’t have to stand still for so long.” She looked at her watch and said, “Maybe you can come back in, let’s say, four hours?”

  “Will do.” She turned and looked at the girls. “I told you that we’d stop in, but I didn’t say we would stay. Cayce wants us to head home and get some lunch and come back later.” She cocked an eyebrow in question at Cayce. “Then we’ll come back.”

  The girls groaned immediately, but Cayce crouched and said, “It’ll be fine. We just don’t want you to have to stand around and to get bored for too long. When you come back, it’ll be straight down to business.”

  The girls laughed and nodded and headed off.

  Frankie stood at her side and said, “That’ll be a fun challenge.”

  “It’ll be beyond a fun challenge,” she said.

  “If we have to make the painting mobile, it’ll be a challenge,” he said. “And I’ll have to work really fast.”

  She walked over to the big installation. “We need to work on the set of trees over here,” she said. “The picnic area is looking a little on the flat side.” Absentmindedly she reached out with her paintbrush, brought over the ladder, and started working.

  “Well, I’m back,” Naomi said, her tone exasperated. “I just said I had to go to the bathroom, not that I needed to, and now my lunch break has already come.”

  “Doesn’t matter what you need,” Frankie said in a disgusted tone. “It’s not about you.”

  Naomi tossed her hair. All Cayce could hear was the disgust in her tone. Those two never got along. She understood it because they were both, in their own way, egotists, but at least Frankie was much more about the large-picture scene; he wasn’t all about himself.

  Cayce came down the ladder, looked at her touch-up, and said, “That’ll work. I think this is done. What do you think, Frankie?”

  “I think it’s great,” he said. “This is one of the most vibrant pieces you’ve ever done.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “The kids will only be a small part of it but a fun part.” She turned to look at Naomi. “Okay, the bottom is good. Let’s get to work on the upper.”

  “Finally,” Naomi said, and she quickly pulled the rest of her clothing from her upper half. “Where do you want to work?” Naomi walked around, deliberately showing the world her breasts and her beautifully trim figure.

  But Frankie had seen it all many times before, and he couldn’t give a shit. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t belong here at all.

  As for Cayce, well, she’d worked on dozens and dozens of male and female bodies as part of an art installation, and that was the extent of her interest.

  She grabbed her paints, rotated her neck slightly, and said, “Let’s get to work.” She walked Naomi over to a pure white backdrop, where Cayce could see what she was doing and put on the base.

  As soon as she was done with that, she walked Naomi back to the installation, set her where she had been before, stepped back, and said, “Okay, now we’ll get into the details.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was the part that people didn’t understand. In order to make her model one with the backdrop, Cayce had to make her model one with herself. In order to make Naomi one with herself, Cayce had to deal with the things that she didn’t like about Naomi and then cover them in such a way that Cayce could hide the part of Naomi that didn’t belong in the installation, which was her greedy, self-serving need to be famous. A lot about Naomi wasn’t nice.

  Then Cayce picked up her paintbrush and also mentally reached for the threads of anger and darkness, using her energy to pull them from Naomi, so she could be a part of this installation without leaving that stain. It was work at the soul level. No darkness allowed.

  Closing her eyes again, she checked in on the energy of her colors and of nature. Then went to work.

  *

  Wow, he whispered to himself as the show opened.

  He stared at the installation in shock and amazement. He’d made it just in time. The crowd was hundreds deep here, but he’d found a ladder left behind one of the curtains against the back wall and climbed up just a step so he could see what was going on. The installation was on a platform, but it wasn’t high enough for anybody else to have seen quite what he was seeing. Not only was the installation incredible but, just as he managed to get a decent view, Naomi had stepped forward, and nobody had seen her until then. Cries of delight came from the audience as they watched her do her pirouette, before stepping back and blending in once again. This was typical for the Cayce installation reveals. But the audience was due for another surprise.

  Suddenly a child came bouncing out of the middle, doing cartwheels. Painted as a great big beach ball, she turned like a pinwheel across the stage. Immediately the crowd broke out in cheers, clapping, and laughter. The little girl immediately spun backward, and, with a little bit more difficulty, set herself back into the painting.

  If that wasn’t enough, three more children, all at the same time, came bouncing out and did exactly the same thing. When they were almost done, the fourth little girl joined them, and they did one complete revolution, running around, dancing, and laughing. They came up to the front of the audience and did a bow, before they walked back to the painting and reset themselves into the actual art installation.

  He stared in amazement, whispering, “Dear God! Cayce had outdone herself this time.”

  And, just like that, Cayce, in a long flowing white gown, something smooth and sleek, yet simple, stepped forward and raised a hand of thanks to the entire crowd. Everybody jumped up, cheered, and laughed, crying and screaming in joy.

  She smiled and said, “As you can see, I added something a little special this time.”

  And they clapped and cheered. When it finally died down, only the waiters moved among them, with large flutes of champagne and trays of hors d’oeuvres. Cayce herself walked over to the kids, popped them out of the painting, and took them up to the front of the stage again, introducing each one to the audience. Then she gave the four little girls a little glass of something bright pink and bubbly and headed them off to the two sets of parents who had brought thei
r kids.

  Then she walked to Naomi, reaching out a hand. Naomi took her turn in the spotlight, as she felt she always should, the stupid bitch. Then they parted, and Cayce moved back into the crowd.

  He watched Cayce join the guests with that same elegance she put into her paintings, that same life, that same verve, and yet she herself was so controlled, as if she had a way to blanket it, a way to keep it under control, and she only allowed that life when she did an installation—and in the party afterward. As if she had been turned on, and the rest of the time, she was turned off.

  He wondered about that. He’d known it for a long time, but she was simply stunning. His heart made a happy sigh as he slipped off the ladder and walked through the crowd, grabbing a flute of champagne as a waiter walked past, until he could see Cayce. She never really spent any time with him, never really saw him, not like she used to, but he was determined to make her see, one day, that he was worthy of her attention. It couldn’t be yet, but one day she would see that he was worthy of being beside her.

  But just being here was special. Just seeing an artist at the top of her game was beyond special. Even being in her aura, well, that was something else yet again.

  He reached out to touch her, then pulled back just in time. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself but wanted to feel who she was as she walked by.

  He wasn’t sure if she noticed or not, but she stiffened. He loved that too. She was so responsive; she probably had no clue what she was reacting to, but he did, and that made him feel even more special, more connected. With a happy sigh, he watched as she walked from person to person, talking to them, smiling with them, just being herself. Which was, in essence, perfect.

  *

  Halo huddled against the brick building, as the rain poured steadily only a few inches from his toes.

  Rain, God’s tears.

  Someone bad was out there.

  God wasn’t happy. A sob broke free, and he burrowed his head against his knees. He wanted a hot coffee so bad. But he’d been too scared to go back to Hildie. He wanted the rain, his brain hurting as it always did. But the rain made the rest of him hurt too. His knees creaked as he pulled them closer to his chest.