by Carsen Taite
“Did you know her?”
“No. I think she was in law school and I’m merely an up-and-coming artist, but if you check out all the posts, everyone loved her. Of course, most of the people saying that probably didn’t even know her. Social media brings out the fakers.” He pulled a bottle from the fridge and joined them in the main living area. “What other questions do you have?”
Claire asked him the standard set of questions they’d asked everyone else, but like everyone else, Jensen had nothing to report as far as any unusual activity during any of their outings, including the last one in Deep Ellum. “Riley stuck around after the rest of us left. She’d be the most likely person to have seen anything out of the ordinary. She’s an incredible artist and has a fantastic eye for detail.”
Despite the hyperbole, Claire sensed his praise was genuine and she felt oddly proud on Riley’s behalf. “Have you known her long?”
“Since I joined the group last year. I tried to get into one of her classes this semester, but they fill up fast.”
Claire exchanged a glance with Nick, wishing he could read her mind so they could confer about what she wanted to ask next, but he couldn’t so she decided to toss it out there and see what happened. “Have you ever borrowed any of Riley’s sketchbooks? Like to learn technique?” She watched for Jensen’s reaction, ready to pounce at the first sign of guilt. All she got was a puzzled look.
“No, but she probably would’ve loaned it to me if I’d asked. She’s very generous with her time and talent. She even lets me tag along sometimes when she goes out to sketch on her own. She and Buster are the best artists in the group.”
That was it. Claire was convinced Jensen was an authentic member of the Riley Flynn fan club. “Good to know. Is there anything else we should know?”
“No, but I’ll let you know if I think of anything.” He raised his protein drink in salute. “I hope you catch this guy soon.”
“We do too,” Claire said. She handed Jensen a card and then led the way for her and Nick to leave. Once they were back in the car, Nick said, “Well, looks like you have competition for your Riley love-fest.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Whoa, don’t get mad. I was kidding. Let’s not fight again. I can’t handle working these long hours if my snack buddy isn’t going to speak to me.”
“Maybe not so much with the picking on the snack buddy for you,” she said with a forced smile.
“How about we grab an early lunch? My treat.”
“As much as I’d like to let you buy me a meal, I’m meeting Riley at the gallery at noon. I thought it would be good to go through her work and see if it triggers anything about the case and get an idea of what other local landmarks might be on the killer’s list.” She paused, and then added. “You’re welcome to come if you want.”
Nick met her eyes and shook his head. “No, you’ve developed a rapport with her. You don’t need someone else in there messing it up. You go and I’ll see if we can get something scheduled with Tosca’s roommate.”
“Sounds good.” Claire hoped her relief wasn’t too visible. At this point, she was still pretending her interest in Riley was purely professional, but she wasn’t ready for anyone else to know the truth.
Chapter Sixteen
Riley stood in the center of the gallery doing her best to pay attention to Lacy while keeping her eye on the door. Claire had said she’d be here at noon, but it was half past, and Riley was convinced she wasn’t coming.
“And I think this piece would look best over here.”
Riley tore her attention from Claire-watch back to Lacy. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Are you okay? You seem distracted today.” Lacy put a hand on her arm as she asked the question, her eyes reflecting sincere concern.
“Sorry. I had trouble sleeping last night,” Riley said, leaving out the part about how dreams of Claire and subsequent hours of wondering what the dreams meant had kept her up through the night. She smiled to reassure Lacy. “I promise you have my full attention.”
At that moment, the gallery door swung open and both of them turned at the sound. Claire was framed in the doorway, more beautiful than any of the artwork hanging on the walls inside, and Riley could not stop staring, surprised at how much she’d been looking forward to seeing her. She spent a split second trying to regain her self-control before abandoning the effort in favor of a smile and a step in Claire’s direction, barely noticing when Lacy’s hand dropped from her arm. “You made it.”
Claire’s warm smile reached into her eyes. “Sorry, I’m late. My appointment ran long. Is it still okay that I came?”
“Of course.” Riley looked back at Lacy, feeling the heat of a blush when she caught Lacy’s knowing glance at Claire. “Detective Claire Hanlon, this is Lacy Lofton, the gallery owner. We were going over the details of the installation.”
“Nice to meet you, Detective,” Lacy said, extending her hand.
“Just Claire is fine, thanks.” Claire clasped Lacy’s hand, but her eyes were on Riley who stood to the side, processing exactly how happy she was to see Claire and what that meant.
“Are you here in some official capacity?” Lacy asked.
“Claire wanted to see my work, and I asked her to stop by,” Riley said, hoping it was okay with Claire that she glossed over the real reason for her visit. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not. It’s your work, after all,” Lacy said. “I have a couple of calls to make. Why don’t the two of you look around and I’ll be back in a few.” She waved at Claire as she walked away. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”
Once she was out of sight, Claire said, “I’m sorry. Pretty clear I interrupted you.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” Claire dropped her voice to a whisper. “I think the gallery owner is smitten with her new artist.”
Riley felt the burn of a blush again, hotter this time, as her mind clicked through the few small instances over the past couple of weeks when she’d wondered if Lacy was flirting with her. If there were feelings, she didn’t reciprocate, and it was ironic that the person pointing out Lacy’s flirting was the one person she was attracted to, and that only intensified the heat. She let it simmer for a moment until a new feeling boiled to the surface. “Are you implying the gallery is representing me because she likes me, not my art?”
“What?” Claire’s expression turned to shock instantly. “No. Absolutely not.” She pointed to her painting of the Eye, propped up against the counter. “I mean look at this. You’re an amazing artist. Any gallery would be lucky to have you.”
Riley wanted to believe her, and for a moment she allowed herself to embrace the compliment and bask in the glow of its warmth. Was this how it felt to be appreciated for who she was, not viewed through the lens of her father’s transgressions? She craved more, but was leery it wouldn’t last, so she shifted into work mode. “You wanted to look at my other drawings for your case?”
Claire’s slightly raised eyebrow signaled she noticed the change from friendly to professional, but she didn’t remark on it. “Yes. I’m not sure how helpful it will be, but I thought if I had an idea of the places you’ve drawn, it might lead to some clues.”
“You think he’ll strike again?”
Claire bit her lower lip, and Riley knew she’d hit a chord. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” She motioned to the right. “Come on.” She led the way into the inner room. Lacy was on the phone in the back of the room and she waved, rolling her hand in the air to signal whoever was on the other end of the call was droning on. Riley waved back, secretly glad to have this time alone with Claire. She reached for her portfolio and spread it out on the counter. “These are my favorite spots. They’ll be featured in the show.” She flipped through the pages, pointing out the ones Claire was already familiar with, more refined sketches of the mural, the bridge, and the courthouse. She turned the page and pointed. “These sketch
es are from the arboretum. I love to watch the sailboats on White Rock Lake.” She turned the page to a scene of a bustling market, featuring booths full of sculptures and paintings and artists in front of easels.
“That looks familiar.”
“It’s the Deep Ellum Art Festival.” Riley laughed. “Very meta, and not my usual style, but I had fun. That wasn’t one we did as a group. I love sketching at markets and festivals. Great people watching—the interaction between buyers and browsers and sellers.”
“Aren’t the Eastside Sketchers going to the Farmer’s Market this weekend? Buster mentioned it.”
“Yes, but I was thinking of skipping. I’m weirded out at the idea a murderer is using my drawings as inspiration.”
“I hear you, but I was hoping you’d be there since I was thinking about tagging along.”
“You were, huh? Considering quitting the cop gig for a career as an artist?”
Claire laughed. “Hardly. I can barely draw a stick figure. We’ve talked to almost everyone in your group, but I thought it might be a good idea to see how it all works in person.”
It was Riley’s turn to laugh. “You might be bored. We descend on a location, set up, and draw and paint for two hours. Then we go drink. There, I saved you a trip.” Immediately, she wished she could reel back the words, because it would be nice to see Claire again and share her love of capturing the city’s special spots in her work. And then she had another thought. “Wait a minute. Do you think someone in the group is the killer?”
“We considered that, but we’ve talked to everyone and it doesn’t seem probable. I don’t mean to creep you out, but what does seem likely is that whoever is killing these women has seen you sketching, whether with the group or when you’re out on your own.” Claire tapped her fingers on the counter. “Hey, do you think…”
“What?”
“Jensen said he joins you on occasion, outside of the scheduled group meetings. Would he have had a chance to snag your sketchbook on one of those outings?”
“Jensen?” Riley frowned. “Not a chance. He’s a great guy. Very interested in improving his work. I let him tag along because I feel bad my classes this semester filled up before he could enroll. Besides, he’s family.”
“I want to think it’s cute that you believe just because he’s gay he couldn’t also be a killer, but you must realize that’s a false assumption.”
“I know. I’m not that naive.” Riley hunched her shoulders. “I guess I just feel like we have a bond and he wouldn’t steal from me or try to set me up for murder. Make that murders.” She hated the idea that people with whom she’d shared the very personal experience of creating art might violate her trust. “I guess you never really know someone.”
“I don’t know if that’s true,” Claire said, her expression thoughtful. “Getting to know someone is a process. Take us for instance. When we first met, we both had very different impressions than we do now, right?”
“True.” Curiosity pressed Riley to say. “What’s your impression now?”
“I have a pretty good sense of who you are. Strong, but sensitive. Creative, but practical. Guarded, but generous.”
As she spoke, Claire’s eyes were dark and intense and Riley didn’t want to do anything to break the intimacy of the moment. If she could draw her feelings right now, the composition would be full of light and curved lines with no harsh edges to block out the connection between them.
Claire’s phone buzzed, but she didn’t move to reach for it. “You should get that,” Riley said.
“I know,” Claire said, waiting another few beats before she pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. She sighed. “I have to go.”
Riley stared at Claire’s face, trying to read her expression. “It’s not another…” She couldn’t put her fear into words.
“No. But it is about the case.” Claire reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for letting me see your work. I know how important it is to you, and I can’t wait for your opening.”
Riley gripped her hand and then slowly let go. “Thank you.”
Claire started walking toward the door but stopped and turned back. “Do you have plans tonight?”
The question caught her off guard. “I have class until six.”
“Right. It’s Thursday.” Claire grinned. “You would think I would remember that. I guess you’re going to Mia’s after.”
“That’s the plan. Care to join me?”
“I can’t.”
Riley wasn’t prepared for the weight of disappointment at Claire’s no. “Totally get it.”
“I’m having dinner with Nick and his wife. Will you join me? At Nick’s place. There won’t be brisket tacos, but his wife, Cheryl, is an amazing cook. It’s kind of a work thing. We were going to brainstorm about the case, so don’t feel obligated to say yes. Seriously—”
“I’d love to,” Riley said before Claire could babble about it anymore, though a small part of her enjoyed seeing Claire in the vulnerable role for once. “What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at your place at seven.”
Riley watched Claire go, more pleased than she cared to admit that she’d see her again in a few hours.
* * *
Claire stood at Riley’s door, contemplating her decision about tonight. Five minutes ago, in a totally chickenshit move, she’d texted Nick to let him know she was bringing Riley, and his reply was simply OK. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but if this was really a working dinner, there was no reason she shouldn’t bring someone with her who might have valuable information to help them solve these murders. Riley wasn’t the killer, but Claire was convinced she was the key.
She knocked and the door opened almost immediately to reveal Riley standing in front of her.
“Come in,” Riley said. When Claire didn’t move, she shifted from one foot to the other. “What’s wrong?”
Claire smiled and shook her head. “Absolutely nothing. You look fantastic.” She watched as Riley looked down at her clothes. A brown tweed blazer, crisp navy shirt, dark jeans, and burnished brown Doc Marten oxfords. She was a total smokeshow, but judging by her shy demeanor, she didn’t have a clue how great she looked, which only enhanced the effect.
“I wasn’t sure if tonight was casual or what. I don’t have much in the way of dress up clothes, and this is about as nice as it gets.”
“Nick and Cheryl are very down-to-earth. You’re perfect.”
Riley pointed at her. “I think you might win the perfect award. No sharp lines for you tonight?”
“Spoken like a true artist.” Claire was secretly pleased Riley had noticed her outfit, which she’d stressed over. She’d abandoned her usual stuffy suits in favor of a drapey scarlet silk shirt with a slight ruffle on the cuff and her very best pair of jeans. “Are you ready?”
Riley reached over to the table by the door and grabbed a bottle of wine. “Now I am.”
On the car ride over, they discussed everyday things like the weather and the Mavericks. Nothing about the case and nothing of substance, and Claire loved every word of the easy chatter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at ease with another woman, like she didn’t have to be on guard, resisting the urge to talk about her job because it was either too gruesome or too time-consuming. When they finally pulled up in front of Nick’s house, she’d forgotten to dread his in-person reaction at the fact she’d brought Riley along.
“Whoa,” Riley said. “I thought you said these people are down-to-earth.”
Claire looked at the house. She’d seen it so many times, she’d forgotten the impression the large Tudor might make on a newcomer, and she tried to see it through Riley’s eyes. “Okay, it’s a mansion, but in their defense, Cheryl is a highly sought-after doctor and she comes from lots of money. This was her parents’ house before they relocated to Florida.”
“If a butler greets us,” Riley said, “I’m out of here.”
Luckily, Nick answer
ed the door. He graciously accepted the bottle of wine Riley had brought, but when her back was turned, he shook his head at Claire. She’d expected his disapproval, but she was prepared to defend her decision to bring Riley with a list of practical reasons, none of which touched on the real purpose which was simply she wanted to spend more time with her, and while this case was pending, there wouldn’t be any other opportunity to do so. Plus, she had a nagging feeling Riley might be in the killer’s sights, maybe not as a victim, but in some perverse way that caused her to feel protective. She didn’t have it all figured out, but in the meantime, she was going to enjoy Riley’s company, and Nick could get over it.
“Whatever Cheryl is cooking, it smells wonderful,” she said.
“Go see for yourself,” Nick said. “I’ve been banished for oversampling.” He hefted the bottle of wine. “I’ll open this and meet you in the dining room.”
“Oversampling? No such thing.” Claire motioned to Riley. “Come meet Cheryl. She’s the one you want to get to know in this house.”
They found Cheryl in the kitchen, vigorously stirring something in a pot on the stove. Claire made the introductions and noted Cheryl’s glance back and forth between them like she was trying to figure out what the deal was. “Riley is helping us out with the case. She’s an artist, specializing in urbanscapes. She has a show later this month at the Lofton Gallery.”
“That’s impressive. Lacy Lofton is a gem,” Cheryl said. “She curated a display in the new cancer treatment wing of the hospital, and it’s beautiful. Refused to take any payment for her services or the delivery and installation. I’m sure you’ll have much success with your work at the Lofton.”
“She’s made me feel at home from the moment I walked in,” Riley said. “And she’s had a lot of great suggestions for building my portfolio. I envisioned a very different gallery experience—more formal and stuffier—and I really enjoy her hands-on style. I think it’ll add to my development as an artist.”
“I’d love an invite to the show if you’re not already full up. I’m not the most avid collector, but I love buying art from people at the beginning of their career. Makes me feel like I’m a patron from the Renaissance. I hope you like shrimp tacos.”