by Burton, Mary
“He liked the artistic types.”
“Thornton owned an art gallery. He had an appreciation for art.”
Tess studied the bones. What was wrong? “We didn’t find them this way in the ground.” She reached in her satchel and pulled out pictures of the skeletons as they lay in the graves. “Do these bodies looked posed to you? Note the way the left hand appears draped over victim one and two’s chests. Number one is looking to the right. Two might have been if Miller’s crew hadn’t sliced into the skull.”
Alex raised a brow.
“He’s posed them like models.”
“The killer thinks of himself—”
“Or herself. We’ve no evidence to support the fact that the killer is a man.”
He nodded. “Point taken. Herself.”
“As an artist. The question is what or who is his inspiration?”
The call from Tess had detoured Gage’s morning plans. The killer considers himself an artist. Far-flung, but then he thought about all the paintings in the Thornton house. The gallery. It wouldn’t hurt to look at them. He’d intended to go through Thornton’s financial records but instead had pulled Vega along with him to the auctioneer’s warehouse, which now stored all the Thornton paintings.
Vega slid his hands into his pockets. “So what are we looking for?”
“Don’t even have a clue.”
Vega shook his head. “This artist theory is a stretch.”
“Agreed. But it doesn’t hurt to look at the paintings.”
“You know anything about art?”
Gage laughed. “Could fit what I know in the eye of a needle.”
“Even if this art theory holds true, it just points more to Thornton as the murderer. Thornton made his living by brokering art.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re busting our humps to prove a dead man killed these women.”
“Maybe. But I want to prove it.” And he wasn’t naïve enough to believe solving this was all about justice. A small part of him wanted to prove to Adrianna that she’d chosen wrong when she’d left him four years ago.
The appraiser, Mr. Kingston Willard, greeted them. Though he couldn’t have been more than thirty, the auctioneer was clad in a gray suit, white shirt, bow tie, and tortoiseshell glasses. “Gentlemen, the Thornton paintings are in the back room. We’ve been reviewing them and getting them ready for next week’s sale.”
“This a big auction for you?” Gage said.
“Mid-sized. None of the works are hugely valuable. But we do have some early works of Thomas Cole and John Singleton Copley. Both their pieces should fetch a nice price.” He opened the door to the storage room.
“Who are Cole and Copley?” Gage said.
“Early American mid-nineteenth-century painters. Best known for portraits and landscapes. They went on to create some very valuable works, but what’s in the Thornton collection represents some of their earliest, less valuable pieces.”
“Break it down for me,” Gage said. “How much is this stuff worth in dollars?”
“Assuming the whole collection sells and it’s a good night?”
“Sure, why not?”
“A million dollars.”
Gage whistled. “Damn. That’s a nice chunk of change.”
Willard adjusted his glasses as he took them down a row of paintings explaining each one’s history and potential value. None held any real interest for Gage and he didn’t see why they were such a big deal. However, when they reached the last portrait he stopped. It was of Adrianna and it looked to have been done about four or five years ago. She wore a light blue dress, her long blond hair draped over her shoulders, a pearl choker wound around her neck and matching pearls dangling from her ears.
The sight of her made him catch his breath.
“She’s stunning, isn’t she?” Willard said.
Gage felt foolish for being caught staring. “Why’s she selling this?”
“Said she had no need for it. Apparently, she sat for the picture as a favor to her late mother-in-law. It was traditional for the new Thornton wife to sit for her portrait.”
“You think it’ll fetch much?” Gage said.
“It will do well. Twenty thousand, maybe. The artist is up and coming and Ms. Barrington is stunning. I’d be tempted to buy it myself.”
Gage didn’t like the idea of someone else gawking at Adrianna. But twenty grand was too damn rich for his blood. “You find anything unusual after you transported the pictures?”
“No. The entire move went like clockwork. But it always does with Wells Moving. They are very professional.”
“Nothing taped behind a painting?” Vega said.
That seemed to amuse Willard. “Like a secret message? No.”
Gage stared at the painting. And then it hit him. Adrianna’s face was turned to the right and her left hand was draped over her chest. “Vega, look at Adrianna’s portrait.”
“Pretty.”
“Look at her hands and face.”
Willard studied the painting. “That’s a very traditional pose. Hand over the heart symbolizes love and affection.”
Vega nodded, seeing the connection. “The pose is the same as…” He stopped short of saying bodies in front of Willard.
Gage’s jaw tightened.
Adrianna’s pose mirrored the position of the two murdered women.
Chapter Sixteen
Friday, September 29, 12:19 p.m.
“You alluded to problems at the estate?” The question came from Adrianna’s attorney, Reese Pearce, who sat across from her in the Grove Avenue restaurant. Reese’s sharp gray eyes suited his hand-tailored shirt, dark suit, and red silk tie. Thick dark hair, cut short, emphasized skin tanned by hours spent sailing, his one passion when he wasn’t practicing law. Reese was in his early fifties and he’d been the Thorntons’ and Barringtons’ attorney for two decades.
Adrianna gave Reese a recap of events.
With each new detail his frown deepened. “I haven’t heard anything in the news.”
“It’s just a matter of time before this gets out. And when it does I’m afraid the estate is going to be overrun with curiosity seekers.”
“This isn’t good.”
“It gets worse.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“One of the victims—Rhonda Minor—worked for Craig at the gallery.”
Reese leaned forward and dropped his voice. “What kinds of questions are the cops asking you?”
She traced her finger around the rim of her water glass. Soft piano music drifted in through hidden speakers. “Like if I knew about Rhonda Minor’s affair with Craig.”
He lifted a brow. “Did you know about the affair?”
Tension twisted around her heart. “Frankly, I don’t believe there was an affair.”
Pearce raised a brow. “Adrianna, Craig could be impulsive.”
“I know. I’ve seen his stock choices. But I just don’t believe he was an adulterer or murderer.” She shook her head. “Just weeks before the accident I’d had a major discussion with Craig about all the time he was putting in at the gallery. He told me he’d just made a big sale that he’d been working on for weeks. He said we were set.”
Reese’s expression remained neutral. No shock. No surprise. “What do the cops know?”
“I told them what I told you.”
“Adrianna.” Her name sounded like a painful groan. “Never ever talk to the cops without talking to me first.”
“I saw no reason to lie to Detective Hudson. I do want the killer caught.”
“Detective Gage Hudson?”
“Yes.”
“A few years ago, he was the detective who wanted to search the estate for that woman in Craig’s office. I was able to prevent it.”
“Why would you do that?”
Pearce shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Craig didn’t kill those women.”
“I didn’t say he did, but the cops
are thinking it. Going forward, I don’t want you to give them a weather report without talking to me first.”
“Don’t you want this murder solved?”
“My priority is to protect my client, and until those graves are moved, you are my client.” He picked up his Scotch and swirled the amber liquid. “Adrianna, I’m not as convinced of Craig’s innocence. The firm assigned me to the Thornton family twenty years ago. In that time I’ve cleaned up a few family messes.”
“For Craig?”
He avoided the question. “Do you know who that other woman might be?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
“And if you did, would you tell me?”
A half smile tipped the edge of his lips. “Doubtful.”
“Why not? I think the last couple of years have proven that I’m not the naïve bride who married Craig.”
His gaze settled on her. Appreciation flashed. “You’ve grown into an amazing woman. But if I tell you what I knew, then you couldn’t claim innocence when the cops asked more questions.”
Suddenly, her stomach turned with fear and disgust. She glanced down at the garden salad she’d barely touched. “Why would Janet tell the cops they were sleeping together?”
“Janet has a big mouth and not enough brains. She likely has her own agenda.”
“What could she possibly want? She owns the gallery outright.”
He raised his glass. All his nails were buffed perfectly, except the thumb on his right hand, which was blackened. No doubt caught in the rigging of his sailboat. “Who knows with Janet?”
She sipped her iced tea. “Reese, I’m worried about the land sale. If Mazur wants his money back I won’t be able to pay him. It’s all gone to bills.”
“Mazur wants the land. He’s made that clear. Going forward, let me handle him. And let me see what I can do about getting the cops to proceed with the excavations. I know a judge.”
“I don’t want to interfere with their investigation.”
“Neither do I.” Sunlight caught the gold on his Harvard class ring. “Don’t worry.”
“Reece, let’s give the cops a few more days. I’ve got the time.”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
“Thanks.”
“How’s your mother doing?”
“Okay, not great. We had another trip to the ER the other night. She’s fine, as always. She still won’t discuss the adoption with me.” She swirled the half-full cup. “I’ve been thinking about Mom’s first daughter a lot these last couple of months.”
“Why? Don’t you have enough on your plate?”
She shrugged. “My plate is always full. That’s par for the course. But no one ever seemed to give that baby a second thought. It’s as if she never lived. That bothers me.”
Reese laid a hand on hers. “The only thing that should be on your mind now is planning your new life. Have you found an apartment in Paris yet?”
“I haven’t had the time to look.”
“You can always use mine.”
“Thanks, but that is too generous.”
“Not at all. It sits empty most of the time.”
“Thanks, Reese.” She pulled her hand free and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. There are boxes at the Colonies waiting for me.”
“Boxes?”
“Up from the basement at the estate. I’ve got to go through and determine if they’re trash or treasure.”
“Adrianna.” His expression grew serious. “I am here for you, not just as an attorney but a friend.”
Reese’s hold on her gaze had her running nervous fingers through her hair. “Keep your fingers crossed and hope there are no more surprises.”
“Hey, Gage, it’s Jessie.” A wave of relief washed over Gage as he listened to his sister’s voicemail message. “I’ve still got the mountain o’ laundry at your place. I think some of it might be alive. Anyway, I’ll be swinging by Saturday to finish. If you and the bros are there we can order pizza. Ciao.”
Gage hung up. He’d make a point to stop by late Saturday night or early Sunday morning to catch up with her. He clipped his phone back in his belt holster and dropped his gaze back to ten years’ worth of Craig Thornton’s phone bills. From the stacks of paperwork, it was clear Craig had lived on his phone.
Vega pushed through the conference room doors, his arms loaded with more boxes of paper. “I’ve picked up the missing persons files. Five to ten years ago, Caucasian females who were over fifteen and under fifty.”
“Good.”
“You work a lot of these cases?”
Gage nodded. “A good many.”
Vega glanced in the box. “So many missing. I can’t imagine what the families must go through.”
Gage pinched the bridge of his nose. “It sucks.”
Vega picked up on the anger tangled around the words. “Sounds personal.”
“It is. Was. Long story.” His tone left no room for more discussion. “Let’s start digging.”
As Gage glanced at the box of missing persons files, a familiar tension rose in his chest. “Let’s hope we have a match.”
As Adrianna pushed through the front door of the estate, the sound of hammers greeted her. Shoving her sunglasses on top of her head, she let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The main parlor was filled with a few dozen barrels, each with a round metal latch at the top.
The hammering grew louder and she moved toward the kitchen. When she rounded the corner, she found Ben standing on a ladder, hammering at the side of the old cabinets.
In between whacks she shouted, “Ben!”
He started and turned. “Adrianna. Good Lord, you scared the pudding out of me.”
She smiled. “Sorry. What’s going on? I thought you’d be gone by now.”
He climbed down off the ladder and tucked the hammer in the pocket of his coveralls. “Mom tells me that the new owner is fixing to gut the kitchen.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, it just seemed a shame to me that these cabinets were going to waste. The new owner was by earlier and said I could take whatever I wanted.”
“Mr. Mazur was here?”
“Walking the property,” he said. “Wants his surveyors in soon.”
“Right.”
“I figured I’d salvage the fixtures and cabinets for you, along with some of the bathroom gear. I know you like old fixtures.”
“That’s kind of you. But I have no real use for them. They’re all yours.”
“Oh, no. These should be sold. You could make money.”
“It’s a nice thought, but I just don’t want them.”
He pulled out a pad from his pocket. He smelled of sweat and hard labor. “Well, I did some calling around. The cabinets, bath fixtures, and paneling could fetch ten grand. I could take it to a buyer and have a check cut for you.”
That was about right. “Only if you charge me fifty percent. I’ll donate my half to the charity auction.”
“Oh, I wasn’t fixing to charge you.”
“I won’t let you remove a single item if you don’t.”
He frowned, turning over her proposal. “Okay. But I’m going to make the buyer give me top dollar.”
The front door opened and closed with a bang. Marie appeared, looking breathless. “Sorry about that. The wind must have caught the door. Forgot my cell phone.”
Adrianna smiled. “No problem. I was just visiting with Ben.”
Marie fiddled with the button on her blue sweater. “I hope he’s not bothering you.”
“Not at all.”
Ben smiled. “Just taking down cabinets Mazur doesn’t want. I’m gonna sell them and split the proceeds with Adrianna. She’s donating her share.”
“That’s good thinking, Ben,” Marie said.
Adrianna glanced at her watch. “The more for the charity, the better. Hey, I’ve got to start going through those boxes if I hope to be done today.”
He wrinkled his nose. “They’re all m
oldy and nasty.”
Marie glanced at the bins. “I’d expect no less. Lord only knows how many years they’ve been in the basement.”
“Sorting them is the last job I have to do, other than moving the graves,” Adrianna said.
“That must be a relief,” Marie said. “When are the police going to get back to work on that?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“And speaking of work.” Ben nodded to them. “Best get back to those cabinets.”
“Thank you, Ben. See you at home tonight,” Marie said.
“Will do, Mom.”
“Thanks, Ben,” Adrianna said.
When he left, Marie followed Adrianna into the living room. She quickly spotted her phone on the windowsill. “Honestly, I should wear it around my neck.”
“I couldn’t live without mine.” She stared at the few dozen storage barrels. She chose a barrel at random, unlatched the ring that held the round top in place, and pried it open. The smell of must and old house rose up. She sneezed. “Great.”
Marie shook her head. “Why don’t you leave those to me?”
“No, I really need to do this.”
From the kitchen, Ben’s hammer started banging again.
Gingerly, Adrianna started to pick through what looked like old linens. “Vintage. Nineteen thirties. Handwork was lovely.”
“Pity moths have eaten through some of the fine fabrics, but others might be salvaged.”
“I think you’re right.”
As Adrianna dug through the linens, Marie stood close, her hands tracing the smooth line of her phone. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
Marie glanced back toward the kitchen and then lowered her voice a notch. “You’re looking for something that belonged to the baby?”
Adrianna glanced up. For a moment she just stared, not sure if she’d heard Marie right.
“I know your mother and Miss Frances were friends. I remember the night…well, the night the baby died.”
Adrianna blinked. Never would she have expected this. “What do you know about the baby?”