by Leslie Leigh
“It depends on what we find and how quickly.”
“For Pete’s sake,” Kimmie said, and she and Melissa started up the stairs.
They looked around quickly. All the kitchen cupboard doors and drawers were open, as well as every closet, including the linen closet, the medicine chest, the chest of drawers, and the bedside tables.
“I don’t think it’s too hard to tell what they were looking for,” Melissa said. “The county must still be sitting on the fact that they have the bottle.”
Melissa continued to walk around the apartment.
“Kimmie, can I see where you keep Jim’s other paintings?”
“Sure. Up in the attic.”
Kimmie pushed back the clothes in the long closet, reached up and pulled down a set of retracting stairs, and gestured for Melissa to go up.
Melissa climbed the stairs. She was surprised at the light and supposed it would be as murky as the paintings. Artist’s tools were everywhere. And in neat stacks, there must have been more than a hundred paintings.
“Can you come up, Kimmie?” she asked.
Kimmie climbed the stairs and stood just above the top step. She didn’t seem to want to venture any further in. Perhaps this was where she felt Jim’s presence the most.
“Do you see anything disturbed up here?”
She looked around for a few seconds. “No. Did you expect there to be? You would pretty much have to know this is here, I would think.”
“And who knew it was here?”
“The landlady, of course, and the gallery owner. Well, no, Mr. Davis didn’t know where the garret was, but he knew that’s where Jim’s paintings were.”
“Kimmie, are you aware that there is an art dealer in town looking at James’s paintings?”
“He’s here? Now?”
“Were you expecting him?”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t know it would be this soon.”
“He and Mr. Davis are working together to put together a showing of Jim’s work. I’m surprised they hadn’t called you.”
Melissa heard blustering in the apartment below them and knew that the sheriff had arrived. She and Kimmie climbed back down the stairs. Kimmie pulled the door shut behind her and retracted the stairs.
“What the hell?” the sheriff said. “This is going to be some kind of setback.”
“It seems to me they were looking for the belladonna bottle,” Melissa said.
“Which tells me that somebody else has a hand in this. It doesn’t appear to be James’s doing after all, and it seems way too convoluted for Kimmie to have pulled this off. What would be the purpose? She knows we have the bottle.”
“Unless she’s trying to throw you off the track, Boss,” one of the deputies said.
“Like I said, way too convoluted.”
“Please don’t talk about me as if I don’t exist. I’m right here,” Kimmie said.
“Sorry, Kim,” the deputy said.
“Let me backtrack,” said the sheriff. “I suppose that Jim could have still taken the substance himself, but whoever gave it to him in the first place seems pretty desperate to find the empty bottle.”
The sheriff turned to look at Kimmie, pondering what to do next. “I’m going to recommend to the State of Arizona that there is not enough evidence to bring you to trial, Ms. Thompson.”
“Mrs. James, if you will,” Kimmie said.
The sheriff looked around the room and caught Melissa’s eye, who nodded in affirmation of Kimmie’s pronouncement.
“Mrs. James? Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe that will make less paperwork for me. I’ll just tell them there is no Kim Thompson to proceed to trial.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said.
“Now will you please go?” she asked. “I have a lot to do to get my home back in order and make it habitable again.”
The sheriff looked like he had more to say, but at last he just nodded curtly and walked out, the deputies following him.
When everyone was gone, Melissa looked at Kimmie. “What’s happened to you, Kimmie? Where is the timid little waif who was James James’s wife?”
“Going back to live with my mother, for one. She thought Jim abused me terribly, but I would have rather lived with him forever than spend another month with my mom. Go back for these last couple of weeks made me realize that I had way outgrown her enabling and disabling. Also, just being able to tell someone that I was Jim James’ wife was huge. Even more so after I said it to the sheriff. After that, I’m not sure.
Kim paused for a minute and then shrugged and continued, “I guess James James’ widow has had enough. I was already rising from my early grave before I talked to you, but our conversation this morning seemed to clear my head. What you said about Jim’s extreme self-love being a mask for self-loathing opened my eyes and put everything into perspective for me. He was always the victim, and I was the victim beneath the victim.”
“You used some pretty important terms there, Kimmie. Where did you learn all that?”
“Call me Kim, please. I studied in the Psychology program at Cochise Community for two years. I just couldn’t apply it to myself, my situation, or, apparently, to Jim. I always knew it deep down, I think, and that was partly what kept me depressed and dependent.”
Melissa wasn’t so sure this wasn’t just another aberration and that it wouldn’t reverse itself before too long. She knew one didn’t snap out of depression just like that without some kind of intervention. But, perhaps, the immense relief she was feeling, despite her pragmatic statements about James had allowed her head to clear, at least temporarily.
Melissa called Vivian and checked to make sure everything was all right at the market. Assured that it was, she told them she was going to help Kimmie straighten up the apartment.
“So tell me about the art dealer,” Kim asked.
“He seems to think Jim’s work has a lot of merit. He and Mr. Davis are setting up a showing for this weekend.”
Kim beamed. “So, Jim was right. He was maligned and sorely underappreciated.”
“Yes,” Melissa sympathized. “I don’t know why, but so many fabulous artistic types have been recognized only posthumously.”
“I can tell you why,” she said. “If one can’t afford an agent, and they are focused on the work alone, there’s little left for self-promotion. For James, self-promotion came in the form of begging and needling the locals.”
Melissa laughed. “Yes, he certainly did that.”
Melissa left Kim to check everything thoroughly before they started cleaning up to ensure nothing was missing.
“It’s not like I have anything of value that anyone would want, other than Jim’s paintings.”
“That’s partly what concerns me,” Melissa said. “You don’t think it was possibly his paintings that they were looking for, and when they didn’t find them, they tossed the place to cover their tracks?”
Someone knocked at the door. Kim opened it to a young man in a Crime Scene Forensics jacket. “Miss Thompson?”
“I was Miss Thompson. It’s Mrs. James.”
He nodded. “Are you here alone?”
“No, Melissa is here with me.”
“Why is there no crime scene tape, and why are you here? Are you touching things?”
“Why?” Kim asked with a bit of panic in her voice. Melissa came to the door and stood behind her. “They just took away the crime scene stuff,” Kim said.
“Okay,” the man said. “I’ve got to call in and see what’s going on. But please, just sit down and don’t touch anything else. I’m here to dust for prints. It’s already going to take me all day to sort things out.”
Kim turned around, clearly deflated.
Melissa felt embarrassed and thought, How could I not have thought about that? Of course they would want to know who broke in. Damn the Catalonia Sheriff’s Department and their incompetence! I had been so focused on whether or not the paintings were involved that nothing else had occurred to me.
>
The CSF man stepped back up to the door. “Yeah, sorry, ladies. I’m going to have to dust the whole place for prints. I’ve got to put up the crime scene tape again, so you’ll have to step away. If I can have a phone number, I will let you know when I’m done.”
Kim scribbled down her phone number and handed it to him then turned to Melissa with a “what can I do?” gesture.
“Do you want to come over to the shop with me? I’ll fix you some lunch.”
“Aw, Melissa. You’re so kind. I will take you up on that, I guess, since my job interview was derailed.”
“Good,” Melissa said.
Chapter 12
As they walked back to the store, Melissa asked, “Who were you seeing about a job?”
“Mrs. Slattery about the counter job in her jewelry store.”
“Do you think you would like working retail?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a job, but it seems like it would be fairly easy.”
“Do you think you would like the sales aspect of it?”
“I’d rather learn something a little more comprehensive,” Kim replied. “I suspect the learning curve would be rather short there.”
Melissa chuckled. “Well, I don’t want to take you away from Mrs. Slattery, but I could sure use an extra hand at the market, and I’d be willing to teach you all aspects—or at least any aspects that interest you.”
Kim looked at her with surprise. “Let me think about that,” she said.
“I would start you out at ten dollars an hour, then you would get a raise after sixty days if it seems like it’s going to work out for both of us.”
“Wow!” she said. “How many hours a week? Mrs. Slattery was offering twenty hours. Could you do the same?”
“I believe I can find plenty for you to do in twenty hours,” Melissa said, smiling.
They had arrived at the store, and she fixed Kim a salmon salad with gluten-free crackers. As she ate, she watched all the activity going on around her.
When Melissa came to pick up her plate, Kim said. “I think I would very much like to work here, Melissa. And, since I can’t go home until at least five probably, can you show me some things today?”
“I certainly think I can,” Melissa said.
Melissa walked back toward the counter, and Kim followed her. Melissa looked at Vivian and called Flora out of the kitchen.
“Girls,” Melissa said, “this is our new employee, Mrs. Kim James.”
Flora and Vivian tried, unsuccessfully, to hide their surprise. Melissa wasn’t sure if they were surprised that Melissa had hired her, or surprised at how she introduced her.
Vivian gave Kim a big smile and stuck out her hand. “Well, Mrs. Kim James, we’re glad to have you aboard.”
Kim smiled the first real smile Melissa thought she’d ever seen from the girl, and Melissa thanked her lucky stars for working with such kind and accommodating people. Flora welcomed her, too, of course with her motherly ways.
Melissa asked Vivian to show Kim about the shelving and then walked back into the kitchen.
“Was that part of what you found out this morning?” Flora wanted to know.
“Yes, among a lot of other things. I’ll bring you up to date later.”
Flora nodded and went back to inventorying. She made sure Melissa had everything she needed for Chelsea buns over the next couple of weeks, as well as the ingredients for her own baking.
Melissa got a box and filled it with a dozen muffins. She got out a pump pot and filled it with her best house coffee. She filled a bag with cups and coffee condiments and told the girls she would be gone for a while. She left instructions that they could train Kim in whatever they agreed upon.
Balancing the muffin box and the condiment bag in one hand and carrying the pot by its handle in the other, she walked to the gallery. She peered in the window and could see Mr. Davis, the art dealer, his assistant, and a man on a ladder. She knocked and Mr. Davis came to the door.
“I brought coffee and muffins for all of you,” she said.
“Why, Melissa, how thoughtful,” Mr. Davis responded.
Mr. Corbin, the art dealer, looked up from the plans he held in his hands.
“Mr. Corbin, this lady operates the café and market up the street. She’s the woman I told you about.”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Corbin said. Melissa was surprised that he put down the plans and walked over to meet her.
“I’d shake your hand, but—” Melissa said.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” said Mr. Davis.
Mr. Corbin turned around, “Cynthia, could you help Mr. Davis to clear a spot for some treats. I think it’s time for a break.”
Melissa was a bit cautious hearing that Mr. Davis and told Mr. Corbin about her. About what, she wondered. That I fancy myself an amateur sleuth and am making trouble for everybody? That he should be cautious because I’m familiar with the case? What?
“I don’t know from personal experience,” Mr. Davis said, “but I hear she’s a wonderful healer.”
Melissa was floored. Here she was thinking that they were speaking ill of her, and Mr. Davis ends up paying her the highest possible compliment in her world.
“Then, I should like to avail myself of your expertise, Ms.?”
“Melissa, Melissa Michaelson.”
“Ms. Michaelson, it seems I haven’t been myself much of late.”
“You two feel free to sit down and talk,” Mr. Davis said. “I’ve things to do.”
“Thank you. Please ask your staff to help themselves to the treats.”
“I will, thank you again.”
She sat down across from Corbin in a contemporary chair of fabric and steel.
“My health is ruining my business, Ms. Michaelson,” he began.
“May I offer you some coffee and a muffin?”
“I would love to,” the man said, “but coffee and white flour are two things my doctor has asked me to avoid, and that’s about all I’ve been able to get out of him. Oh, he would love to load me up with things that are going to block my liver and make things worse for me, but I don’t believe in it.”
“Are you a practitioner of alternative health, Mr. Corbin?” Melissa asked.
“My whole life I’ve been a practitioner of plain good health, Ms. Michaelson. I don’t take much stock in doctors, but whatever is going on is a complete mystery to me.
“So what is going on?”
“I’ve always been a fairly even-tempered, good-natured man, but everything has turned around. I’m somewhat anxious. I’m crotchety. I’m altogether unpleasant to be around. It took me a while to get a handle on it, and I lost several clients, with a potential loss of hundreds of thousands to my business. And look at my face! I don’t even recognize the man in the mirror.”
“I’m guessing,” Melissa began, “that you used to be a rotund, rosy, and jovial.”
“Very,” he said. “That’s spot on.”
“Do you have a September or October birthday, Mr. Corbin?”
“Why, yes. St. Michael’s Day, September 29th.”
Melissa nodded. “Libra, an air sign which rules the spleen and the kidneys,” she said. “Are you diabetic, Mr. Corbin?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never ‘crossed over,’” he said. “I’ve been borderline most of my adult life, but despite my weight, I’ve managed to keep it under control.”
“So, you’re anxious, splenetic…do you have pain?”
“Only occasionally,” he said.
“And where is it located mostly?”
He used his left hand to indicate a space just under his left rib cage.
“Does it seem swollen sometimes?”
“Mm-hmm. Occasionally the discomfort is great enough that it spreads up into my shoulder. When it first happened, I thought I was having some sort of heart problem.”
Melissa nodded in agreement.
“Did you have mononucleosis as a teen, Mr. Corbin?”
His eyes
widened in surprise. “Why, yes. I did.”
She nodded again. “I suspect your spleen is out of balance, Mr. Corbin. You haven’t lost a lot of weight?”
“No,” he said. “Things have rearranged themselves, and I’ve lost weight in my face. Well, maybe ten or fifteen pounds over the last couple of years, but no more. I’m surprised it’s not more because often, when I sit down to eat, I find myself full in short order.”
“First, I want to recommend that, in addition to white flour and coffee, you also avoid all processed sugars. Is the coffee an issue for you?”
“No, I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker, so it didn’t bother me to give it up.”
“If you’ll come by the market tomorrow afternoon, I will make some recommendations for you,” she said, standing.
“Thank you, Ms. Michaelson…quite lovely to meet you.”
As she was cleaning up the coffee space and preparing to return to the market, Mr. Corbin walked back across the room, waving to Mr. Davis and picking up the plans he had been looking at when she first came in.
“Now, here,” he said, indicating an area on the plans, “is where we can put some of the other pieces if we find them.”
So, Melissa thought, he and Mr. Davis do know that James had more pieces. And, apparently are looking for them.
She looked at her watch and wondered if Kim had heard anything back from CSF and how long it would take before there were results.
# # #
She had been home long enough to have fed the cat, done her evening watering, and had some lasagna that she had left over from making dinner for Brian, when her phone rang. She knew without looking who it was.
“I got the report,” Brian said.
“Wow. That was quick.”
“Pretty simple,” he said. “Just like the bottles, in fact. There are four sets of prints—James, Kimmie, and two unidentified. I’m guessing that one of the unidentified sets is yours.”
“Probably,” she said. “I really wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s the fourth set that’s interesting,” he said, holding her in suspense. “It matches the partial on the belladonna bottle.”
“Bingo!” Melissa said.
“So, find the person whose prints match, and we most likely have the murderer.”