The Girl With the Dragonfly Tattoo: An Austin, Texas Art Mystery (The Michelle Hodge Series Book 4)

by Roslyn Woods

  An image of him when he was about to leave her at the hotel the night before kept appearing in her mind’s eye—his blue eyes darkening as he spoke. “Tavy,” he had said after walking her to her room, “there are things I should tell you—things about your father. I don’t understand it very well myself, but—he’s a mystery to both of us, I guess. Anyway, I just want you to know—”

  But she had stopped him. “I can’t take any more right now, Gus. I just can’t. I’m overloaded with him. He left me, and here I am with you and Rand Miller telling me he was this wonderful man. It’s awful for me. I can’t explain it. How could a man who was so great leave me unless there’s something terribly wrong with me?”

  “No, no, no,” Gus had said, looking down at her earnestly and shaking his head. “I know it’s not that. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find out why. There is a why. It’s not you. I know it was never you. Just tell me when you’re ready to talk about it. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  She had wanted to embrace him, to feel the comfort of his body next to hers for a moment. And it would have been fine to just lean forward and hug him. It would have been friendly and normal to hug anyone after a day as intense as the one they had shared. They had both learned her father had been murdered. They had both seen his body. She had seen tears in Gus’s eyes, but he had blinked them away. He had stayed to take her to meet with Shell Hodge at the gallery and they’d had a friendly dinner with some very nice people. It was almost surreal the way they had visited as naturally as if they’d all known each other for years, none of them mentioning her father or his murder. Gus had been like a rock all day, strong, mostly silent, always radiating a sort of comfort that Tavy couldn’t explain to herself.

  But she hadn’t hugged him. “Thanks, Gus,” she had said. “Thanks for taking me to the morgue, and everything else. I needed to be with—a friend.”

  “Does that mean we’re friends?”

  “You said we were when you introduced me to Dean Maxwell.”

  “Yes, I did. But maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.”

  “I hope we’ll be friends,” she had answered, giving him a slight smile. “Goodnight, Gus.”

  “G’night, Tavy,” he had answered.

  She had gone into her room then, knowing she shouldn’t invite him in for a taste of whatever was in the mini bar even though she would have liked to. She didn’t know him well enough.

  I don’t really know him at all, do I?

  The doorman signaled her through the glass at the hotel entry that her cab had arrived, and she stood and wheeled her bag out, assaulted by the heat as she went outside and the driver rushed forward to lift her small suitcase.

  “Where to, Miss?” he asked.

  “The police station,” she said. “It’s—”

  “It’s on eighth street. I know exactly where it is,” he said, not very happily, and Tavy wondered if he’d had a run in with the law.

  The police department was indeed located on 8th Street just west of Interstate-35. The cab driver promised to wait while Tavy went inside. She climbed the steps that led to the double glass doors of the entry and looked for a site map to the building so she could find the office of Sgt. Gonzalez. She was directed by a uniformed woman behind a tall counter that he was upstairs, and she took the elevator to the fourth floor.

  “Miss Bishop!” Detective Wilson said when he saw her. “Sergeant Gonzalez would like to speak with you before you leave. I’ll get him. Just have a seat in here,” he added, signaling her to take a chair at a table in a small interview room with mint green walls.

  Tavy sat down and waited, somewhat nervous, though she didn’t know why. The acoustical tiles on the ceiling reminded her of the classroom she wouldn’t be teaching in this fall, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake deciding—or pretty much deciding—she was through with teaching.

  Footsteps. Yes, it was the sergeant, his outline so much like Tio that she wanted to trust him. He came into the room followed by the very tall Detective Wilson. Sgt. Gonzalez had the keys she’d given him the day before in his hand and a concerned expression on his face. He placed them on the table in front of her before he and Detective Wilson sat down.

  “Miss Bishop,” he said. “We’ve completed our investigation of your father’s home. The arsenic was only in the gin bottle. There were no other traces of it anywhere. Unfortunately, we were forced to remove all the foodstuffs in the home for the tests. I’m afraid you’ll need to replace everything, including cleaning supplies.”

  “I expected that.”

  “We also impounded your father’s computer and camera. We’re looking for every clue we can find as to who might’ve had a motive to kill him.”

  “I see. You took them from the closet. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes. I’d like ask how you know Mr. Kerr.”

  “It’s actually Dr. Kerr.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I only just learned he has a Ph.D. in agricultural science.”

  “You’ve checked his background?”

  “Yes. We do that when we’re investigating a suspicious death. We check the backgrounds of everyone connected to the deceased, if we can.”

  “Yes, well, Dr. Kerr was a close friend of my father’s, or he says he was, and so does his daughter, by the way. He gardens the backyard and donates the food to a project to feed homeless and low-income people. My father gave him use of his yard to contribute to the project.”

  “I see. You understand his fingerprints were all over the liquor bottles, including the gin bottle where we found the arsenic?”

  “I do. He told us his fingerprints would be on the bottles, and he explained why.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t the person who put the arsenic in the bottle.”

  “But, didn’t you find other prints?”

  “Yes, there were other prints. We need to learn the names of everyone who’s had access to your father’s house. Do you have any of those names?”

  “Well, Gus told me Rand Miller had been there, and so had my father’s ex-wife and stepson. Also, he mentioned some friend whose name he didn’t know. Gus’s twelve-year-old daughter had also been in the house, and then there’s the cleaning lady, Florencia. I’m afraid I don’t have any last names for you, but Rand Miller will know most of them.”

  “Yes, Miss Bishop, we’ll contact him. I also hope you’ll be careful. Someone did this, and we don’t know why yet.”

  “I get it. I’ll be careful,” she answered. “It’s possible someone just had a case against him, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, but usually people have a motive beyond a simple ‘case against someone’ when they poison. It’s too premeditated—not a crime of passion.”

  “I see. Well, please keep me in the loop about what you learn.”

  “And please be cautious, Miss Bishop,” he said again. “I—I suppose you know nothing of Dr. Kerr’s relationship with the law?”

  “The law?”

  “Do you know anything about his history?”

  “Does he have a history?” Tavy asked, her mind jumping to the conclusion it seemed his suggestion implied.

  “I’m asking, not telling.”

  “No. No! Are you insinuating—”

  “I’m asking what you know about his history, that’s all.”

  “Well, obviously I know nothing of his history. I just met him. I just met everyone here! There’s no way I could—”

  “It’s all right, Miss Bishop. It was just a question. There have been some arrests. That’s all I know right now. Detective Wilson is looking into it. I’d just like you to be careful.”

  Arrests? Gus Kerr had been arrested? For what?

  “I will, thanks. I will,” she said, standing up and taking the keys with a hand that trembled slightly. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. Just let me know if you learn something that might shed some light on the case.”

  “Okay.”

  The cab driver
waited while Tavy made a few purchases at Wheatsville Food Coop on South Lamar. She wasn’t buying enough, she was sure, but a big shopping trip would have to wait.

  Back at the house she wasn’t sure what she’d find inside. She unlocked the front door and stepped in with her three grocery bags, the cab driver having left her suitcase on the front porch before leaving.

  From the front door the house looked the same, not nearly as dirty as she expected. She carried the grocery bags by their handles to the kitchen and placed them on a counter, a strange feeling coming over her. Was someone here?

  No, the house had been locked. Nothing was really out of place that she could tell. Perhaps a vase had been moved, or a painting was no longer level. She went through the rooms, one by one. Everything had been dusted with fingerprint powder and only roughly cleaned. Yes, she had some clean-up ahead of her.

  Tavy went back out front for her suitcase, noticing as she went outside that a man was walking briskly in a westerly direction. He was short, pear-shaped, and white-haired. There was a vague sense of the familiar about him. Probably just a type.

  Turning back to go into the house she rolled the suitcase by its handle into the living room and looked out the window to see if the man was still visible. No, he must have turned a corner. She went back to the kitchen and was putting the milk in the refrigerator when the phone began to ring. With one arm busy holding the refrigerator door she lifted the receiver with the other and held it to her ear with her shoulder, continuing to put odds and ends in the entirely empty icebox.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Is this Octavia Bishop?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, good. This is Florencia Capello. I’m the house cleaner for your father.”

  “Oh! Florencia! Hello!”

  “Yes, hello! I’m very sorry about your father. He was a wonderful employer for me.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear he was good to you.”

  “Yes, he was very kind. Just like Gus. He and Gus are my best employers.”

  “Gus Kerr? Do you work for him, too?”

  “Oh, yes! Gus introduced me to your father.”

  “I see. He didn’t tell me.”

  “It’s not important. I’m calling because Gus told me you might need help cleaning up after the police.”

  Tavy bit her lip, still trying to process what Gonzalez had suggested about Gus. “Yes. The house is dirty now,” she said.

  “I can come. I can come today if you want me.”

  “I do, but are you sure? It’s Saturday, and—”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. I’m here now. Come over whenever you’re ready.”

  Chapter 23

  Saturday, Aug. 8, 10 a.m.—Shell

  Shell had an early morning session with Dr. Shapiro every Saturday. Today was no exception, and she and Dean left for Galveston right after the meeting.

  As they headed for the island, the decision she had made the night before was certainly weighing on her. She wasn’t sure she had been right not to tell Tavy about the painting, and as Dean drove the car east through the heart of Houston, she was reweighing her reasons.

  For one thing, she wasn’t absolutely sure that it would be right for her to insert herself into Octavia Bishop’s affairs. Perhaps the woman was more aware of things than Shell knew and it would be insulting to talk about the art in her father’s home. She was also very concerned about Tavy’s mental state. She seemed fragile, and some new thing might be just the problem to put her over the edge. On top of that, Dean’s objections to Shell’s involving herself were bothering her. She feared he might be right even as her heart told her what she needed to do.

  “I have to find out more about Edwin Bishop,” she said as they moved along through dense traffic. “Tavy said he had been a teacher at Reed College. That would be a good place to learn more about him, where he came from, maybe where he studied. It might help shed light on why he dropped out of the art world years ago.”

  “Okay,” Dean said, but Shell could hear the reluctance in his voice.

  Changing the subject slightly, she added, “I really like Tavy.”

  “Yes, she seems nice, if a bit like a deer caught in headlights.”

  “Did you get that sense?”

  “Sure.”

  “I was glad about you knowing Gus.”

  “Yes. He’s a good guy, I think.”

  “You think he’ll start his dog in search and rescue?”

  “I don’t know, but he seemed sincere about wanting to do that. It’s a matter of time for most people though. He’d have to go to the meetup and then practice on his own with the dog. He already teaches full time at ACC, and he gardens like a fiend. He trains Blue for Schutzhund. He might not have time to add one more thing.”

  “But he’s single. Maybe he has a lot of time he spends alone.”

  “I think not. He’s a busy guy with all his work. Also, he has a daughter. Brought her to Schutzhund training once. Nice kid.”

  “I kinda got the feeling Tavy likes him.”

  “I kinda got the feeling he likes her, too.”

  “That’s good. I don’t want her to feel completely alone in Austin.”

  “Don’t get too identified with her.”

  “What?”

  “I’m worried about you, Shell.”

  Here he goes again, she thought. There was a long silence, and she was biting her lip, trying not to speak.

  “Shell?”

  “What?”

  “I only said I was worried about you.”

  “I don’t know what to say about that, Dean. I think I’m okay. I also don’t appreciate you telling me what to do.”

  “When did I tell you—”

  “Just now! Just now you told me not to get identified with Tavy!”

  “I said not to get too identified with her.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “It’s subtle,” he said, starting to smile, but she wasn’t having any of it.

  “You were telling me what to do, Dean. I don’t take orders. And, by the way, are you saying I’m not subtle?”

  “Of course you’re subtle!”

  “Well, I can’t help the fact that I’m identified with Tavy Bishop. I can’t change it, Dean. I’m the way I am, and no worry or advice or orders on your part are going to change me into a different person.”

  “Honey, you woke up again last night.”

  “So?”

  “So you had another one of your dreams.”

  “So? What does that have to do with Tavy?”

  “She’s dealing with the murder investigation of her father.”

  “Yes. Her father died suddenly and she doesn’t understand why. Who does that remind you of? How can I be anything other than identified with her?”

  Dean was quiet for a while, and Shell knew he was remembering the first time she had told him about her father’s tragic car accident. The two of them had hardly known each other when she told him, and Austin had a terrible rain storm that knocked the power off that night. Dean, her landlord at the time, had come over from next door to keep her company until the power came back on in her house, and they had drunk a whole bottle of wine while sharing their stories during the worst of the weather. To Shell, their conversation had felt sweet and romantic, even though they were just talking.

  “Shell, you don’t understand.”

  “I don’t understand what?”

  “What you’re doing to yourself! How fragile you are!”

  “Well, you aren’t helping at all! I need some support and all you do is fight me when I’m just trying to do the right thing. I would think you’d be glad I’m the kind of person who cares about other people—”

  “I am. You know I am.”

  “How am I supposed to know that if you’re always telling me—”

  “Let’s don’t fight.”

  “I don’t want to fight, Dean, but I also want you to accept the fact th
at I’m not changing into a different sort of person. If you want someone who wouldn’t care about Tavy and her situation, you don’t want me.”

  “You know I want you,” he said quietly.

  “Sometimes I think you’re disappointed.”

  “How can you say that? I adore you! I’m just wishing you’d take a break and enjoy Gabe and Linda’s wedding and have a nice time on the island with me.”

  “And I intend to, but I might need to do just a little research into Edwin Baird’s history, and I might need to make a call to Tavy.”

  “Please take a break! Let’s don’t waste the first chance we’ve had to get away and be normal since—” he stopped.

  “Go ahead and say it! Since you broke up with me! Since I was abducted!”

  “When did you get so bullheaded?”

  “Me? Me bullheaded? When did you turn into a control freak?”

  He was exasperated, and she fell silent and looked out the window, the tall downtown buildings of Houston just a blur in front of her eyes. She wasn’t thinking of them. She was feeling bad about Dean, bad about Tavy, bad about the pressure she was experiencing.

  Is it possible you’re angry with Dean? Dr. Shapiro had asked that morning.

  No! Shell had answered vehemently. Of course not! He saved my life! He took a blow to the head and carried me two miles while he was bleeding!

  They drove in silence for quite a long time, Dean finding his way to the Hotel Galvez and Spa on Galveston Island without Shell’s usual assistance with the map on her phone.

  The hotel was magnificent. It’s view of the Gulf—right on the water—was a spectacular vision, and everything there was over-the-top luxurious. But Shell and Dean weren’t able to enjoy entering the glitzy place. They were annoyed with each other and took the elevator to their room in silence. Dean tossed their suitcase and the suit bag with their wedding clothes on one of the king-sized beds and went into the bathroom to wash his face while Shell stared after him. She could feel his displeasure, and she wondered if hers was equal to his. She knew he had been looking forward to the weekend, and she knew her fixation on Tavy’s predicament was already ruining it for him. And now they had said things she wished they could take back.