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

by Roslyn Woods

  The car shone like a new wagon at Christmas, but she wasn’t admiring it. She was hurrying, wanting to put some distance, more distance, between herself and Gus Kerr. She backed out onto the pad, found the door-remote clipped to the sun visor, and watched the door shut before she pulled out onto the road.

  The air conditioning was quiet and effective against the heat and mugginess of the evening, and she noticed the sky’s gathering clouds as she made her way north. The car hummed like a new sewing machine, quiet and smooth, and she felt a little better after driving for a few minutes. More independent, more like herself. She didn’t need Gus Kerr’s approval. Who was he to her, anyway?

  Tavy wasn’t used to driving a car this new or this nice. Her little Nissan back home was small and gutless, and she had purchased it second-hand. It certainly had no GPS. On the rare occasions when she had needed guidance while driving, she had used the maps program on her smart phone. She had no idea how to engage the GPS in this car’s dash. She would read the manual tomorrow.

  She adjusted the mirrors at the stoplight when she reached the corner of Barton Skyway and Lamar, realizing she wasn’t behaving quite normally. It wasn’t like her to just charge out without checking the adjustments on the mirrors. In a little while she was almost to the river, driving toward downtown, the memory of yesterday with Gus being reinforced by the scenes she passed. She must go further.

  How far she drove before she realized she was in a part of town far, far from her place of origin she did not know. The sky was cloudier now, and she had passed downtown, driven along what appeared to be a creek on one side of Lamar for a long time, passed multiple businesses, crossed under a huge east-west freeway, and come out into an area that looked more densely populated than she thought it should. Wasn’t she approaching the outskirts of town yet? After some time, she realized she must give up on leaving Austin this quickly. She must go back. The sky was darkening as if rain were imminent, and she didn’t want to be stuck driving in a storm.

  She looked at the dashboard. 6:30 p.m. At the stoplight she noted the name of the cross street. Rundberg. She had no idea what part of town this was, if it was still Austin at all, but she was glad she had stayed on Lamar and could retrace her way back to Barton Springs Skyway without trouble.

  Up to the west she could see a large grocery store with an ample parking lot. HEB. She wondered briefly what the acronym stood for, but she didn’t really care. She made her way into the parking lot and parked in a space that was just opening up.

  Large raindrops started pelting the car. Grabbing her purse, she hopped out and locked the door, heading for the entrance in a rush. She knew what she would do. She would buy a large haul of groceries and wait for the storm to pass. She needed replacements for everything that had been taken from the house by the police. Her purchases at Wheatsville had been completely inadequate.

  Reaching the overhang by the entrance, she looked back at her car in the crowded parking lot. A man stood at her bumper, appearing to examine her license plate. The rain was coming down hard now, and she couldn’t quite make him out, but he looked short, and maybe white-haired. In a moment he was getting into another car.

  Well, perhaps he wanted to know which dealership had sold the car. It was new and quite pretty. Yes, that was it, and she turned to go into the store, noting to herself that her father’s murder was making her paranoid.

  It was after eight when she got back to 2121 Oaktree Hill, still fairly light out, even with the cloud cover, but she was feeling exhausted. Four nights of too little sleep were adding up.

  She carried her groceries into the kitchen, making several trips before she turned the light out in the garage and locked the door. Putting the odds and ends away, she decided she had treated Gus abominably today. She was remembering how he had seemed like an ally since speaking with him yesterday morning—was it really only yesterday?—on her first walk after her arrival, and she had imagined becoming real friends. She had genuinely liked him, her senses telling her he was a good person, someone she could trust. Plus, she liked Maddie and Blue. And hadn’t her father chosen him to be a friend? She couldn’t imagine Gus poisoning anyone.

  But what could possibly have been the reason for his arrests if not something awful? She had thought about it all the way back from the market, and she was considering possibilities now. Maybe he had a drinking problem. It wasn’t an unforgivable thing if he’d hurt no one, and he was divorced and alone. Maybe he was prone to serious bouts of depression.

  Yet, for some reason, he didn’t seem a depressive type. But what was a depressive type? How did she know? Couldn’t anyone be a depressive? Maybe his running habit was a strategy he used to keep it in check. She suddenly felt a wave of compassion for him. Perhaps he suffered deeply and she had accused him unjustly. Perhaps he hadn’t had the early grounding of constant love that Mia and Tio had provided for her.

  Tomorrow, when he had a little distance from his anger, maybe she would go and knock on his door. She might apologize. If her father had chosen him as a friend, what right had she, with no knowledge of him at all, to judge him?

  She was putting a bottle of laundry soap in the washroom, just a little nook really, off the sunroom, when the feeling came over her again. What did people call it? Hair-raising? Yes, the hair on her arms was standing up, and the feeling of being watched returned with a vengeance.

  I was wrong earlier when it was only Vincent on the front porch, she decided, and now I’m wrong again.

  She went back into the kitchen, willing herself to behave normally. She made herself a piece of toast in her father’s little toaster oven from the bread she had purchased at HEB. A slice of cheese, a glass of decaf tea, and a piece of toast. It was enough for her dinner. After that, she would settle down on her bed and call Mia.

  “I’ve been worrying for two days,” Mia said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Mia, I’m fine. It’s strange how so much has happened since I got here, and you know everything I told you about the house on Thursday night, but yesterday and today have been pretty weird.”

  “What’s happened, Tavy?”

  “Someone poisoned my father. The police came yesterday morning and went through the house. They found arsenic in one of the liquor bottles.”

  “Oh! This is terrible!”

  “Yes, and I had to stay at a hotel last night because they said the house was a crime scene. I’m back now, so I’ve got my own roof over my head again. It seems so strange to say that.”

  “But it is yours. He was your father.”

  “I know, but how can this be my house? I felt like Tio was my dad all my life, and my real dad had rejected me.”

  “But we told you that was never true, honey.”

  “I know, but how could you know? I felt rejected.”

  There was a silence on the line. Mia wasn’t talking, and Tavy wondered if there was something she had known about her father that she had never spoken to her.

  “Mia? You didn’t know anything about why my father left did you?”

  “Not any details, but Tio decided it was best to not talk about it. He made me promise.”

  “Not talk about what?”

  “About things I didn’t understand. I just knew from my acquaintance with your father that it was a hard choice he made. It wasn’t simple.”

  “You never told me.”

  “Because Tio said not to. He was afraid we could lose you.”

  “I don’t understand.” She was almost afraid of what else Mia might say. If she and Tio had kept something from her, it would be painful. Terribly painful.

  “I don’t understand either, Tavy. I’m coming to you, by the way. Week after next. I can’t stand this distance. We’ll talk about everything then.”

  For the first time since she was a teenager, Tavy didn’t want to tell Mia about something important. She didn’t want to tell her about the box of baby things or the fact that her father had supposedly taken photographs she hadn’t yet found. I
f Mia had known about anything like that, it would mean she had hidden it from her, and that would be too awful to endure.

  “You’re coming to Austin?” she asked.

  “Yes. As soon as the business sale is done. It’s supposed to close in two weeks.”

  “That’s good. I’ve been feeling lonesome here.”

  “I’m lonesome, too. You have room for me?”

  “Of course. And the house has two baths and a laundry room. Everything we need.”

  “Okay. I’ll call when I get my tickets. I miss you!”

  “Me too, Mia,” she said, but she didn’t add her usual I love you before she ended the call.

  It was only nine, but the persistent feeling of nerves was not abating. Tavy decided the only way she would get any sleep was to take her fallback insomnia medication. Getting up for a glass of water, she noticed the phone on the kitchen wall blinking. That was strange. It hadn’t rung.

  Walking up close to it she saw on the information screen the words RINGER OFF, and VOICEMAIL: 1. Why was the ringer off? Had she inadvertently pushed a button? She felt along the sides of the phone and found one on the right side at the back. She pushed the lever upwards, and the sign on the screen changed. RINGER ON. That was quite strange. She must have bumped it, or perhaps Florencia had accidentally moved it when she was cleaning. That was probably it.

  Tavy pushed the button for voicemail and lifted the receiver, placing it on her ear. A monotone voice on the phone said, “You have one message.” After that there was a little static and she could hear Shell Hodge’s voice: “Hi Tavy. I’m just calling because, well, I’m a little worried about you. I texted earlier and kind of expected to hear back. Since I didn’t, I decided to ring your land line. Anyway, could you check your texts and send me a quick reply? Thanks!”

  Tavy got a glass of water before returning to her bathroom for sleeping pills. There were only two left in a bottle she’d had for over a year. Her insomnia problem wasn’t something she liked to deal with this way, and this was the second time she had resorted to taking a sedative this week, but she was too exhausted to risk another sleepless night.

  She twisted the lid from the bottle and shook out the last two pills, the lid dropping from her hand into the trashcan as she did so. Then, after swallowing the small blue tablets, she went to the nightstand, setting the empty bottle there so she would remember to buy another tomorrow.

  She looked at her cell. It was still sitting where she had left it, and she pressed its base while looking at the screen. Yes. There was a little number one on the messages icon. How had she missed it?

  She tapped the screen. Tavy, there’s a Guy Rose painting in your house that I believe is worth a great deal. I think it could have something to do with the murder. Please be extra watchful and careful. Someone might want it. I think you should tell the police.

  The day had been so crazy that Tavy had completely forgotten her discovery of the Guy Rose painting in the living room. The painting right here in her bedroom was also a Guy Rose, but Shell hadn’t seen this one. Tavy texted back.

  Shell, thanks for your concern. I think I’m okay. The police were here quite recently and only found arsenic in the one bottle in the liquor cabinet. I am safely locked in, and I have my phone. Sorry I missed your message earlier. I was at the grocery store and didn’t hear it. To be honest, I’ve been so preoccupied, I didn’t even notice a message was on my phone when I used it to call someone! See you Monday.

  She tapped send and set the phone on the nightstand, deciding to change into her nightgown, flick out the lights, climb into bed, and wait for sleep. Tomorrow she would call Rand Miller and get some answers about her father and Gus Kerr. And maybe she would apologize to Gus.

  Chapter 31

  Saturday, Aug. 8, 7:30 p.m.—Gus

  He couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to care about the opinion of woman he’d just met. True, she was Ed’s daughter, and she was undeniably pretty, but she had seemed fragile from the moment he met her, and he knew nothing of her character. Not before now.

  For a good thirty minutes after their encounter in Ed’s dining room, Gus Kerr had seethed. Yesterday, Octavia Bishop had been pleasant and easy to be with, even in her obviously emotional state. It seemed to him that they had shared something fundamental. They had grieved over the loss of someone they had both cared for. Gus had sensed what he believed was a truth about Tavy, something she wasn’t ready to admit to herself or anyone else. All her life, she had loved and missed the father who left her at two.

  Even now, with his sensibilities burning over her accusation, he couldn’t fathom what Ed had done. How could he have left her? It didn’t make any sense, especially in light of everything his older friend had told him during the past six years. His mind drifted back to an early conversation.

  “Did I ever show you a picture of my daughter? I’m telling you, she’s a very pretty girl if I do say so myself.” Ed had opened his wallet and handed it to him proudly. Gus remembered agreeing that the woman captured in the photograph was indeed remarkably attractive.

  And now that he had met her, he believed her to be even more lovely than her picture.

  He finished sorting the vegetables into their respective crates, readying them to be carried to the curb early in the morning, readying them to be taken to the tables of families all around Austin. He stacked the crates on his kitchen counter and table, nearly unaware that today’s harvest was a good one, one he would have been pleased with any other day. He leaned against the edge of the counter over the kitchen sink and looked out the window at his garden and the fence beyond while Blue whined sympathetically from her bed in the corner.

  It was raining now, one of those summer rains that would only last for an hour, but the entire garden would be drenched. If he’d been able to think of it, he’d have been glad his picking was finished before the downpour. Instead, the darkness of the sky and the sudden storm matched his gloomy view of the world.

  He had to snap out of it. The truth mattered, nothing else.

  He went into his den and turned on the television, hoping to drown out any thoughts of Octavia Bishop and her belief that he had murdered her father, but distraction wasn’t easily achieved. At about eight, he decided he couldn’t sit around the house feeling sorry for himself any longer. It wasn’t doing any good at all, and he was getting himself worked up enough that, in all likelihood, he’d have a terrible night’s sleep. There was only one remedy that worked to prevent his chronic insomnia.

  “What do you think, Blue?” he asked the dog. She had followed him into the den and was lying at his feet. “You wanna go for a run?” he asked as she stood and wagged her tail expectantly.

  It smelled like fresh rain outside, even though the storm had long since passed, and it was still warm out, just muggier than before. In a few minutes, Gus was running under the streetlights in the heavy air, oblivious to the sweat that drained from him, Blue charging ahead sometimes, but mostly trotting along at his side. He rounded the corner of the block and found himself on Oaktree Hill.

  Passing Ed’s house—now Tavy’s—Blue stopped at the end of the walk, fur rising on the back of her neck.

  Gus stopped and looked back at the dog. “What is it, Blue?”

  She growled and let out a bark.

  “Ed’s not here anymore. Don’t worry, it’s not a stranger in there. It’s Tavy. You know Tavy.”

  Blue growled again and ran up to the porch, bouncing against the front door with her forepaws.

  “Come on, girl! Let’s go home. Let’s eat!” he said, trying to coax her. She turned her light blue eyes toward him and whined.

  “Come on! Let’s go,” he said and started jogging ahead. He didn’t want to see Tavy again after walking out of her house earlier—not after what she had said to him.

  Blue came, reluctant but obedient, and they made their way around the block and back to their own place, but the moment he let her in, she ran through the house and out the doggy do
or into the back.

  There must be a cat out there. She’ll come in after a bit, he thought.

  But even after Gus had showered and put on a clean shirt and jeans, Blue was still barking in the backyard. It wasn’t like her. He stepped into sandals and went out the back door.

  “Blue! Settle down!” he called.

  But he could see her jumping against the back gate, insistent on getting through.

  “Is there a cat?” Gus asked, heading down the steps toward her, but the dog ignored him, throwing her weight repeatedly against the fence.

  Gus looked at his watch. It was nearly nine-thirty now. Could something be wrong over there? He opened the gate and the dog rushed through, immediately running to Ed’s back door and doing the same, barking and growling ferociously while jumping against it.

  Damn. He would have to check on Tavy.

  He went up the steps, standing under the porch light that was too bright in his eyes, and knocked. “Tavy?” he called.

  He waited. She was mad at him, to be sure, but would she ignore him if he knocked? He knocked again—pounded really—calling, “Tavy! Are you there?” while Blue growled and bounced repeatedly against the door.

  Still nothing. He pulled his cell from the pocket of his jeans and found Ed’s number in his contacts. In a moment he could hear the phone ringing in the kitchen. He knocked again. Still nothing. The phone continued to ring five, six, seven…

  Suddenly he was running back to his own house in search of keys. He knew where they were. He looked inside his back door on a board Maddie had made for him in second grade, a series of cup hooks twisted into a small piece of lumber with the words, Daddy’s Keys printed with white puff paint. The hooks held the various keys he rarely used. One set hung there with a little round label: Ed’s house.