by Sandi Scott
“You know.” Aleta sat down and grabbed herself a cookie. “If she didn’t kill Jamal, there’d be no reason to suddenly go soft on him. If she did kill Jamal then going easy on him at the end might look like a guilty conscience.”
“Ahh. I get it.” Georgie unwrapped a peppermint teabag and dropped it in the hot water.
“But that wouldn’t be any kind of motive.” Aleta scratched her head. “Even if they didn’t like each other or if Laney thought all of the exhibits Jamal hosted were bad, does that sound like something that would make her kill him? If anything, it sounds like he should kill her for never giving the Wyland Art Gallery a decent review.”
“No. But if Jamal and Laney had a relationship that went south, there would be a reason.”
“What do you know that you aren’t telling me?”
“At the event.” Georgie got up, grabbed the plate of warm gingersnaps and put it between her and her sister on the kitchen table. “I overheard Nate telling Jamal how bad it was that he had mixed business with pleasure and that now it was causing all kinds of problems.”
“A jilted lover?” Aleta nodded as she took a bite of cookie. “Now that’s a reason to kill.”
“Sure. Especially if these bad reviews were coming out after they had severed their relationship, whatever kind of relationship it was.” Georgie lifted an eyebrow.
“Okay, so are we sure it wasn’t the drunk?” Aleta pulled back her index finger as she counted.
“Ronan Wells?” Georgie asked. “He’s got a sloppy, wet alibi that Stan confirmed.”
“Eww. That sounds gross. But I understand your meaning. What about Princess Grace?” Aleta squinted.
“You mean Iris? She doesn’t have an alibi, but I just don’t know if she’d be strong enough to pull the trigger.”
“People don’t know when you’re hungry, but they do know when you’re homeless. Pride is a deadly sin and she’s chock full of it. I’d say she’s unlikely but I would not completely disqualify her.”
“Right. She might have even done it and doesn’t remember. Although I would hate it if that was her story.” Georgie wrinkled her nose.
“Really? Why?” Aleta asked.
“Because it has no nobility.”
“Since when does nobility accompany murder?”
“Not all murders. But this kind of murder. It needs a story. It needs the murderer to reach a twisted hand to the sky and cry out I did it! Jamal Landry thought I was through! Washed up! But I wasn’t through! Not by a long shot!” Georgie sneered and snorted as she concluded her brief monologue and looked at her sister.
“You are certifiable, you know that? More tea?”
“Yes.” Georgie grinned.
“Now, I know he was a fan of your artwork and won you over with the idea of an exhibit all your own. But what about Nate?” Aleta poured more tea into her sister’s teacup. “Anything that makes you think he might have had a hand in it?”
“Stan said he had an alibi. He took some woman to his apartment after the show. That’s a little slutty but not illegal.” Georgie nodded her head. “And just because he likes my drawings doesn’t mean I would overlook a murder. I’ll overlook his tramping around but I draw the line at murder. Call me old-fashioned.”
“I feel like something is missing.” Aleta rapped her knuckles on the table and got up.
“Yes, vanilla frosting to dip our gingersnaps in. You were reading my mind,” Georgie called after her.
“No, silly. Although that does sound wonderful.” She came back with her laptop computer, set it on the table and popped it open. “I want to know a little more about Jamal Landry.”
Watching her sister’s fingers fly across the keyboard, Georgie sat back and munched another gingersnap as the profile and dozens of news articles on the man popped up.
“Let’s see here. Born and raised, blah, blah, blah … went to college, blah, blah, blah. Oh, this is interesting.” Aleta sipped her tea. “Jamal was a good old-fashioned, trust-fund baby. Looks like he came from some money. Yeah. Lots of money.”
“Well, if he were married or had kids or something I might see a motive, but he was single.” Georgie pursed her eyebrows together.
“Single but rarely alone from the looks of it. Here he is at last year’s Kentucky Derby. Here he is at Caesar’s in Las Vegas. And look at this. He’s on the board of directors for Twitter, Generation Sea, Orange Satellite, and Uber.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means he has a nose for business. And from the looks of it he’s got a different woman for every day of the week.”
“I remember those days.” Georgie looked off into space.
“You never had a guy for every day of the week,” Aleta teased.
“No. You’re right. I took Sundays off. You know what is strange about all these things that he’s involved in? None of them have anything to do with art.”
“No, they don’t. But they are all up-and-coming businesses. Do you know how much Uber alone is making for its stockholders? Those other ones have links to Forbes, Crain’s, and a couple other business magazines. If just one more is doing as well as Uber, he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.”
“So, he invests in businesses that will make him more money.” Aleta continued to read further into Jamal’s profile. “Says here he’s a real ‘shark’ when he’s making a deal. Listen to this:
It isn’t uncommon for Landry to walk away from a deal over a ten-dollar difference. Percentage-wise, if he doesn’t have the upper hand, he leaves the table only to count the seconds before the businesses chase him down to give him what he wants.
That is a shrewd businessman.”
“He and Nate were friends. He must have invested in the art gallery as a favor because if he isn’t interested in art, it probably provides him a nice return or something on the pieces sold.” Georgie finished her tea and sat back in her chair. “Nate is the only one who can tell us more about it.”
Aleta looked at Georgie.
“I’ll go with you but don’t even think of asking me to carry your books for you. If you want to drum up some cock-and-bull story, you can lift that weight on your own. Just leave me out of it.”
“Fine, party-pooper.”
10
“Yoo-hoo!” Georgie called out as she pushed open the door to the Wyland Art Gallery. “Anyone home? Yoo-hoo!”
“What are you doing?” Aleta tugged at her sister’s sleeve, her face a magnificent magenta. “You want him to call the cops?”
“He’d call the cops on two women who slinked in snooping about,” Georgie whispered. “He won’t call the cops on two old dames who wouldn’t know proper meeting etiquette from a hole in the ground. Now hush.”
The police tape was gone from the front door. The artwork had been moved into clusters against the back wall and in the corners, making it look like an unfinished apartment where the tenant had skipped out on the rent.
“The gallery is closed… oh, hello, Miss Kaye. Uhm. Did we have an appointment?” Nate looked surprised and like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the night of the Xio event.
“Hello, Nate.” Georgie waved like she was on a float in a parade, flapping her hand up and down. “No. We didn’t have an appointment. I was hoping I could pick your brain for a minute.”
Nate looked at his watch and then at Georgie.
“I promise she won’t keep you.” Aleta winked. “She’s got an appointment with her therapist. And we are not going to miss this one. You remember what happened last time you didn’t get your prescription refilled, dear? You were saying those things again. And in church, of all places.”
Georgie looked at Aleta and squinted. She knew it was payback for Iris’s place. Swallowing hard, she took her lumps.
“She’s right,” Georgie agreed. “Just a few minutes of your time?”
Under the impression that Georgie was a bit off her rocker, Nate smiled kindly, stepped aside, and waved the women into his
office. Georgie noticed right away that Jamal’s desk was gone. Nate had moved his desk to the middle of the room with two chairs facing it. The Kaye sisters each took a seat.
“So. What can I do for you?” Nate sat down and folded his hands over the chaos of paperwork.
“First, let me just say that on behalf of my sister and myself, we’d like to say how sorry we are for your loss.” Georgie put on her best grieving face. “Why, just the other day we attended the funeral of our dear friend Elizabeth. She was ninety-one.”
“Ninety-one years young.” Aleta pointed to the ceiling.
“She was the picture of health,” Georgie continued as she looked dreamily at the stacks of paper on the desk.
“That’ll make you think.” Aleta tapped her temple.
“Sharp as a tack until her last breath,” Georgie continued.
“Hey, you don’t get out of this life alive,” Aleta chimed in.
“No, you don’t,” Georgie concurred.
“Well, I appreciate that. Jamal was an amazing friend.”
“And how did you meet?” Georgie studied Nate’s face.
“We were in the same fraternity together. When I told him about what I wanted to do, he stepped up. He made my dream come true.”
Nate said the words, but the emotion seemed to be lagging behind somewhere and unable to catch up. His eyes remained focused and dry.
“Well, as much of a tragedy this is, it could have been a lot worse. You could have been here, too. Then there would have been two bodies instead of just one. I mean, one is bad enough but two…” Georgie bumbled.
“Two would have meant this lunatic killed you both.” Aleta folded her arms over her chest and nodded her head as if she had just correctly answered a question in astrophysics.
“Yes.” Nate nodded slowly.
“Did you go home after the event? It was a delightful event.” Georgie scooted a little closer to his desk.
“Actually, I had a meeting.” he replied tactfully. “Jamal stayed to take care of all the paperwork.”
“A meeting?” Georgie said. “I guess the work never stops when you’re a gallery owner. Who was it with?”
“No one you know.” Nate stopped speaking and looked suspiciously at Georgie and Aleta.
Georgie chewed her bottom lip as Aleta kept her eyes looking forward.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she grumbled. “As for that critic to give Jamal such a terrible review in the paper so soon after his passing. Well, when I saw that I thought that Laney Chung might be the culprit.”
Aleta nodded her head.
“I didn’t think so at first, but now that you mention it...Jamal and Laney were sort of friends.” Nate smirked as if he was hiding a juicy piece of information and just needed a little coaxing to get it out.
“With friends like that, who needs enemies?” Aleta replied.
“They had a relationship. Had one. It didn’t work out, but they kept this feud going on to cause a little drama in the art world. It worked. But I also think that Laney still carried a torch for Jamal.” Nate shrugged his shoulders. “You could hardly blame her.”
Georgie and Aleta leaned closer.
“Well, don’t get me wrong. I loved Jamal like a brother but he didn’t always treat women right. Laney got a lot of mixed signals from him. Sometimes Jamal was with her. Sometimes he’d had a better offer. You know what I mean?”
Georgie nodded her head slowly up and down, clicking her tongue. “That’s the problem with people today.”
The trio sat in silence for a few moments, both Nate and Aleta waiting for Georgie to continue her train of thought. Nothing happened.
“So, have the police told you anything further about the investigation?” Georgie surprised Nate with the question. As he cleared his throat, he narrowed his eyes at Georgie then at Aleta.
“Was there some reason for your visit? I thought you wanted to know something about creating some buzz for your pet portraits. Sounds more to me like you’d rather snoop into something that doesn’t involve you.”
The Kaye sisters giggled happily as if they had just been told the funniest joke.
“Well, I guess we are a pair of old busybodies with too much time.” Aleta waved her hand in front of her as if she were shooing a fly.
“It isn’t every day we get a front row seat to a murder,” Georgie added.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you two ladies to leave,” Nate huffed. “This may provide some sick amusement for you but my friend is dead.”
Both women stared at Nate. Just then, his cell phone rang with a ringtone version of Whitney Houston’s “I’ll always love you.” After looking at the number, he said he had to take the call. With his hand, he gestured toward the door.
Georgie stood from her seat and reached across the desk to pat Nate’s hand. “We’re very sorry. It was rude of us. But one more question…”
“I’m sorry, but I have to take this.” He put the phone to his ear. “Hi, honey. Have you finally arrived at the airport?”
“Sometimes I think our mother would be ashamed at how we act,” Aleta whispered to her sister, standing and straightening the crease in her slacks and tugging down the front of her blouse.
Without another word, Georgie and Aleta turned and headed toward the door.
“Mrs. Kaye?”
Both women turned around but Nate was looking at Georgie, the phone momentarily held against his shoulder. “I hope you realize all of the circumstances surrounding the gallery at this time has altered our schedule for future gallery exhibits. You do understand.”
Georgie’s back slightly straightened as if Nate had just called her a rude name. She wished that was all he had done. But her meddling had possibly cost her a gallery showing at the Wyland Art Gallery. She walked out of the office in front of her sister and heard the door shut behind her.
“Why, that big baby!” Aleta hissed. “Georgie, don’t let him get to you. Your drawings are beautiful. He’ll come around. Once the case is solved. Maybe we could send him a basket of goodies or something when an arrest is made. He’s under stress. That’s why he said that. And, well, we were really beating him up. It was pretty funny. He had no idea what to do with us.”
“I think we might want to pay a visit to Laney Chung,” Georgie replied. “She’s probably heartbroken and people who are heartbroken have the tendency to talk…and talk and talk.”
“Tomorrow?” Aleta gave her sister a sideways glance.
“Tomorrow.”
11
Pablo sputtered to a stop like all Volkswagens did, sounding similar to Bodhi when he snorted his arrival into a room.
“How are we going to get in there?” Aleta looked at the Chicago Sun-Times building.
“Through the front door,” Georgie said plainly.
“I can’t believe you wore that outfit to ask this woman questions.” Aleta squinted and hunched her shoulders up to her ears as she opened the squeaky passenger side door.
There isn’t anything wrong with my outfit. Besides, an art critic? I wouldn’t be surprised if we were wearing the same ensemble,” Georgie said as she emerged from Pablo like she was stepping onto a bright red carpet instead of a dirty parking space on Wacker Drive.
Georgie didn’t want to admit to Aleta that she was upset. Nate pulling the rug out from underneath her potential exhibit at his art gallery broke her heart. Not only did she not foresee that happening, but now she was certain word would spread and no one in Chicago would want to see her drawings.
Yesterday evening while she sat at her drawing table with a new image of Bodhi tacked to her inspiration board in front of her, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Rejection.
They were expensive, but Georgie wouldn’t draw her animals with anything other than Prismacolor soft sketching pencils. The simple artistic tool felt like an extension of her fingers as she’d spent over forty-five minutes getting almost every hair on the wrinkle over Bodhi’s nose
in its proper place. In her other hand, she’d held a blending stump between her index and forefinger like a cigarette while she rubbed a gummy eraser between her thumb and ring finger.
Bodhi’s image slowly came to life as Georgie had patiently and lovingly studied his picture, her eyes darting from the still life photo to the 19-1/2 by 25-1/2 sheet of pure white Dessin drawing paper that cost almost five dollars a sheet. The highlights and shadows had given Georgie a sweet distraction from the issue she’d been trying to push aside.
“Bodhi, I just know your face along with all your friends’ faces should be in a gallery. I’m pretty good at this, right?”
Bodhi, who had been sitting on Georgie’s leopard-printed chaise lounge next to the window in her studio lifted his head and yawned.
“Maybe, if your Auntie Aleta and I can solve this case, we can get back into Nate’s good graces.”
Yip! Sneeze! Snort!
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
In perfect doggie yoga, Bodhi first extended his paws in front of him and then stretched his back legs, stood back up and shook his whole body, and hopped off the chaise before trotting over to Georgie.
Her drawing table was set low so she could sit in a worn and faded tapestry-covered chair. Normally, it was just enough room. But when Bodhi hopped up, wiggling his donut-shaped tail the chair suddenly became very tight and cramped.
Bodhi implored Georgie for some lap space with sad, saucy eyes. But she shooed him away. “How can such a little body take up so much room? I have work to do today, Bodhi.”
Snort! Snort! Sigh!
After walking in a circle once, twice, Bodhi finally flopped down with his head on Georgie’s foot. His eyes became heavy and soon he was snoring with every breath.
Georgie stroked the little dog and looked again from the photo to the drawing. Her mind was free as she drew. It was like taking a nap without going to sleep. Once Georgie had made Bodhi’s nose look like it would come off the paper and happily sniff her, she stopped for the night.
Sleep didn’t come immediately, but Georgie promised herself that she would figure this case out if for no other reason than to prove to Nate she wasn’t just a busybody. That she cared about more than the art exhibit. That she cared about justice and didn’t want anything in return except an honest critique of her work, with no strings attached.