Murder in the Art Gallery

by Sandi Scott

  As Georgie looked around, she was astounded by the amazing colors in the painted walls and decorative accents in the bar. Brick House Reds and Pumpkin Oranges muted perfectly with Confederate Blues and Union Grays. The bar was a long, chocolate-colored wood combining old world woodworking with modern interior design.

  “Here you are, Madam.”

  “Thank you.” Georgie climbed up on the barstool and enjoyed the view from her perch. Before she could look around, Georgie became rapt with the vast array of liquor bottles of different shapes and sizes and colors that took up six shelves across a massive mirrored wall. There was music playing softly from speakers she could not see, playing an instrumental version of a song she recognized but could not identify.

  The bartender didn’t look old enough to drink alcohol legally, two dimples appearing when he smiled.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am.” His black hair flopped just above his brow. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Georgie put her hands together and smiled.

  “Would you happen to know how to make one of those chocolate martinis?” Georgie giggled. “I’ve heard of them on some television program but I’ve never had one.”

  “Of course. One Chocolatini coming up.”

  Georgie shifted in her chair like a student who’d recited the United States Preamble without a single mistake.

  As she looked around, she saw some lovely people who she guessed were guests of the hotel enjoying an early dinner. Some other people chatted at the other end of the bar. Finally, her eyes fell on a face she had now seen several times in the past few days. Nate Stephenson.

  “Oh, Lord. What is he doing here? Gosh, maybe I should go up and apologize to him. Would that make a difference? Maybe he’d think I was even more pushy than I was with Aleta.” She tapped her lower lip. “I could blame the whole thing on Aleta. That might work.” She squinted deviously.

  “Here you are, Madam. One Chocolatini.” The bartender set down a beautifully creamy concoction with a sprig of mint and four squares of dark chocolate resting on the rim next to the straw.

  The song was still playing and it bugged her that she couldn’t place it. “What song is this?” she asked the bartender. “The name is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t remember.”

  The bartender listened for a moment. “I don’t know. This is an oldie, like from the 90s.”

  If music from the 90s were oldies, what did that make Georgie? Ancient?

  “Oh, wait.” The bartender stood for a moment listening. “I think this is Whitney Houston?

  At the same time, Georgie and the bartender blurted out, “I will always love you.” They laughed together for a minute until he had to serve another customer.

  “I’ll need a sip of this first.” She smelled the chocolate aroma and rolled her eyes. A tiny sip was like heaven on her tongue. “This is delicious. Okay. Now I’ve got a drop of liquid courage in me, I’ll go apologize to Nate for…”

  Before Georgie could hop off her barstool, she realized Nate was not alone.

  “Wait a minute. I’d recognize that head of hair anywhere. What is Obby doing talking to Nate?”

  Suddenly she gasped.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” the bartender asked.

  “This Chocolatini is too good,” she said.

  The bartender nodded warily and went back to polishing the bar.

  Nervously, Georgie fidgeted in her seat, watching Nate shake his head and act what she could only perceive as being quite rude to Obby.

  He rolled his eyes.

  He smirked.

  He continued to shake his head no.

  Obby finally stood up from the table, words were exchanged, but there was no handshake. In fact, Obby, who had been nothing but a complete gentleman each time Georgie had seen him didn’t even bother to push his chair back in. Instead, he adjusted his vest, shifted his shoulders beneath his jacket, and clenched his teeth as he skirted around the other tables and headed toward the bar.

  Georgie watched as Nate leaned back in his chair, took a small tumbler in his hand and sipped the brown liquid. The smirk on his face was full of youthful cockiness.

  When her eyes bounced back to Obby, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “Well, looks like we won’t be celebrating. I sure could use a little company.” He looked at her outfit. “I will say this, you get prettier and prettier every time I see you.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.” Georgie waved her hand and accepted a friendly hug from Obby.

  “Your deal didn’t go well?”

  “No. That little punk.” Obby sighed. “I made him a right good offer. His partner had initially accepted but this guy says the partner’s not in the picture anymore. Looks like it’s back to the drawing board.”

  Georgie gasped.

  “Oh, no. I appreciate the sympathy,” said Obby. “But honestly, when deals get messy like this, I always try to remind myself I probably dodged a bullet.

  Georgie stared at him silently, while her mind raced a million miles a minute. The song. I will always love you. If Nate has a wife, or someone serious enough to warrant a customer ringtone, who was he with the night of the murder?

  “Are you alright?” aksed Obby. “Your face went suddenly pale.”

  If Nate was turning down a deal that Jamal had set up by saying he was no longer in the picture, that seemed a lot like motive.

  “Oh, I’m fine. I just realized I was up very high on this stool,” she blubbered. She had brought with her a bigger purse than usual because Aleta demanded she take her pocket pepper-spray, enough money for cab fare in case she got stranded, and two books if she had to wait. Digging through all of this as well as her wallet, a bottle of water, and a pocket sketchbook with charcoal pencils, she finally found what she was searching for. Her cellphone.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, I need to make a quick phone call.”

  “Oh no. Is it the emergency call to a friend that will give you a sudden excuse to leave the date? Am I already boring you?”

  “Ha! No, it’s nothing like that,” said Georgie dialing the number she knew by heart. “I just have to call my ex-husband for a minute. She tried to ignore the perplexed look on Obby’s face.

  “Detective Toon.”

  “Stan!” she whispered into the phone. “Stan, it’s me.”

  “Georgie?”

  “Stan, listen to me. I know who killed Jamal Landry.”

  “Georgie, have you been drinking?”

  Georgie looked at the Chocolatini and shook her head. “Would you listen to me? You have to come down here to the Regency Gold Hotel. Come into the bar. He’s here and you need to arrest him.”

  “You are drinking.”

  “Stan. Nate’s story doesn’t make sense.” She clenched her teeth as she waited for Stan’s response. She could practically recite his lecture verbatim.

  “How many times do I need to tell you to leave police work to the police?”

  “I know, but this just sort of fell in my lap. Look, you said Nate’s alibi was a woman, but I’m pretty sure he has a serious girlfriend or wife.”

  “Georgie, with all due respect, we both know a cheater does not a murder make.”

  “You’re right, but it got me thinking. Listen to me. Jamal was looking to sell the gallery. He offered a share to Laney Chung, the critic. He was going to have a meeting with a man named Malcolm Obberfield who was willing to buy it. But Obby said the deal had suddenly gone sour.” She turned and gave a big smile to Obby, who looked even more confused than before.

  “Nate doesn’t want to sell. Jamal wanted to sell. So Nate removed him from the equation. It’s so obvious.”

  Stan was quiet on the other end of the phone.

  “Stan? If you hang up on me I swear I’ll…”

  “No. No, I’m here. Look. Don’t do anything. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t do anything!”

  “I won’t. I promise.” Georgie sighed and pressed the little red circ
le on her phone to disconnect the call.

  “Sorry about that,” Georgie said. “Now, where were we?”

  Obby gave her a you-can’t-be-serious look, so she filled him on the details. He confirmed that he had made a handshake deal with Jamal, who had mentioned he had a partner with non-voting shares of the company that might not be happy with the deal but didn’t have the power to stop him. Georgie fidgeted.

  “Are you all right, Georgie?”

  Taking a tiny sip of her drink, Georgie looked sideways at the door then to Nate and then to Obby.

  “You just hold on to your hat, Obby. There’s a storm brewing.”

  Just then, Stan strolled into the restaurant with two uniformed officers.

  “This is just like a scene from The Big Sleep.” Georgie giggled.

  “Humphrey Bogart. Lauren Bacall.”

  “Yes.” Georgie put her hand to her throat. “Keep watching.”

  Nate was too busy chatting up his server, a svelte blonde in a short black skirt and black sequined top, to see Stan closing in on him. When the waitress took a step back, her mouth hanging open, Nate finally looked up.

  “I’ve never seen a man go so pale so quickly,” Obby confessed.

  “I’ve never seen a man get detained in public like this.” Georgie watched, staying safely out of Stan’s way. Nate stood up from his chair. It was like he was a puppet. His arms and legs moved automatically but from the look on his face his mind didn’t seem to be aware of the motions. All he could do was scan the floor.

  Once Nate had conceded to walk with Stan out of the bar, Stan looked around, saw Georgie and gave her a quick salute.

  “So that’s your ex-husband, I presume?” Obby asked.

  “That’s my ex-husband,” Georgie confirmed, trying not to sound too proud.

  “I see.” Obby cleared his throat.

  “Trust me,” said Georgie. “Introducing you to my ex-husband on our first date was not my idea. Just a big coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Obby said, raising his glass. “I believe everything happens for a reason. Part of the Creator’s divine plan.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. It’s much more reassuring to see things that way.” Georgie picked up her glass. But before she could clink her glass to Obby’s, Stan walked up to the pair at the bar.

  “Stan.” Georgie smiled. “Please meet my friend Obby. And, Obby, this is my ex-husband, Stan Toon.”

  The men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Obby,” Stan said, “But you are sitting with Chicago’s only pro-bono detective on the force. You were right, Georgie.”

  “It just all snapped into place when Obby started telling me about the deal he was negotiating.”

  “So, you two are here on business, then?”

  “No. A date.” said Obby as the two men eyed one another.

  “Well, that’s some date.” Stan shifted from his right foot to his left and explained that the night before they had picked up Nate’s alibi, the woman he supposedly met with, for solicitation. In exchange for getting the prostitution charges dropped, she admitted that Nate paid her off to be an alibi. They were working on piecing together his motive and trying to locate him for questioning when Georgie called.

  “Before we even had Nate loaded into the squad car, he confessed.” Stan said. “Jamal was selling the gallery because he had no interest in art. Nate was not a good enough businessman and Jamal didn’t want him screwing up his credit or his reputation.”

  “It’s sad that they were such good friends and couldn’t work anything out.”

  “Well, maybe they were good friends before but not at the end. When Jamal talked to him after the exhibit and told him he’d found a buyer, Nate refused to sell. But Jamal showed him the agreement they made years ago that gave Jamal 51% of the company’s ownership, meaning he had the majority vote and could legally make decisions without Nate. Nate felt duped, was overcome with anger that his friend would take advantage of his business naiveté like that and killed him.”

  “He doesn’t look like the kind of guy to carry a gun on him.” Georgie said.

  “He probably kept one at the gallery for security – when they first opened 10 years ago, the neighborhood was in rough shape and break-ins were common.

  “And now look at him,” Obby added sadly. “He’s going to jail.”

  “Had he shaken hands with you and sold the place, he might have gotten away. No one would blame a guy for dumping a piece of property where a person was killed.” Stan muttered in a low-key manner. “But greed and pride got the best of him.”

  Stan shook hands with Obby and kissed Georgie on the cheek before leaving.

  “He’s a nice fellow.” Obby sounded almost shocked.

  Georgie laughed.

  “He is nice. Bit of a weirdo, though, on account of the solid gold plate in his head.”

  “Really, like your sister’s hump back?”

  “Yeah, kind of like that.” They laughed.

  14

  “I can’t get over this,” Stan mused. “It’s like you can just reach out and pet this picture. Like any minute now, this cat is going to slink around your leg and leave a ton of cat hair behind.”

  “That’s Zsa-Zsa the Persian. She was a doll to work with,” Georgie beamed. “Just the most easy-going cat you ever met. She would let me pose her, move her, manipulate her in any position and she’d just stay. A fantastic model. In fact, Miss Lucy, Zsa-Zsa’s person, has asked me to do another drawing of her.”

  “I don’t know. That one is amazing but this piece, this one speaks to me.” Obby pointed to a magnificent rendition of a Chinese Crested, considered the world’s ugliest dog breed. Georgie stood between the two men as the three of them glanced around the walls of the coffee shop she knew so well. Hanging on the walls of the shop were all of Georgie’s pet portraits that she had intended to show in the gallery. When that fell through, Obby suggested she talk to the owner Monique about having the showing at the coffee shop.

  “That was Mortimer. He was extremely pleasant to work with. His person was a little high strung. She was always concerned about the lighting on his face, there being enough water when he took one of his breaks to walk around. The only downside to Mortimer was that he marked everything as his own, if you catch my meaning.” Georgie touched her green fedora to tilt it just so. “After he sat with me for a day in order to get some good sketches, my whole place had been marked as Mortimer’s. But look at his markings. They were fantastic to draw.”

  “Now, who is this?” Aleta asked pointing to one of the color drawings Georgie had done.

  “That is Hercules the Hamster. It was very hard to get a good picture of him. He was so shy. But, once Trevor…that’s Trevor over there by the sweets table…” Georgie pointed to a body builder talking with another guest. “Once Trevor got him calmed down and relaxed, we had some real fun.”

  “How did he get him calmed down and relaxed?” Aleta asked.

  “He sang to him. Surprisingly, that big brute has a lovely voice.”

  “Oh, Georgie, I think they are putting out more canelé. Stan, come with me to get some more.”

  “You need me to load your plate?”

  “No, silly. I need you to hold two plates while I fill a third. Come on.”

  “Bonjour! Miss Georgie, your drawings are magnifique! We love to feature local artists from the city in the café. My favorite, that little dear with the big eyes and wrinkles. He has secrets to tell, no?”

  “Well, thank you, Monique. That’s my pug, Bodhi.” Georgie almost began to cry. “I just can’t believe how many people have shown up.”

  “When Obby told me you were an artist, I said I wasn’t surprised. But I had no idea you were a real artist. Such passion in your work. Such devouement and amour toward your subjects.”

  Georgie looked at Obby who was smiling shyly as he eavesdropped and listened to Monique speak.

&
nbsp; “We’ll have another showing in three months, no?”

  “Yes.” Georgie nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Obby stepped closer to Georgie.

  “I can’t thank you enough for this, Obby. You didn’t have to do it. But I’m so grateful you did.”

  “Well, you’re not an artist until you show someone your work and see the response it gets. Good or bad, if you stir an emotion, you are an artist.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  “So, will you be ready for another showing in three months?”

  “I think so.” Georgie wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and smiled happily. “Yes, I think so.”

  THE END

  Letter from the Author

  Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this story and will consider writing a review on Amazon.com or lending it to a friend.

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  www.SandiScottBooks.com.

  As a thank you for joining, I will send you the first two books in my Seagrass Sweets series.

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  Email me at sandi@sandiscottbooks.com

  Stay cozy,

  Sandi

  About the Book Cover

  I am so grateful to my readers every day for reading my books, making it possible to keep writing. As a gesture of appreciation (and because it is really, really fun) – I feature a reader’s pet on the cover of each book in this series!

  For each book, I host a contest where you can enter your fur baby to be the next cover model. I love seeing all your fur babies and reading their stories. The prizes of winning the contest are digital images of any artwork done of the winning pet, a free paperback copy of the book, and the opportunity to write the dedication to the book.

  This month’s cover model is Halia. What drew me to Halia was the brief, but impactful story his mom shared on Facebook.