The Point of Death: An Austin, Texas Art Mystery (the Michelle Hodge series Book 1)

by Roslyn Woods

  Chapter 7

  Gina was in class when Shell texted her. Can you meet me at the Starbucks next to Cactus Cafe in a few?

  After picking up Margie and driving over to the university, Shell parked her car on San Antonio just above 24th. The two young women then hurried over to Guadalupe, the street that was always swarming with student activity.

  Today, a young man with long, blond dreadlocks was playing his guitar on the steps near the entrance to the building. He was singing A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall, and he was doing a pretty good job of it. A circle of young people had formed around him, and Shell and Margie had to squeeze between them to make their way up the steps on their way into the Texas Union Building in search of Gina at the Starbucks that was located in the front next to The Cactus Cafe.

  Once inside, Margie got in line to order two coffees while Shell looked for Gina.

  “Hey,” said Gina when she approached her table and dropped her pack into an extra chair before she sat down across from her friend.

  “Margie’s ordering us a coffee. You remember her, right?” she asked, looking at Gina.

  “Sure,” she answered, glancing up at the line where Margie was easy to pick out because of her curly red tresses. “She came to the gallery to see your work back in September or October, I think.”

  “That’s right,” said Shell. Margie was just turning to approach the table with two green and white paper cups, and she smiled a greeting at Gina from across the room. “She’s like your best friend from childhood, right?” she asked.

  “We met in college, but we’re pretty close.”

  “And she’s like a baker or something?”

  “Yeah. She’s going to culinary school, but she’s already very proficient in a kitchen. An artist with food,” Shell was saying as Margie put a cup on the table in front of her. “She works five days a week at Pete’s Perfect Pastries making and decorating wedding cakes mostly.”

  “What I wanna know is, how does she get her hair to look so good?”

  “I don’t know,” said Shell, looking up at Margie. “It always looks like that. Totally natural.”

  “I’m jealous,” said Gina.

  “You know,” said Margie, with a laugh, “you’re both embarrassing me!”

  “Nice to see you again,” Gina said. “I really am jealous of your hair.”

  “Nice to see you, too,” said Margie, smiling as she pulled out a chair to sit down. “People with curly hair wish it was straight. People with straight hair wish it was curly!” Then, stirring her coffee with a wooden stick she looked up at Gina and asked, “Did Shell tell you about her morning yet?”

  “What’s up?” Gina asked, looking at Shell.

  “Irving Jansen gives me the creeps,” she answered.

  “You went to his house? I thought you’d decided to send the flowers.”

  “I thought I might learn something if I went over there.”

  “She never listens to me!” Margie complained.

  “It seemed like the best way to get my painting back,” Shell explained.

  “And he gave you the creeps?” Gina asked, her large, dark eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah.”

  Shell leaned forward and told Gina what had happened at the end of her meeting with Doris Leone’s husband and watched her friend’s face contort into an expression of distaste. “Eew!” she said.

  “I know,” Shell agreed.

  “Your reaction is just like mine,” said Margie.

  “So what do you think it means?” Gina asked.

  Shell shrugged. “I don’t know. Either he’s not himself because he’s so freaked out by his wife’s murder, or he’s the kind of guy who latches onto younger women whenever he gets the chance.”

  “Yuck!” Gina said.

  “Yeah. It’s just gross,” Margie agreed.

  “But I guess it fits his MO,” the darker-haired girl added, looking back at Shell. “Remember the story about how he got together with Dr. Leone? She was his writing student at USC, and she fell in love with him, and he married her and left USC. She was only twenty-two, and he was forty-five or something.”

  “Only forty. It happens,” said Shell, “but do you think she married him because he was rich?”

  “I guess he must have been well off. They live in Tarrytown,” she said, thinking. “But she didn’t seem the type to marry for money. I think he’s kind of a nice-looking old guy. He was probably really attractive when he was younger. To be honest, when I heard the story I thought it was kind of romantic.”

  “Yeah,” said Shell, “and when I got to their house I thought he was genuinely upset. Maybe he’s just weird about younger women. Anyway, he told me that Dr. Leone had an appointment before mine. I was supposed to be there at one. She was supposed to be there at eleven.”

  “Well, that sort of makes it all more complicated, but at least you don’t have to feel she got there early to see you. Do we know who she was meeting?” Gina wanted to know.

  “I saw the calendar on her desk. She had penciled in ‘JB at eleven.’ ”

  “JB. Hmm. James Beringer?”

  “How about Jeremy Bird?” Shell asked.

  “He’s not even taking her class.”

  “But he comes over to the gallery and talks to her a lot,” Shell argued.

  “I think he’s seeing someone,” Gina answered, glancing around the coffee shop to see if anyone was listening to them.

  “James or Jeremy?” Shell asked.

  “Jeremy,” Gina answered.

  “Yeah,” said Margie, “among other folks, he was seeing me till I broke up with him yesterday.”

  “Oh,” said Gina, surprised. “Gee, I didn’t know you were going with him. I didn’t mean to say anything—”

  “Believe me,” Margie answered, “I’m so over him. I wanted to break up the day after he moved in two months ago. It was hard to get him to see it, though, and when I told him I was really through, he wouldn’t have any of it.”

  “So how did you get him to leave?” Gina asked.

  “I put his stuff on the front porch and had the locks changed,” Margie said while Shell nodded. “It became pretty obvious he was seeing someone else anyway, so that gave me the resolve to follow through.”

  “So, if you think he was seeing someone,” Shell asked, looking at Gina, “do you think it was someone other than Dr. Leone?”

  “Did you think he was seeing Dr. Leone?” Gina asked, incredulous. “It never occurred to me.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. She was so friendly with everyone.”

  “I saw him talking to Lacy Michaels recently,” Gina answered. “She was mad about something, and he looked like he was trying to console her.”

  “Where?” Margie asked.

  “In the parking lot at the co-op. It was about a week ago. I also saw them once over here,” she added.

  “At UT?” Shell asked.

  “Right here in this Starbucks. I waved, but they hardly acknowledged me.”

  “Jeremy wouldn’t have wanted you to know if he’s had something going on with Lacy Michaels. He would have been afraid you’d tell me about it and I’d tell Margie.”

  “What a jerk,” Margie said. “And now he’s threatening to make me sorry for kicking him out!”

  “Men!” said Gina, shaking her head.

  “Gina,” said Shell, “I have a question about sales at the co-op gallery.”

  “Okay,” she answered, leaning forward.

  “When a painting sells, what’s the protocol about notifying the artist and getting payments and stuff like that?”

  “Well, usually a buyer will talk to me and tell me they want to buy a particular piece. If they pay by credit card—which they almost always do—I run it, and if it’s good, they can take the piece the same day. I take their information, give them the artwork, and contact the artist.”

  “Did Dr. Leone handle any of that?”

  “No.”

  “That’s weird, because Jeremy Bir
d told me that Dr. Leone had called him yesterday morning saying one of his paintings had sold. Is that possible?”

  “I never heard a word about it. She never handled that side of things before.”

  “But it’s possible?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think so. If she’d been aware of buyer being interested, she’d have contacted me first. I’m the only person in the co-op who’s ever made the sales, as far as I know. The gallery isn’t even open unless I’m on the premises.”

  “So it sounds like he was lying,” said Shell, glancing over at Margie. “I wonder why? He didn’t want me to know why he was actually waiting to see Dr. Leone yesterday afternoon.”

  “Didn’t he see the crime tape?” Gina wanted to know.

  “He seemed to think it must be for some minor thing, and I told him Dr. Leone had been killed.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He seemed upset and asked a few questions. In a while he left.”

  “We think he came straight to my house,” Margie added. “His stuff was on my porch and it was about to rain.”

  “So how do we find out why he was lying about his meeting with Dr. Leone?” Gina asked.

  “Maybe the thing to do is figure out what kind of relationship he had with Lacy Michaels,” said Shell. “I also need the contact information for Micky Lindstrom and James Beringer. I’m going to try talking to these guys if I can.”

  “I’ve got it right here in my pack. In fact, it’s the list I took to the police station. They made a copy of it and gave it back, but this is a copy from my list, so you can have it.”

  “That’s perfect,” said Shell. “Any news from the cops?”

  “Nothing since I dropped off the list. They said they’d call if they needed anything new. How about you?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Are you going to talk to Lacy Michaels?” Margie asked as Shell drove back toward 2nd Street.

  “I think so,” she answered, “but I’d like to know more before I approach her. She doesn’t have to talk to me, and I don’t have any leverage to make her want to.”

  “What about those guys who used to come into class late with Dr. Leone? Are you really going to talk to them?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do they have art in the gallery at the co-op?” Margie asked.

  “That’s the only reason Gina would have their info. I remember most everyone in the painting class had at least one thing in the gallery.”

  “It’s a good thing you’ve got Gina as a resource.”

  “Yeah. If she didn’t have it I’d have had to ask Brigitte Gersten.”

  “What would be the problem with that?”

  “I think there’s something going on that’s a bit off. She’s never been all that pleasant to me, and I saw her leaving Dr. Leone’s house this morning. She was crying.”

  “Crying? So? You said you got tears in your eyes when you talked to Dr. Jansen, too. It’s gotta be hard on everyone, losing their teacher.”

  “True,” Shell answered, “and he did say Brigitte had just brought flowers. Maybe she was just upset about Dr. Leone.”

  “It is kind of shocking. By the way, Gina seems really nice.”

  “She is. I wish she was more sure of herself.”

  “She’s very cute.”

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t feel cute.”

  “She could use some fluffing up, that’s all,” said Margie.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to be fluffed up.”

  “She was asking about my hair like she did.”

  “We could all go shopping together,” Shell suggested. “If she wants fluffing, she’ll make it more obvious.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Patrick came over to Margie’s house to pick Shell up at three.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Almost. I just contacted Micky Lindstrom. He says he’ll meet us at the Manchaca library at five,” she said. “In the meantime, I’d like to see if we can casually run into James Beringer.”

  “How do you plan to do that?” Patrick wanted to know.

  “I thought we’d just see if we can catch a glimpse of him at his apartment in Hyde Park. We can play it by ear from there.”

  “Okay,” Patrick said doubtfully. “I guess I signed up for this.”

  “You guys be careful,” Margie said. “Stay together. I mean it, Patrick. No leaving Shell alone with anybody. She had a weird experience today.”

  “You know I wouldn’t leave her alone with anybody,” Patrick said. “What happened today?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Besides, I’d be fine. I’m not stupid,” said Shell.

  “You’re just sure you’re invincible,” said Margie. “I’m telling you, be careful. I’m not kidding, Shell.”

  Chapter 8

  The cloudy sky and sticky weather were keeping people inside, or so Shell surmised. She was waiting with Patrick in his Nissan Altima just outside James Beringer’s apartment building near Hyde Park when Patrick asked, “So, why exactly did your friend have this contact information?”

  “Micky and James both have paintings in the gallery. Gina has to contact people if something of theirs sells,” she answered.

  “I just don’t see what you expect to gain by talking to this guy.”

  “I’m not sure what I expect to gain either. I don’t even know how to start up a conversation, but maybe he knows something about Dr. Leone. Everyone knows she was murdered yesterday. It seems like people would want to talk about it.”

  “But you don’t even know this guy, right?”

  “That’s right, but we see each other across the room. He’ll recognize me, I know that. It’s just, we’ve never had a conversation.”

  “We could follow him, I guess.”

  “And then we could see if there’s some opportunity to talk to him. Maybe we could make it look like an accidental encounter.”

  “We can try,” said Patrick.

  They had arrived at the apartment building at 3:30. It was 4:02 now, and they’d seen a few people coming and going, but they hadn’t seen James Beringer.

  “This may be a fruitless effort,” said Shell, “but I want to try. Dr. Leone deserves someone caring enough to try to figure out what happened to her.”

  “When are you planning on telling me what happened today?” Patrick asked.

  Shell didn’t really want to talk about her morning, but it seemed silly to ask for Patrick’s help and not keep him in the loop. “I took flowers over to Dr. Leone’s husband. He acted kinda weird.”

  “Like how?”

  Shell tried to relay accurately what had happened at the end of her visit with Irving Jansen.

  “That’s pretty disgusting I guess,” he said, “but you are beautiful, and maybe he was just noticing.”

  “Now? His wife was murdered yesterday! Besides, you didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on me. It was very unpleasant.”

  “You want me to punch his lights?”

  “No, Patrick, that’s not the point. What kind of man is he? That’s the question.”

  “Maybe he’s just normal.”

  “I don’t think it’s normal on the day after your wife has been killed to ogle a woman who’s—I don’t know—” she stopped and calculated for a few seconds, “thirty-two years younger than you are.”

  “I don’t think men ever get tired of looking at pretty women.”

  “Thanks, Patrick! You’re not exactly improving my opinion of you.”

  “I’m just trying to be honest here,” he argued. “And by the way, some men aren’t naturally monogamous. It doesn’t make them murderers. It’s possible he’s terribly sad about her death and really attracted to women who are—”

  Suddenly, Shell interrupted him, “Oh, look! That’s him.”

  They sat and watched as James Beringer walked down the steps from the second story of the salmon-colored apartment building and turned toward the sidewalk. He was medium height with longish
, wavy brown hair, and he carried a backpack. In a moment he got into an old, green Volkswagen bug and started it up.

  “Okay. Here’s where we follow him,” said Patrick. “I wish I knew where this was taking us.”

  “We’ve got lots of time. Let’s just see where he goes.”

  In a few minutes they were turning into a diagonal parking place in front of Quack’s Bakery. They sat there for a minute, waiting and watching until James Beringer had gone inside.

  “Let’s give him enough time to order something,” said Shell. “You feel like a pastry?”

  “I don’t know. Do I look like a pastry?” Patrick asked, making a goofy face at her.

  Shell smiled as she got out of the car. Patrick was funny, but she hoped he was wrong about men. She hoped there was a man for her, somewhere, who could be faithful, but Patrick certainly didn’t seem like he was that man.

  As they stepped through the doors of the bakery, she noted how crowded it was inside. Even at 4:15 in the afternoon, people were seated at tables, sipping hot coffee, and eating treats.

  “Could you order me a coffee?” she asked Patrick in a low voice.

  “Sure. You gonna try to get a table close to his?”

  “Yeah.”

  James Beringer was just getting a mug of something at the counter, and Shell pretended to peruse the contents of the glass case while she waited to see where he sat. In a moment or two he had seated himself at a corner table and was pulling his laptop from his backpack.

  She went over to the table next to his and sat quietly waiting for Patrick.

  “Hello. Is that you? From my painting class?” James Beringer asked.

  Well, that was easy. Shell looked up and feigned surprise. “Oh, hi,” she answered. “Yes. I’m not sure of your name,” she added.

  “James,” he said. “I sit all the way on the other side of the room.”

  “Hi, James. I remember you, just not your name. I’m Shell.”

  “Oh, I know your name. I noticed you. I mean,” he said, sounding slightly fuddled, “I noticed you’re a really talented painter.”

  “I guess we won’t be going to class for a while,” she said, ignoring his discomfiture.