John searched the painting for the artist’s signature, for the image was incredibly lifelike. He was astonished to see Jo’s autograph in the lower right corner.
“Wow. I never knew she could paint like this. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen when she created this. I wonder why she stopped painting.”
Caddy studied John with her soft brown eyes, but provided no answers. John suspected losing her father in such an awful way probably had a great deal to do with Jo giving up on her talent.
John held the painting in his hands, trying to decide what to do with it. Jo obviously kept it in the attic for a reason, and he wanted to respect her privacy. However, he hated to see her talent go to waste. Maybe she’d even decide to pick up a paint brush again.
In the end, he carried it into his office and leaned it against the wall, facing outward. He wanted to talk to her about it. Approaching the topic wasn’t going to be easy.
***
Jo arrived home several hours later. She kicked off her shoes at the door and sniffed appreciatively at the savory aromas lingering in the kitchen. Caddy greeted her with a gentle nudge. Bending down to rub her golden ears, Jo said, “Mmm, I smell John’s famous chicken. Did you guys leave any for me?” Jo was surprised to realize she was hungry. Again.
She hung her jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and then stepped into the darkened den, searching for John. Caddy followed closely behind. “Hey, Sweetie, where are you?”
Jo heard his voice call out from upstairs. “Up here, in the office.”
She stepped into the room, just as he was adjusting his medical license on the wall. Walking into his outstretched arms, she gave him a long, lingering kiss. Even after months of living together, her stomach still did a little happy flip when she came home to him. “I’ve missed you.”
John smiled down at her with that sexy grin of his. “Maybe not as much as I’ve missed you.” He set her apart from him a bit. “I’ll bet you’re hungry and tired. Why don’t I warm up some leftovers and you can tell me about your case.”
Jo took a minute to look around the room. “Looks like you’ve been busy. The office looks great, I….” She cut off her sentence when she spied a familiar set of eyes.
Her shock felt like a physical blow. She hadn’t seen the portrait of her dad in quite some time and seeing it again brought back a flood of emotions. Her father had missed out on so much, including meeting his future son-in-law. Jo blamed him for that. If he hadn’t taken his own life….
She ruthlessly cut off the thought. Her voice sounded flat when she said, “John, why is the painting of my dad down here?”
John stepped over to the portrait. “I found this in the attic. It’s remarkable. I knew you could paint, but I thought that was only walls, not works of art. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Jo could hear the slight hurt in John’s voice that she had kept that part of her hidden from him, but she didn’t care. She felt slightly dizzy and she could feel tears creeping into her eyes. Dammit! Why did he have to meddle, to remind her of what she had lost?
She angrily swiped away a tear that threatened to fall. She could only stare at the painting, and waves of sadness and anger rolled over her like a brewing storm.
“Jo? Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Finally, Jo spun to face him and shouted, “What the hell, John? What gives you the right to bring this down here? Is this what it’s going to be like when we’re married? I have a right to my privacy.”
John’s face turned white and she could see she had wounded him deeply with her outburst. She could feel the heat creep up her neck and was embarrassed that tears now fell unchecked down her face.
His expression softened and he thumbed at the wetness on her face. “Jo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. I just…I just wanted to talk about your incredible talent. I didn’t realize it would cause so much pain.” He reached down for the painting and lifted it up. “I’ll take it back up to the attic. Let’s forget about this. You’re right, it wasn’t my place.”
Jo was ashamed at her outburst. She realized she had overreacted and knew John hadn’t meant any harm. Why was she feeling so edgy? It didn’t seem like it had to do with the stress of her case
After a moment, she reached out to grab his arm and pull him back. “No, it’s me who should apologize. I know you would never do anything to knowingly upset me. I don’t know why it bothered me so much.” She shrugged. “It was just a shock, that’s all.”
She looked down at the painting in John’s hands and smiled. “It is pretty good, isn’t it? My dad loved that picture. He used to say it made him feel important that such a talented artist had bothered painting an old coot like him.”
John studied the portrait. “You look a lot like him, you know. Especially around the eyes.”
They both studied it for a moment, each lost in separate thoughts. Finally, John said quietly, “Why did you stop painting, Jo? You have a real gift.”
Jo sniffled at the remnants of her tears. “I don’t really know. This was the last thing I painted. After my dad died, I couldn’t seem to pick up a brush without thinking of him. I eventually sold the easel and other supplies when I went to college.”
Jo was surprised to find her fingers itched to hold a brush again, to create again. She looked at John. “Do you think we can find a spot in the den to hang this?”
John’s grin was infectious when he said, “I know just the spot.”
***
John read in bed while Jo clicked away at the keyboard of her laptop next to him. He set aside his medical journal. “Find anything that might help you with your case?”
Jo rubbed her eyes and John thought she looked more tired than usual when she responded, “I’ve been doing some research on Wellborne Industries, a company that may be at the center of this case. Seems the founder of the company, Jonathon Wellborne, was a self-made billionaire. He grew up in the Iron Range of northern Minnesota, received a full-ride football scholarship at Texas A & M and became a petroleum engineer. He began his career with Halliburton and then left to start his own company, which last year had revenues of four-and-one-half billion dollars. Here’s the kicker: he’s only fifty-five years old.”
John whistled. “Amazing. Think he cut any corners to get to that level?”
“Funny you should mention that. There’ve been several lawsuits filed against his company, but they’ve all settled out of court. All had to do with fracking and most of them to do with ground water contamination. The federal government fined them a few years ago for failing to properly report contaminate levels, but the penalty was minimal.”
“Think Rick Wilson stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have?”
Jo shrugged. “It’s looking more and more like that all the time. I’m hoping Billy MacGregor has some answers for me tomorrow. You said he had a copy, right?”
“He didn’t specifically say a copy of what, but maybe it was the documentary. I didn’t want to push too hard, for fear of spooking him. I knew you would rather talk to him yourself.”
Jo closed up her laptop. “You did great. This could be the break we’re looking for.” She reached over and pushed aside John’s journal. “Enough work. You know, we haven’t had a chance to properly celebrate our recent engagement.”
John’s pulse sped up when he saw her frisky grin. Gathering her to his chest, he bent down and kissed her neck. In a low voice, he said, “Now, just what did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I think you’re well on your way to figuring it out.”
Chapter Fifteen
Turners Bend
Late October
THE LOVELY INDIAN SUMMER had made way for a gloriously gem-colored fall in mid-October, but by late in the month most of the leaves were down, the result of a couple of windy days. The air had turned from crisp to chilly. Chip sat on the back porch huddled in a wool shirt and looked at his watch, as he had been doing every five minutes or so. Jane was due to arrive soon, and he
didn’t want to miss it…Runt’s homecoming. His feelings vacillated between joy and heartbreak. Jane had assured him Runt could not only walk, but he could climb stairs and run in a rocking fashion. Yet, the prospect of seeing him for the first time since the accident caused a resurgence of Chip’s guilt and sadness.
Jane was also bringing home a veterinary student who would be completing a two-month practicum with her. She had offered him Sven’s room, since Turners Bend lacked lodging for him. Jane described him as an international student who was brilliant and charming, but Chip knew little else.
Chip had mixed feeling about having a stranger in the house. It would change the fragile family dynamics they were trying to forge during their first year of marriage. Jane, however, had a soft spot for anyone who needed a home or a job. She argued the student would ease her workload and give her more free time to spend with him and Ingrid. For that reason, Chip reluctantly approved of the plan.
Chip heard Jane’s pick-up before he saw it turn down their road. He rose and walked quickly to meet the truck. It came to a halt a few yards from him. Jane hopped out and ran to release the tailgate. Chip knelt as he watched Runt bound out of the truck and fly into his arms. Chip laughed when the dog gave his face a washing with his slobbery tongue, while wagging his tail like a metronome set for a scherzo’s tempo.
Then Runt ran to the house, climbed the steps up to the backdoor and barked three times. Perched on the sill of the kitchen window was Callie, making the strange chirping sound cats make when excited.
Chip returned to the truck to give Jane a hug and kiss. A figure unfolded himself and stepped out of the passenger’s side of the truck. He was about six feet ten inches tall, very slender with long arms and legs. He wore white cotton pants, like scrubs, and a white dashiki shirt topped with an orange nylon ski jacket. On his feet were Nike’s that Chip guessed were at least size fourteen.
“Chip this is Tolla Dibaba. Tolla, this is my husband Chip,” said Jane.
Tolla shook Chip’s hand and bowed formally. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir,” said the young man in very precise English. “My friends in Ames call me Baba, and you may do so, too, Sir.”
Chip was momentarily speechless. Surely he must be Ethiopian, he thought. Somehow when Jane had said international student, Baba was not what he had imagined.
“Welcome,” stammered Chip. “No need to call me Sir; Chip is just fine. Your name is Dibaba? Are you related to the famous Olympic runner?”
“He is one of my many cousins,” said Baba. “But I have too many cousins to name them all for you, Sir.”
“In many languages doesn’t baba usually mean father?” asked Chip.
“You are correct, Sir. I think if my American friends knew that, maybe they would call me Dude instead. I would like that.”
***
During the course of a protracted dinner, the household peppered Baba with questions. They learned his mother had died in childbirth when his younger brother Hakim was born. His father was a village leader in the Afra region of Ethiopia and a prosperous goat and cattle herder. He sent Baba and Hakim to a Christian boarding school in Addis Ababa.
“How did you end up in Iowa?” asked Ingrid, who Chip noticed was entranced by their guest.
“I won a scholarship to Stanford University to study biology, and my brother won a scholarship to study chemical engineering at Cambridge University in England, Miss Ingrid. Now I study veterinary medicine at Iowa State, so I can return to my homeland and attend to the herds of my village. I desire to learn how to breed drought-resistant animals.”
“What about your brother, Baba? Where is Hakim now?” asked Jane, as she started to clear the dishes from the table.
Chip observed Baba’s disarming smile fade and his body stiffen. “Hakim has returned to our country. My father tells me he has become what you call radicalized. I fear he has allied himself with some very bad people, Wahhabi Muslims who want to turn Ethiopia into an Islamic state.”
“Are you Muslim, Baba?” asked Ingrid.
“No, we are Christians. I do not understand my brother and what he is doing, and I fear for his life.”
During their meal, Runt sat next to Chip with his head on his lap. Although fascinated by Baba’s story, Chip’s divided his attention between the young man and the dog, stroking Runt’s head and feeding him scraps from the table when Jane wasn’t looking.
***
Later than evening Chip sat on their bed watching Jane change clothes. The turn in weather had ended her season of sleeping in sheer nightgowns. She donned a pair of light blue flannel pajamas dotted with penguins and turned around, modeling them for him.
“Sexy, huh?” she said laughing. “My mother gave these to me for Christmas last year.”
“Maybe she will give me a matching pair this year,” he replied. “Are you taking Baba to the Bun tomorrow? I’d love to see the locals’ reactions to him.”
Jane put her hand on her hips and gave him a harsh, scowling frown. “We may live in a small town, but we’re not hayseeds or provincial. You of all people should know this town is open and accepting of all kinds of people. Anyway, when they see him with animals, he will win their hearts. He’s really quite extraordinary and knows more about goats then I ever will.”
Chip stood and took Jane into his arms. “Hey Red, I love it when you get hot tempered. I thoroughly like Baba, and he has certainly won Ingrid over already.”
“Aren’t you going to get ready for bed, Sir?” Jane asked with a little bow, Baba-style.
“I think I’ll work in the kitchen for a while, keep Runt company on his first night home. You won’t reconsider and let him in here, will you?”
“Absolutely not. I know you; next he would be sleeping in bed between us with his head on a pillow.”
***
Chip found Runt in the dog’s bed in the kitchen. He sat on the floor and Runt edged over and laid his head in Chip’s lap. “I’m sorry about the leg, boy. You’ve been so brave, such a good dog. I bought you a Frisbee. Tomorrow we’ll play in the back yard, okay?”
Runt thumped his tail on the floor.
Chapter Sixteen
Head Shot
Minneapolis & St. Paul, MN
Late October
JO WOKE UP EARLY, FEELING exhausted and sick to her stomach. She had felt better most of the day before, and assumed she was finally getting over the flu, but she had to admit she still felt awful. A wave of nausea came over her and she staggered into the bathroom, just in time.
John rushed in behind her. “Jo, are you alright?” He handed her a damp washcloth.
A suspicion crept into her head that something else was going on, but she quickly quashed the thought before replying to John’s question. “I…I think I picked up another bug. I was feeling a little off yesterday, but then it passed. Ugh, I feel like crap.”
Her brought her a glass of water and as she rinsed out her mouth, he said, “Jo, I know you are supposed to be meeting with Billy MacGregor this morning, but you can’t go anywhere like this. Why don’t I meet with him and convince him to talk to Frisco?”
The idea was tempting, but she shook her head. “You had a hard enough time getting him to trust me in the first place. I’m feeling a little better now. It’ll be fine….”
There was a deep frown line between John’s brows. “Really? The paleness of your face would suggest otherwise.” He put his hand to her forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever. Any other symptoms? Headaches, body aches...anything like that?”
She walked to the sink and rinsed the washcloth in cold water. When she replaced the washcloth on her forehead, the coolness made her feel a bit more in control. “No. Seriously, I’m already feeling better. Look, I’ll meet with MacGregor and come straight home again if I’m still feeling bad afterwards.”
John didn’t look convinced. “Well, I know how important this is to your case…but, you need to take care of yourself. You’re not going to be able to solve a
nything if you are laid up in a hospital.”
Jo forced a smile on her lips. “It would take a lot more than a stomach bug to put me in the hospital. I’m a tough FBI agent, remember?”
He didn’t return her smile and looked only a little less worried when he said, “Can I get you something?”
“Just my dignity. Not cool to get sick in front of my fiancée.”
Jo got ready for work and only felt dizzy once, which she managed to hide from John. She was shoving the notes she had taken on Wellborne from the previous evening into her briefcase when her phone buzzed.
She nabbed her keys from the hook. Tucking her cell phone between her chin and shoulder, she said, “Hey, Frisco. What’s up?”
The detective’s voice was grave. “We got a call this morning from a bakery over off of University. One of their people went out back for a smoke and found Billy MacGregor’s body in the alley.”
Jo put the keys back on the hook and closed her eyes. “Any idea what happened to him?”
Frisco’s voice sounded as weary as she felt when he responded. “An apparent heroin overdose. The ME is on her way over, so we’ll know more soon. Looks like you can forget your meeting with him.”
Jo watched as John came into the kitchen. At his raised eyebrows, she whispered, “Frisco” and he nodded.
Into the phone, she said, “Are you heading over to the scene? Do you want me to join you?”
“Nah. I got this. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
“Thanks for the heads up, Frisco. I’ll talk to John again and see if he has any additional details. Call me when you get back from the scene and we’ll head over to Billy MacGregor’s house again. I’d like to look around and see if we can find whatever it is he said he was going to show me. Guess we’re back to square one.”
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder Page 9