“It’s only nine o’clock,” she said, laughing. Nine o’clock on a Friday night with no kids to worry about. And now, no man to worry about either. Ah, well.
“I’ll call you in the morning. Maybe we could get together for breakfast or something.”
Tess was tempted to quip if that was the case, then why was she leaving? But no. He’d made his feelings clear. “Perhaps,” she murmured. She walked over to the chair where she’d left her jacket and purse earlier and headed for the door.
“Oh, before I forget,” Alec said. “My friend on the police force called me about that license plate. It’s registered to a Mark Kaiser in Denver. Don’t know yet who the guy is or what he does, but my buddy said he’d check it out for me. Is that any help to you?”
“Thanks, Alec. I honestly don’t know what it means but at least there’s a name attached to the mystery. The why of it will come out later, no doubt.” She hesitated, half hoping he’d find an excuse to delay her. Or change his mind about her staying. But he didn’t. He simply bent down to give her a brotherly peck on the cheek. “Bye,” she said without turning around and closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALEC BLINKED and rolled over. He had sensed a warm huddle next to him but the instant he turned over, he saw the other side of the bed was indeed empty. He had been dreaming after all. Moistening his dry lips, he craned his head to the clock radio behind him. Almost ten. He couldn’t recall when he’d last slept in so late, but then, he had been awake most of the night. Replaying the whole unhappy scene from the second he foolishly had pulled back, overcome by guilt. He’d seen the regret and embarrassment in her face immediately and wished he could take the moment back, time travel to the kiss that revealed she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
But then he’d had a flash of Molly’s small pale face, her eyes big with worry. Worry about losing her only family and having to move away from Nick. Maybe even away from Boulder. Nah. He still got the shivers thinking about it. He couldn’t do that to her or to Nick. Couldn’t jeopardize their future simply because he wanted to bed their sister. And the thing was, he reminded himself as he dragged his body out of bed and headed for the shower, if the sizzle between him and Tess meant anything at all then last night’s disappointment would be a mere glitch. A difficult but temporary pause in what could be a real love story. At least, he hoped that would be how events would turn out.
Refreshed from the shower, he headed into the galley kitchen and put on the coffee machine. Ten-thirty. Maybe too early to call her. He grabbed a muffin from the freezer, nuked it in the microwave and carried it with a mug of coffee to the sofa. It wasn’t the breakfast in bed he’d anticipated yesterday afternoon, when he was still living in fantasyland. He clicked on the television and watched it on mute while he skimmed the morning paper. The news had just started and he wasn’t paying much attention until a vaguely familiar face loomed on the screen. Alec clicked the mute button as the news anchor’s voice boomed into the room.
“Mr. Kozinski, owner of the Rocky Mountain Art Gallery, was found early this morning by his longtime companion, Brent Holloway. Mr. Kozinski, a well-known and respected dealer and agent in Colorado, was thirty-nine years old. Police are not releasing details of the murder, other than to say that robbery is a possible motive.”
There was another flash of Kozinski’s photograph and then the anchor went on to the next news item. Alec turned off the television and hastily thumbed through the paper until he remembered that the murder had just been discovered that morning. Too late to make that edition of the paper.
The face on the TV screen came back to him then. The night he’d driven by Jed Walker’s office and had seen him arguing with another man on the sidewalk. The other man had been Tomas Kozinski, owner of the art gallery that handled Richard Wheaton’s work. The very man Tess had been talking about the last couple of days. The one she suspected of separating the painting she’d inherited.
Alec rushed to the phone and called her. She picked up just before the voice mail came on. “Sorry to wake you, Tess,” he blurted. “But I’ve just seen something on the morning news. That guy, the gallery owner Kozinski?”
He could hear her clearing her throat. “Yes?” she finally answered.
“Well, he’s been murdered.”
Silence. Then, “Omigod. When? How?”
“Don’t know when but someone found his body early this morning. The police suspect robbery but aren’t releasing many details yet.”
Her breathing sounded labored, as if he’d caught her after a run. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Want me to come out there?”
“Uh, no. But I feel I should do something. I mean, I knew this man. And maybe…maybe the painting had something to do with it.”
“How so?”
“Doesn’t it seem a coincidence to you that practically the day after I confronted Kozinski about the painting and threatened to go to police about it, he ends up being killed?”
“Whoa! You threatened him?” He didn’t like the sound of that. “Then wouldn’t that have made it more likely that you’d have been the murder victim, rather than Kozinski?”
From the tone in her voice, she didn’t like the sound of that, either. “Good heavens! That’s a crazy suggestion.”
“But given that Kozinski did commit some kind of fraud with the painting, wouldn’t he have had a motive to bump you off, rather than have you go public with it and basically ruin his reputation and business?”
A nervous laugh escaped her. “You must be an Agatha Christie fan.” A pause. “Maybe I should phone Jed Walker to see if he knows anything.”
Alec’s hand clenched down on the receiver. He couldn’t follow her logic there. “Why?”
“Because he knows—knew—Kozinski, too.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I just can’t shake the idea that his murder has something to do with the painting.”
“Where is the painting now?”
“In the studio. I got it from the gallery the day our house was burgled.” Another pause.
Was she putting it all together? Alec wondered. Because he certainly was. “So where was the painting at the time of the break-in?”
“I’d left it in the trunk of the car. That was the day I had to pick up Molly early from school and I was in a rush to get her. We went to town for the rest of the day and when we got back home, the house had been broken into.”
“But the painting wasn’t there,” he repeated. “And if nothing was taken, maybe the painting was what the thief was looking for.”
“But why?”
“Did you know at the time that it had been separated?”
“No, not till later. After the break-in.”
“Then that could be the reason right there. Kozinski might have broken into the house because he wanted to get the painting back before you realized it had been split in two.”
She didn’t speak for a long moment.
“You still there?” he asked.
“Yes. Just trying to figure out what all this means.”
“I think it’s obvious, don’t you? You say your father would never have given permission to split the painting. Kozinski doesn’t want you to find out and ruin his business—career, whatever—so right after you leave, he follows you home. Waits until he sees the car leave again and, thinking you’ve taken the painting into the studio, breaks in to get it back.”
“And he probably knew where my father kept the key to the studio—in the planter box. But I had taken it out so he had to break the window instead. When he didn’t find it there, he broke into the house and searched the master bedroom.”
“Then something—maybe a passing car—frightened him and he left.”
“But if he only came for the painting, he figured out that it wasn’t there.”
“Right. And did some random ransacking to make it look like a real burglary.”
Neither spoke for a moment, digesting
what they’d worked out. Finally Tess said, “But why was he killed?”
Alec had considered that question already and he didn’t like the answer he’d arrived at. “Because he wasn’t working alone.”
There was a drawn-out sigh from the other end of the line. “God,” she whispered. “And some person out there knows I still have it.”
Alec closed his eyes. He didn’t want to go there. “Look,” he said, wanting to reassure her, “the fraud thing no longer matters because Kozinski is dead. You can’t prove—or disprove—his part in it or even if there was fraud. So you don’t need to worry about anyone coming back for the painting.”
“True, but maybe I should go to the police anyway.”
He blew out a mouthful of air. He wished she were there so he could wrap his arms around her and forget Kozinski. “Or maybe you should give it some more time before you go to the police. Wait and see what comes out in the news later today.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured.
She sounded doubtful. “How about getting together for lunch?” he asked, wanting to get back to what remained of the weekend.
“I’ve got to buy stuff for Molly’s party.”
Expectation at seeing her again vanished. Alec tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Right,” he said. “I’d forgotten. What time tomorrow?”
“Uh, how about two? I’ll pick them up in the morning. Molly wants pizza so we can make it a late lunch kind of thing.”
“Great.” He felt the energy of the conversation fizzle away and didn’t know how to revive it. Seeing her, having her next to him would help. But apparently that wasn’t going to happen now. When she said goodbye, he hung up and stood by the phone for a long time. Until the walls of his single bedroom apartment began closing in.
ON THE DRIVE into town, Tess tried to persuade herself that their murder theory was a bit farfetched. The logic was compelling, but a nagging voice inside whispered maybe she had been watching too many British mysteries on PBS. The reality was that likely Kozinski’s death had been the result of a robbery at the gallery and the timing purely coincidental.
Although she had told Alec she should call Jed Walker, she remembered today was Saturday and it was unlikely he’d be at his office. She didn’t know where he lived, but thought if she phoned, he’d get back to her. She passed a bakery café and pulled over to the curb. There was a phone booth outside the place and she called Walker. As she’d expected, she had to leave a message. She heard her voice wobble slightly when she said that no doubt he’d heard about Tomas Kozinski’s murder. Rather than repeat her theory about the painting as a motive, she simply asked him to call her at home.
She grabbed a coffee inside the café, hoping to inject some energy into her veins, and finished it at a table. What were her options for the day? Shopping for Molly’s party was a must, but could be postponed until later. Alec might still be at home and she was tempted to drop in, but dismissed the notion almost at once. No point in deliberately setting up a replay of last night. Perhaps she would drive by the art gallery to see what was going on. Having made a decision, she got up and left the café.
An hour later, as she sat on a hard bench in the small and unpleasant waiting room of a Boulder City Police station and miserably watched the minutes tick by on the large wall clock, Tess wondered what she could have been thinking. And why, she asked herself for the hundredth time, hadn’t she kept on driving when she passed the art gallery and saw police officers going about their business within the cordoned-off area? Why hadn’t she minded her own business and driven on to the shopping mall?
A door opened down the hall and a heavyset man in a rumpled suit walked toward her. His middle-aged face was lined with fatigue and transmitted an expression of, What crackpot do I have to interview now? Or so Tess thought as he bore down on her.
“Tess Wheaton?” he asked.
She stood up, having an instant flashback to a childhood classroom and an impatient teacher. “Yes.”
“I’m Lieutenant Slegers, Homicide. I understand you’ve been speaking to officers about the Kozinski case?”
“Uh, yes. Though I really don’t know too much about it.”
His forehead wrinkled as if he’d just detected a bad smell. Or perhaps, Tess thought, he’s realized his valuable time is about to be wasted.
He sighed. “Well, come with me anyway and we’ll talk.” He stood aside as she entered a tiny office down the hall. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Uh, no thanks. I’ve had one too many today as it is.”
His bland eyes fixed on hers. “Oh? Why is that?”
Then Tess realized her misgivings about talking to the police were about to prove true. The interview was going to be a disaster.
THE FIRST THING he did was to call the Wheaton place. As he’d expected, all he got was the answering service. So Alec crossed off the remote possibility that Tess had stayed home. He decided to call his sister to make sure she hadn’t gone out to pick up the kids a day early. When Karen asked if there was a problem, he had to lie.
“Tess is doing some shopping for Molly’s party,” he said. “She can’t remember when she agreed to pick up the kids tomorrow.”
“I’m sure she said around ten. Why? Does she want to change the time?”
“No, no. If she does, she’ll let you know.” He hung up before his sister’s mental radar picked up a suspicious signal. Four years older, she’d always had the knack of squeezing the truth out of him when they were kids.
Option number two was Jed Walker. Alec headed out to the Bronco, hoping she hadn’t gone there. It was all he could do to be civil to the lawyer. And now, after Ken and Karen had just received a final warning that the end of May was two weeks away, Alec figured he was as likely to punch the guy as he was to speak to him.
No way could they raise the money by then. Alec was all set to sell the Bronco and he had some savings from the military. Hell, he even offered to see if he could use his future pension as collateral but Karen and Ken had refused. They were still pitting their hopes on some elderly aunt of Ken’s in Colorado Springs or even on Walker changing his mind. As if.
So scratch checking out Walker’s office. The guy likely wouldn’t be around on a Saturday anyway. That left the art gallery. Alec scrawled a note for Tess, on the off chance she might come back there, and taped it to the door on his way out.
The gallery area was still crawling with cops and assorted other homicide investigator types. There were a couple of local TV station vans parked outside the yellow crime tape and as Alec scanned the area for a parking space, he noticed a woman with a microphone interviewing a man in a suit, probably a detective. The area was also teeming with Saturday shoppers and curious bystanders gawking from the sidewalk. By the time Alec found a place—illegal, but he hoped the parking meter guys were staying clear of the confusion—and jogged back to the front of the gallery, the TV reporter was just wrapping up her interview.
He hung around in the background, feeling a bit like one of those dorky people who mug for cameras filming live in the streets. When the journalist turned off her mike and started conferring with her cameraman, Alec made his move. The detective wasn’t thrilled at being interrupted again from his investigation and gave Alec a you’ve-got-thirty-seconds kind of nod. As soon as Alec started describing Tess, he caught a glint of recognition in the man’s eyes.
He found out that the detective had been the person Tess had come to when she’d arrived on the scene earlier in the afternoon. She’d been advised to go immediately to the precinct handling the case and Alec might find her there. Fifteen minutes later, he did.
“IT’S NOT JUST that I’ve wasted the better part of a day, but after going round in circles with the same questions and answers for hours, they made me feel I was wasting their time, too. And I thought I was doing them a favor!” Tess ranted all the way out to the parking lot.
When she reached her car, she realized that except for his initial greeting, Alec hadn
’t said a word. She hesitated beside the Volvo, keys in hand, searching for a face-saving way to tell him he’d been right all along. But true to form, he saved her the trouble.
“Look at it this way,” he said, his eyes fixed on an unseen object beyond the top of her head, “one—you weren’t arrested as a key suspect,” his eyes flicked down to hers and she thought she saw the start of a smile, “and two—I bet you learned something from them about the investigation. Correct?”
She dismissed his first point because she’d never thought she might be—the idea was ludicrous. “You’re right about the second one,” she said. “That lieutenant said he would have his men look for a bill of sale or receipt for the painting that Tomas separated.”
Alec nodded.
“And,” she went on, “he said they would also look for the canvases I gave to Jed Walker last week for Kozinski to assess. Apparently they weren’t on the list of stolen items that the police have so far put together.”
“Oh? Who was helping them with that? Walker?”
“Of course not. He doesn’t have any connection with the gallery except through my father. Kozinski’s companion and another man who works in the gallery got together this morning. The list isn’t complete yet. Lieutenant Slegers said it might take a couple of days.”
“Did you find out how Kozinski was killed?”
“The detective didn’t tell me but I overheard someone giving him a report, just outside his door. I think he was hit on the head with something. When his partner realized this morning that Tomas hadn’t gone home last night, he went to the gallery and found his body.”
“And what did this detective—Slegers?—have to say about your theory? The painting and all.”
“He literally dismissed the issue, saying I would need concrete evidence of fraud. He also said the contents of the will were the responsibility of the executor and the lawyer who drew it up.”
“Did you tell him that was Walker?”
The Second Family Page 22