Nearly Dead in Iowa

by Wendy Byrne

  The doctor's bag was on the floor of the back seat. Hmmm…she was still on the phone, and I was more than a little curious. I pulled open the top to sneak a peek and spotted dozens of prescription bottles with various meds like codeine, hydrocodone, oxycodone and morphine—all opioids I suspected. In addition, there were several syringes filled with morphine.

  I'd hit the motherlode—found the proverbial smoking gun. But connecting it to Stan's murder was the hard part because I couldn't think of one reason why Dr. Hunter would kill Stan. I scrounged around some more and managed to scoop up three business cards for later examination. For all I knew they could be for her pet groomer, but a clue was a clue.

  I closed the tailgate on her car more aggressively than I needed to. She'd earned a spot on my suspect list for rudeness alone. Maybe she was working together with her philandering husband. Who knew what kind of game they were playing? She'd admitted her affair with my father. Would her husband frame him for murder because of it? And where did the cache of drugs fit into this? But where did that leave me with Sally's husband who was a jailbird with a known jealous streak. They seemed to be vying for one and two on my dwindling list.

  As I walked away, I glanced at the cards I'd found in her car. One was for a plastic surgeon, but it was two others that made me curious. One was for a divorce attorney that specialized in prenup dissolutions, and the other one was for a travel agency that specialized in exotic, off-the-grid vacations. Were Dr. and Mrs. Hunter planning on a vacation, or were they looking to get out of the country permanently? Or judging by the lawyer's card, did she plan on leaving good old Derek in the wind and take someone else on an off-the-grid permanent vacation?

  As soon as I returned to my hotel room, I sent off an email to Exquisite Art Services indicating I was seeking representation. Not only was I interested in finding out if anyone responded, but I wanted to know if my father might respond. As I kept obsessively checking my email almost immediately after I'd sent it, I decided I needed some diversion and called up Viola and filled her in on what I'd found in Claire Hunter's car. She oohed and aahed like I'd figured she would. The next revelation wasn't quite as easy to swallow, but I needed to tell somebody, or surely what I'd held inside might burst out one way or another. Talking about it was better than having some ill-timed emotional breakdown. After I related how I'd put two and two together, I waited for her response.

  "Now that I think about it, what you said makes perfect sense. What I still don't get though is why they hid it from you all these years?"

  I nodded my agreement. "Me either. Early on I might understand when my grandparents were alive, but after they died five years ago, you would have thought my mom would have said something to me about my father."

  "There might be lots of reasons why she might shield you from the information. If you were doing well, she might have thought she'd be better off not rocking the boat. Then the other possibility is maybe your father didn't even know she was behind Exquisite Art Services at all."

  I mulled that thought in my mind. "I guess it's possible. But somebody has to be pulling the strings now that she's dead."

  "Who was the executor of her estate?"

  "Some lawyer." My mind searched for the memory, but my mother's sudden diagnosis and death had come as a shock to me. For a couple of months, I had been on autopilot. "I might be able to figure it out eventually, but right now I can't think of the man's name."

  "Oh my goodness, you've found out a whole lot of stuff without us."

  "Have you heard anything about the property search using Isaac?"

  "He found nothing under that name," Viola said.

  It was a stab in the dark, but I might as well try. "One more thing. See if he can find anything under the name Exquisite Art Services or Amanda Lewis."

  "Will do. I'll have him put a rush on it. Don't get discouraged. We're close to figuring this out. I'd better get going. We've got a busy weekend in store. After the gallery opening tomorrow, we're all going to the gambling boats on Sunday."

  "Sounds like fun. I'll see you tomorrow night." I hung up the phone with more questions than I'd had before the call.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I took one last look into the mirror before I left. My little black dress and strappy sandals straddled the line between classy and approachable. I had pulled my hair into a high ponytail to keep with a classic vibe. A minimum of eye makeup and sheer gloss lipstick completed my look.

  After closing the door to my hotel room, I walked down the hall and into the elevator. Running on nerves and caffeine, my stomach waged a protest. Still the idea of eating anything made me nauseous.

  This was my do or die moment—metaphorically speaking—at least I hoped. Make it or break it in terms of my career. The significance of tonight couldn't be understated. No pressure there, Izzy.

  When had I started to think of myself as Izzy versus Isabella? The demarcation line had happened shortly after I'd walked into Viola's home that first night. Like a caterpillar into a butterfly, in many ways I'd been reborn, reinvented, re-energized, and re-motivated to become the woman I'd always been.

  I've got this.

  I yanked on the door of the City Center Gallery determined to blaze the trail of my life. My way. And if I could get this whole murder mystery solved and find my father, healthy and in one piece, all the better.

  It didn't take long before people began to arrive and circle around the exhibits. Henri dashed around the floor looking like he might hyperventilate as he attended to last-minute details. I tried to float around to not only catch a conversation here and there, but also to avoid hanging out in front of my stuff.

  I spotted Dr. Hunter along with Claire walking in the door. She had on a tight-fitting spandex, no-underwear-allowed kind of dress and resembled a Jessica Rabbit wannabe. It outlined her body, leaving no detail to the imagination.

  She made a point of ignoring me when they walked past. Her husband, however, gave me a thorough and smarmy once-over. He might have even winked which only increased the ick factor. What kind of game was this guy playing? Was he a lecherous old man, or was he a murderer out to get me or anyone else that stood in his way? I'd say the odds were fifty/fifty either way. If I could only grasp onto a motive since the whole cheating wife thing had gone belly up since he didn't seem to care. But the fact that Stan was poisoned by opioids put him back on the suspect list, especially since I found a stash in his car. And what if Stan had found out about Dr. Hunter's lucrative side business and had been blackmailing him? With all the shady dealings my father and Stan had been involved in, it didn't seem like a stretch to throw blackmail into the mix.

  Had Dr. Hunter followed me to Inez last week after the Gilded Lily Celebration? Or had it been somebody else? Or had nobody followed me, and my overactive imagination was at work?

  I decided to meet this challenge head on before I met an untimely demise. And the person to start with would be Dr. Hunter himself. He had motive and opportunity.

  What about Phil? Now that I knew he didn't have an alibi, the case against him was strong. Bad temper, jealous, creepy…he proved to be a solid suspect as well.

  For now, I'd eliminate one suspect at a time. Since Dr. Hunter was headed my way, I'd start with him. His lascivious thoughts practically leaked out of his ears, making my body shimmy in revulsion as he got closer and gave me a creepy smile that was part leer, part grimace.

  He grasped my fingertips, and I forced myself not to recoil. "How lovely you're looking tonight…" He stared at my chest, pretending to read my nametag, but instead his gaze was laser focused on my breasts. "Isabella. I'd love to see your work."

  Roll with it—my new motto.

  I put on my best fake smile and pointed toward the main gallery. "What type of art are you interested in?"

  He slid his arm around my waist. "Titillating." When he whispered the words into my ear, my body moved away like the drawback on a slingshot.

  Getting to the bottom of this was one thing
. Getting slimed was another. I moved to the opposite side of him and pointed to one of my works. "I call this Sunrise."

  He spared a fleeting glance at my painting before doing an eye-roaming virtual x-ray of my body. "I'll take it." As if to solidify his intent, he slapped a gold sticker on the card next to the painting, marking it sold.

  I had a pretty good idea his words had nothing to do with buying my painting. "That's very generous of you, but the night is still young. I'm sure you'll find other works that strike your fancy as well." My stomach for playing footsie with him was fading fast. "If you don't mind, I'm going to circulate."

  He grabbed my elbow and yanked me tight against him. "I'll catch you later." His chuckle made me want to run out of there screaming. Instead, I moseyed away and mingled among the growing crowd, searching for an ally.

  While talking to Zora kind of creeped me out in a whole different way, she was a safe place to seek refuge. In her usual artistic flair, she wore a multi-colored kaftan with a matching turban on her head.

  "Good evening, Zora. I love your outfit." And I meant it. While I would look like a clown wearing something like that, she pulled it off brilliantly.

  Her gaze narrowed as she touched my fingertips and immediately recoiled. That couldn't be good.

  "Someone wants you dead." She shook her head. "I'm getting so much interference in this crowd I can't describe them to you. Just be careful." Without another word, she spirited away like I had the plague.

  Talking about going from the frying plan into the fire…clearly I should have smudged myself like she'd suggested the last time we'd seen each other. Instead, I decided to head to the ladies' room and hide out for a bit until some friendly faces arrived.

  I ducked down the hallway as fast as my feet could whisk me. Drawing in a deep breath, I pressed my back against the door and tried to regroup. Someone pushed on the door, and I reluctantly moved to allow them access.

  Dr. Hunter slipped inside and locked the door with a click. "Ah…now we're alone." Within seconds he cornered me against the wall. I slipped beneath his arms just as he was about to kiss me.

  Yuck.

  "Playing hard to get, huh?" He nodded. "I like that game."

  In true dramatic fashion, my life passed before my eyes. Before I knew what was happening, he wrapped his arm around my waist and skimmed his lips down my neck.

  "Seriously?" I elbowed him in the ribs.

  He swore in response. "You shouldn't come on to me if you aren't interested." I couldn't miss the divisive tone intermixed with a hint of a threat.

  "Interested? Not if you were the last person on earth." To make my point abundantly clear, I pushed on his chest with such force his head bounced off the wall. "Consider my painting unsold." The adage of a guy who wouldn't take no for an answer galloped through my nervous system while little screams inside my throat itched to break free. I slid back the lock and catapulted myself out the door, bumped into one of the waiters and right into the back of Jefferson.

  "There you are, Izzy." I had the irresistible urge to kiss him on the spot.

  Both he and Mason surrounded me while I could feel the fire-breathing dragon, aka Dr. Hunter, behind me. I didn't have to see his face to know that he was beyond angry right now. Uncontrollable temper. Didn't like anyone to say no to him. I'd add that to my list of motivations. Did Nate question him about Stan's death? And what about his obsession with Ike T's paintings? That had to be some kind of red flag. Did he know my father was Ike T?

  Jefferson and Mason each grabbed an arm and escorted me toward the main part of the gallery. "What was that all about?" Jefferson asked as soon as we were out of earshot.

  "I think Dr. Hunter was trying to either seduce me or kill me."

  "It looked more like he was accosting you."

  "I'm not sure he knows the difference." I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves.

  They took turns drawing me into a hug. "You poor thing. What a creep."

  "He should be grateful. You two saved him from an epic smackdown." I smiled.

  "No doubt about it, girl." Mason snapped his finger and gave me another squeeze.

  I let the creep factor slide away and focused on the here and now. "I was hoping to see a friendly face, especially after Zora told me someone wanted me dead." While the situation hadn't been tied up in a neat little bow as of yet, I seemed to be getting closer and closer to finding the killer.

  Jefferson sucked in a breath and then caught himself. "Zora's not always accurate. She probably saw a vision of Dr. Hunter's misdirected pass. Lord knows if the guy made a pass at me I'd want to throw myself out of the nearest window."

  "The guy is still the same skank he's always been. Claire is wife number three. They've been married two years, and she's twenty years younger than him. Maybe he thought you wanted to be wife number four."

  I chewed my lip. "Don't make me gag."

  Mason shrugged. "I've heard the guy lives way beyond his means—at least that's the rumor around town. But he's definitely the go-to guy if you're in need of orthopedic work, if you can deal with his poor bedside manner."

  "I feel like I'm back to square one with this…" I hesitated to tell them about what I'd found in Dr. Hunter's medical bag. Instead, I plodded on with my own revelation. "I have reason to believe my father is the artist Ike T."

  "No way." Jefferson's eyes went wide before he shook his head.

  "I recently found out his first name is Isaac, not Tony, and found some of Ike T's works in my father's attic. His manager was Exquisite Art Services. But the interesting part about this is that Claire Hunter came into the gallery earlier today and bought up every painting they still had by Ike T. And while I think his paintings are amazing, I find her behavior puzzling."

  "They do say that artists don't get rich until they're dead. Is that what's behind this?" Jefferson asked.

  My breath caught in my throat. "Could this be some elaborate scheme to run up the prices on my father's paintings?" I shook my head. "That doesn't make sense because there's a finite number of works…"

  "Which only makes the ones available worth more," Mason finished my thought.

  "But it would also mean that at least Claire knew your father was Ike T," Jefferson added. "In reality, how much could some of the paintings be worth, assuming that's true?"

  "Nothing against the paintings, but he's not Picasso or Rembrandt," Mason remarked.

  "In local circles, Ike T has been highly praised time and time again. I've heard he does only a couple of paintings a year and that his new works are highly regarded. He's been written up in the local paper more times than I can count. The fact that no one knows his identity adds to the mystery and jacks up the prices even more," Jefferson said.

  "And if he disappeared, that means additional money." I considered the possibilities. "But would people be willing to set up this elaborate scheme for the possibility of a small windfall? And how does Stan's murder figure into it all?"

  "We're still talking about a fifty percent price increase at best, not in the millions," Mason added.

  Before we had a chance to discuss things any further, I heard my name and turned to see the Qs accompanied by Gabe and Nate. Even though it had been only a day and a half, and I'd talked to Viola for an hour last night, I'd missed them. They were dressed up in sparkly tops and long skirts, but Dolly still wore her gym shoes. I made the round of introductions before Mason and Jefferson went their separate ways.

  While the ladies scurried towards the exhibits, Nate, along with Gabe, pulled me to the side. "I want to put your mind at rest. Paul Giancarlo might have a mob-sounding last name, but I did a thorough search through the FBI database, and he's not connected. They picked up a set of prints on the car belonging to a guy who used Paul to fence some stolen goods. The local authorities had been working with him, but unfortunately the guy got to Paul first." He held up his hand. "Before you ask, I have no idea why he came looking for you, but I want you to rest easy about the idea that there
might be a hit out on you."

  "Thank you. I feel so much better." I tried to decide whether or not I wanted to ask the next question, but decided to plunge ahead. "Have you talked to Dr. Hunter or his wife about Stan's murder?"

  Nate eyed me with that cop look before he shook his head. "Is there any reason why I should? I know your dad was having an affair with Claire Hunter, but I don't see any connection to Stan."

  "Except that Stan and my dad were inseparable. And, as much as it grosses me out to think about it, they could have both been"—revulsion wormed through my body—"dating Claire." Somehow I couldn't get myself to say "having sex with her" even though we all knew that's what I was talking about.

  "From what I understand, they have an open marriage, so I doubt he would care who she's sleeping with." Even though Nate disputed my idea, I could see his cop wheels turning.

  "But what if Claire planned on leaving him for my father or Stan, let's say hypothetically?" I was working my way around to the real thought that pressed inside my brain. Should I? Shouldn't I? If I told him, would he have reason to confiscate my father's artwork? I wanted to think this through before I went full steam ahead.

  "To be honest, I don't think he'd care. The guy had her sign an ironclad prenup." There was a heavy dose of cynicism in his tone, but I suspected that had more to do with his own past history than anything else.

  So far Gabe hadn't said a word, but I got the sense he listened intently to our discussion. To my surprise, he slid his hand across my shoulders. It was the first signal he'd aligned with me rather than his friend. Based on their twinsie kind of behavior, I couldn't be sure if it was real or they were playing the good cop, bad cop game on me once again.

  "What about the fact that I found a business card from Trevor's Travel Agency specializing in exotic international travel and a card from a divorce attorney in Claire Hunter's car who specializes in the dissolution of prenups?"

  Nate closed his eyes and winced. "That might be good for gossip mags, but it has nothing to do with the case."