Overkill (The Belinda & Bennett Mysteries, Book Four)

by Amy Saunders

  “We should come back later and tour,” Belinda said. Bennett nodded, probably busy analyzing one of the photos. Angie appeared out from behind a door on the other side of the hallway, her blue Converse sneakers squeaking on the waxed wood floors. She’d pulled her jet black hair into a messy bun and had on the standard shorts and sleeveless top uniform of Portside. A tattoo of a welder’s torch bedecked her left shoulder.

  After introductions, Angie led them into a back office to talk, explaining it wasn’t her office, but since she was assisting some of the teachers during the museum’s summer art classes, they let her use it. It was mostly a place to put her things while she worked.

  “I got to talk to Simone briefly yesterday,” Angie said, “and she said to say hello. She’s sorry she can’t be here to help personally. Anyway, she was able to nudge me in the right direction and I found the gallery she sold that painting through.” Angie handed Belinda a printout of the gallery name and contact info. It was local, and Belinda’s family had ties to the owner. “How do you know about it? Simone was curious.”

  In Belinda’s opinion, Angie also seemed curious, maybe even oddly so. It was something about how her voice went up an octave at the tail of her sentence while she lifted up on her tiptoes and tilted her head at the same moment.

  She wouldn’t know about the painting because of the news–miraculously it hadn’t been mentioned amid the headlines about the murder. That blew Belinda’s mind, especially since on their walk back to the fray with the painting, which they couldn’t hide, she’d made direct eye contact with Colleen, who stared while they explained what happened to the police. Belinda prepared herself for a call from the reporter later, but it never came. Maybe Colleen forgot, but that was unlikely. News was her life.

  Belinda and Bennett had discussed what to say if Angie asked how they knew about the painting. Since the police weren’t shouting about it, they figured it was safer to keep the truth under wraps. So Belinda had only described the painting to Angie instead of sending a photograph like she’d originally thought she would. “I came across an image of it online,” Belinda said, hoping that was plausible in this case. “It wasn’t familiar, and we both fell in love with it. We were hoping it might be for sale.” Belinda and Bennett exchanged a glance, confirming it was a joint effort.

  It was Belinda’s idea to present themselves as a couple looking to purchase a piece of art. It might help them get more information from people, and it sounded more legit somehow than just Belinda or Bennett individually looking into the work. Plus, Belinda’s circle was well aware of her relationship status and it would come as no surprise to anyone if they heard that they were discussing starting their own art collection. Bennett had pointed out that he didn’t have the cash for that, and everyone knew it. But Belinda countered that she did, and everyone knew that. Besides, Bennett would get his business back on its feet soon enough, and she was convinced he’d be loaded eventually. And she thought the smarter ones in her community could see that’s where things were headed.

  Angie accepted her story, still processing from the looks of it, as she escorted them to the entrance. And by escorted, Belinda felt Angie was shooing them away. “Call me if you have any other questions,” Angie said. “I’m happy to help.”

  “Thanks. We will.”

  Angie smiled and disappeared into the office, closing the door behind her.

  “Busy?” Belinda whispered. No one was around, so Belinda led the way back toward the office door, pressing her ear against it. Bennett kept his eyes on their back.

  “It’s me,” Angie said on the other side of the door. “Listen, I really need to talk to you about something. In person. Please get back to me as soon as you can. Bye.”

  Bennett grabbed her arm, hauling her a few feet away into a small corridor as Angie swept out of the office and went outside through the back door.

  “You think she knows why the painting washed up on the beach with that kid?” Belinda said.

  Bennett shrugged. “She works for Simone. It’s not that far-fetched.”

  They crept into the office since Angie left it unlocked. Angie had taken her phone, but there was a sheet of paper askew inside a softcover notebook on the desk with a list of names and phone numbers. Shelby Lachappelle was on the list…and so was Kevin Pratt. There was no indication of what it was for, but the list was handwritten. Belinda compared it to Angie’s handwritten phone number on the paper she’d given them. It was a match. And it looked like the list was copied from somewhere else. Maybe a computer file.

  Belinda glanced at the computer on the desk, but Bennett cleared his throat, giving a slight shake of his head. Cameras. He must’ve noticed a camera in the room. Without rummaging, there was nothing else to see, so they left.

  “What was on the paper?” Bennett said once they were back in her silver Mini Cooper. Bennett’s vehicle was totaled when he crashed it to save her, and he was borrowing his grandmother’s car, and sometimes hers, or getting a ride from one of them, until he could afford a new car.

  “Names and phone numbers, including Shelby Lachappelle and Kevin Pratt.”

  Bennett tilted his head. “Shelby Lachappelle?”

  “The girl I catered the grad party for.”

  “Right. What was her name doing on a list with our murder vic?”

  “I don’t know. But the handwriting matches Angie’s.” She pointed to Angie’s number on the bottom of the paper.

  “Alright. So that info belonged to the museum probably and not just Angie. Why?”

  Belinda took a guess. “Art classes? Angie’s an assistant teacher. Maybe Kevin and Shelby took a class.”

  Bennett nodded in approval.

  Before they took off, Belinda got a hold of the gallery owner and used the same story with her that she’d used with Angie. After a quick exchange about some new pieces in the gallery for sale, the owner gave her the name of the buyer of the Simone.

  Belinda left that woman a message, and she got back to her while they ate lunch at a place next to the wharves that, instead of regular walls, had high-caliber plastic siding found on boats. The panels were rolled up that afternoon, letting in the breeze. Once she got off the phone, her chicken salad looked a lot more appetizing and she dove in happily.

  “Pleased with yourself?” Bennett sat across from her, still working on his sandwich, and she helped him with the fries.

  “We have a new destination, and we can walk there, which I’ll definitely need to do because we’re detouring for gelato.”

  “As I expected.” Most of the time now, she didn’t really need to tell him these things. He understood it was a given.

  “Speaking of gelato, the cookout is definitely on, and my mom has everything planned. All you need to do is show up.”

  “How is a cookout ‘speaking of gelato’?”

  “It’s not, but I needed a transition.” Belinda grinned. “Since this is definite, I need to warn you about my dad.”

  Bennett nodded soberly. “I expected he wouldn’t be thrilled.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that.” Belinda reached across the table and touched his arm. “We’re past that. It’s about my dad’s grilling habits.”

  Bennett stared at her for several seconds before saying a word. Maybe he was just making sure she meant it. “You just segued awkwardly from gelato to warn me your dad may burn my steak?”

  If Belinda had thought he might not have a sassy comeback for that one, she was clearly mistaken. “It’s who he turns into when he grills. He becomes Chef Spencer, and says things like, ‘Cows have offered themselves willingly on my flames.’ He concocts secret sauces none of us are allowed to watch him make. It’s bizarre, and only a handful of people have witnessed it. So I just wanted to give you a head’s up on what to expect. Especially since I think it’ll be worse because they’ve been in Europe and definitely haven’t grilled lately.”

  She inhaled and waited for Bennett to respond. As usual, he looked unfazed, except for the hint of
amusement in his eyes. “If the worst thing you can tell me about your family is they get a little fruity when they grill chicken, I think we’re okay.”

  Belinda smiled, but was thinking that wasn’t the worst thing she could tell him. She still hadn’t said anything about her grandmother’s threats. It wasn’t time for that yet. If it ever was.

  “Anyway,” Bennett continued, “you survived meeting my dad, so a weird cookout with your parents will make us about even.”

  They’d had dinner recently with Bennett’s dad and grandmother. With Bennett’s legal issues, his dad had been a little more present in Bennett’s life and he wanted to meet her. “Your dad was perfectly fine.”

  Bennett quirked a thick, black eyebrow. “He asked how many houses your family owns.”

  “It was just a question.”

  “And how big your yacht is.”

  “Mere curiosity. And it’s yachts, plural.”

  “And if you have a trust fund.”

  Belinda gave him a reprimanding look. “He’s just blunt. Like someone else I know.”

  “I would never have asked about your family’s net worth.”

  Belinda shrugged it off. “You’ve said yourself he doesn’t care that much about money. I think he was just curious.”

  Bennett pursed his lips, clearly harboring another theory. Belinda nudged his leg with her foot, cueing him to divulge. She was learning he didn’t intentionally not say what he was thinking; he just needed a gentle prodding to come out with it. They were developing their own nonverbal cues in that regard. “I think he wanted to know how you stack up with my mom. He wants to know how much she’ll envy you.”

  “So he can…?”

  “Smile to himself in amusement? I really don’t know. I do know he still enjoys anything that ticks her off.”

  Belinda could sort of get that based on what she knew about his mom. “In any case, he didn’t offend me. I thought he was very nice.” Bennett’s dad was kind of twinkly. They shared the same smile and laugh, though his father was freer with both. He came across as kind of a beach bum, sun kissed, maybe too much, and relaxed. He was an attractive guy. She’d seen pictures of Bennett’s mom and he took after her in many ways, but there was still something about his dad in him too. Buried deeper, perhaps, but it glinted in Bennett’s eyes.

  “I’m glad you thought so, and along that line, I’m not going to think badly of your parents, either.”

  “We’ll see if you still feel that way while my dad holds you captive explaining every detail of his grilling techniques.”

  “I think I can take it.”

  Once they wrapped up the eating portion of the afternoon, they cut through the hotel parking lot abutting the restaurant. It was officially summer, and there was a steady stream of people of all varieties–many of them woefully ignorant of sidewalk etiquette–buying souvenirs and ice cream, or just meandering around the streets to pass time. They got their gelato and Belinda led the way across the bumper-to-bumper divided road and up a street that ran parallel to a park. At the top was an old white church under renovation–and the cemetery where Belinda met Caleb about Brooke in what felt like another lifetime. They stalked uphill, pausing every block at a cross street, but stayed straight.

  “Are we going back to the museum?” Bennett said, slurping up the melted remnants of his gelato before stuffing the neon green cup into a trash receptacle on the corner. The art museum was only a few more blocks.

  Belinda pointed at a two-story brick building. “The auction house.”

  The barn-style doors were flung open, and a moving truck was pinned between the building and the next door neighbor’s fence. The truck completely blocked her view, but Belinda could hear men shouting behind it. They walked through the open doors and into the dark room. Belinda had never seen this part of the building because the doors were usually shut. The auctions took place on the above floor, which she’d seen plenty with her mom, and this was apparently storage.

  They followed the thuds and shouts to the back where the garage doors were also wide open and men hauled in boxes and furniture. A short man with his shirtsleeves rolled up and a sheen of sweat on his forehead followed the men around with a clipboard, his small eyes darting from the paper on the clipboard to the items. What was left of his dark hair was combed back, and he mouthed something as he worked.

  “That’s him,” Belinda whispered. Now was probably not the best time for this, but what they wanted to know could be important.

  “Who’s him?”

  “Adrian Leon, the owner.”

  “So you know him?”

  “Sort of. My mom comes to his auctions a lot, so I know who he is.” They stood aside and watched, no one paying them any mind, until everything was off-loaded. Belinda signaled to Bennett and approached Leon.

  “Yes?” Leon said without even looking up from his clipboard.

  “We have a question about a painting we understand was sold through your auction house.”

  Leon didn’t even acknowledge her statement. Okay. Time for a different approach. “My name is Belinda Kittridge,” she drew out each syllable of her last name for emphasis, “and I’d like to talk to you about a painting.”

  Leon halted his shuffling around the items stacked and standing in his storage area and whisked off his reading glasses, blinking to adjust his vision.

  Encouraged by his immediate change in demeanor, Belinda kept going with the family association. “I believe you know my mother, Rosalind, as well as my grandmothers, Shirley Russo and June Kittridge?”

  Adrian Leon smiled wide, displaying an impressive set of super whitened teeth. Or maybe they just appeared whiter against his dark olive skin. He tucked his clipboard under his arm and held out a hand. “Of course I do. And I believe we’ve met also–”

  “Belinda.”

  “Belinda. Yes, yes, of course.”

  Belinda breathed easier knowing they had his full attention now. From here out should be simple. Leon went to shake Bennett’s hand and Belinda introduced him, then put her arm through Bennett’s.

  “Dead grandmother,” Leon said, leading them away from the mess in back. “But the old dame had good taste. I believe your mother would be interested in some of the pieces.”

  Bennett and Belinda exchanged an amused glance and followed him upstairs. They were now on the floor with the auction hall. But Leon led them past that up another staircase to the top floor that held the private offices. Belinda scrunched her nose as the smell of fake lemon on top of bleach stung her nose. They must’ve just cleaned.

  Belinda explained how they were searching for a particular painting by Simone that they fell in love with and showed him the photo she’d taken–with the tear from her foot cropped out.

  “I can’t say I remember,” Leon said. “A lot of paintings pass through here. But I’ll get my assistant to do a search and see what we can do for you.” He smiled and called for his assistant, who came into the office to help. “Please make sure you do your best to answer any questions Ms. Kittridge and Mr. Tate have,” he said to his assistant with a knowing look. The younger woman nodded in understanding. “And make sure you add them to the list for a reminder about the estate auction.” He winked at Belinda, then excused himself to go finish his inventory.

  While they waited for the assistant to find the information, Belinda peeked into an open box on the oak desk, marked with a number on the outside, admiring a slender ceramic vase with a pale green and pink vine and flower pattern. It would look nice in the living room, maybe to the side of the mantle.

  After a quick database search, the assistant came up with a name of the buyer. It was a woman Belinda had recently seen at the private charity luncheon where she met with Alexa Dupuis, and their families had a little history together. Once they left the auction house, a polite phone call to the current owner, mentioning the painting and how they were interested in some advice on collecting, was all it took to get an invite to stop by later that afternoon. />
  They pulled into Belinda’s driveway, about to part ways until then. “I think that does it on the painting front for now,” Belinda said, checking the time. “You have a super-secret client to meet with,” she slipped Bennett a look, “and I have to take the Cake Diva truck to its origin to see what’s up with the ovens. After that, we can rendezvous here and start this up again.”

  Bennett didn’t say anything despite her big hint about his client. She dropped her hands to her lap in exasperation. “Why won’t you tell me who it is?”

  “Because I don’t know if it’ll work out and I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

  “So it’s something–or someone–big?” He’d snagged some smallish security consulting jobs with businesses in the area, but nothing in the realm of the event security he’d been doing in the past. But Belinda was positive that would change given time.

  “Not exactly. But it could be a stepping stone.”

  “So you really won’t tell me?” Belinda made a sad lip and batted her eyelashes.

  “You look like a fish when you do that. And the answer’s still no.”

  She screwed up her nose in disgust.

  “I’ll tell you after today’s meeting. Promise.”

  Belinda folded her arms. “I’m holding you to it.”

  “I expect nothing less.”

  Chapter 6

  “So you run around and ask people questions, which they probably won’t answer truthfully, and based on that and somebody’s hair you’re expected to solve a murder?” Ardith faced Jonas on the lawn of the narrow park that ran from the church at the top of the hill down to the cobblestone street filled with shops and eateries and bars. They got their coffees next door on the corner and decided to sit outside in the shade with the breeze blowing across from the harbor.