Peter and I exchanged a look of confusion. “Well, she's not Q, or anything, and we don't have crazy gadgets,” he said with a smile. “But she can at least record phone calls and maybe figure something out from them.”
Jessica laughed and shook her head as we both got up to leave. A couple moments later, we were back in Peter's office, the door closed behind us.
“You doing okay?” he asked as he settled down behind the computer and began to bring up the invoicing software.
“Me?” I asked, trying to fake a lack of concern. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“Don't play dumb, Murdoch,” he said as he began typing up the invoice. “I can tell she's already gotten to you.”
I slumped into the chair. “Gotten to me? What're you talking about?”
“You know, I've noticed something over the last few years,” he replied as he continued to type. “When you're not being completely truthful, you just repeat someone's answers as questions.”
Shit. He knew me too well.
“She's an attractive woman and seems genuine,” Peter continued. “You don't need to be ashamed of having a little crush.”
I laughed, leaning forward in my chair and resting my elbows on my knees. “Fine. Yes, okay, I think she's good looking. And, no, I don't think it'll affect my performance on the job. We good?”
“We were good even before you told me that, brother,” Peter said, continuing to type up the invoice. “Just wanted you to hear you say it, that's all. I trust you with my life, why wouldn't I trust you with hers?”
“Think it's that serious?” I asked, my eyebrows raised. “Trusting me with her life, and all that.”
A peculiar look came over his face, and he took a break from typing to turn his attention to me. “Something just seems off about the whole thing. The death threats starting up right around her silent partner's death? That just seems very coincidental, doesn't it?”
“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” I replied, playing devil's advocate. We did that, bouncing ideas around on cases, trying to chew holes in each others theories. You had to if you wanted to get to the truth of the matter and keep from making your evidence fit your narrative.
He grimaced and turned back to the computer screen.
As he finished, I chewed over my thoughts on the subject. Something definitely sounded strange about the whole thing, but it was something I couldn't really put my finger on. A lot of times you just needed to get into these cases and look around at every possible person, every little clue, and let the back of your brain sort them out for you.
He printed two copies of the quote, one for the client and one for Gen so she could keep it on file, and handed it to me.
I glanced down at the page. “Cutting it a little close to the bone on this one, aren't you?” I asked when I saw the pricing he'd offered.
“Hometown discount,” he replied with a shrug.
“I popped my head out to see her car,” he added when I gave him a strange look, “and I can tell she's not exactly rolling in cash. Plus, she just lost her partner in the business. I figure this might give us some goodwill, help us get a discount on some art for the lobby. And come on, Murdoch, you know I only seriously charge the corporate clients.”
I gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah. Right.”
“Besides,” he continued, “if I don't put you to work, you’d just be lounging around anyways. Idle hands, and all that.”
I gave him a wolfish grin as I held up the ridiculously cheap quote. “Uh-huh. Sure, Frost, sure. Certain you ain't crushing on this lady too?”
“Just get out of here and give her the quote,” he replied with a sigh of resignation, his eyes shifting back to the screen, “so we can get you started on this and figure this out soon. Soon as Lacy comes into the office, I'll tell her to get on the phone with you. And I'll switch off with you tonight on watch. Got it?”
I nodded. “Got it.”
I left Peter in his office, quote in hand, and headed back into the conference room with it. I wasn't sure what game he was playing at, but this quote was way too cheap compared to our normal client rates.
I wasn't sure what it was, but something told me Frost knew something I didn't.
Chapter Four - Jessica
I left Frost Security both a little shaken and, oddly, a little comforted. I wasn't sure how to handle this idea of some random man following me around all day and all night. Of course, don't get me wrong, he was an absolute hunk with blonde hair, gray eyes, and the lean build of a snowboarder or carpenter. And, geez, those hands of his. So sure of themselves. Plus, he seemed smart—not like most of the guys I'd run across who looked like him. Something in those gray eyes of his just screamed intelligence and a keen awareness.
But having Richard Murdoch follow me around? Or anyone for that matter? I didn't like it. Not even him. It just seemed too intrusive for my tastes.
“I'll be a ghost,” he'd assured me when I'd voiced my mild concern over it. I wanted to believe him, but I just didn't know how to handle it. I hadn't had a babysitter since I was ten. I reminded myself, though, that I was paying for his protection and expertise. I wasn't going to object to them doing what they needed to do to catch this creep.
I drove my old Volkswagen Jetta back across town to the Curious Turtle and headed back inside with a jingle of the bell as I opened the door. I flipped the sign on the door around to “Open” out of habit. Not that I expected any customers, of course, but it was still nice to hold out hope for a miracle.
I walked back through the gallery, barely glancing at all the paintings of wildlife and natural landscapes hanging from the walls. My low heels clicked and echoed through the empty space with each step on the tiled floor. The place was quiet, deathly quiet, and I could hear the wind whistling outside over the window panes, trying to find a way to get in.
The Curious Turtle specialized in local and regional artists, catering more to the rich tourists who had their summer homes and winter cabins up here. It wasn’t the hippest, coolest thing in the world, and it'd have no traction in a city like Los Angeles or New York, but I liked it, and so Blake Axelrod had gone with my choice.
Now Blake, there was a character. I hadn't seen him very often, except for when we'd first begun working together. After a few months, the novelty of owning his own art gallery must have worn off, especially when compared to his primary business. He owned a custom motorcycle shop and Harley dealerships across the state. People said he had more money than sense and, based on him investing in this place with just a minor in Art History running the show, I tended to agree with them. But, although Blake had been eccentric, he'd still shared a love for the kind of art I promoted, and had been a big supporter of wildlife conservation in the Rockies. Most hunters were, to be honest. I found they loved nature as much as us more liberal hippie types, just in different ways.
I couldn't fault him for any of that.
I missed him. Even though we hadn't been great friends or anything, it was hard to lose someone so unexpectedly. Especially when you'd figured you would have years and years ahead of you. I'd never really gotten a chance to thank him for taking a risk on a hometown girl who'd come back from college with no idea of how she'd make a living. I had no family in town anymore, just a few friends like Sheila and my other good friend Karen. Not after Mom and Dad split and moved away, both to warmer climates.
I sighed and headed back into my office. I stopped just two steps in, though, when I heard the bell on the front door clang. I backtracked and stuck my head out, seeing a middle-aged man wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase. “Be right with you,” I called.
He smiled and nodded, giving a little wave. “Take your time, miss.”
I hurried over to my desk and locked my purse in the bottom drawer, then headed back out to the showroom floor, smoothing the front of my shirt as I approached.
“How are you doing today?” I asked with a smile in my art dealer voice. “Is there anything in particular you were
looking for?”
The man wore a well-tailored suit. Not as expensive as some cuts I'd seen, but still pretty decent. It struck me as odd, though, because you hardly ever saw those kinds of outfits up here. Most people tended to go pretty casual, jeans and a flannel. It was just more rustic in these parts.
“You, actually,” the man said, smiling widely.
“Me?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, an uncertain smile on my face as I stopped a few paces from him.
“Yes,” he replied as he took a step in my direction. “You are Jessica Long, correct?”
I nodded, not exactly sure where this was going. “I am.”
“Evan Case,” he replied, sticking out his hand. “I represent the late Blake Axelrod's estate.”
“Oh,” I said as I took his hand. I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I was starting to get way too paranoid. “His estate?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “There are a few items in his will that we wanted to sort out with you, a few pieces from his collection that he left to you when he passed.”
Items from his collection? Blake hadn't ever mentioned anything like that to me. And why not his piece of the business? If he was going to leave me anything, I would have suspected that. Confused, I ushered the lawyer into my office.
I sat down at my little desk and he took a seat across from me.
“Sorry for the mess,” I said with an embarrassed smile. “I'm never been much for administrative work.”
He chuckled as he looked around. “It's always surprising to me how much one office seems to look like another. You should see my partner's in the firm. Imagine all this, but legal briefs instead.” He flipped his briefcase around and set it on his lap, popped the latches, and opened it up so he could dig around the papers.
“He left me a few pieces from his collection?” I asked, looking for clarification more than anything else.
“Yes,” Evan Case replied as he pulled out some paperwork and passed it over to me.
I took the documents and flipped through them. They were for a few pieces of his I'd adored. One by a local artist of a gray wolf hunting an elk, but in a modernist style, and another two from a Santa Fe painter who'd passed away a few years ago. Individually, they were both worth quite a bit.
I glanced up at the lawyer. “Nothing about the gallery, then?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, flipping through the will until he found the spot in the document that he was looking for. “Yes, right here. To my nephew Wyatt Axelrod, I leave my fifty percent partnership in the Curious Turtle. May the art contained within its walls inspire you to the same heights it has inspired me, and aid you in carrying on my cause of nature conservancy and philanthropy.”
My face flushed and my stomach felt queasy. I slumped back in the chair, a sudden wave of nausea sweeping over me at his words.
Evan glanced over the top of the document. He must have been able to tell from the look on my face how disappointed I was, because he frowned. “I’m sorry, Ms. Long. Sometimes I'm the bearer of good news, sometimes bad tidings.”
I waved him off. “No,” I replied, “I completely understand. You're just executing the estate, right? Not your fault.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought the paintings he left you were quite lovely.”
He was right, they were lovely. But they weren't quite as lovely as being the sole owner of my own art gallery. I smiled a little at his sentiment and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Case.”
He began to gather up his papers and tuck them back into his briefcase. “The family will be going through and cataloging the voluminous possessions of Mr. Axelrod over the next several weeks, so you should be able to get into the estate by just calling ahead to my office. We'll be more than happy to assist you with shipping.”
I nodded and went to stand as he did. “Thank you for coming by.”
“Oh, don't mention it,” he said. “I love making trips up here to the high country. It's lovely this time of year.”
I showed him out of the office and walked him back to the front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richard Murdoch scoping out the place from across the street in his beat up old Jeep. I could feel him watching me and the lawyer.
“Oh, and Mr. Case, I'm curious,” I said, stopping him as he was about to leave. “This Wyatt Axelrod? Do you know anything about him, my new partner?”
He shrugged and made a face, shaking his head. “I just know he was my client's nephew, to be honest. I'm honestly a little surprised he hasn't been in touch with you already. I would think he was aware that his uncle was leaving him his piece of the business, considering how detailed the will was.”
I nodded and forced another smile. “Thank you again. And drive safely, Mr. Case.”
He grinned and thanked me, then he was back out the door and headed to his rental.
I stayed there, looking out the front windows of the shop, at the sunlight as it hit the store fronts across Main Street from the Curious Turtle. Just another day in the Rock. Another dollar, another disappointment.
I smiled through the heartache, though. Sure, the outcome of Blake's will hadn't been exactly what I was hoping for—complete ownership of my business—but on the bright side, I at least knew someone in Blake's family owned his portion. Maybe that was a good thing? Maybe it just meant I was one step closer to knowing how all this was going to pan out.
I frowned again, the smile suddenly too hard to hold in place.
Glancing over, Richard Murdoch caught my green eyes with his gray ones. We kept our gazes for the briefest of moments, and that same feeling from Frost Security's office returned. Suddenly, I realized that I was going to figure this out. I had a security guy watching out for me through all this.
He gave me a little smile I could just barely see, and looked away before I could respond.
I turned around and went back into my office. I still had a few bits of paperwork to get through before calling it a night.
Chapter Five - Richard
I kept an eye on the place while she was inside with the suit. When they disappeared to the back, I moved up closer to the glass so I could hear better with my keener-than-human senses. I returned to my Jeep when they emerged from the office.
She was safe, and I knew it. But why did I get out of the Jeep and cross the street towards the gallery? Probably because of that tortured look on her face, like the world was coming to an end and there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it.
I crossed Main Street as she disappeared into the back again. As I pulled open the front door, I called out to her. “Jessica? It's me, Richard.”
“Back here,” she called, her voice sullen and heavy.
I looked around the art gallery as I passed through it, at all the pictures of wildlife and landscapes. There were a few great ones of some wolves, nice oil paintings with some heavy brushwork. There were a couple pieces I wouldn't mind hanging on the walls of my little place on the edge of town. I glanced at the price tags, surprised at how many of them I could afford. I wasn't incredibly wealthy, not by any means, but I'd socked quite a bit away when I was on deployment. Most guys blew their whole earnings when they got back, but I'd managed to pick up a cash job right off the bat as a bouncer. And the security work paid pretty well, too. I definitely wasn't hurting, and could probably look at an early retirement if I really wanted.
I adjusted the gun on my hip, making sure it was out of view, and leaned my head around the door. “Everything okay?” I asked.
She was sitting there in one of the chairs pulled up in front of her desk, her head thrown back, her hair cascading like silky waves. With her head upside down like that, she locked eyes with me. “That was the lawyer for my dead partner's estate,” she groaned.
“Not good news, I take it?”
Jessica raised her head and looked back over her shoulder at me with a sigh. “No. Well, I guess not. He didn't leave me his shares of the business so I could ow
n it completely. Not that he had to or anything; I wasn't exactly his adopted daughter or anything like that. But he did leave me a few paintings. That's good, right?”
I chuckled. “Guess it depends on if they're any good.”
She smiled. “No, they're good.”
“Who'd he leave his part of the business to? His widow?”
She shook her head. “Blake wasn't married. Had a string of ex-wives, but hadn't been with any of them in a few years. Nope, he left it to his nephew.”
“His nephew, huh?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Think he could be the one calling with the threats? You said they started right around the time your partner died, right?”
She shrugged. “I guess, but what would he want with a business like this? An art gallery?”
“You have a name for the guy?”
“Waylan, Wayne? Something with a W. I remember it was the same as one of those famous gunfighters.”
“Wyatt? Like Earp?”
She snapped her fingers, grinning. “Wyatt Axelrod. That's it.”
I took out my little pad and scribbled down the name.
“Really think he might have something to do with it?”
“Considering you don't know anyone who has it out for you?” I asked, then nodded. “Yeah, I give it even money. At the very least I can have Lacy look into him when she gets into the office, or Peter even. Anything else happening?”
She shook her head, gestured to a vacant seat next to her. “Why don't you take a load off, Richard? I can get us a cup of coffee.”
My heart leapt at the invitation. Between the smell of her and the knowledge we were alone and could maybe discuss something other than business, I was tempted to accept her invite. But, there was a mission here—I had to protect her. I sighed and shook my head. “Sorry, Jessica, you know we're not getting paid to sit around and drink coffee with the client. I should really get back up front and keep an eye on the place.”
Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 3