“This doesn't look right,” she said. “It doesn't look like part of a jacket to me. It could just be the wrapper from household garbage. If Marco burned up a jacket, there should be more material. Like buttons, or a zipper.”
“A zipper,” he agreed. “We should look around a bit more before we go to the cops.”
“Or before we start accusing people,” she said icily.
He frowned. “Am I in the doghouse now?”
She frowned back at him.
He sighed again. “Honestly, Katie, I was just testing you so I could be absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure. When I found this yellow scrap today, my mind started racing. When you have anxiety like I do, you can't just switch it off when it doesn't suit you.”
She ran her thumb over the scrap. She wished he hadn't found it, and they could go back to how things were last night.
“This whole thing is so weird,” she said. “I shouldn't have come here. Using Darlene's booking was like tempting fate.”
“But not really, because you met me.” He grinned and fell backward onto the bed.
Katie looked at Lee, and then the door. He'd just accused her of manslaughter, if not of murder. And now he was relaxed.
She could be relaxed, too, if she wanted to. She just had to get over him suggesting she'd killed Clive.
He was right about them not knowing each other very well.
She asked him, “How do I know you didn't kill Clive?”
“Why would I be suspicious of you if I knew it was me?”
She chuckled softly. “It would be a good cover story for you to fake suspicion of me.”
He reached over and lazily ran his fingers along her thigh. “Why would I jeopardize the likelihood of getting another one of your famous Katie kisses?”
She snorted. Katie kisses. “You're so corny, Lee Elliot.”
He motioned with his head for her to fall back on the bed and snuggle up to him.
She still had the burned yellow scrap in her hand. She delicately set it on the center of his chest and then lay back on the bed as well.
She rolled in and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled of the scented shampoo that was in their shared bathroom. She sniffed again. His deodorant was the same as one of her brothers used, but it smelled different on Lee. She'd heard that scents combine with an individual's chemistry to smell different, but hadn't believed it until now.
She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of their breathing. It felt good to think about the scent of deodorant, and not about anything else. It felt good to have somewhere she felt safe, even if it was with—of all places—the rubbery shoulder of Lee Elliot.
“So...” He reached over and played with her hair. “If that wasn't you arguing with Clive in the hallway on Monday night, who was it?”
Katie remembered back. Two night ago felt as hazy as two years ago. “The woman wasn't swearing incoherently, so it wasn't Holly. Which leaves Tilda. I assumed at the time it was Tilda. Why? Do you think it was someone else?”
She lifted her head to look into his brown and half-green eyes. “Is anyone else up here? Like Tilda's teaching assistant, or other staff?”
“Nobody I've seen.” He looked down his nose at her, which gave him a serious, scholarly appearance. “If it was Tilda, that means they had an argument right before the guy turned up dead.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I wish I could remember what they were talking about.”
Katie held still and put her hand on Lee's chest to ground herself. She stroked the burned yellow scrap with her fingertips. She shouldn't be touching evidence, but it was already too late.
“I heard part of that argument, too,” she said softly. “I heard Clive saying 'get rid of them.' I thought he meant us, the students, but now I'm not so sure.”
“Who'd want to get rid of us?” He chuckled, his chest rumbling under Katie's ear. “We're model students. The best pair of Tilda's art babies, ever.”
Katie chewed her lip. Had Lee truly heard Clive and Tilda arguing that night? Or was he making up stories to bring them closer? There was a reason young guys took girls to see horror movies.
“Wait a minute.” He pushed her aside and sat up abruptly. “I remember now. They were talking about photographs. I remember them saying that word, and at the time I wondered if it was photos of artwork Tilda wasn't ready to show yet.”
“Photographs,” Katie mused.
“That's what they wanted to get rid of. Not us. Photos.”
“Clive told Tilda to get rid of them. She said no, and that they were perfect. I suppose it might have been photos.”
“Hard copy or digital?” He grabbed Katie's arm and pulled her upright on the bed. Lee was grabby when he got excited.
“How should I know? You're the one with all the conspiracy theories.”
“We need to get into Tilda's studio. The actual one this time, not a detour.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Really? You're going to come with me and break into her studio?”
She glanced over at the door. The volume of their conversation had been rising up along with Lee's excitement.
“Sure,” she said sarcastically. “Why don't you say it a little louder, just so everyone in the building is clear on the plan?”
He squinted at her and crossed his arms. “I think I liked you better when you were Shy Katie,” he teased.
“Everyone does,” she said.
“Let's go find that studio.” He started toward the door.
“Hang on.” She bent down and plucked the yellow scrap from the floor. It had landed there when Lee had sat up suddenly. She found it odd he was so interested in the alleged photographs and suddenly not at all concerned with the potential evidence they already had.
“We can't lose this,” she said.
“Do you want to hang onto it for safekeeping?”
She thought about it, then stuffed the scrap into Lee's pocket. “You're the one who found it,” she said. “You keep it safe. And try not to get any more people's DNA on it, just in case.”
Chapter 20
Lee rattled the metal grid in frustration. “We could probably get these security bars off if we had a screwdriver.”
“And then what? Break the glass?”
Lee folded forward, leaning his butt against the adobe wall beneath the window. He cursed mildly.
It was midnight, and they'd been anticipating this moment for hours.
After they'd made their plans in Lee's bedroom, they'd been on their way out of the main house before dark, but Holly spotted them and asked for help getting the day's dinner ready. They'd both assisted in the kitchen, and then sat through their fourth dinner at Spirit Ranch. This meal was even more unusual than that of the previous night, when they'd consumed chile soup around the jigsaw puzzle.
They ate in the formal dining room, in the same seats as the first night.
Tilda continued to wear her dark sunglasses indoors. She'd added another layer to her outfit—a ratty housecoat. Over dinner, Marco teased his mother about turning into a bag lady. She responded by smoking a menthol cigarette right there at the dining room table, to the horror of Holly, who coughed dramatically after every exhale but didn't say a word.
The meal had dragged on for what felt like an eternity. They finished at seven o'clock, and Tilda insisted everyone gather in the social room to watch “trashy movies.” Lee and Katie both tried to make excuses, but Tilda wouldn't take no for an answer. The film of choice was a spy movie with a far-fetched terrorist plot. Once the movie was finished, Tilda insisted they carry on and watch the sequel.
The room was warm from the fire, and the couches were comfortable. Katie fought to keep her eyes open. A few minutes into the second movie, she rested her head back on the seat, and she was asleep in no time, waking up ninety minutes later, just in time to see the credits rolling.
She sat upright and licked her lips to refresh her mouth. What she saw in the social room reminded her of her fa
mily more than ever. Everyone else had fallen asleep as well. Tilda had removed her sunglasses for the movie, and now she lay curled up on a sofa like a cat, her pale face relaxed and her head on her son's lap. Marco had his head back and his mouth open. He was snoring softly.
Holly slept in the leather armchair with a blanket on her lap. Her head hung to the side, and a thin stream of drool ran from her mouth to her shoulder.
Lee was also asleep, sideways on the couch with his head at an uncomfortable-looking angle on the armrest. He had one fist clutched to his chin, which made him appear to be sucking his thumb, yet the thumb wasn't in his mouth.
Katie thought about going straight to bed and leaving everyone asleep in the social room.
Lee stirred, and his eyes opened quickly—before he was fully awake, giving Katie a chill from his zombie stare.
He sat up slowly and asked, whispering, “Everyone's asleep?”
“I think so,” Katie said.
He got to his feet and tiptoed toward the hallway, nodding for her to follow.
Once they were down the hall, he said, “Pile up some clothes under your covers so it looks like you're sleeping in there, just in case Tilda or Holly come down to this wing to check on us.”
“Duh,” she said. “You think this is the first time I've snuck out after bedtime?”
He grinned. “I guess you didn't fall out of the coconut tree yesterday.”
Lee helped her set up her bed, and then she helped him with his, both of them suppressing giggles.
They got their coats on and slipped out through the Sky Room's exterior door.
They found the building that housed Tilda's art studio, but unfortunately, they couldn't get in.
Unlike the guest cottage, this building had no unlocked window for them to slip in through. The building's security confirmed they had the right place, at least, but it also kept them out.
Lee frowned at the window with the security bars. “I could have these bars off in twenty minutes, if I had a screwdriver. Five minutes if it's an electric-powered one.”
Katie patted her pockets. “Darn. I forgot my power drill.”
“What kind of cat burglar are you?”
“Not a very good one, apparently.” She grabbed the metal grill and gave it a pull. All she succeeded in doing was making her hand cold from the icy metal. “Don't cat burglars visit on reconnaissance and case out a target first, and then come back later with supplies?”
Lee snapped his fingers. “Good point.” He winced and shook his hand. “Ouch. I think I hurt myself. My finger's so frozen, I could have snapped one off by accident.”
Katie snickered. “Your art career would be over before it even started.”
“No way. People love an artist who struggles through adversity to be creative. A nine-fingered artist is more bankable.”
Katie nodded. “My brother Trey nearly lost a finger to a spider bite. He got a nasty blood infection that didn't respond to antibiotics. They had to cut the infected skin out.”
Lee made a gagging sound. “But was it a radioactive spider who bit him? Did he get superpowers?”
“Is farting on command a superpower?”
Lee laughed. “In some circles, I suppose.”
He turned back to the window. “What day is it today? Is it really only Wednesday? I've got my days mixed up.”
Katie silently worked through the recent events. They'd arrived on Sunday night. Monday, they'd painted outdoors with Tilda for a full day of lessons. Tuesday, they'd returned to the mountain but had their lesson cut short by the discovery of Clive's body. It had been a long day, including the interviews at the police station, the search for the jacket at the house, and then culminating in the impromptu wake. That night, Lee had woken her up and they'd snuck into the guest cottage. Sleeping twice on Tuesday had made it feel like two days.
Today, Wednesday, had also been a long day, with the drive into town with Marco. Watching movies and sleeping on the sofa for over an hour had also messed around with her sense of time.
“It's Thursday,” she said.
“Really?”
She checked the time on her phone. “For the last five minutes. It's twelve-oh-five.”
“Smarty pants,” he teased.
“Brown noser,” she replied. “Teacher's Pet.”
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest. “It burns because it's true. But you should know, my brown-nosing comes from the heart. I really did admire Clive. He was good to me last year. I don't know what crawled up his butt since then, because this time, he had no patience for me at all. What a disappointment.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” She looked up at the dark sky and stuck her hands in her jacket pocket. The temperature was hovering around the freezing point. “I guess that's why you weren't too distraught when he turned up dead.”
“Yup. He was mean to me. And that's why I killed him.”
She jerked her head to look at him.
Lee was grinning. The moonlight glinting off his teeth gave him a maniacal look. “For vengeance. Plus I figured it would let me get closer to Tilda. Create sort of a vacuum for a new best friend to get in there.”
“Very funny,” Katie said.
“And now I've lured you, the only witness, out in the middle of the night so I can get rid of you as well.”
“Oh, really?” She kept her hands in her pockets and puffed up her chest, trying to look bigger. “And how are you going to accomplish that?”
“Poison,” he said. “The dose I put in the dinner will take care of the others, but you didn't eat enough, so I'll have to stuff some down your throat now.”
She took a step back. “Okay. That's enough, Lee. It's not that funny.”
He kept grinning, his eyeteeth glinting like vampire fangs. “It's not? But the look on your face is priceless.”
“Well, don't kill me, please. I didn't witness anything. I was asleep in my bed the whole time on Monday night.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Or so you would have us believe.”
“You have a very strange sense of humor, Lee Elliot.”
He looked up at the bars on the windows. “And yet no power drill.”
“Maybe it's for the best.” Katie had been interested in snooping around for the photos Clive had been urging Tilda to get rid of, but as the chill from the air set in, she was becoming far more interested in getting under her warm covers.
“I should have known the studio would be secure,” Lee said. “She's got priceless art in there. We're probably not even the first students to try to get in. People like to grab souvenirs, and starving artists are no different.”
Katie pulled her hands from her jacket pockets and held them up, palms facing Lee. “Hey, I just wanted to poke around. I wasn't going to steal anything.”
Lee shrugged. “I wouldn't blame you if you were tempted, though. Tilda's work is worth a lot. And there are some art collectors who don't think twice about buying a stolen piece on the black market.”
“Is that why you want to get in here so bad, Lee? To grab a souvenir?”
He was slow to respond, which made it clear she'd guessed correctly. Last night, when they'd first attempted to find the studio, he hadn't yet known about the photos, so it had to have been something else on his mind.
“I can't say for sure,” he said plainly, looking into her eyes. The gibbous moon overhead was less full tonight than last night, but Lee's face was still well-lit by the moon plus the motion-activated lights on the grounds. He looked uncertain, biting his lower lip and staring too long at a fixed point on her face.
“It's for the best that we can't get in,” she said. “This way we avoid the temptation.”
“The worst I would do is take some photos of her works in progress.” He bit his lip again. “Probably.”
“It's not like we're getting our full week of art instruction,” Katie said with a shrug.
“No.” He gave her the smallest of smiles. “Tell me something. What's the worst thing you ever
did?”
Other than sneak around Spirit Ranch in the middle of the night? She thought about it for a minute. “I don't know if it's the worst thing I ever did, but I went through a klepto phase when I was ten years old, and I'd take stuff. Little things, like lip balm.”
“Lip balm?”
“I managed to amass about two hundred brands and flavors.”
“You monster,” he said, eyes dramatically wide.
“Eventually, I made myself stop. So, if you've brought any lip balm here with you, I assure you it's safe. But I did learn something about myself, and maybe about humans in general. I think we're all capable of doing bad things. And we test ourselves from time to time, just to check our limits. But I don't think it's because we're evil. We just... want to know what we can do, so we can be more prepared for when other people do bad things. So we have a mental model of it, from the other side. It's part of what makes us human, the empathy and imagination of what it feels like to be someone else. It's only...” She trailed off, her throat tightening around her speech. Her skin felt hot. She rarely spoke so much, let alone something so personal, so shameful.
“I don't believe it,” he said. His face was neither joking nor serious.
She couldn't read him. In the cool light, he appeared to be made of stone. Marble. She thought of something she'd learned recently, about how the statue of David, as well as other statues of that era, had been painted over with lurid flesh colors at the time of their creation. People in those days didn't get to marvel at the pure-white version that survived today. How strange that must have been, to spend your days creating something of such pure beauty, only to see it covered in garish coats of paint. The statue of David would have looked like a waxy replica, like the tacky celebrity wax figures people posed with in Las Vegas.
Lee's white marble face stayed frozen.
“It's all true,” she croaked.
Lee's stony face softened. “No, I mean I don't believe there are two hundred different kinds of lip balm.”
She rolled her eyes and then reached down to scoop up a handful of snow. The not-quite-freezing temperature had made the remaining snow as slushy as a Snow Cone treat. She chucked the dripping slush ball at Lee's chest.
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