Groundwork for Murder

by Marilyn Baron

“You’d be right about that. Now how fast can you get me back out of this thing?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fireworks

  Alex felt like she was going to jump out of her skin she was so excited about the show. The twins were enrolled in the summer session at the university or she would have invited them. Mark would have to notice her when he saw the importance of this opening and how big her contribution had been to the event. Maybe then he’d give her art the respect it deserved.

  She was disappointed he wasn’t driving with her, but he’d promised to meet her there. She wanted to reintroduce him to Nick, looking forward to seeing the two men in her life side by side and sizing them up. Nick had become very important to her. She wondered how the two would stack up against each other. She’d been having some very naughty thoughts about her lawn man. And she began wondering again what her life might have been like had Nick chosen her instead of Samantha all those years ago, if she hadn’t dropped out of his class and out of his life.

  Alex drove her SUV out of her gated community, turned left onto the highway, and drove toward Jacksonville Beach. There was a constant flow of traffic on the road heading away from the beaches. People were evacuating because of the tropical storm brewing off the coast. She might have done the same if this show weren’t so important.

  She swung by the soup kitchen and, as promised, there was Nick waiting for her in front of the building, looking clean-shaven and drop-dead gorgeous in Mark’s suit.

  She stared as she got out of the car with her open umbrella. Nick certainly didn’t look like any lawn man she’d ever known. He looked more like a handsome movie star at the opening of his new motion picture, maybe the Italian version of Daniel Craig.

  She looked down the beach. The wind was whipping up, but strangely, the sun was still bright enough to provide warmth to families who were winding down their Fourth of July holiday celebrations. A cotillion of tiny white birds danced along the water’s edge.

  Terns. Like they say, one good tern deserves another. She was feeling giddy.

  Despite the imminent storm, there were still sporadic bursts of fireworks overhead, the homegrown variety, set off by kids on the beach. Most of them fizzled. The little daredevils didn’t have enough sense to get in out of the rain. Where were their idiot parents? Everyone on the beach should have been evacuated by now. But they weren’t going to let a little storm stand in the way of their fun, gale force winds or not.

  The screams of the seagulls and the screeches of the children were indistinguishable. She missed her girls and hoped they were having a nice Fourth celebration at college.

  “Going my way?” she teased, walking over to Nick and fastening a red boutonniere on his jacket as he took the umbrella.

  “It’s like I’m in high school, waiting for my date to pick me up for the senior prom,” Nick complained, obviously uncomfortable. “I don’t know why you roped me into this, Alexandra. I feel like a penguin in this getup.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Nick, it’s not a tuxedo. It’s just a suit. And you look great. Really. You used to love to wear suits, if I remember.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not me anymore. I wish you’d tell me what this is all about.”

  “You’ll see,” was all she’d say.

  “I may as well warn you now: I hate surprises.”

  “You’ll like this one,” Alex promised cheerfully.

  Nick grunted.

  When they drove up to the gallery, Alex let the valet park the car, and she and Nick walked in under the protection of the awning. He looked like a fish out of water, so she grabbed his elbow and felt a little jolt of electricity when their bodies made contact. Her heart fluttered. It might have been the lightning that caused the spark in the air or the thunder beginning to rumble in the sky that had her so shaken.

  She’d listened to the radio before she left the house. The weatherman had predicted a monstrous storm, remnants from a hurricane that had been heading northwest, away from Jacksonville Beach. There was talk that the hurricane might turn. As a cautionary measure, the city had canceled its fireworks display on the beach. But nothing was going to spoil her mood. This was Nick’s big night, as well as hers, even if he didn’t know it yet.

  Considering the strength of the storm, Alex was frankly surprised at how well attended the show was this evening. According to Elizabeth, not one person had canceled. Could Dominick Anselmo be such a draw to the art world that people would risk their lives to own a piece of his work? Did they think Elizabeth was crazy to have the show on a night like this? Alex knew there wasn’t a chance in the world that Elizabeth would cancel this show, storm or no storm. Not even a hurricane could alter the outcome.

  Alex entered the gallery and greeted Vicky and the colonel, raising her hand in a salute. The colonel, a big bear of a man, laughed like he always did, returned the salute, and wrapped Alex in a bear hug.

  “Great turnout. Quite a crowd,” said Vicky, kissing her cheek. “You should be proud. You look great.”

  Alex felt nervous and wasn’t exactly proud of what she had done. How would Nick react when he saw his sketches featured in a show? She hadn’t secured his permission. She predicted he would be angry. But how off the charts would his reaction be? What would he think when he saw her paintings displayed alongside his? Her motivation would be transparent. Would he be disappointed she had used his name to advance her own career, or worse, would he hate her for doing it? Would he just pick up and leave town forever?

  But tonight was a night for positive thoughts.

  “Vicky, Colonel, I’d like you to meet the man of the hour, Dominick Anselmo.” She turned to Nick. “Nick, this is my very best friend Vicky and her husband, Colonel Zachary Taylor Scott.”

  Nick looked puzzled, but he shook the hands that were offered to him.

  “We can’t wait to see your work. We’ve heard so much about you.” Alex gave Vicky the signal to cut off the conversation.

  Nick turned to Alex, his eyes full of questions.

  A server swooped by, and Alex grabbed two glasses of Champagne from his tray and held one out to Nick to divert his attention.

  She drained her glass and encouraged Nick to do the same.

  At that moment, Bitsy recognized Nick and flew to his side. Dressed in black, in a slip of a dress that fit her like a second skin, she glided over like a seductive vampire dying to open a vein. Out for blood, her claws were sharpened and her sights set on Nick. Alex couldn’t detect a panty line. Was Elizabeth even wearing underwear? The gallery owner rudely ignored Vicky and the colonel.

  “Enjoy the show you two,” Alex said, signaling Vicky to move on with a conspiratorial I’ll-explain-later look.

  “You must be Dominick Anselmo,” Bitsy purred.

  Nick stared at the woman and then looked at Alex.

  “I am, but how do you know me?”

  “Oh, isn’t he modest? That’s so cute. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Anselmo. I’m Elizabeth Diamond, but you can call me Bitsy. All my friends do. And we’re going to become quite good friends, I can tell. I’m the gallery owner. I’ve admired your work for years, and now I have the opportunity to admire you in the flesh.”

  Bitsy tried to grab Nick away from Alex, but Nick held on tight. He was definitely tense. The crowds seemed to scare him, or maybe he was scared of Elizabeth. Smart man. He looked very uncomfortable. Reaching out to grab another glass of Champagne from a passing tray, he handed over his empty stem. Alex did the same. She wasn’t used to drinking so much so fast, but this was a special occasion, and the Champagne helped to calm her nerves.

  Elizabeth placed a slim, predatory hand on Nick’s shoulder. Nick twisted uncomfortably, angling away from Elizabeth like she was a rabid dog. Elizabeth gave Alex a chilling look.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Nick said, grabbing Alex by the hand. He moved them into the anteroom, past a man in a tuxedo passing hors d’oevres and a string quartet playing classical music. Nick looked longingly at the tray
of food. He must not have eaten enough that night. Nick’s hungry look didn’t escape Alex.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need to go now,” Nick responded.

  “Have something to eat, please,” Alex coaxed, watching Nick make quick work of a tidbit. It wasn’t enough. He reached for a second appetizer, wrapped a third in a napkin, and shoved it into his pocket. Alex pretended not to notice.

  “Why don’t you try another? They’re not very big,” she suggested, grabbing a napkin and another treat from a tray. Nick was happy to oblige.

  “This place is too fancy,” he commented. “I clearly don’t belong here. Everybody’s looking at me.”

  Alex smiled.

  “You do belong here. You’ll see,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  “What’s on display here tonight?”

  Besides you?

  “Sketches showcasing a series of figure drawings,” she answered lightly, hoping to delay the inevitable. She was still unsure what his reaction would be to the surprise she’d planned. She was half afraid he’d make his escape if he knew the truth.

  Nick made no secret of his displeasure. From the moment he had entered the gallery, he had been antsy and ready to leave.

  “Look, I’m getting a bad feeling. Why don’t we just get out of here now,” Nick growled. “Haven’t you heard about the storm?”

  “Nick, we just got here.”

  Elizabeth trailed them like a hungry shark.

  “We’re delighted that you made it to your show, Mr. Anselmo,” she said.

  Nick turned to Alex, still grasping her hand. “What is that woman talking about? My show?”

  Now was the time to unveil the secret.

  “Look around,” Alex said, her hands surveying the gallery. “All these people are here for you, Nick.”

  Nick’s gaze traveled across the room and rested first on an enlarged photograph of himself, in his late twenties, displayed on an easel, and a bio of his life mounted on poster board. He scrutinized each of the sketches mounted around the room.

  His jaw dropped.

  “What have you done, you little fool?” Nick was clearly outraged. “Those pictures were for your eyes only.”

  “That would have been selfish of me. I thought they should be shared with the world.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Take them down this minute, or I will. Then take me home. No, I’ll walk home. I don’t want anything from you. I’m shutting down your little Save-the-Homeless-Man experiment. I’m not your pet project, and I don’t need you to save me.”

  Alex reacted to Nick’s words like she’d been stung. That’s not how she saw him or why she was doing this. If that’s what he thought, he didn’t know her at all. She respected him, admired his talent, and wanted him to reassume his rightful place in the art world.

  Nick went to pull the first frame off the wall. Alex raised her hand to stop him.

  “Nick, stop. What’s wrong with you? You’re out of control. These are works of art. There are important people here.”

  Then Nick’s eyes settled on the Bald Cypress series across the room.

  “That’s your work on display,” he said, looking at her blankly. “What’s it doing here?”

  Suddenly he understood, and the look of utter betrayal pierced her heart.

  “Nick, I’m—” Alex began.

  At that moment, Mark walked over. She leaned in to kiss her husband perfunctorily on the cheek. He didn’t return the kiss.

  “Alex, is this man bothering you?”

  “No, of course not. Nick, this is my husband. Mark, this is the artist I told you about, Nick Anselmo.” She doubted Nick would remember meeting Mark all those years ago in the university art studio, and he didn’t seem to recall having done so.

  “This is our lawn man?”

  “Mark!” Alex said, horrified. “Don’t be rude.”

  Nick glared at Mark and then looked at the sketches. Mark’s gaze followed his. The moment he saw the pictures, the color drained from his face.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Mark, what’s wrong with you?” Alex whispered, struggling to keep her voice down. “People are starting to stare at us.” She could tell he was already well on his way to being inebriated.

  His gaze remained glued to the sketches. Then he met Bitsy’s eyes and his look pinned her where she stood a few feet away. Bitsy smiled, nodded her head, and raised her Champagne glass in a silent toast. On her wrist, a diamond bracelet Alex hadn’t noticed before glittered under the massive crystal chandelier.

  Mark strode over to Bitsy, anger distorting his face.

  “What the hell is going on, Bitsy?” he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Explain this now.”

  “Darling, I’d love to,” Bitsy whispered, placing her hand possessively on his forearm as she gently massaged it, “but maybe we should wait until the guests go home. Flattering likeness of us, don’t you think? Although I wonder how Dominick Anselmo found out about our little rendezvous. I don’t recall ever meeting him before tonight. It’s a little unsettling to think of him lurking about in the shadows, following us around. Doesn’t matter now. It’s all out in the open. But I thought you’d never notice the resemblance.”

  “You little bitch,” Mark seethed, trying hard to keep his voice down, grabbing Bitsy’s shoulders and almost twisting them out of their sockets. “Of course I noticed. How long do you think it’s going to be before my wife notices it too?”

  Bitsy flinched and wiped the emotion from her face. Collecting herself, she gave Alex a triumphant look and flashed Mark a Cheshire-cat grin.

  “I think she already has. Now, I know it’s Fourth of July, darling, but let’s try to keep the fireworks outside, shall we? The guests are beginning to talk. Can we continue this conversation later, at my house?”

  Mark was immovable. Bitsy extended a finger and stroked it down the side of his face.

  “Don’t pout,” she purred. “I did it for us, darling. I laid it all out for that little hausfrau you’re married to, but she was too dense to see it. Now that she has, we’ll be rid of her. You said you were going to tell her about us. Well, I got tired of waiting, so I moved up the timetable.”

  Mark’s expression was inscrutable.

  “I thought you’d find this exhilarating. I’ve pre-sold almost every sketch through the catalogue on my website or to patrons who would pay anything for an Anselmo original, sight unseen. As subjects of the artist’s inspiration, we could end up in a museum. I thought you liked living on the edge. I wanted to surprise you. I couldn’t wait to see the look on your face. That’s not the look I had in mind, though.”

  Bitsy’s pink tongue darted out of her mouth like a coral snake and slithered across her slick red lips. “Come on, baby, aren’t you just a little turned on by this? I am. After the show, I want you at my place. Don’t bother dressing. I’m starving. Why don’t I give you my key so you can get ready for me? I have another little surprise waiting for you.”

  Mark scowled. “You’re flirting with disaster, and don’t think I didn’t notice you flirting with our lawn man.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nick Anselmo, your fancy Michelangelo, isn’t so fancy, Bitsy. He’s a damn lawn man, our lawn man. Heck, he’s probably your lawn man too. Maybe he’s been stalking us all this time on his power mower.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “I guess my wife didn’t let you in on that little secret. He’s homeless. Didn’t she tell you? You’re the patron of a homeless man, a vagrant. I wonder what your respectable art community will think when they find out what a fraud he is?”

  Bitsy began pacing, her spindly heels clicking loudly across the newly waxed hardwood floors. She paused.

  “He may be a fraud, but that vagrant, as you call him, has made me a hell of a lot of money tonight.”

  Bitsy glanced at Nick, who was standing close to Alex.

  “Lo
ok at him, Mark. There’s no way that man is homeless. Look at the way he’s dressed.”

  Mark took a closer look at Nick.

  “That’s because he’s wearing my suit, dammit,” Mark groused. “She gave him my good suit.”

  “Maybe that’s not all she gave him,” said Bitsy, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “They look pretty cozy together.”

  “Shut up. When I get my hands on that filthy piece of trash, I’m going to rip him apart.”

  “Go ahead, darling. Artists are worth more dead than alive. That explains why Alex wanted to donate her share of the proceeds to build a homeless shelter on the beach. Your wife’s going to ruin me.”

  “Not before you ruin me. Hey, we had some laughs, Bitsy, but you’re messing with my family. We’re through.” Mark started toward Alex, hoping she hadn’t overheard their conversation.

  Bitsy grabbed Mark’s jacket and pulled him up tight.

  “Laughs? You don’t break up with me, you bastard. If anyone is doing the breaking up, it’s me. And I’m not through with you yet.”

  “I’m taking my wife and going home,” Mark said, breaking free from Bitsy’s grasp. “And I’m going to teach that lawn man a lesson he’ll never forget.”

  “Then I’m going to have to have a little private talk with your wife. I have some things I think she’d be interested in knowing about her husband, some things even you don’t know.”

  “Stay the hell away from Alex,” Mark warned. “I thought I made that clear to you before. I told you my wife is off limits to you.”

  “Don’t worry, no one has any idea it’s us in those sketches—no one but you and me and, of course, the homeless lawn man. And now that boring cow you’re married to. She’s had these sketches in her possession all along. She’s staring at them right now and she still doesn’t see it. Or refuses to see it. She has no imagination. No wonder you don’t sleep with her anymore. Personally, I think it’s thrilling. We’ve been immortalized in charcoal.”

  Lightning cracked and brightened the room, illuminating the drawings. The lights flickered. Thunder crashed overhead.

  Mark turned to look at his wife, but her eyes were focused on the last sketch, the one of the two lovers in an embrace, the woman’s arm raised, her diamond bracelet sparkling.