by Ted Clifton
Mitchell had gradually led him into the house’s small living room, and they now sat in high-back chairs. Jackpot. Keep him talking. Vincent nodded like all this was old news to him. “I’ve heard Anna was hard to work for. That true?”
“Everybody had problems with Anna. She was a difficult woman. But I tried to help her, every way I could. I worked out refinance deals with the banks so she had the cash flow she needed to run the business. And if she hadn’t screwed up with those forged paintings, everything would have worked out just fine.”
“I’ve read about that. News reports said she was sold fake paintings, and then resold them to her customers as authentic.”
“In a nutshell. Little Miss Smarty-Pants got conned, big-time. Clive says any gallery owner worth their salt would have known the paintings weren’t real. Said it was a pure rube move to have bought those awful fakes. And to turn around and guarantee their authenticity to your top customers was beyond anything he’d ever seen. He told me she shouldn’t be in the art business at all, and he knows a lot about the business.”
“I hear some say that Clive saved the business from bankruptcy.”
“You got that right. Without Clive, that business, including my share, would be worthless.” The shoulder twitch intensified. Mitchell eyed him and suddenly stood. Vincent’s guard went up. “I think I’ve said enough to you. I shouldn’t be talking to you at all. Please leave. Now.”
Time to retreat. “Of course, Mister Mitchell. Maybe we can talk again at some other time.” Vincent stood, but didn’t turn his back on Mitchell. “I wanted to compliment you on the wonderful flowers in your front courtyard. They’re really stunning.”
Mitchell’s look softened and—far more importantly— his hand moved away from the huge revolver. “Thank you. Clive and I spend a lot of time taking care of those flowers. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”
The shoulder twitch turned calmer once they were in the garden. Vincent opened the courtyard gate and said goodbye. Closing the gate behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to his car. He didn’t know exactly where Francis fit on the crazy scale, but the image of the blue flowered robe and heavy artillery was going to stick in his head for a while.
Santa Fe sits at a very high altitude, which often means cool nights, even in summer. But that doesn’t prevent serious heat during the day, and it was going to be one of those days. Vincent cranked up the AC in his old Mustang, watched the gas gauge slowly sink toward empty, and called Tucker to give him an update on Francis Mitchell. Tucker laughed several times during his account, evidently enjoying Vincent’s discomfort.
“I’ll get someone to research public records regarding Marks’s will, plus any filings that might indicate ownership. Does that make a suspect of Mitchell? Or Clive?” Tucker had a single focus; getting his client off.
“Absolutely. That much motive alone, plus opportunity, would put them on the list. And there’s no doubt that Mitchell’s a few bubbles short of plumb. I don’t have proof yet, but judging by appearances, it looks like he and Clive are in some kind of relationship, most likely a romantic one. And they both, according to Mitchell, hold Anna responsible for all the problems at the gallery. They hate her. Hate by itself doesn’t say much about a willingness to kill, but you toss in a bunch of money and a secret romance, and that’s a lot more convincing.”
“Where are you headed now?”
“To the gallery. I haven’t been able to talk to the business manager, a guy named Trent Taylor. He’s around, but hard to pin down. I thought I’d run by and see if he’s there. If not, I’ll try to find out where he lives. Got anything else for me?”
“We’re getting word that Santa Fe PD will be putting out a ‘be on the lookout’ alert for Ilse and Bobby sometime today, going out to surrounding jurisdictions. They’ll describe them as ‘persons of interest,’ wanted for questioning only. The talk out of Santa Fe is that the chief is reluctant to charge Ilse at this point, even if he was ready to do so while she was in the hospital. That might mean they have new evidence implicating someone else, or what they thought they had on Ilse didn’t pan out. At this point, we just don’t know. It might be useful to drop by and see if your buddy the chief will talk to you.”
“Will do.” Vincent disconnected, then called Jerry at the Inn. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up on my schedule. Looks like I have a pretty full day doing some digging for Tucker, but if you need anything you can give me a call. Anything going on?”
“Nope. Pretty calm here. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast?”
“Sounds good.” Vincent thought about how comfortable he’d gotten with Jerry and Cindy, and it made him smile. His next call was to Nancy, which went to voice mail.
“I’m back in Santa Fe. Got a couple of stops, and then I was going to run by the bar. Thought I’d just give you a warning. See ya later.” All his voice mail messages sounded stupid to him. He frowned.
There was less activity around the gallery now, but workmen were still moving things around. He entered and immediately saw Clive. “Hey, I was looking for Taylor. Is he around?”
“You! You stay the fuck away from Francis or some bad shit could happen to you!” Clive did what he could to seem threatening.
Vincent wasn’t exactly alarmed. He gave him his best blasé thug look, and Clive seemed to realize his bluster had no effect. “You need to watch your mouth, Clive. All I did was talk to Francis. And if I want to do it again, I will. Where’s Taylor?”
Clive seemed confused about what to do next, and decided to exit, stage left. “I don’t know,” he said, quickly heading for the storeroom.
Vincent looked around, but didn’t see Taylor, and now Clive had left, too. He headed to police headquarters.
“Yes, we’re putting out a BOLO. You wouldn’t happen to know where they are, would you, Vincent?” The chief didn’t treat him like a germ, the way most cops did, and he wondered why.
“If I knew, I’d tell you. Had a strange conversation with Francis Mitchell today.” Vincent related the gist of his encounter.
“Owns part of the business? That is interesting. Wonder what that means now that Anna’s dead?”
Vincent had wondered the same thing. “Not sure. But it does open up some areas of inquiry that seem relevant.” He let that soak in a moment. “At one point, you seemed ready to charge Ilse with the murder, but now she’s just a person of interest. Something change?”
“Fair question.” The chief’s initial friendliness was ebbing, but it also could have been that he just didn’t like being questioned, like anyone else. “I was prepared to charge her because we couldn’t hold her unless we did. I was concerned, as was the DA, that she could skip out on us. If she made it back to Amsterdam, we had no idea if we’d ever get her back. Well, that ship has sailed. So, once she’s found, we’ll see where we are, and decide what to do.”
“Does that mean she’s still your most likely suspect?” Vincent knew he was pushing his luck.
The chief actually laughed. “You know I’m not going to discuss our investigation with you, Vincent. But, nice try.” He wandered off, still chuckling.
Vincent took one of the few empty barstools. Nancy’s business always did very well on hot days. Cold beer was in high demand.
“Hello, Mister Malone.” Nancy placed a cold Coors draft in front of him.
“Hello to you, Miss McAllen.” Nancy was looking very attractive today, or maybe Vincent was just paying more attention. “Is it free Coors day?”
“Special for you. I know it’s not exactly highbrow, but I think Coors on tap is some of the best beer around. Bartender approved.”
“How about you join me?”
Vincent smiled, Nancy smiled. They went to one of the back booths, where they sipped at their beers. Vincent gave her a brief rundown of what he’d been up to, but he left out Francis and the huge gun—he didn’t want to worry her too much. Eventually they came around to when Vincent would move in.
; “Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Today is okay with me.” She smiled one of those beautiful smiles. “But tomorrow’s probably better. I’m on the late shift tonight, so you might as well go to the Inn and get a good night’s sleep.”
“You look beautiful tonight.” Vincent surprised himself by saying it out loud. He really must be in love.
“Now, you be good. I have to be here tonight. Move in tomorrow, and we’ll celebrate, okay?”
“Okay, celebration tomorrow.”
Vincent leaned over and gave her a kiss. She didn’t flinch, despite the public setting. She is a brave woman, he thought.
Busy day, and I’m exhausted. Hard to believe the hours I used to work, and then go drinking. Going to be an adjustment, moving in with Nancy. I hope this is the right thing to do. Not sure I could handle the pain if she asked me to leave. I might screw things up on just about any given day, and not even realize I’ve done it. Dangerous new ground.
“Hey, Vincent. How you doin’?”
Jerry was moving busily about the kitchen, his large chef’s apron dusted with flour, preparing a tray of fragrant muffins for the guests, or himself, or maybe for Vincent.
“You know I’ve gained ten pounds since I got to the Inn, right? You’re one great cook. Or baker. Or whatever you are.”
“Is that maybe a compliment? Thank you. I’m having the same weight problem. May have to convert one of the bedrooms into a gym.” Jerry was grinning. “Of course, we both know it’s Mary’s fault, not mine. She’s the one who’s taught me how to cook.”
“Sure, typical businessman—blame the help.” Vincent smiled. “Have you seen Bente this morning?”
“No. Talked to Dirk. He came into the kitchen to get coffee and some muffins for the two of them and then took it all back to the room. Said Bente was still not feeling very good.” Jerry hesitated. “This is going to sound like innkeeper gossip, but maybe it’s something you should know. Bente and Dirk have only been using one room the last few days. My guess is they’ve only been using one bed since they arrived, but lately they’re not bothering to try to hide it.”
Vincent chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “It’s probably the romantic atmosphere.”
“Yeah, maybe so. Dirk asked me, if I saw you, to let you know that Bente wants to talk to you.”
“Probably looking for a better man.”
“You really are a bad person, no matter what Cindy thinks.”
Vincent extended his hands palms up smiling. “I’m innocent, officer.” He selected a muffin and got a cup of coffee, then headed out back to the gazebo to enjoy the beautiful morning.
“Good morning, Mister Malone.” Dirk had approached without Vincent noticing. “Mind if I join you?”
Vincent thought of a couple of wiseass answers, but held his tongue. “Sure, have a seat.”
“Nobody is telling Bente anything about her daughter. Do you know what is going on?”
“I don’t know where she is, if that’s what you mean.”
“We didn’t even know she’d left the hospital. The police came and questioned us about where she might have gone. They were very rude to Bente, treating her like a suspect or something.” Dirk hesitated. He seemed unsure whether to say more. “Ilse is a very troubled person. She’s had problems with drugs and alcohol, and is totally irresponsible. I’m supposed to be her manager, handling scheduling and money matters, and so on, but she just ignores me. There are days I’m not sure she’s sane.”
“She does seem troubled. Do you think she killed Anna?”
“No! What a question. Of course, she didn’t kill anyone. She and Anna had some sort of affair, and Ilse ended it. Bente talked to Anna, and it was Anna who was angry and hurt. I don’t think Ilse gave a shit. She surely wouldn’t have killed her, not before the show. She had everything riding on the success of this show.”
“Why did she try to kill herself?” Vincent was developing a strong dislike for Dirk. He was a tall, handsome man who projected an air of strength. But after only a short time talking to him, it was apparent he was not strong, and probably not very bright.
“Well, I don’t know. Bente says she didn’t. She thinks it was just an accident. She took the pills by mistake or something. Bente has told me Ilse has everything to live for, money and fame. Why would she kill herself?”
“Did you have any dealings with Anna?”
Dirk gave Vincent a dirty look. “I called her numerous times about the money she owed Ilse. It wasn’t just this show—she still owed money from previous sales. I had advised Ilse to drop the Howard Marks Gallery as her U.S. representative, and to sue Anna. I believe that is what she was going to do if she did not receive all of her money immediately after this show. The problem, I believe, was that Anna had spent the money she owed to Ilse to prop up her business, which was failing. She didn’t have the money to pay what she owed.”
“You and Ilse’s mother have a relationship that’s more than just business. Did Ilse know that?”
Dirk’s face reddened, and he glared at Vincent. “All Americans seem to be rude—but you, sir, are an asshole.”
And with that, he left. Vincent had been called an asshole more times than he could count, but never with such perfect diction. In any case, Dirk’s opinion had no effect on him. Aside from his phony regal manner, something seemed odd about Dirk. Vincent wondered why he’d been hired in the first place—why they’d chosen him specifically. He didn’t seem to have any connection to Ilse or to the contemporary art business.
Vincent went to his room and began packing. There was a small knock on his door, and he opened it to find Bente.
“Sorry to bother you, Mister Malone. Do you have a minute?”
“Um, sure. Do you want to come in?” She entered, her eyes taking in the very small room with its one chair. She took a seat on the untidy bed. Vincent pulled out the chair for himself.
“I don’t give a damn that Anna is dead,” she began. “She was an evil person who tried to cheat my daughter. She was good at manipulating people, and Ilse fell for it. That bitch even threatened me once. She knew about Dirk and me, and she was going to tell Ilse unless I backed off my criticism of how Anna and the gallery were handling Ilse’s art. This will come out before long, so I’ll tell you now. I had Dirk hire a law firm in New York to sue Anna for fraud. She probably got the paperwork the day before she died. Ilse didn’t know about it. I was going to tell her, but then she disappeared.” Bente put her head in her hands as if she might cry, but looked up at Vincent with a challenge in her eyes instead of tears. “I didn’t kill her. Dirk didn’t kill her. We had nothing to do with her death. But I hated her.”
“Did you talk to her the day of the reception?”
“No. We made eye contact, but she turned and went the other way. Do you know where my daughter is?”
“No. She’s with Bobby, but I don’t know where.”
“Do you think she’s safe?”
“I have no way of knowing. It’s my impression that Bobby wouldn’t hurt her, and more likely he’d protect her, so I think you can assume she’s fairly safe. But the Santa Fe police will put out bulletins to other jurisdictions soon, requesting that they detain her. And that will put her at risk. If you talk to her, you should encourage her to turn herself in. At this point, the police just want to talk about Anna’s death, and she’s only making things worse by running away.”
“I’ve called her number and Bobby’s. They’re not even taking voicemail now, so I doubt I’ll get to talk to her. Who do you think killed Anna?”
“I’m not going to run down a list, but there are other suspects. Ilse’s still a suspect, too, though. I’m an investigator for her legal team, so the police aren’t going to tell me anything, but we’re working very hard to figure out who did it. She should come back to Santa Fe and face whatever’s going to happen. If she’s thinking about trying to get out of the country, she could be putting herself at real risk.”
“Dirk and I are thinki
ng about going home. Do you think that will be okay?”
“The police can’t stop you unless they arrest you for something. They may not like it, but they can’t do anything about it. I think the more important issue is that Ilse might need your support here.”
She nodded. “I guess that’s right. We’ll decide in the next few days. I’m really tired of this place. Not the Inn—these people have been wonderful—but just being away from home is so stressful.”
“I can imagine.”
“There’s something else you should know. Several weeks ago, Clive Walton called me. He told me he had plans to take control of the gallery from Anna, and that if Ilse held off on any big decisions now, then in a short while she would be dealing only with him. He said he would make a new deal with her that would be very attractive. At the time I thought he was just trying to bullshit Ilse into some kind of deal. I don’t like him very much, and in some ways I actually trusted Anna more, especially with him going behind the back of his employer. So, I never said anything to Ilse. Now, with what’s happened, that whole conversation takes on a new light.” She looked directly at Vincent, and he saw a strength in her that he hadn’t seen before.
“That’s very interesting. Did you tell the police about this?”
“No, but only because they haven’t questioned me yet. I didn’t want to bring it up myself, and have it look like I was accusing Clive of something. Maybe you could pass it along, and not mention me?”