by Tessa Kelly
Time to throw in the towel. I pulled my chair away from the table.
“All right. Sit here all day if that’s what you want. I’m going to work.”
I let the door swing shut after me as I left the shop. It banged louder than I expected. I didn’t look back.
To my surprise, Josh was at the bakery when I got there, though it wasn’t one of his usual days. With a wry smile, he handed me a large mocha. “Fuel for work. Jeff’s been throwing stuff in the back. Going to be a long one.”
He met my questioning gaze with a shrug. “I got fired from the gallery.”
“What?”
“The director thinks there’s been too many suspicious circumstances around me lately. It’s bad for business to keep me on.”
The question escaped before I could sensor it. “Why didn’t Caroline vouch for you?”
Had he heard the acid in my voice?
I took a big gulp of the mocha to hide my face and hurried to explain myself. “I mean, after all it was Caroline who scouted you at that paint store.”
Josh paused the steamer to quirk an eyebrow at me. “What are you talking about? Caroline didn’t scout me.”
It was my turn to pause. “But...she told me she did when I ran into her at the hospital.”
He shook his head. “No. We met at an art store, that’s true. We were both waiting in line to pay for art supplies and started talking. She told me she worked at the AGER and I asked if they had an opening. It just happened they were looking for an assistant, and she volunteered to pass my application to Alexa. Later, when we got to know each other better, she asked to see my artwork and that’s when she started pushing for me to have an exhibit there. She said I could be the Frank Lloyd Wright of painting.” His smile was a mixture of self-deprecation and ruefulness.
I stared at him, confused and surprised by his side of the story. Why would Caroline say she’d scouted Josh at an art supply store? It seemed like such a pointless lie.
Taking my mocha, I made my way into the back. From the other side of the room, Tyrone stared at me, questioning eyebrows riding up his dark forehead. I pretended not to notice as I washed my hands and put on the apron. Avoiding Jeff’s furious stares was slightly more difficult.
Apparently, Felisha’s failing to come into work was my fault. Or maybe I was just the designated “person to blame” for all the wrongs around there.
I scowled at the cake in front of me. The customer wanted a picture of Spider-Man swinging from a building, drawn in colored frosting for her son’s tenth birthday. The mood I was in, I would’ve much rather given them the Green Goblin.
Picking out the thinnest metal tip for the icing bag, I started outlining the picture, doing my best to make sure it resembled the one the customer supplied. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Jeff heading in my direction. My hand stiffened.
Luckily, Will chose that exact moment to call. Jeff’s scowl deepened as I answered, but I didn’t care, too desperate to avoid another confrontation. To my relief, Jeff refrained from approaching me.
I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I mixed the red color into the frosting, trying not to spill any drops on the table as I listened.
“I’ve been digging into Alexa’s financial records like you suggested,” Will said. “Looks like you were on to something there.”
My hand stopped mixing, but gripped the spatula harder. “Was Alexa cooking the books?”
He snorted. “You’ve been watching too many crime movies. But...yeah, you could say that. We went through her financial records with a fine-tooth comb, and there are some discrepancies. Marcel Bright’s royalties should've been higher.”
“Wonder why his agent never took it up with Alexa,” I said.
There was a pause. I heard the rustling of papers and what sounded like drunken yells, then Will came back on the line.
“Sorry, sis. What were you saying?” He sounded distracted.
“Trouble at the precinct?”
“Nah. A group of college kids got drunk last night and spent the night passed out on the Brooklyn Bridge. When the cops tried to rouse them this morning, two of them got loose with the fists. We’re booking the bunch. You know, routine.” He chuckled tiredly.
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”
He grunted in lieu of an answer.
“Should we pick this up later?”
“Right. I better go. Later, sis.”
I put the phone on the shelf behind my work station and went back to my cake, somehow feeling less on edge than I had before Will called. If I'd known solving crime could have such a calming effect, I might’ve taken it up years ago. They should advertise it alongside those over-the-top luxury spa resorts.
Come clear your chakras and unclutter your mind by solving a gruesome murder on your next vacation!
I grinned as I filled the icing bag with the red I’d mixed and started coloring in the drawing on the cake. My thoughts lingered on my conversation with Will.
Marcel's agent had to know something about the unpaid royalties due his client. Why did he claim he didn’t?
If Will was too busy to talk to Kenneth Sheppard, then perhaps I should.
A shadow fell over my work station. I gritted my teeth, my tension whooshing back with a vengeance.
Leave me alone, Jeff!
I lifted my eyes to face the rant head-on, but it wasn’t Jeff. It was the next worst thing.
Tyrone leaned forward with his palm on the edge of the table, his habitual easy grin gone.
“She still don’t answer my calls. What up with that?”
I made an effort to unclench my teeth as I stared up at him. “You know perfectly well what’s up. Why play the charade?”
He cocked his head to the side. “She mad at me or something? What’d I do?”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. You want to know why Felisha is mad, then you take it up with her. If she’ll talk to you.”
He stared, unused to me being so brusque with him. “She at home?”
“She was at Stones and Beads when I left. Odds are she’s going to spend the day there.”
He gave a small nod, watching me with a slight frown. Was he such a good pretender, or did the bewildered expression look genuine?
“I’ll head there after work,” he said finally.
His long fingers gave the edge of my table a soft rap. He straightened and ambled back to his work station, looking easy and unaffected except for the unmistakable hunch to his shoulders.
Nice try. The sad puppy dog look wasn’t going to work on me.
I pressed my lips together, determined to hold on to my indignation. The traitor oozed out through my pores, dissipating in spite of all my efforts.
This was the tough part about having friends who were dating. If and when they split up, you were left in the middle, being pulled in two opposite directions. Like one tied to tree trunks that could spring apart at any moment and rip you apart.
I winced at the gruesome visual. My mind was determined to give me no breaks that day.
But the fact remained. I’d known Tyrone as long as I had Felisha. He was obviously in the wrong, but staying mad at him on her behalf, when so much history lay in the way, proved more difficult than I’d anticipated.
To my right, the door of the walk-in fridge banged open and Jeff emerged with stacked boxes, dark mood wafting off of him. With the back of my hand, I rubbed my forehead where a dull headache started. Finishing work early never sounded so appealing.
FOUR HOURS LATER, I put my last decorated creation in a cardboard box and took off my apron. My feet ached for a good stretch after hours of standing in one place.
I looked at the time. While I could always pump Kenneth Sheppard for information over the phone, something told me the investigation called for a face-to-face interview. An Uber would get me there in a quarter of an hour. If I hurried I would still catch him in his
office.
I made a mental inquiry of my budget, whether it could take another cab ride hit. Adamant, it shook its head. No can do.
Fine. It would have to take it all the same, and I’d find a way to resuscitate it later with extra work hours.
I pulled up the Uber app on my phone and put in the request.
The ride took even less time than I expected, due to it still being early for rush hour. Having paid the fare, I hurried through the swinging doors into the gray office building and took the elevator to the second floor.
Kenneth Sheppard’s office was at the end of a long white-washed hallway, flanked by a talent agency on one side and a law firm on the other.
I pushed open the door and peered in.
The woman at the reception desk looked up from staring at her computer screen. She had a round face with ruddy cheeks and puffy eyes which her short, frizzy hair failed to complement.
Our gazes locked, inquiry on both sides. The woman spoke first.
“Yes?”
“Hi! I came to see Mr. Sheppard. He and I talked on the phone earlier.”
She frowned and wrinkled her nose like she smelled something bad. Was it me? I had the sudden urge to check my armpit.
“Mr. Kenneth has gone for the day,” the woman said. “Did you have an appointment?”
I licked my lips and took a quick breath. “Does he always leave this early?”
“He doesn’t. But he was in a hurry tonight.” She pinched her lips. “So what about that appointment?”
She was tenacious. I had been hoping to sidestep that question, but no dice.
“It would be under James,” I said. “Sandra James.”
She turned her attention to the screen, but a moment later shook her head.
“I don’t have you here. You sure it’s for today?” Her eyes narrowed on my face. You sure you’re not lying? they said.
“Yes. I’m sure.” I straightened to give myself more height. Height always adds credence in such situations.
Her upper lip curled. “Do you want to reschedule?”
Disappointment needled my brain, making my headache worse.
Before coming there, I knew I wanted to talk to Kenneth Sheppard in person. Now that my plan had been derailed, without knowing why it suddenly became crucial to find the man at once.
I took a deep breath, fighting off irritation. What was so urgent he had to leave early?
I nodded at the sofa in the waiting area, with the usual stack of magazines on the coffee table in front of it. “He’s definitely not coming back tonight? I have time, I could wait for him.”
“No. He was specific about leaving for the day.”
The secretary gave me a pointed look, indicating I should head out too and stop wasting her time. Seeing my crestfallen face, she softened.
“Is this very important? You could leave a message with me, and I’ll make sure he gets back to you ASAP.”
A message wouldn't get me anywhere. I was about to thank her and head back into the hallway when my eyes fell on the door to Kenneth’s office. It was slightly open.
I gave the secretary a worried look. “Actually, yes. This is very important. I’m at a loss as to why Mr. Sheppard would go out and not even inform you I was coming. Are you sure he didn’t leave a note for me?”
She hesitated a moment, then rose from her swivel chair. “Maybe he left one in his office and forgot to give it to me. The way he rushed out of here, I wouldn’t be surprised. Let me go and check.”
I stood out of her way as she edged from behind her desk and went into Kenneth Sheppard’s office.
Making sure my feet made no sound on the carpeted floor, I walked after her and stuck my head in.
She stood with her back to me, half-bent over the large mahogany desk, her fingers tracing the many sticky notes clinging to its surface as she scanned their contents. I was mildly impressed. The woman must’ve been an expert at reading upside down.
The rest of the office was standard in its furnishings. A wooden bookcase with large hard-bound tomes, a leather sofa, much larger and softer looking than the one in the waiting area, a thriving Ficus tree next to the window. And something else, too. The ‘something’ hitched my breath and made the tips of my fingers grow cold.
I dimly registered the secretary’s outraged cry as I stormed in. Ignoring her, I stared at a black jacket hanging on a coat rack, forgotten in the haste.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The secretary gripped my arm with surprising strength. “You can’t be in here!”
I wrenched myself free. “Let go of me!”
She didn’t give up, putting her weight into the task this time. As she hustled me out, I fumbled for my phone. To my relief, Will picked up on the second ring.
“Can I call you back? I’ve got—”
“Drop what you’re doing and call Marcel Bright. I think he’s in danger.”
I ran for the door, then doubled back. Pushing the secretary out of the way, I grabbed the jacket off the rack. She made no attempt to stop me as she stood there, eyes wide and face pale. She simply watched me escape with her employer’s property.
I left her there without an explanation and rushed down the hallway to the stairs.
No time to wait for the elevator now.
Chapter 18
I dashed outside and ran straight into Josh. His hands closed around my shoulders, probably trying to steady me but I jumped back with a yelp.
“What are you doing here? Are you following me now? How long has this been going on?”
He raised his hands to show he wouldn’t touch me again. “Just today, I promise. I was hoping to find out more about the case. It’s all I can think about since the AGER fired me. I know how this looks, but I’m innocent. You have to believe me. Please, I—”
“Josh, there’s no time for that right now!” Ignoring his bewildered look, I dialed my brother again. “Did you talk to Marcel?”
“I called his phone,” Will said. “He’s not answering.”
“Then get over to his house. It’s the only place I can think of. If I’m right, this is a matter of life and death.” I hung up and faced Josh. “We need a cab. Now.”
He shook his head. “In this traffic, it’ll be at least forty minutes. We can take that instead.” He pointed to a motorcycle at the curb.
I stared at it. “Where’d you get that?”
“Borrowed it from my roommate. He needed my bicycle anyway. He’s doing a triathlon.”
The only time I'd ever ridden on a motorcycle was while visiting Dad’s family in Kentucky. My cousin thought he’d show me a thrill by taking me on a dirt road at eighty miles an hour. The memory of that ride still sent shivers down my spine.
My feet rooted to the spot. Someone told me once a motorcyclist in a big city had a six-month life expectancy. What were the odds of survival for a first-timer?
I licked my lips with a tongue that felt suddenly dry. It didn’t matter. This was an emergency.
“Do you have a license to ride that thing?”
Josh tilted his head at me as he sat astride his death machine. “You think I’d be offering a ride to a cop’s sister if I didn’t? Hop on.”
He handed me the spare helmet and secured Kenneth Sheppard’s jacket to the seat.
Moments later, we were weaving in and out of traffic at a speed approximating that of my Kentucky cousin’s. At least, that’s what it felt like. In reality we weren't going more than thirty an hour.
Still, I squeezed my eyes shut when a black Chevy ran a red light at an intersection and Josh had to swerve at the last moment to avoid a collision. Clinging to him from behind, I gripped him tighter around the middle. At least, there was one perk to this whole hell ride.
Josh had been right, though. As we turned onto a larger street, traffic barely inched forward and harassed drivers threw us venomous looks as we sped by them. Ten minutes later, we made another turn onto a quiet one-way street at the end of which stood what coul
d only be called a mansion.
Three stories high and made of red brick with a black sloping roof, the house was surrounded by a wide lawn and a garden of tall trees. A stone path led from the front door to the iron gates locked with a heavy chain and a padlock. Curious, as the gates were all there was. The property had no fence, not even a trimmed hedge around it.
There wasn’t a single person in sight.
“You sure your brother’s coming?” Josh asked.
Heart hammering from our ride, I unclasped my hands from around his middle and took the helmet off with stiff fingers. The chin strap required some effort to undo. Then I stood on the curb clutching Kenneth’s jacket under my arm.
“Of course he’s coming. But even with the sirens on, he still has to get through all that congestion in the streets.”
Josh frowned at the mansion. “It’s your call, Sandie. What do you want to do?”
The sensible thing was to stay on the street and wait for the police to arrive. I nodded toward the house.
“We've got to get inside. Quickly!”
Leaving the bike at the curb, we skirted around the gates, trampling the freshly mowed lawn, and hurried up the stone path.
Josh reached for the front door, then hesitated, deep lines around his mouth. “Are you sure about this? I’m already in a boatload of trouble, and this is breaking and entering—”
A scream issued from inside the house, cutting him off. I pushed past him and threw my shoulder against the front door. It swung inward with a loud bang.
No matter. Caution and stealth were out of the question now.
We stormed across the hall and up the wide staircase to the second-floor. At the end of the hallway, a door stood ajar. Coming from inside, I could hear the faint, strangled sounds of fighting.
“There!” Josh pointed with his chin as we sprinted toward it.
The door hid what used to be a spacious office, though furnished with pieces that looked like they’d crawled out of a surrealist’s painting. Before the heavy fist of the Last Judgement slammed down.
A table in the shape of a horse lay on its side, and heavy volumes of art books were scattered under intricate shelves formed like upside-down umbrellas. An armchair with armrests like human arms had been overturned and shards of a Japanese vase lay scattered on the yellow ochre carpet amid copious amounts of confetti.