The Fine Art of Murder
Read The Fine Art of Murder Online
Authors: Emily Barnes
Tags: #FIC022000 Fiction / Mystery & Detective / General
A Katherine Sullivan Mystery
Emily Barnes
NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-62953-477-0
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-62953-478-7
ISBN (Kindle): 978-1-62953-660-6
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-62953-671-2
Cover designed and illustrated by Matthew Kalamidas
Crooked Lane Books
2 Park Avenue, 10
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Floor
New York, NY 10016
First edition: February 2016
They say that 85 percent of those who travel return to the same place again and again. And I had to wonder, do people really play it that safe? Are there no adventurous souls out there? But then I realized that maybe the place those people are always returning to is home . . .
***
It had been a long, arduous day working my way from Taos to Minneapolis. With all the regulations, delays, connecting flights, and that garlic pizza the man beside me was wolfing down, I was beginning to feel I would have been better off walking. Flying used to be fun “back in the olden days,” as my granddaughter referred to any time before she was born. Now it was like being packed into one of those little cars at the circus. When it stops in the middle of the ring, a dozen animated bodies come flying out, and you wonder how they all fit inside that tiny vehicle. And where was I when it became too much work to put on actual clothes? Everyone dresses so casually for
a trip. The girl across from me was wearing purple and yellow pajamas. Now that’s going a bit too far. I used to buy a new outfit for a flight. Maybe that was going too far the other way.
The 747 circled the Minneapolis–St. Paul airport, for a third time, and in spite of my exhaustion, I had to admit it was a miracle. Just a few hours ago, I had been looking down at the mountainous landscape of the Southwest, everything covered in dusty sages and purples. And now the earth below me was suddenly covered in bright greens and watery blues. The mountains had slowly shrunk as we flew east, transforming themselves into soft, rolling hills.
It had been six months since I’d been home. Sully and I hadn’t traveled much in our younger years. That was something for later, to be enjoyed after retirement. Each day’s worth of mail always brought in two or three brochures featuring destinations we’d discuss. At the top of his list was Italy—Tuscany in particular. Paris headed mine. Even though he could have retired years before, my husband kept adding on another year in the police force, trying to up his pension so we could travel first class. But when he was shot in the line of duty, I was left alone with our plans . . . and piles of pamphlets. Even after he’d been gone a year, those colorful, glossy booklets kept coming. It was like he was telling me to hit the road and make those journeys for the both of us. So I retired early, sold the house, and packed my bags.
***
“Mother!”
Lizzie got out of her car and ran toward me. My heart filled with love at the sight of her.
I held my arms open. When she hugged me, it was as if she was holding on for dear life. She was my baby girl even if the calendar said she was thirty-eight.
“I’m so glad you’re here. Six months is way too long.”
“I agree, sweetheart.” After a motherly moment, I held her at arm’s length. “Your hair’s so much longer. It’s not as—”
“Severe?”
“No, Lizzie, nothing about you has ever been severe. I was going to say ‘serious,’ which is a good thing when you’re a pretty blonde. You don’t want to be typecast, do you? Didn’t want people making blonde jokes when you were a defense attorney. It’s just that now you look softer . . . and happy.”
“I am—most of the time. But this divorce has been so hard. Thanks for coming.”
“I’ll always come when you need me.” I squeezed her tight and kissed her cheek. I had to keep a brave face in spite of the fact that I was concerned about the possibility of a custody battle.
A warm breeze rippled the red silk scarf around her neck. “How long are you planning on staying?” she asked me.
“No appointments to keep anymore; I’m all yours.”
“Yeah, you say that now, but after a few weeks, you get that look in your eyes. You have terminal wanderlust, Mother.”
“I never thought you noticed.”
An airport guard approached, waving his arms. “Move on ladies. Pick up and drive on. This is not a parking lot.” He started to walk away, then stopped, spun around, and came back to us. “Hey, Chief! Is that you?”
I looked up at the tall man in the orange vest. “Stanley Nelson. It’s been a while. How are you?”
“Great, Chief. I retired about a year after you did. Let the kids chase the bad guys for a while. My wife and I just celebrated our thirty-fifth anniversary.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations. But why aren’t you off enjoying that retirement?” I asked him.
“A man can only fish for so long. I had to find something better to do with my time. So I got on here part time.”
“What about grandchildren?” I asked.
“Five, can you believe it? And let’s see . . . yours must be teenagers now?”
I nodded. “Chloe and Cameron are thirteen and fourteen.”
“Good luck with that! Kids sure ain’t the same as when ours were that age. It’s a crazy time we’re living in.”
Lizzie stood at my side and I suddenly felt rude. “You remember my daughter, Elizabeth, don’t you, Stan?”
“I sure do.” He smiled and shook Lizzie’s hand. “Last I heard, you were a big-time attorney. Your mama was always so proud of you. And your dad, too. He was a great guy.”
“Yeah, he was,” Lizzie said.
“I remember you stopping by the station when you were in high school. Always with your nose stuck in some fat book.”
A shuttle-bus driver honked his horn, and when I looked behind me, I saw a line of cars backed up along the curb.
“Sorry, Chief, but I have to get back to work and ask you to move your car. It was real nice seeing you again. You look great—even out of uniform.”
“You, too, Stanley,” I said as he walked away.
Lizzie opened the trunk, and we loaded my suitcase and paint box into her car.
She walked around to get into the driver’s seat while I settled in next to her. After we fastened our seatbelts, Lizzie pulled out of the Minneapolis–St. Paul airport and headed east on 62 to Edina.
***
Edina, Minnesota, located southwest of Minneapolis, was established in the 1860s to accommodate farms and mills. It was nothing but patchwork fields and rolling hills when I was a kid, but time passes and everything changes. Now the population is fifty thousand plus and Edina is considered one of the most affluent areas in the state. Besides being featured in several black comedies produced by the Coen brothers of
Fargo
fame, it has some of the country’s best schools, fifteen parks, two country clubs, twenty-two churches—but only two hotels. The reason for the lack of lodging dates all the way back to the 1930s when the town was “dry.” I guess some things change at a slower rate than others.
“Now if you would have asked me to visit in the winter,” I told Lizzie, “that would have been a whole different ball game. But spring—Minnesota’s version of it anyway—that’s doable.”
“You know,” she said, unlocking the front door, “from the way you talk, it sounds as if you live in Florida or California—”
“With all the other senior citizens? Sorry, honey, but just because I don’t want to deal with below zero temperatures,
frozen pipes, ice, and snow does not mean I’m old. No . . . I’m sensible.”
“Get off it, Mother, you’ve lived here your whole life. And you’re not old.”
With my tote bag in one hand, I grabbed the handle of the large suitcase with the other and pulled it behind me as I walked into the house. Lizzie picked up my paint box and followed.
“Well, that was then . . . now I’m just a visitor in a strange land.”
Closing the front door, Lizzie said, “Follow me, stranger. Let’s get you settled in the guestroom and I’ll make us some lunch.”
The bedroom was lovely, decorated in pastel, calming colors. As I unbuttoned my jacket, I admired the lampshade on the small dresser. It was covered with hundreds of buttons, some round, some square, most of them ivory, with a few lilac and yellow ones scattered in. “This is new, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I got it last week at a fundraiser for the homeless shelter in town. I had to have it.”
“I can see why.” I started to open my suitcase but she stopped me.
“You must be starved. When was the last time you ate?”
“Early this morning, in Taos. I had the best green chili omelet at a little café outside of town. The sun was just coming up . . . but now that you mention it, I am hungry.”
“Well tonight you can watch the sunset while you dine on steak and potatoes out on the deck.”
“Perfect.” I put my arm around her as we walked from the bedroom to the kitchen. “When will the kids be home? I have presents.”
“In about two hours. That gives us plenty of time to catch up.” She opened the refrigerator while I sat myself down at the table. “How about a tuna fish sandwich? I got that bread you like from the bakery by the park.”
“Sounds good. Is there anything I can do?” I asked, hoping she’d refuse my offer. It felt so good to just relax.
Between bites of sandwiches and sips of iced tea, we talked about Lizzie’s divorce. She hadn’t actually said it was the main reason she wanted me to visit, but I knew my daughter. As I calmly nodded and listened, I kept reminding myself that the man she was so upset with would forever be the father of my grandchildren. I sympathized, assuring her that the anger gripping her would turn to acceptance . . . eventually. And once that happened, she might even feel friendly toward Tom.
But the truth was that I never liked Thomas Farina. Sully used to joke that it wasn’t Lizzie’s fault she fell for him. “He has an actor’s good looks and a maître d’s charm,” he’d say. “What’s not to like?”
Most mothers would have been thrilled to have their only daughter marry one of the most successful surgeons in the Twin Cities area. Their wedding was spectacular; they honeymooned in Spain. But with Lizzie’s demanding schedule at the law firm and his at the hospital, I knew a large portion of her life would consist of too many lonely nights and cancelled
vacations. And while that adventurous spirit of his bonded him with Sully, it did the opposite with Lizzie, who preferred to stay close to home.
After Cameron and Chloe were born, everything seemed to get worse between them. Bringing children into a shaky marriage never fixes anything, but nobody asked me.
“I’ve gone over this a thousand times in my head,” Lizzie said. “Everything fell apart when Tom just up and left his practice. He didn’t even ask me. Did I tell you that, Mother? Not one word. He has a family; there are three other people here to consider.”
“He always talked about traveling—”
“New York maybe or England—but Africa? Doctors Without Borders goes to third world countries. It’s dangerous; he could be killed and leave the kids without a father. Or what if he got kidnapped? They’d spend the rest of their lives looking for him, wondering what happened. We all would.”
“Lizzie, I think you’re exaggerating. Tom’s a doctor; he’d never do anything foolish or—”
“Are you defending him? Didn’t you say he doesn’t spend enough time with the kids?”
“Well . . . yes, I did say that. But your father was gone a lot, too.”
“Daddy was a policeman, here in town; he worked a regular shift. We knew when he’d be home and when he’d leave. It’s not the same. Tom was running out at all hours. I could never count on two days being the same. Even when he went on rounds, there was always some emergency.”
“Sorry, honey, but what did you expect when you married a doctor?” Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. I took a dill pickle from the plate in front of me and bit off a large bite.
“Are you saying you told me so?”
I shook my head no.
“Because you’re not here when he pops in unexpectedly, his arms full of gifts, those Italian eyes of his gleaming. He looks rested, Mother. Can you believe it? Here I am driving the kids to soccer practice, dance lessons, and birthday parties. I’m a chauffeur, a cook, a team leader . . .”
I’d heard the same complaint from so many of my friends throughout the years. We referred to it as the dirty thirties—the age when mothers get all the dirty work. But I commiserated with Lizzie as she vented.
“Cameron almost thinks of his father as a super hero. It isn’t fair.”
“It certainly is not!” I’d bite my tongue off before I’d give her that worn out adage about life not being fair.
“Thank you.” Lizzie said and picked up the remaining half of her sandwich.
“But your life wasn’t predictable, either. Running—that’s what I remember you always doing. Running to court, running to talk to a client, taking depositions, interviewing witnesses. You certainly can’t complain that your life was boring.”
She laughed. “Oh no, it was never boring.”
“And things are so much better now, right? Switching from criminal to family law was the perfect solution.”
“One of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I just couldn’t stand knowing that I was responsible for sending bad guys
back out on the street. At first, I thought I was defending the innocent, but later I found out they were few and far between. I was beginning to feel ashamed of myself. I knew I could do more good somewhere else.”
It tore at my heart when Lizzie belittled herself like that. “Well your naïveté took one hell of a beating, that’s for sure. But just look at you now! Helping battered women, getting those innocent children out of violent situations, you’re changing lives. Plus you get to spend more time with the kids—especially Cameron. How’s he doing?”
“Good—better than I expected, really. High school has been a big adjustment but he made a friend, Lewis, and they ride the bus together. He goes to speech therapy twice a week. Not that it’s been doing much good, as far as I can see, but he needs the routine. Nothing will ever cure the way he stares when he speaks or his emotionless delivery. Kids are always teasing him saying he acts like a robot. But it’s all part of his condition.”
“He’s a smart kid, Lizzie; he’ll learn how to work around it. You know, I read every article I can get my hands on. As far as I can see, one doctor has an opinion, the next discredits him, and another has a whole new theory. He’ll be just fine.”
“I know, but he comes off so . . . distant sometimes. And he’s not! He’s kind and loving. Plus he’s the most creative, almost magical member of this family. He gets that from you and Uncle Nick.”
Because of his Asperger’s syndrome, my grandson would forever be that proverbial square peg trying to fit into a round hole. But I was confident that eventually he’d be comfortable
in his own skin and even use his uniqueness to his advantage. It took me a long time to learn that lesson, but now I was convinced of it.
“And how about our Chloe girl?” I asked.
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “She hates me. According to my darling daughter, I’m unsupportive, the divorce is all my fault, and I only live to humiliate her. Honestly, Mother, she acts like I spend my days plotting against her.”
I looked up at the ceiling, acting as though I was trying to dredge up an ancient memory. “Umm. I seem to remember a girl who screamed that her mother was a dictator and had ruined her life. She said that if she couldn’t go to a sleepover, her life would be ruined. And then she packed her pink ballerina suitcase and started out the door to go live with her best friend in the world—the only person who really and truly understood her. And let me see . . . what was her friend’s name?”
“Candy? Or was it Tammy . . . ?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot the name of such an important person!” I said sarcastically. “How can it be that such an earth-shattering event has escaped your memory?”
Lizzie smiled. “Okay, Mother, I get your point.”
“Chloe will grow out of this phase but—and remember this part—you have to also. Don’t throw all the hurt feelings you’ve been carrying around at her. She’ll get over it and so should you.”
“See,” she said, “this is why I need you around. To talk me down and keep me sane.”
“Oh, honey, you’re the sanest person I know.”
“I’m not sure if that is always such a good thing.”
I could hear the bus screeching to a stop out in front of the house. A moment later, Cameron rushed into the kitchen. When he spotted me sitting there, he abruptly stopped where he was. Those big brown eyes of his lit up.
“Grammy, hi.” He kept his distance. Initial meetings always brought out his shyness, even with people he’d known all his life. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too, Cam. You look like you’ve grown a foot.” I walked to him. “Why, you’re almost up to my shoulder. Pretty soon you’ll be bigger than any of us.” His thick dark hair pointed skyward, held at attention with some sort of gel. Cam came into the world a beautiful baby, and now, when other kids were fighting pimples and braces, he was still my beautiful boy.
“Where’s your sister?” Lizzie asked.
“Out front talking to Jennifer, the queen of the neighborhood.”
“Why is she the queen?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “She likes to hold court.”
As if on cue, Chloe slowly walked into the room holding an iPhone, her fingers frantically jabbing at the touch screen.
“Chloe, say hello to your grandmother.”
Like with all kids her age, it was an effort to tear her eyes away from her phone. “Hey, Grandma.”
“Hey, sweetie. You look . . . pretty.” I took in the thick strand of purple trailing alongside her shiny red hair. Chloe would never let anyone cut that curly mop of hers. But standing in front of me now was a sullen teenager with short choppy
layers all over her head. As I continued to smile, I could see several more piercings running up her ear lobes. And . . . oh no . . . was that a tattoo?
“Thanks, Gram. I like your blouse; it’s maj.” Then her attention snapped back to her text.
“Chloe, put the phone down and give your grandmother a hug,” Lizzie scolded.
She glared at her mother. “Chill, Mom.” Then after kissing my cheek, she gave me a polite hug. “Glad you’re here, Grandma.”
“Me, too, sweetheart.”
Cam stood by quietly watching.
“I have presents; I’ll go get them.”
“I’m supposed to meet up with Jennifer. I’ll see you for dinner, okay? We can do the fam thing when I get back.”
Lizzie’s cheeks reddened. I shot her the look she knew all too well, which warned
Shut up and smile
. “Sure, no prob,” I said. Two could play at the short-speak game.
“Dinner’s at six.” Lizzie shouted at Chloe’s back.
I smiled at Cam. “Well, I don’t see why you have to wait for your present.”
“Me neither.”
“Go get the red box on top of my suitcase.”
That’s all he needed. He was gone like a shot.
“I’m so sorry, Mother. There’s no excuse for Chloe’s behavior.”
“Yes there is. She’s thirteen.”
Cam walked back into the kitchen, holding the box in front of him like it contained dynamite. “Here it is.”
I laid it on the table. Cam pulled a chair close to me and sat. While most kids his age would have been anxious or excited to see what I’d brought, my grandson sat patiently and waited, never saying a word.
I lifted the lid and took out an object wrapped in white tissue paper. Handing it to him, I said, “Careful, it’s kind of fragile.” Lizzie smiled, enjoying the scene.
He slowly unrolled layer after layer until he finally got to the prize. “What is it?” he asked holding up the miniature figure.
“It’s a Kachina doll.”
“A doll?”
“Well, they call it that, but it’s like your action figures, really. The Hopi Indians believe that everything has a life force. They carve these out of the roots of cottonwood trees. There’s lots of different kinds. Animals, ogres, hunters, and warriors. They’re said to be spirit messengers of the universe.”
“Cool.” He picked up the doll and turned it over to examine every detail.
The male figure was mounted on a round wooden base and stood about five inches high. He wore soft buckskin boots that matched a skirt decorated with turquoise and silver beads. His face was covered with a mask made of white feathers, with black ones for the beak. With his outstretched arms also covered in feathers, he resembled a bird in flight.
“The one I picked out for you is the eagle.”
“Why the eagle?” Cam asked.
“Because he’s the ruler of the sky, the messenger of the heavens. He represents strength and power. And that’s how I see you, Cam.”
He had to think about that for a minute. Then he said, “Thanks, Grammy.” Cam didn’t have to force a smile for me to know he was happy with the gift. “Come see my room and we can put Eagle Man in a special place.”
“I’m right behind you, sweetheart.”