graceful in a way that made you think she would grow into a lovely young woman. Yet there was something wrong with the angle of the photo. Or was it the camera? No. It was something wrong with the proportion of her face. Yes, that was it. Pearlie and I looked up to see the pain of our discovery reflected in Mac’s face.
“She was born with a bifurcated skull. It’s a rare birth defect,” he said. “There’s no surgery, no therapy, no fix. She’s—she was, except for the birth defect, very normal. Her artistic abilities run in the family, though it missed me by a mile. I gave her the best private tutors and later, private art classes. I took her to museums and art shows, but the staring and whispers became too much, and after a while she stopped going. Then she stopped painting. That’s when I decided to send her out here to be with her granddad. My father was a very private person too, so it suited them both. He left her the property in his will.”
A sympathetic touch would not be welcome, so I kept my hands to myself. I asked, “Have you begun the arrangements for the funeral yet?”
“I can’t—not until the medical examiner releases her body. An autopsy, ” he said, spitting out the insulting word. “I’m going to see if I can get permission to bury her here in the plot with her granddad.”
“We’ll see what we can do about the medical examiner for you, Mac,” Pearlie said.
“Thank you. I-I would appreciate the help. I still have to contact the rest of our family. I don’t know how I will tell her mother.”
Pearlie stiffened at his comment. I knew what she was thinking. What kind of man wouldn’t immediately call the mother?
“Her mother hasn’t been well,” he said, lifting his pugnacious chin as if daring us to criticize him. “She lives in a full time care facility.”
With his explanation, Pearlie’s temperature dropped, and she took out her smart phone, snapped a copy of Bethany’s photo, and returned the original to Mac. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to talk to the residents before we leave.”
“I don’t have a problem, as long as you keep our agreement. You’ll repo rt to me what you find, right?”
He ushered us to the door, drawing it open with a flourish and whispering it closed the minute we crossed the threshold.
I followed her down the wide porch steps. Catching up with her, I pulled on her sleeve. “Wait up. We forgot to get a copy of the items Homicide took from the house.”
“We will, but rule number two of my P.I. lesson is to establish trust with the client. We had our ice breaker. We’ll be back later for a quid pro quo. That is, unless that laptop appears to be in the hands of one of the residents.”
“The detectives couldn’t have missed it.”
“It may not be on that list. Her killer could’ve taken it.”
She squinted in the changing light, looking across the hard packed dirt yard toward the cabins. Even though they were shaded by the stand of poplars, the sun had moved so t hat the light on the windows was reflected back into our faces. There was no way to tell if someone was at home or not.
“They missed the CD in the player didn’t they ? They could’ve forgotten to ask about the laptop.”
“Or not,” I grumbled .
Pearlie nodded at a bright light coming from the barn. “Someone’s working. Let’s go introduce ourselves.”
Pearlie’s stride radiated a confidence I couldn’t quite match. I was feeling guilty about removing evidence from a crime scene. Caleb, if he knew, would feel obligated to turn it in. But if it turned out to be nothing—well, best not to tell him just yet.
.
Chapter Sixteen:
Skylights had been added to let more daylight into the barn converted studio. A man in a T-shirt, overalls, and long leather welder gloves and helmet, was welding half a bronze horse to a tall ornate gate.
I nudged Pearlie. “I knew it. It’s the same as the one in the gallery.”
We stepped into
“She was born with a bifurcated skull. It’s a rare birth defect,” he said. “There’s no surgery, no therapy, no fix. She’s—she was, except for the birth defect, very normal. Her artistic abilities run in the family, though it missed me by a mile. I gave her the best private tutors and later, private art classes. I took her to museums and art shows, but the staring and whispers became too much, and after a while she stopped going. Then she stopped painting. That’s when I decided to send her out here to be with her granddad. My father was a very private person too, so it suited them both. He left her the property in his will.”
A sympathetic touch would not be welcome, so I kept my hands to myself. I asked, “Have you begun the arrangements for the funeral yet?”
“I can’t—not until the medical examiner releases her body. An autopsy, ” he said, spitting out the insulting word. “I’m going to see if I can get permission to bury her here in the plot with her granddad.”
“We’ll see what we can do about the medical examiner for you, Mac,” Pearlie said.
“Thank you. I-I would appreciate the help. I still have to contact the rest of our family. I don’t know how I will tell her mother.”
Pearlie stiffened at his comment. I knew what she was thinking. What kind of man wouldn’t immediately call the mother?
“Her mother hasn’t been well,” he said, lifting his pugnacious chin as if daring us to criticize him. “She lives in a full time care facility.”
With his explanation, Pearlie’s temperature dropped, and she took out her smart phone, snapped a copy of Bethany’s photo, and returned the original to Mac. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to talk to the residents before we leave.”
“I don’t have a problem, as long as you keep our agreement. You’ll repo rt to me what you find, right?”
He ushered us to the door, drawing it open with a flourish and whispering it closed the minute we crossed the threshold.
I followed her down the wide porch steps. Catching up with her, I pulled on her sleeve. “Wait up. We forgot to get a copy of the items Homicide took from the house.”
“We will, but rule number two of my P.I. lesson is to establish trust with the client. We had our ice breaker. We’ll be back later for a quid pro quo. That is, unless that laptop appears to be in the hands of one of the residents.”
“The detectives couldn’t have missed it.”
“It may not be on that list. Her killer could’ve taken it.”
She squinted in the changing light, looking across the hard packed dirt yard toward the cabins. Even though they were shaded by the stand of poplars, the sun had moved so t hat the light on the windows was reflected back into our faces. There was no way to tell if someone was at home or not.
“They missed the CD in the player didn’t they ? They could’ve forgotten to ask about the laptop.”
“Or not,” I grumbled .
Pearlie nodded at a bright light coming from the barn. “Someone’s working. Let’s go introduce ourselves.”
Pearlie’s stride radiated a confidence I couldn’t quite match. I was feeling guilty about removing evidence from a crime scene. Caleb, if he knew, would feel obligated to turn it in. But if it turned out to be nothing—well, best not to tell him just yet.
.
Chapter Sixteen:
Skylights had been added to let more daylight into the barn converted studio. A man in a T-shirt, overalls, and long leather welder gloves and helmet, was welding half a bronze horse to a tall ornate gate.
I nudged Pearlie. “I knew it. It’s the same as the one in the gallery.”
We stepped into
Similar Books
