Indelible Beats: An Abishag's Second Mystery (Abishag Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  The business partner, Joss Royce, had been reluctant. His flight scheduled the night before had been cancelled, and he had another for this evening. He insisted that he couldn’t fit in a visit to La Jolla. When I told him about the attack on Kat and the missing painting, he said he’d be right over.

  I hung up the phone, hands shaking. Guilt or concern? Killer or friend? Maybe Royce, the obvious suspect, had injected Jordan. No, I had to stay focused. Aaron had the most to lose and the right physique to attack Jordan.

  The doctor proved the most difficult. Since Jordan was stable, the doctor hadn’t planned to visit till later. I told him about the drama of the night before—only I fudged. I told him that we had a burglary, a piece of art stolen, and then I flat out lied. I told him that Dog thought Jordan was about the same but that I felt he was going downhill fast. I asked Doctor Millerand, as Jordan’s friend, to humor the Abishag wife.

  He said he’d drive over immediately.

  I fetched the remains of the apple strudel and a marzipan-stuffed yule log and put them on a platter to carry upstairs.

  Because the medical equipment used the power outlets in Jordan’s room, I thought it safer to plug the coffee warmer in the bathroom. I set the pastry platter on a tray beneath the large porthole window. My previous encounter last summer with a killer hadn’t been so well catered.

  The doorbell rang, and I hurried downstairs. The first of my guests had arrived.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Aaron Cochrane and Doctor Millerand entered the house together, looking suspiciously at each other and at me.

  Deception rolled off me as easily as does deference from an Abishag. “Sorry, Aaron, I noticed something different about Jordan right after I talked to you and thought I should call the doctor. Thank you both for coming.”

  As we climbed the stairs, I cautioned them to be quiet. “The aide’s sleeping. We had a bad night.”

  Surging ahead, Aaron reached Jordan’s bed first. “You were right to call, Leslie. He does look worse.”

  Jordan looked the same to me, and I could see by the doctor’s reaction that nothing had changed. Whatever his thoughts, he did the responsible thing—checked the monitors and examined Jordan.

  “Poor, sweet Ip.” Aaron blew his nose into a large handkerchief. “You were too good for this world. What will I do without you, my dear friend?”

  Since Aaron topped my suspect list, I studied him for genuine grief or regret over lost business. I had my usual difficulty spotting the difference.

  “Everything’s as expected, Miss Greene,” the doctor said. “His vitals are little changed today but as I told you yesterday, his organs are failing. He’s in no discomfort.”

  The doorbell rang. “Thank you, doctor. Would you hold that thought?”

  I hurried from the room.

  “Mister Royce,” I chirped in my best hostess voice for the disgruntled Joss Royce standing on the welcome mat. “Let’s join the others in Jordan’s room.”

  Hanging back, he looked wary. “Others? Jordan’s room?”

  I tugged his arm. “No biggie. I thought Jordan had a spell or something, but the doctor said his vitals are the same. Aaron’s here about the burglary.”

  His irritation escalated to exasperation. Unsure what annoyed Royce most, I forestalled further argument by yanking him into the foyer and shutting the door behind him. “We can talk in Jordan’s room, but please keep your voice down. The aide is sleeping.”

  I herded Royce upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind us, hoping our voices wouldn’t wake Sebastian. “Gentlemen, we need to resolve an issue before Jordan passes. Would anyone like coffee before we begin?”

  They all spoke at the same time. Aaron saying: “An issue about what?” Doctor Millerand saying: “My only concern is Jordan’s medical issues, and those are resolved.” Royce saying: “Why are you wasting my time when I have a plane to catch?”

  “Please.” I tapped a hushing finger to my lips. “For those not aware, someone robbed Jordan’s studio last night and took Indelible Beats. If it’s not recovered, we need to tell the museum?”

  “That’s my job,” Royce huffed. “No need to trouble the others.”

  The doctor picked up his bag. “I heartily agree.”

  “I should be involved.” Aaron frowned. “This is a catastrophe. Are you sure it’s gone this time? I’ll have some strudel if you offering it.”

  I shoveled a large piece onto a plate, and then what he said hit me. “This time?”

  Aaron looked longingly at the strudel, fingers flexing. “It’s been stolen and returned twenty-seven times. Reported stolen but found misplaced eleven times. Oh, never by Ip, always by a shipping clerk or exhibit personnel. Joss is a master at recovering it, no matter the cause.”

  “Oh, really?” Still gripping Aaron’s plate of strudel, I moved to the head of Jordan’s bed and studied Royce. “Just that painting? Or are other paintings lost or stolen too?”

  “Just Indelible Beats,” Royce said. “It was, is his crown jewel. After the first theft, there were copycats. Then it became a joke, a dare, fraternity pranks mostly.”

  When I moved closer to Jordan, I thought Royce seemed to deflate. His face shining with sweat, he looked everywhere but at Jordan.

  Aaron joined me, staring at the dying artist. I handed him the plate which he took, his teary gaze still fixed on Jordan. “Twenty-seven copycats. Can you imagine? Most artists would mortgage their souls for that kind of free publicity.” He smiled guilelessly and took a massive bite of strudel.

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” Aaron mouthed around the strudel.

  Waiting for a guilty expression while pretending to confront Joss Royce, I kept a narrow gaze on Aaron. Kat would be proud of my ploy to take the lawyer down. “I’m asking you, Mister Royce. Did you sell your soul? Did you steal the painting for publicity?”

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Doctor Millerand said impatiently. “Joss is Jordan’s business partner, been so for years. Jordan would never agree to publicity stunts like that.”

  Royce mopped his brow. “I had to do it,” he muttered. “I lost the real one years ago and couldn’t tell Jordan.”

  “What?” The doctor and Aaron said in shared disbelief.

  “What?” I stared at Royce, flabbergasted, my hand fumbling for Jordan’s. I’d never thought Royce attacked Kat and stole the forged painting. With all the sobbing and whining and drinking, I was sure the lawyer had to be faking grief.

  “I had Harvey Kassem paint a replica, but it was terrible. People kept questioning it so I—I started stealing it. Awfully easy when people trust you.”

  My throat tightened, but I managed, “When did Jordan find out?”

  Aaron set the half-eaten strudel on the nightstand, appearing as massively dangerous as the bear he resembled.

  “What did you do, Joss?”

  Royce’s voice dropped, wheedling like a child. “Don’t you see, Aaron? I had to do it. For Jordan’s legacy. He was going to turn me over to the police. He wouldn’t listen to reason. Everyone would only remember that Indelible Beats was a fraud. Jordan would be branded a fraud.”

  “For trusting you.” Doctor Millerand’s eyes gleamed angrily.

  “He should have kept trusting me,” Royce said. “I did it for him. For his life’s work. For his reputation.”

  I blinked as the door silently swung open, and an apparition appeared. “Instead you poisoned his reputation and his work, just as you poisoned him,” Harvey Kassem said.

  “You shot him full of heroin?” With a roar, Aaron launched himself at Royce, and they hit the floor with a crash. I clutched Jordan’s hand in mine.

  Doctor Millerand sighed. “Come on, Harvey. Help me separate them.”

  Groggy, hair standing on end, Sebastian ran into the room. Seeing the two men thrashing on the floor and the doctor ineffectually trying to separate them, Sebastian waded in. Harvey grabbed one of Aaron’s beefy arms, and the doctor grabbed th
e other. Sebastian hauled Royce off the floor.

  “You okay, Mister Royce?”

  “He shot Jordan with heroin.” When the realization hit me, I whimpered and collapsed in the chair I’d been reading in earlier. Seeing Sebastian stare at me with shock, I added, “After stealing from him over and over.”

  “I did not,” Royce whined, whether from the sting of my accusation or because Sebastian squeezed his arm.

  Harvey understood me. “Every time you took that fake painting, Jordan felt the loss of the real one. By the time you jammed that needle in him, you’d already killed his spirit.”

  Fighting tears, I swallowed. Joss Royce had done this. To my Jordan.

  Releasing Aaron, Harvey stepped closer Royce. “I told the police what happened when I found Jordan overdosed. Till today, they didn’t believe me. They’re on their way here now.”

  Royce shoved Sebastian so hard that he fell across Jordan. I shrieked—for Sebastian or for Jordan—I’m not sure. Royce bolted out the door and down the stairs.

  “Don’t worry,” Harvey said. “I’ve a friend waiting…” A loud crash cut him off.

  Rolling off the bed, Sebastian shot from the room. Leaving Jordan to the doctor’s care, I ran after Sebastian. We hung over the rail and stared at the scene below. Royce lay sprawled and moaning at the foot of the stairs, while a familiar, portly man held a cracked cake dome over his head.

  “Ho there.” Stegner waved cheerily. “Hope I’ve not missed Christmas dinner.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “The cake dome was a last minute substitution,” Stegner said.

  Moving purposefully between the yard and the open sliders, the police had taken control of the situation. Two talked to Harvey in the front yard while paramedics strapped Royce to a gurney. Sebastian, Stegner, and I watched from the living room, trying to stay out of the way.

  “I’d planned to use the hat rack, but while Harvey railed at the little guy upstairs, I took a closer look. Carved by the great man himself during his sculpting period. His signature’s behind the prong that twists backwards.”

  The same prong where I’d hung my bag on my first night. I guess Jordan had left some of his art in the house after all.

  I remembered my manners. “We’d planned dinner later, Mister Stegner, but I can make a fresh pot of coffee. Also, we’ve some sliced strudel and a yule log upstairs. If you don’t mind waiting till the police leave?”

  “Dear me, I wouldn’t want to impose, but when I lifted this dome for striking the miscreant, I saw a lovely fruitcake.” Stegner gave me a poignant look, and I laughed. In that moment, even with the police milling about the grounds and house, Kat in the hospital and the man responsible for it being carted away, everything seemed lighter.

  With Sebastian leading the way, we snuck through the kitchen into the dining room. I put out plates, silverware and a carton of eggnog while Sebastian sliced the fruitcake.

  After the ambulance left and the police finished with statements from Aaron and the doctor upstairs, the police moved into the living room. They took statements from us separately. I referred the police to Aaron for anything to do with the forgeries and the agency lawyers for anything to do with me. I felt a pang thinking about Donovan, wondering how he’d react if the police contacted him.

  The police eventually left with bags of gingerbread and sliced yule log, all of us exchanging “Merry Christmas” till I shut the door with relief.

  Harvey hovered uncomfortably in the dining room till Sebastian pushed him into a chair at the table and passed him a slice of fruitcake. While I filled glasses with eggnog, Stegner started to explain about aborting his trip across the border when the front door opened.

  “Les?” Kat appeared at the dining door with Dog behind her holding her upright.

  I squealed, “They let you out early!” I rushed to hug her, trying not to jostle her bandaged head.

  With blankets and pillows for the invalid and Sebastian hovering nearby, Dog settled Kat on the living room sofa. I ferried food and drink into the living room.

  “…overheard you talking to Mister Royce, which...” Carrying his plate into the living room, Stegner waved a forkful of fruitcake at Harvey. “Kid, I was telling Kat here about why you fled the house yesterday.”

  Harvey slid me a sheepish look. “Sorry about that. I knew the paintings were being shipped, and I had to stop Royce from sending the forged Indelible Beats. I saw you looking at it. I thought you were all in on it with Royce.”

  “In on what?” I asked.

  “The caper,” Kat said. Her eyes glittered beneath the rakish gauze covering most of her head. “Joss sold the original years ago and used Harvey’s copy as a placeholder in the safe, counting on the fact that Jordan rarely looked at his old stuff.”

  “He didn’t really like that painting,” Harvey said. “Thought Mute Strings should have been the centerpiece of the Glottal Stop movement, if any of his work would be. Though if you asked him, he’d say that he preferred Eskers’ Timbale.” Harvey’s head dipped to hide a sad smile. “He never saw his own genius.”

  “When did you know that Royce tried to kill him?” Sebastian asked.

  “I found Jordan with a needle stuck in him, near dead. I couldn’t believe it, but his lawyer and Doctor Millerand didn’t seem surprised. The doc said Jordan had been prone to fits of depression over the years, and Mister Cochrane said that Jordan had been especially sad after that crow of his died.”

  I sat up alertly. Jordan had a pet crow?

  “I didn’t think him depressed but figured his friends knew him better than me. I mean, he had been preoccupied in the days before the overdose, but…”

  I understood. I had been puzzled that everyone saw Jordan differently. Maybe Harvey and I should have trusted our instincts about Jordan rather than trusting his friends. Then again, I’d thought Jordan was Dracula, so maybe I shouldn’t have been trusted at all.

  “I knew Jordan had been pressuring Mister Royce to exhibit the original Indelible Beats,” Harvey said. “It hadn’t appeared in public in years, not since the rash of attempted thefts. Royce said a copy was the only way to keep the original safe, so we kept the copy in the studio and the original in some bank somewhere. Now we know what happened to it.”

  Stegner modestly wiped his mouth. “I made a few calls. A colleague of mine acted as a go-between for Royce and a buyer.”

  “The original is gone?” Kat leaned against her pillow, her voice anguished.

  Harvey smiled. “Not exactly. I’d copied a few of Jordan’s paintings, better copies than the one you saw. It’d been nice having the originals, but when the first burglary happened—something felt off. So I substituted my copies for his seminal pieces and sent the originals into safekeeping.”

  Noticing our rapt attention, his smile faded. “When Royce asked me to make a copy, I knew something was wrong. He told me that he’d secured the original somewhere safe and that telling Jordan would only worry him.” He shrugged. “The studio’s safe is supposed to be the best—no one could break into it.”

  I glanced at Kat, who grinned innocently.

  “I waited to see if Royce would bring back my first copy, but he kept fobbing Jordan off with excuses. I never thought he’d try murder. After Professor Stegner told me about Royce fencing the copy, I knew he’d been the one who shot Jordan full of heroin.”

  It suddenly occurred to me I hadn’t seen the doctor and Aaron since Royce had fled Jordan’s room. The police had been upstairs and taken statements. Except for the faint beeping of medical equipment, I hadn’t heard anything since. “I’ll be right back,” I said. My gold ballet flats flashed up the stairs.

  I found Aaron and Doctor Millerand sitting near Jordan, Aaron holding my husband’s hand and the doctor’s fingers on his pulse.

  “Is Jordan okay?” I asked.

  Tears welling, Aaron shook his head. “Ip’s leaving us, Leslie.”

  At my horrified look, the doctor said gently, “It’s what
we expected, Miss Greene. Be happy for him. He’s going peacefully.”

  “But he’d been fine this morning. I thought he’d at least have Christmas.”

  “He’s going peacefully,” Aaron repeated, a tear rolling down his cratered face.

  I sat on the bed, near Jordan’s feet, trying to see peace on his melancholy face. I’d hoped that by finding out the truth in his presence that Jordan would find justice. Maybe I’d hastened his end with the near-riot.

  In the middle of my anguished apology, Aaron patted my arm. “You are an excellent Abishag wife. You heard what the doctor said—he’s at peace.”

  We listened to Jordan’s breathing slow and watched the monitors measure his heartbeats. First Sebastian came up, then Dog supporting Kat, and finally Stegner who retreated to a chair next to the platter of pastries and punctuated the quiet with rumbling sighs.

  Maybe it didn’t matter that none of his friends knew him. Maybe that’s not the duty of friends. Maybe it only mattered that these friends sat with Jordan Ippel so he would not die alone.

  Aaron, Harvey and Doctor Millerand seemed to draw strength from one another as they shared stories about Jordan. I learned that Jordan had never coped well with fans, probably because he never believed in his own work. Yet maybe now he could feel some contentment in the presence of Kat, a true fan who ardently loved his work and believed in his genius. While Dog tended Jordan’s dying body and wiped the tears of his grieving Kat, she alternately leaned against him and me. Even in pain, she refused to leave.

  As if torn between loyalty to his grandfather’s friend and his grandfather’s wife, Sebastian sat midway between Jordan’s bed and where Kat, Dog and I sat. I wondered if he was remembering the Jordan who taught him how to make art with potatoes. I still didn’t know why Sebastian waited with us as Christmas dwindled into evening. I did know that when his gaze fell on me, I felt comforted.

  As for me, Jordan’s Abishag wife, I was glad to have known him even in the muddled way he’d become “my Jordan.” In sharing his final hours, I’d never forget the angular lines of his melancholy face and the sound of his heartbeat.