Death by Dragonfly Page 4

  He sighed as if she’d told him to roll a boulder uphill. “I’ll talk to them again.”

  Bonnie wrung her hands. “I’m really worried. What if Graber comes on our show and brings those snakes? I’ll faint, I know I will.”

  “He can bring whatever he likes,” Ellin said. “He’s not getting on any of my shows. I need more information on Graber. Randall, he doesn’t know you. Make yourself useful and go to the next taping of Cosmic Healer.”

  Was she actually asking a favor? “I can do that.”

  “Cam, you go with him and get the real inside story.”

  His eyes went wide. “Ellie, the man has two huge snakes.”

  She ignored his concern. “You don’t have to be anywhere near them. I really need some dirt on this guy. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.”

  Bonnie clutched his arm. “Please, Cam. Teresa and I are really worried he may try to take over our show.”

  With three women pleading—well, two pleading and one demanding—Camden didn’t stand a chance. He made one last attempt to change Ellin’s mind. “You sure you don’t want to send Reg?”

  That was the last thing Ellin wanted to do. “Graber knows Reg works for me. I don’t think he’s met you. He may not even know we’re married. I’m Ellin Belton at work.”

  I wanted to say, what kind of psychic is this guy if he doesn’t know, but stopped myself. Ellin had said, “Reg works for me,” and Reg had let that remark about his standing in the PSN pass without debate.

  Ellin gave Camden one of her X-rated looks that means good things are in his future. “If you do a little spying for me, I could probably let you skip a couple of visits to the studio.”

  In order to keep the Earth spinning safely on its axis, I occasionally take Camden to the PSN. He refuses to take part in any of the shows, but it satisfies Ellin to have him stop by. I think she figures eventually he’ll miss the spotlight and want to host a program. He and Ellin are forever bartering over his studio time.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Four?”

  “Six.”

  “Five.”

  “Okay. But I’m only spying one time.”

  “Deal.” She knew one time would be all he needed.

  This problem solved, Bonnie and Teresa thanked him and chatted on about guests they wanted to book for the next season of Ready to Believe and the big psychic fair they were planning to hold at the Ramada Inn.

  Reg wandered over to another part of the set. I followed, curious about his mood.

  “So, other than the takeover threat by Graber, how are things going at the network?”

  The old slick Reg was back. “Not bad. Of course if Ellin would listen to some of my suggestions, things would run smoother. I have all kinds of ideas for spicing things up. I think a psychic Olympics would be a real ratings-grabber.”

  “Long-distance readings, mental gymnastics, synchronized visions?”

  I was kidding, but Reg took me seriously. “Exactly. If Ellin wasn’t so fired up about Graber, I’d have a chance to present my better ideas.”

  Ellin doesn’t need an excuse not to listen to Reg. “Camden and I will find out his evil schemes.”

  “Honey says my ideas are wonderful.”

  “Honey?”

  His face got all goofy. “That’s what I call my girlfriend. You should see her, Randall. She’s perfect.”

  Oh, now we were getting to it. “Congratulations.”

  Reg waggled his eyebrows. “You know what I mean. You’re in the same situation.”

  I glared till he stepped back. “If you’re comparing my relationship with Kary to one of your little flings, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  He put both hands out to ward me off. “Take it easy, Randall. I meant she’s a younger woman, that’s all. I thought you’d understand.”

  “How old is your little Honey?”

  He straightened his tie. “Twenty-one. Perfectly respectable. I’m twenty-nine.”

  “Plus ten.”

  Offended, his face turned red under the perfect tan. “You can check my bio.”

  The best lie I’d heard all day. “Give it up, Reg. Camden’s the only one around here who can get away with looking younger than his age. I don’t care if you’ve got yourself a little tootsie, but don’t insult my intelligence.”

  “I’ll have you know I am twenty-nine years old.”

  “You know, sometimes when you’ve gone too long without sex, it scrambles your brain.”

  Reg huffed and decided this wasn’t worth a reply. He probably couldn’t think of a snappy rejoinder. If he had a new girlfriend—a new young girlfriend—he’d be a lot happier. He sulked through the rest of the meeting and left before the others. I said good-bye to Bonnie and Teresa while Ellin gave Camden one of her special extra-long kisses. I think it would almost be worth listening to her complaints to be kissed like that. Almost.

  Camden decided to stay for a while, and I certainly couldn’t blame him, so I returned to the Fury and checked my phone. Nothing from Richard Mason or Nancy Piper. I drove to the Parkland Art Museum and discovered Ms. Piper had left for the day. Too busy to check her messages, or avoiding me? The same thing was true at the Little Gallery, which was closed and locked. Had Mason skipped town with the dragonfly in his pocket?

  Discouraged by my lack of any further clues, I drove home. When I arrived, Kary was sitting on the porch, and my mood immediately improved. As usual, she looked fantastic, even in jeans shorts and a pink sleeveless blouse. Her long silky blond hair was pulled back in a graceful ponytail. Gold hoop earrings dangled from her perfect ears. She raised her can of diet soda in greeting.

  I leaned in for a kiss. “How was the workshop?”

  “Extremely boring. Do you know how hard it is to sit in a meeting for four hours on such a beautiful day? Now I know how my students feel. Let me get you a drink.”

  “No, that’s fine. Don’t get up.” I pulled another rocking chair up beside hers and slid into it. “I had a snack at Janice’s.”

  I know what I see when I look at Kary, and I know what she sees when she looks at me, besides a damned good-looking man, that is. I’m six years older, twice divorced, with little or no prospects—in other words, a real catch. However, our relationship had recently taken a giant leap forward. “So, when are you moving in with me?”

  She set her soda can down by her chair. “We need to talk about that.”

  “If you’re concerned about your reputation, marry me. I’ll make an honest woman out of you.”

  This teased a smile from her. “No, it’s not that.”

  “If you think I took advantage of your fragile mental state, think again. You started it.”

  Another smile. “I wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t wanted to. I’m not sure where this leaves us.”

  “Better than ever.”

  “You still want to get married, though.”

  What’s the problem? “That would be the next logical step, yes. The fact that the honeymoon came first spices things up.”

  “I know we joke about it, but I’m not comfortable with the idea.”

  I’d run into this before. Kary’s sheltered ultra-religious upbringing had prevented her from experiencing a normal childhood, and her disastrous teen pregnancy and subsequent health issues had taken two years out of her life. That one rebellious act and the depression that followed almost killed her until Camden took her in.

  I did not want her to have any reservations. “We don’t have to get married. We can continue to live in sin as long as you like.”

  This, as I’d hoped, made her smile again.

  “But you want a family, David. So do I.”

  That’s what Lindsey wanted for me, too. “Then we’ll find a way to do that. We can do like Camden does and pick family memb
ers off the street.”

  “We could.” Kary picked up her soda and took a sip. “Here’s something else I’m thinking about. During that boring workshop, I had an idea. As much as I love working with the little ones, I want to take some classes in guidance and become a counselor. I think I’m qualified to help other girls avoid the mistakes I made.”

  “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “This doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my adoption plans, but for now, I need to channel all my baby issues into something useful. Plus it will keep me from going after Rufus.”

  “We must save Rufus at all costs.”

  “On a lighter note—and do not laugh—I’m going for Miss Panorama.”

  “Why would I laugh? I love seeing you in a tiara.”

  “I know I said I was through with pageants, but there’s plenty of prize money in this one if I win.”

  I knew what she meant. Every extra cent she made went into a special adoption fee bank account.

  “You will.” I couldn’t believe she didn’t win every pageant she entered. As good as she looked in jeans, in an evening gown, she could stop your heart. In a bathing suit, forget nine-one-one. You’d already died and gone to heaven. “How’s the music festival coming along?”

  Kary had been invited to accompany several of the performers. “Pretty well. I know some of the art songs, but I’ll have to work on the others.”

  Art Nouveau, art songs. We were getting pretty arty around here. “Is an art song different from a regular song?”

  “They’re musical settings of poems in a classical style, usually written for one voice with piano accompaniment. ‘Oh, Promise Me’ is one and ‘O Perfect Love.’ You’ve heard Cam sing those for weddings. ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ is another fairly well-known song. These folks are going for the hard-core stuff, though. Brahms, Beethoven, Scarlatti. So I’ll be practicing a lot.”

  I always enjoyed hearing her play, no matter what type of music. “I don’t mind that.”

  She changed the subject. “You’re cooking tonight, I believe. What’re we having?”

  “Chicken pie.”

  “Sounds delicious. How about your cases? Anything happening?”

  “My latest client, Leo Pierson, has an extensive collection of Art Nouveau objects. This past Saturday night, someone disabled his alarm system and stole several objects.” I showed her the pictures. “That’s not all. Pierson’s the main suspect in the mysterious disappearance of Samuel Gallant. Mysterious, no more. Camden and I found his body at his museum in Madison.” Recalling Gallant’s dead face and the sickening thud his body had made on the floor gave me a sudden shiver.

  Kary stopped rocking, eyes wide. “Oh, my God. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. There weren’t any signs of a struggle or the use of a weapon or poison, and it’s doubtful Jordan is going to tell me the cause of death. One of Pierson’s Art Nouveau spoons was on the floor behind Gallant’s body. On Sunday afternoon, he showed that spoon to his niece and hinted his money troubles would soon be over, so looks like he’s the culprit, but the deal went south.”

  “Did you say Samuel Gallant?”

  “That’s right. Do you know him?”

  “If it’s the same man, he’s supposed to be one of the pageant judges. Hang on.” She took out her phone. “There’ll be some info on the pageant website.” In a few minutes, she read, “‘The Miss Panorama Pageant welcomes new judges Allison Carter, owner of the Your Best Look Salon; Gina Anderson, former Miss Tidal Basin; and Samuel Gallant of the Princeton Gallery in Madison.”

  “That’s the guy. Is there anything else about him? Maybe he riled one of the other judges.”

  She tapped her phone. “No, but the pageant director might know more. I’ll find out.”

  “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your pageant doings.”

  “I think this is a little more important. Plus you know I love it.”

  “We could make it a full-time job.”

  “There would be quite a few disappointed second-graders at Parkland Elementary next fall.”

  “Oh, they’d get over it. Kids are tough.” I got up. “I’ll get started on my pie.”

  I’m a decent cook, which had surprised the ladies of the house. “Think about it,” I’d told them that first night they were treated to one of my famous chicken recipes, Chicken Kiev a la Randall. “Two wives, two kitchens, two sets of cookware. It was inevitable.”

  Since we’re on a strict budget here at 302 Grace, there’re always lots of stews and casseroles involving leftovers in creative ways. Camden’s specialty is lasagna, which is always delicious, and we finally convinced Kary to stop making tuna casserole.

  I had sprayed a baking dish with cooking spray and was rolling the dough for the crust when Kary came in with her laptop and sat down at the counter.

  “I sent a message to the pageant director. He’d heard that Gallant was missing and said the committee was going to have to replace him, anyway, because he insisted on being paid. Judges usually don’t get paid for these pageants. Maybe on a national level, but not for Miss Panorama.”

  “Gallant was desperate for money.”

  “I’d say so. The director said they had a big argument about it.”

  “Did Gallant have any family other than his niece?”

  Kary was way ahead of me. “No, I Googled him and found practically nothing. Oh, and here’s a little something about Art Nouveau. It was an artistic movement that was very brief, only twenty years or so, at the turn of the nineteenth century. The artists emphasized flowing lines and plant forms, all curves and waves. It was sort of a back-to-nature rebellion against all the other more formal styles.”

  She turned the laptop so I could see the pictures of little curved spoons and the flowing hair on the mermaid’s head. “That’s it, all right,” I said.

  “There are all kinds of plant and insect designs. People had furniture, stained-glass windows, even homes made in the Art Nouveau style. Here are some good pictures from the All Color Book of Art Nouveau.”

  The All Color Book of Art Nouveau was a tall, slim red book with an artistic swirl of black on the front. I checked out the gold vase with shiny blue flowers growing up its sides, a stylistic stained-glass window depicting a young woman dressed in a flowing gold-and-blue gown with butterflies on the sleeves and pearls on her fancy headdress, a leafy staircase that appeared to melt around the corner of the stairs, and swirly doorways that shared pages with sloping spindly chairs and women’s serene white faces growing out of lamps and ashtrays. There was even a picture of a glass dragonfly, a lifelike creation with clear veined wings, a long shiny body, and two large Pierson-like eyes.

  “This must be one like Pierson’s prototype.”

  Kary took a closer look. “It’s beautiful.”

  “According to the book, it’s called a car mascot and it’s designed to change colors the faster you drive.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having one on Turbo.” She took back the laptop and showed me another page. “Here’s the newspaper account of the robbery.” She clicked a few keys. “It says here that Mr. Leo Pierson of 1411 Amber Street was robbed on Saturday night or sometime early Sunday morning. Missing are several valuable objects from Mr. Pierson’s extensive collection of Art Nouveau. Police found a broken window at the back of the house and the alarm system had been disconnected.”

  “Disconnected. I’m going to have to find out more about that.”

  Kary glanced at the cow-shaped clock above the sink. “How long does your pie need to cook?”

  “About an hour.”

  “Then get on your running shorts and chase me around the block. I need to get in shape for the pageant.”

  Chapter Five

  “Are You With Me?”

  By the time Ellin and Camden came home, not only had Kary and I run
around several blocks, we’d had time to enjoy ourselves in the shower and the chicken pie was perfect—golden brown and crispy. We also had green peas, peaches another friend of Camden’s had brought back from the eastern part of the state, and the usual gallons of iced tea. I never drank much tea until I moved South, and I can never drink it as thick and sweet as Camden does, but I’d learned to like it a lot, especially on hot days like this. I’d learned to like ham biscuits, too, and collard greens and sweet potato pie.

  Vermillion wandered in and pulled up a chair. She had leaves in her red hair and her love beads and bells made a jangly noise as they hit the edge of the table.

  “I had a super groovy day in the park. There’s this guy who says I can crash at his place, but he wants forty dollars. You got forty dollars I can have, Cam?”

  “I think you’ll be better off here.”

  “You see some radical thing happening in the future?”

  Even I could foresee that a random guy met in the park and in need of cash was all about free love and no consequences.

  “Yes,” Camden said. “Drugs for him and jail for you.”

  “Oh, then maybe I oughta stay here. Oh, man, is that chicken pie? I was going vegan, but that smells too good.”

  Camden passed the pie. “You can go vegan tomorrow.”

  She dug out a big chunk and plopped it onto her plate. “Solid.” She gulped down her dinner with annoying smacking sounds. Ordinarily, Ellin would have plenty to say about Camden’s boarders, but tonight, she complimented me on the meal. She didn’t even fuss at Camden for passing little pieces of chicken down to Cindy and Oreo, who waited patiently under his chair.

  Vermillion wiped her mouth with the back of her hand until Kary handed her a napkin. “Thanks. I heard this amazing poet in the park today. I can’t remember everything he said, but one poem was called ‘Living in Harmony,’ and one of the lines was ‘Peace for these troubled times starts with the few and ends with the many.’ Isn’t that profound? I love poetry. Maybe he’d let me move in with him.”

  Camden tried to dissuade her from another disastrous choice. “Poets usually live alone so they can create.”