evening before? Maybe he heard something—a noise, an argument, a cry in the night—and decided to take a look in one of the windows to see what was going on. A neighbor might have a key.
Chess checked his watch. It was eleven fifteen. Whoever this asshole was, he was late. Feeling frustrated, he kicked a stone down the hill, scanning the park for anyone who might be walking toward the tower. With the exception of a mother and her two kids sitting in the grass on a blanket, and a man seated on a bench eating a fast-food burger, the park was deserted.
“So how long am I supposed to wait?” he muttered. As he slid the cheap cell phone out of his pocket, it began to vibrate.
“Hello?” he said, stepping into the shade.
“I can’t come,” said the blackmailer’s voice. “We’ll have to reschedule.” Without waiting for a response, he hung up.
“Wait. Hello? Hello?” Chess flipped the phone closed. What the hell? Before he could come to a decision on what to do next, his own cell rang.
“Yeah?” he said, unable, or more likely unwilling, to keep the aggravation out of his voice.
“Chess? Is that you?”
It was Irina. She sounded upset. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Mom. She’s dead. You’ve got to help me. You have to come over here.”
“Where are you?”
“The gallery. Mom’s office. Someone murdered her.”
His mind began to spin. “God, that’s … God.” He swallowed back his shock. “You need to stay calm. Can you do that for me?”
“I think so.”
“Have you checked the entire gallery? Are you alone?”
“I never thought of that,” she said, her voice rising. “What if the killer is still in the building?”
“Can you lock your mom’s office door?” He heard it slam shut, then the sound of a bolt being thrown.
“It’s locked.”
“This is a more difficult question. Have you touched the—I mean, your mother? Is her skin cold?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding strangled.
“That probably means whoever did this to her is long gone. Have you called the police?”
“Not yet.”
“Perfect. Just stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Hurry.”
* * *
Chess bounded up the steps to the double front doors, relieved to find them open. As soon as he was inside, he turned and locked the doors behind him.
He’d only been upstairs once. Slicing his way through the shambles of the once elegant gallery, he bolted to the back stairway and took the steps two at a time.
“Chess, is that you?” came Irina’s frantic voice through the closed office door.
“I’m here.”
A second later, Irina emerged looking deathly white. She fell into his arms. “I thought you were never going to get here.”
He held her, feeling her body shiver through her light cotton dress. “I need to see your mom.”
She seemed grateful as she took his hand and led him into the office. Morgana’s body, her eyes closed, the front of her fuzzy sweater gummy with blood, sat hunched against the back of her chair, her head lolling to one side. “Is this the way you found her?”
“No. She was slumped across the desk.”
Chess took hold of Morgana’s shoulders and eased her back down. “It looks like a gunshot. You saw the entrance wound, right?”
She gave a stiff nod.
“The front doors were open.”
“They were?”
He looked around for a bullet casing but couldn’t find one. The shooter could have used a revolver, or maybe he was just careful. Chess gave himself a minute to think it through. “The guy must have been standing in front of the desk. What’s this?” He nodded to a file folder open on the desk. “Looks like a trust agreement. You know anything about that?”
“She did it years ago. She and her lawyer go over it every spring. If there are any changes in the documents, she talks to me about them, but there hardly ever are any. It’s just a formality.”
He crossed back to the door, staring into the living room. “What are these
Chess checked his watch. It was eleven fifteen. Whoever this asshole was, he was late. Feeling frustrated, he kicked a stone down the hill, scanning the park for anyone who might be walking toward the tower. With the exception of a mother and her two kids sitting in the grass on a blanket, and a man seated on a bench eating a fast-food burger, the park was deserted.
“So how long am I supposed to wait?” he muttered. As he slid the cheap cell phone out of his pocket, it began to vibrate.
“Hello?” he said, stepping into the shade.
“I can’t come,” said the blackmailer’s voice. “We’ll have to reschedule.” Without waiting for a response, he hung up.
“Wait. Hello? Hello?” Chess flipped the phone closed. What the hell? Before he could come to a decision on what to do next, his own cell rang.
“Yeah?” he said, unable, or more likely unwilling, to keep the aggravation out of his voice.
“Chess? Is that you?”
It was Irina. She sounded upset. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Mom. She’s dead. You’ve got to help me. You have to come over here.”
“Where are you?”
“The gallery. Mom’s office. Someone murdered her.”
His mind began to spin. “God, that’s … God.” He swallowed back his shock. “You need to stay calm. Can you do that for me?”
“I think so.”
“Have you checked the entire gallery? Are you alone?”
“I never thought of that,” she said, her voice rising. “What if the killer is still in the building?”
“Can you lock your mom’s office door?” He heard it slam shut, then the sound of a bolt being thrown.
“It’s locked.”
“This is a more difficult question. Have you touched the—I mean, your mother? Is her skin cold?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding strangled.
“That probably means whoever did this to her is long gone. Have you called the police?”
“Not yet.”
“Perfect. Just stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Hurry.”
* * *
Chess bounded up the steps to the double front doors, relieved to find them open. As soon as he was inside, he turned and locked the doors behind him.
He’d only been upstairs once. Slicing his way through the shambles of the once elegant gallery, he bolted to the back stairway and took the steps two at a time.
“Chess, is that you?” came Irina’s frantic voice through the closed office door.
“I’m here.”
A second later, Irina emerged looking deathly white. She fell into his arms. “I thought you were never going to get here.”
He held her, feeling her body shiver through her light cotton dress. “I need to see your mom.”
She seemed grateful as she took his hand and led him into the office. Morgana’s body, her eyes closed, the front of her fuzzy sweater gummy with blood, sat hunched against the back of her chair, her head lolling to one side. “Is this the way you found her?”
“No. She was slumped across the desk.”
Chess took hold of Morgana’s shoulders and eased her back down. “It looks like a gunshot. You saw the entrance wound, right?”
She gave a stiff nod.
“The front doors were open.”
“They were?”
He looked around for a bullet casing but couldn’t find one. The shooter could have used a revolver, or maybe he was just careful. Chess gave himself a minute to think it through. “The guy must have been standing in front of the desk. What’s this?” He nodded to a file folder open on the desk. “Looks like a trust agreement. You know anything about that?”
“She did it years ago. She and her lawyer go over it every spring. If there are any changes in the documents, she talks to me about them, but there hardly ever are any. It’s just a formality.”
He crossed back to the door, staring into the living room. “What are these
Similar Books
