Drawn Read online

  Her phone buzzed with a text from Nick. Two interviews set up this morning. Should have customer list from Optima by the time we’re done. Pick you up at nine?

  Perfect. She hit send, downed the rest of her coffee, and hit the shower. While she showered she made a list of things to double-check. Follow up on toxicology report from the ME’s office. Review the crime scene photos and check with the crime scene analysts to see if they had found anything new to report. By the time she was clean, she was satisfied they would accomplish a lot this morning, which was good since they were attending Jill’s funeral in the afternoon. She didn’t hold out a lot of hope it would be helpful, but it would be a good place to observe a lot of people who knew Jill and try to glean some insights into her day-to-day life.

  Standing in front of her closet, she selected a plain black suit and a royal blue shirt, deciding that was somber enough for the occasion. When she leaned down to pick a pair of shoes off the rack in her closet, she groaned at her sore back, blaming it on too little sleep and no exercise. Her mind flashed to the home gym at Riley’s apartment, and she idly wondered if Riley worked out every day or if she was naturally buff. Thinking about Riley’s body caused her own to grow uncomfortably warm, and she switched focus.

  No one was in that good of shape without working at it. With the element of surprise, Riley could easily have strangled Jill Shasta and posed her in front of the mural, but why? Motive wasn’t an element of murder, but prosecutors liked to build their cases around it, and juries often demanded it to give order to chaos because without motive, anyone could do anything, and it was all so unpredictable.

  She shoved all thoughts about Riley, professional and personal, to the back of her head and pledged to focus on the other people on the list, to keep an open mind. She’d barely finished getting ready before Nick texted to say he was driving down her street. She set the security system, locked the door, and walked to the sidewalk just as he pulled up to her house.

  “I was going to come in for breakfast,” he said as she slid into the passenger seat.

  “The cupboards are bare. I haven’t been shopping in days.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Drank it all. If you’re wrangling for a meal, let’s swing through Bubba’s and get a biscuit. It’s going to be a long day.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I haven’t slept all week and I need a boost of some kind if we’re going to keep up this pace.”

  “I’m all about carb-loading as long as you don’t mention it to Cheryl. If she finds out, I’ll be eating kale all weekend.” He patted his stomach. “She’s having my DNA tested to determine what diet would be best for me. I mean, she’s doing it for her too, but have you seen her? The woman doesn’t need to diet.”

  Claire laughed. Nick’s wife was drop-dead gorgeous, and the combination of her good looks and brilliant medical mind made her one of the most sought after OB/GYNs in Dallas. Nick constantly remarked that Cheryl was too good for him, but Claire knew better. He was handsome for sure, but his best qualities were his sharp brain, strong work ethic, and, at the top of the list, he was one of the most compassionate people she knew, a trait she admired even when his insistence on seeing situations from both sides caused them to butt heads. “Biscuits on me,” she said, pulling into the drive-through at Bubba’s.

  A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a mid-rise office building in Oak Lawn where they were supposed to meet with Gweneth Waters, a member of the sketch club. Claire took one last bite from her biscuit, careful to keep from dropping crumbs on her suit, and handed the rest to Nick who’d already gulped his down.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Before you shove that in your mouth, tell me what we know about this woman.”

  He gazed longingly at the food and sighed. “She’s been a member of the group for about a year. Her favorite medium is watercolor, and she likes to spend time at the lake, taking long walks and an occasional bike ride.”

  “Sounds like a personal ad,” Claire observed.

  “I don’t make this shit up. I found it on her online profile. She’s seeking a like soul on several different hookup sites.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She’s a bookkeeper for Duncan Estes, the accounting firm.”

  “Duncan is a pretty big firm. They probably have vending machines,” Claire observed.

  “As do hundreds of other businesses in Dallas.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Nick said.

  “What did you tell her about why we want to talk to her?”

  “I was vague. Said we were looking into some issues with crime reports in her neighborhood. It was her idea for us to talk to her at work.”

  “Sounds good.” While Nick chomped down on his biscuit, Claire ran through a mental checklist of the questions she wanted to ask. Some cops would’ve been satisfied with whatever info they could find off social media and a quick phone conversation, but Claire preferred in-person interviews for the subtle clues they provided.

  A few minutes later, Gweneth, a petite brunette who looked to be in her mid-fifties, ushered them into her office. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “If there are horrible things going on in my neighborhood, I want it rooted out immediately, and I’ll do anything I can to help. You know, a new family moved in down the block about a month ago. I don’t want to cast aspersions, but I suspected something was off right away.”

  Claire exchanged a look with Nick. This could go off the rails fast if they didn’t rein it in. “Actually, another matter has come up that we’d like to talk to you about.”

  Gweneth scooted to the edge of her chair and leaned forward. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “We understand you were part of the Eastside sketch club that met last weekend in Deep Ellum.”

  She nodded eagerly. “I can hardly believe we were yards away from where that poor woman was found.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “Unbelievable, the amount of crime in our city.” Her eyes widened. “You’re here looking for clues, aren’t you?”

  “We’re talking to everyone who was in the area that day,” Nick said. “It’s possible you saw or heard something that might be significant, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.”

  Gweneth rested her chin in her hand and stared at the ceiling like she was thinking deep thoughts. Claire was on the verge of losing patience with her since she was clearly so invested in the drama, it was possible she’d make something up to seem important or insert herself into the case.

  “I wish I could help you, but I was very focused on my work that day. Would you like to see my drawings?” She didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out her phone and scrolling. She handed the phone to Claire who turned it so both she and Nick could look. There were a total of four photos, each one depicting the mural where Jill Shasta’s body had been found. The sketches were better than what she could have drawn, but even to her untrained eye, they were amateurish, and a completely different style than the rough sketch they’d found at the scene.

  “These are very good,” Claire lied. “How long have you been part of the group?”

  “Only about six months. I started drawing late in life, but it’s become a passion. I get to combine that with my love of the city, and it’s a perfect combination.”

  “I always think of art as kind of a solitary pursuit,” Nick said. “You know, the artist alone in their garret, painting away. How does that group thing work for you all?”

  “I’ll confess, I don’t always like the critiques,” Gweneth said. “I feel like some of the others think they’re too good for the rest of us, but I’m not sure I’d be comfortable sketching in some parts of town on my own, so there’s that. Besides urban sketching is the big scene right now, and I don’t want to miss out on any opportunities.”

  Claire assumed what she hoped was a sympathetic expression. “I can only imagine.” Gweneth Waters
sounded like an opportunistic busybody, and Claire wondered if the other people in the group had the same thoughts.

  Nick pulled out a picture of Jill Shasta and held it out to her. “Do you know this woman?”

  “Is that the dead girl? No, I’ve never seen her before. She was very pretty.”

  Claire took note of how fast Gweneth answered the did you know her question, but that, by itself, wasn’t particularly telling. Lots of people rushed through the topic of death. “We’re particularly interested in whether you saw anything or anyone out of the ordinary that day. Anything that stuck with you?”

  Gweneth pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in a grand display of thought. “Nothing comes to mind. The woman who runs the thrift shop kept walking around outside, loading her truck. It was very distracting, but I suppose it’s part of her job, so I didn’t say anything.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Who knows what was in all those boxes?”

  Claire felt Nick shift in his seat beside her and silently willed him not to react. “Did the boxes look heavy?”

  “I guess. Some of the others dropped what they were doing and helped out, but I mean we were there to work too, so…” She didn’t finish the sentence, perhaps realizing she sounded a little bitchy.

  “Buster said everyone went to the Ginger Man after the session that night. Did you join them?” Claire asked.

  “I did, but only for a quick drink.” Gweneth frowned. “Am I a suspect?”

  Claire smiled. “We’re merely trying to establish a timeline and it would help to know when the entire group was no longer in the area, giving the killer time to make his move.”

  “I left right around the time that Buster did. There were about three people still there when I left, Riley, Jensen, and Warren.”

  “I guess you don’t know how long they stayed?”

  “You’d have to ask them. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  Claire doubted that statement was true. “Thanks, we will. Anything else you can think of?”

  “No, but I’ll definitely let you know if anything comes to mind.” She frowned again. “Do you think I’m in danger?”

  Nick shook his head. “We don’t have any reason to believe this is anything other than a one-time event. Of course, you should be careful wherever you are, but as long as you stay aware of your surroundings, you should be fine.”

  On their way to the car, Claire chided him. “Do you think it was wise to tell her this is a one-time thing?”

  “Do you have any reason to believe that it isn’t?”

  “No, but it does have a weird feel about it. Like the killer was doing it for sport. That kind of crazy often repeats itself.”

  “And you’d prefer I say that to her?” Nick asked. “I thought you wouldn’t want to stir up the general public without good cause.”

  “You’re right,” Claire said. “I’m probably overreacting, but the whole thing with the drawing in the pocket bothers me. This killer was sending a message, and until we figure out what the message is, I don’t think we’re in the clear.” She shook away the ominous thought. “Who’s next?”

  The next two interviews went about like the first, and Claire became increasingly agitated at the time spent with nothing to show for it. What she wanted to do was track down Riley, confront her with the drawing, and demand answers, but years of ingrained instinct held her back. As they were leaving the last interview, Nick echoed her frustration.

  “We’re spinning here.”

  “I know.”

  “You still want to go to the funeral?” he asked.

  Claire heard the strain in his voice. Nick’s dad had dropped dead of a heart attack a few months ago, completely unexpected, and Nick had been crushed. She knew he still bore the weight of the loss, and a funeral would only open not yet healed wounds. “Want is a strong word. I think it would be good to make an appearance for the family’s sake, but there’s no sense both of us going. Why don’t you see if Optima has sent their list of clients and start cross-checking it against whatever we have so far? I’ll go to the funeral and keep an eye out for any of our sketcher friends in the crowd.”

  “I owe you. Big time.”

  Claire saw the gratitude in his eyes and knew she’d never cash in the debt. She didn’t like funerals any more than the next person, but she was happy to take on this task to spare Nick any added pain. She checked the time. “Drop me by the church and I’ll grab a ride-share home.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  They rode in silence as Nick steered the car downtown. Claire imagined he was remembering his father, and she made a mental note to call her dad and check in. When they arrived at their destination, the steps of the church were teeming with well-dressed mourners making their way into the building. She climbed out of the car to join them. “Text me if you find anything,” she said.

  “I’m not going to text you in the middle of a funeral.”

  “I promise I’ll turn the sound off and I won’t even look at my phone until it’s over,” she said.

  “Liar. You live for work. It’s why the brass loves you.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him and shut the door. He wasn’t wrong. Work was everything to her, but unlike him, she didn’t see anything wrong with making her career the centerpiece of her existence. Her singular focus meant she would do a better job and rise faster through the ranks than her peers. She’d have plenty of time for the kind of life Nick was talking about, with a wife and kids, after she’d achieved professional success.

  Rather than go directly into the church, she found a place to stand out of the way and hung around, casting subtle looks into the crowd. Jill hadn’t come from a large family, but apparently, she had a lot of friends and co-workers because a sizable number of people had shown up to mourn her passing. Of course, publicized deaths usually drew a few random funeral goers, voyeurs who actually enjoyed all the trappings of a high-profile funeral, and some of these people probably fell into that category.

  She scanned the crowd one last time before entering the church, but instead of nameless strangers, this time she spotted a familiar face. Before she could process her surprise, she heard herself calling out a name. “Riley?”

  * * *

  Riley watched while Lacy leafed through the pages of her portfolio, worried she’d fallen short. “I couldn’t find one of my sketchbooks—the one that had most of the earlier sketches of Deep Ellum and the downtown venues—but this lot has a few rough sketches of some of the other spots you wanted to feature.”

  Lacy looked up from the pages. “These are exactly what I had in mind. If you find the others, let me know and we’ll work them in, but we can get started with these for now.” She motioned to the back room. “I’ve got a mockup of what I have in mind if you have time to check it out.”

  “Absolutely.” Riley followed, excited to see Lacy’s vision for the show. She’d had a hard time focusing on much of anything since the visit from Claire Hanlon and her partner earlier in the week. She’d talked to Buster and found out he’d shared the list of all the members of the sketch club with the detectives. Hanlon and her partner had even reached out to a couple of the other members of Eastside Sketchers, but she still couldn’t help but feel they’d singled her out because she was Frank Flynn’s daughter. On top of that, her mother had called again to try to nag her into a “family” meeting. All this drama when all she wanted to do was be completely immersed in her work.

  Lacy stopped in front of a wall and pointed at the arrangement hanging in front of them. “I like the effect. What do you think?”

  Riley stared, stunned at the surprise of seeing her own work in a new light. The painting she’d sent over yesterday of the Eye was centered on the wall. In real life, the sculpture was striking even in daylight, but Lacy had highlighted the effect with shadows of light and by a large, cascading frame that gave it a 3-D effect. Standing close, it felt like the sculpture was looking into, even through her. “It�
�s creepy, but in a good way.”

  Lacy laughed. “Exactly what I was going for.” She pointed to another section of the wall. “Here, we’ll have a display of your sketches in the same way.”

  Riley noted the use of the same cascading effect with frames in various sizes protruding from the wall to illustrate her work as it progressed from rough sketch to a polished finish. “Wow. When you said you were going to show the progression, I was envisioning more of a one-dimensional exhibit.”

  “I think this showcases your talent much more nicely. Don’t you?”

  “I think it’s amazing. And I think you make me look really good.” Riley pointed at one of the earlier sketches of the Eye. “I’ll look really hard for that missing sketchbook because I’m sure there were a few more angles of the sculpture in there.”

  “Whatever you find, we can work it in. I’m excited about showing your work.” Lacy looked away from the wall and met Riley’s eyes. “If you want to discuss any other aspects of the installation, perhaps we could meet for coffee or maybe for a glass of wine.”

  Riley wondered if the sudden shift in mood from professional to personal was her imagination or if Lacy was truly flirting with her. Whatever it was, she was both flattered and anxious at the shift in attention. “Uh, sure, if I think of anything, I’ll let you know.” She glanced at her phone. “I should get going. I have a class.”