A Walk in Ashes
Treating the policeman to lunch at an upscale tapas bar, Regina has begun to share with him her history with the beauteous Belle.
She shared that they first met when Belle tried to enlist her assistance in raising money for Relay for Life, an organization that funds cancer research. Regina initially rebuffed her, but is struck by something in the talented, young designer. She sought her out, apologized and befriended her, and then assisted in her rise as a top new designer. Regina credited Belle herself with being the truly talented one, as well as being someone who attracted others with her natural charm.
But Regina is threatened by Belle's relationships with men and admits to sabotaging at least one of her relationships. She was clearly threatened by Belle's budding affair with Killian Jones, a ne'er do well and admitted to Gold that she'd had the man investigated.
Chapter 5
Hurt
"Well, all the while Killian was wooing, and when I say wooing, I mean pestering, Belle, he was seeing Lacey. I just had to prove it."
"I approve of that dress," Killian said as they were about to leave the office and head down the narrow stairs into the main store.
"You do?" Belle twirled so he could get the full effect.
"And the woman who's wearing it."
"Well, thank you kind sir. It's a very versatile wrap knit dress. They're getting to be quite popular among some of my clients."
"Oh, there is something on my mind. It's been worrying me," Killian said as they were going down the stairs. "What is it?" He stopped on the stairs, "Oh yes, will you dine with me tomorrow night?"
"Maybe," Belle said coyly. "I'll have to check my calendar."
"Well, that's not exactly what's worrying me. How about the next night?"
"But Killian, I can't be . . ."
He interrupted her, "Oh please. What about three weeks from tonight and all the nights in between?"
"Don't you think I might have other engagements?"
"What about two months from now and the month after that?"
Belle shook her head, "What about next year?" she asked.
"Oh good, it's all settled. Now what about breakfast?"
"What about dancing? This is a great dress for twirling around," Belle couldn't quite manage a twirl on the tight staircase.
"What about lunch? Beautiful lunches – day after day after day after day?"
"What about work? Beautiful work, day after day after day after day?"
"Why, Miss French the way I'm talking, you'd think I was in love with you."
"Uh hum. Well, tonight, I won't be seeing you. It's Friday and I have a standing appointment with Regina."
Killian pulled a face. "Why do you continue to associate with that evil crone?"
"Regina is really a lovely person. She's helped my career get off the ground and continues to be supportive of everything I do, financially and emotionally. And no, I'm not having an affair with her. I'll see you tomorrow night."
"And I shall return to my lonely apartment foregoing all feminine companionship while I wait to see you again in the morning and then I will look forward to a lovely, lovely evening."
"I had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs," Regina shared with Gold. "Belle had forgotten she was to meet with me at the shop – we had some of her new charity designs to go over. I heard everything they said. I hurried back to my apartment and met with Belle when she came over."
"Oh Regina, I got so busy I'm running late. I went to call you and then got interrupted. I'm so sorry," Belle apologized.
"Well, it's no matter. I can say what I need to say," Regina dropped a large bulky brown envelope on one of her elegant polished tables. "The results of my private investigation of the sterling character of Mr. Killian Jones."
"A private investigation!" Belle was aghast. "This is a new low for you, Regina."
Regina waved her off, "Did you know that he almost went to jail for using fraudulent credit cards, that he was suspected of stealing his hostess's jewels while he was a house guest in Virginia?"
Belle came to his defense, "Well naturally they'd suspect him because he isn't rich. Those are all only insinuations, the cheapest kind of character assassination."
"These aren't only insinuations, my dear. Here you are. Read them," Regina had opened the envelope and turned toward the back of the report.
"What of it? I know his faults. A man can change, can't he? People are always ready to hold out a hand to slap you down, but never to pick you up. I am helping Killian. His past is his own affair. I only care about the present."
"Belle, your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness. You see goodness in everyone and if there's no goodness there, you will invent it. Speaking of the changed Mr. Jones, do you know that right now, while he's pursuing you, he's running around with a model from your own office – Lacey Redfern?"
Belle was furious, "Regina, I'm closer to despising you than I thought I ever would be. I'm sorry, I guess I should have told you before. Killian's proposed and I . . . I've accepted. We haven't set a date but I should think it will be quite soon."
Regina rolled her eyes, "You're going to marry that low-life weasel? Belle, you aren't thinking clearly. Listen to me. I believe you recently gifted him with a Rolex watch. Rather valuable, wasn't it?" And Regina withdrew it from her pocket.
Belle was surprised, "Where . . . where did you get it?"
"From the pawnshop where Lacey Redfern took it after he gave it to her."
Belle set her chin out in a determined pose, "I don't believe it. He may have given it to Lacey because she really needed the money. Or, he needed the money, but he would have been too proud to take it himself."
"Killian proud? Perhaps that's why the pawn ticket was in her name."
Belle drew herself up. "Before this goes any further, I'll just give Killian a call."
"He's not at home," Regina told her. "He's with my mother."
"He can't be. He asked me out to dinner. When I said 'no' he said he was going back to his apartment."
"Oh Belle, he would have cancelled his appointment with her if you had accepted his offer. She's his backup plan du nuit. If you call, she's likely to say he isn't there, to protect him from your wrath."
Belle was close to tears, "Regina, why are you doing this?
"For you, Belle. Shall we pay them a visit?"
"He won't be there, Regina. I know he won't."
"All right. Shall we see? And why don't we take this little bauble along in case he is there. I'd love to hear his explanation of how it ended up in a pawn shop on Lexington."
"We walked over to my mother's apartment and her man Smee rang us up. He told us that Ms. Hart was not at home but we pushed our way in. And . . . I was so sorry to be right for once. There was Killian having a little candlelight supper with my rapacious mother."
"Well darling," Killian rose smiling. "How delightful, I didn't expect to see you tonight."
"There you are, my dear," Regina spoke up. "In a moment of supreme disaster, he's trite."
Killian responded smoothly, "You've been reading too many melodramas, Regina. Cora gave me a call after I had left Belle and invited me over. I was just telling her about our getting married. Have you had a chance to have dinner? Would you like some wine? Why don't you sit down?"
"It gave me little satisfaction when Belle left in tears. I didn't hear from her for days. I couldn't find out if she was talking with Killian in the meantime. All I could find out was that on the next Friday she had lunch with Lacey Redfern. What came of it? I had hoped to hear whenever she started speaking to me again. I alternated between moods of over-optimism and over-pessimism. When the phone rang that Friday, I had a foreboding of disaster."
"Regina, I'm calling to tell you that I'm frightfully sorry. I can't have dinner with you tonight. . . . Oh no, no, I'm not sick. I'm just dreadfully confused. I'm going up to my cabin for a few days . . . Yes, I'm afraid it's about Killian. . . . Oh no, please. There's nothing you can do. I've got to think this marriage thing out for myself. I'm so sorry. I'll call you when I get back. Goodbye darling. Thank you for being so understanding."
Regina sat quietly a moment, "That was the last time I ever heard her voice. I was sure that she had too much pride to forgive him, but . . . ." Regina stared into space, dejected.
"Do you know where this Lacey Redfern lives?" Gold asked her.
"I think I remember reading in the private investigator's report that it was somewhere out towards Fletcher. Shouldn't be hard for someone with your connections to track down," Regina told him.
"Well, this has been a delicious meal. I have to thank you for it Ms. Mills."
"Good day," Regina continued speaking more to herself than Gold. "I shall never forgive myself for letting her become involved with Killian. It was my fault. I should have stopped it somehow. Well, it's too late now."
"Thanks for the wine and the food," Gold thanked her again and headed out.
He stopped outside of the restaurant and made a couple of entries into his little notebook. He placed a quick call. "Yeah, Clark, I want you to track down the address for a Lacey Redfern. She's a model for Belle French and is supposed to have a place somewhere toward Fletcher." He then walked up Broadway to a small, select liquor store. He was already familiar with the place.
"Leroy!" he greeted the sullen owner.
Leroy scowled behind his counter. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Lieutenant Gold from Homicide?" he asked. "You never come here unless there's trouble and you want somethin'."
"Belle French," Gold responded simply.
"Nice lady," Leroy told him. "Shame about how she got it. She was the one that got me connected with my Astrid. Real nice lady."
"She's been buying her liquor from you for a couple of years, hasn't she?"
"Yeah. She had quality tastes in booze. Never the cheap stuff."
"Did she ever buy a brand of whiskey called the Jolly Roger?"
"Not from me. She'd get Johnny Walker Blue most of the time. I don't think she drank it, but she kept it on for her guests and gentlemen callers."
"When was the last time you saw her?" he asked.
Leroy considered. "I'd say more than two weeks ago. She tended to come in once a month regularly and restock."
"Thanks, that's all I needed to know," Gold was on his way out.
"Gold," Leroy called out to him.
"Yeah?" Gold paused.
"I hope you get the son of a bitch that killed her. Blowing her away like that. Real asshole."
"I hope I get him too," Gold replied and went on down to Patton to the bank offices of David Nolen. This was Belle's business partner - her silent business partner.
Mr. Nolen was a young, tall handsome fellow wearing a suit off the rack. There was a picture of a gorgeous beaming brunette behind him and a family picture of himself, the same young woman and an infant, all set behind him in a short bookcase. Not too many pictures like a cheating husband might have up – just the right number and type.
"I appreciate your seeing me, Mr. Nolen," Gold told him sitting down in one of the faux leather seats in the little corner office of the large bank building.
"I know you're here about Belle French. Anything, anyway I can be helpful," the young man shook his head. "Such a tragedy. Such a talented, wonderful woman."
Gold consulted his little notebook. "She came to you for a bank loan five years ago."
"That sounds about right," David agreed.
"She didn't qualify for a bank loan," Gold added.
"No, she had no collateral. Only her talent."
"But she left here with a twenty thousand dollar loan," Gold waited for Nolen to explain.
"I have a trust fund. Twenty thousand is a small part of that fund. When Belle showed me her designs, I thought they looked good, but not knowing a lot about fashion, especially women's fashions, I had several women in the bank look them over. Everyone loved them. I thought, why not? I make many very, very safe investments. An occasional risky investment, particularly when I invest in something I believe in, it's worth it."
"It certainly was when it came to Belle French," Gold was consulting his notebook. "You opted to treat it as an investment and earn dividends rather treating it as a loan and taking payments. Within the past five years you've done very well with those dividends."
"Yes, her little company took off. After that Oscar dress, she was having to turn down customers. Best investment I ever made."
"So she was still paying you dividends?" Gold began.
"I essentially bought a share of her company. I was getting a small amount for every dollar of profit."
"She ever express any rancor about that? You kinda took advantage of her." Gold pursued the point.
"Not at all. Belle always told me that without me she would have never gotten the company off the ground. She always sent me a really nice Christmas present, invited me to all her showings. She designed my wife's wedding dress as a favor. She was a nice woman, a real class act. It's a loss for our community, for the fashion world, for everyone who ever knew her."
Gold stood, "Thank you for your time." Another dead end, he thought. This guy is an affable, charming fellow, likely in love with his wife. He had a lot to lose with Belle's death. No reason to kill her, certainly not with a shot gun.
He checked his watch. It was four thirty. He had time for one more stop. He walked back to his truck (which he'd left in the place designated for Belle's apartment) and drove out to the Arts District. He found the address with his GPS. He pulled into a gravel parking lot and walked to the door of the painted concrete block dwelling. He opened the screen door and walked into the gallery.
"Gaston Grande?" he called.
Regina had been right. A tall man who looked more like a body builder than an artist poked his head around the corner.
"Come to commission a portrait of your wife?" the man came out wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and faded blue jeans. His hair was wavy and long, making him look like a cut-rate brown-haired Fabio.
"No."
Gaston looked him over, "Girlfriend, perhaps?"
"No."
Gaston shrugged, "Boyfriend it is."
"No," Gold opted to end the charade. "I'm Lieutenant Gold with Homicide."
Gaston's face dropped. "Oh. You're here about Belle French. Shame that. She was a great piece of ass."
Gold took an instant dislike to the bombastic artist.
"When had you last seen her?" he asked.
"Well she blew me over after I finished her portrait. Probably my best work. We ran into each other a couple of times since, usually at one of Cora's parties. Now there's a broad who knows how to par-tay. She likes younger men, if you get the idea."
"I get it. What was your relationship with Ms. French after the breakup?"
"Whut? Like we broke up? Didn't see each other no mo'."
"Did you hate her?"
"Whu-ut? Nah. She was a nice enough broad but there are plenty of prize chickees out there. Got alotta publicity for that portrait. Got me quite a few more jobs when we had it on display in some of the high end galleries – some of those jobs were painting ladies in the all-together. I did those for their boyfriends."
"Have any ideas about what might have happened?" Good grief, this guy was an idiot. It was hard to believe that he and the exquisite Miss French had ever been a couple.
"Someone killed her. That sucks, really sucks."
"Know any reason why someone might have wanted her dead?"
"Maybe she was stepping out with somebody's husband or more likely their wife. When we were going together she never let me have any, so I figured she was a closet lesbian, especially after finding out that she and Regina Mills were . . . . you know. . . friends."
"Where were you Friday night?" Gold asked him.
"Uhmmm," Gaston gazed off, the memory activity clearly taxing his brain. "Oh yeah, I was out with my best bud and roomie, Keith. Saw a movie." He considered, "Saw Slumber Party Three! It was awesome! Then we came back here and watched a couple of skin flics and drank 'til we both passed out. "
"Really?" Gold wasn't particularly interested in the puerile entertainment of which Mr. Grande had availed himself. He was about to go when he had a sudden thought, "Do you know a Miss Lacey Redfern?"
"Oh yeah," Gaston quickly answered. "She's one of Belle's models. She's Keith's girlfriend, well most of the time. Lacey's real open-minded, if you get my drift."
"You mentioned Keith before. Who is he?" Gold questioned him.
"My best bud, roommate, Keith Nottingham," Gaston told him.
"When did you see Lacey last?" Gold asked him.
This was a demanding question for Gaston. "Uuhhh, oh yeah, she'd come by Saturday morning . . . no, it was Friday morning. Had some words with Keith and left."
"They have a fight?"
"They wuz always squabblin' over this and that."
Gold's years of working vice bubbled up and his antennae came out. Something unsavory in this relationship. "He ever hit her?"
"Nah, well, not when she didn't deserve it," Gaston told him.
Gold made a note. "Well, thank you Mr. Grande. You've been very helpful. Here's my card if you think of anything that might relate to the case."
"Whut would you want me to do?" Gaston gazed at the card with bewilderment.
"Give me a call," Gold explained. He returned to his truck and wrote more details in his notebook. He yawned. This had been a long day.
He decided to head out to Webos to get supper, maybe one of their pork barbeque sandwiches with cole slaw and their sweet potato crunch. He'd get it to go and take it home. He could eat it on his deck and drink a beer . . . maybe two beers.
Later, with his food, he headed home toward Skyland. He had to turn off the main road and make his way up a small wooded hill. His house was set far back from the road. It was an older home built in the Gothic Revival style with the steep pitched roofs exemplifying the period. There were three stories to the place (not counting the basement), complete with several dormers and an honest-to-goodness turret. On the roof were iron crestings and at least five ornamented chimneys. There was an attached two car garage. Inside were five bedrooms, one of which he used as a bedroom, the others were upstairs. He'd left the bedrooms upstairs empty and closed off. There were two baths and a half bath (one upstairs and one and a half down), a large kitchen with an eat-in area, and a sitting/living room with a real fireplace. It had a heavily tree'd backyard. And there was a large deck with an iron railing.
It was dark and isolated. It had been in very poor shape when he'd purchased it for next to nothing. He'd been spending his money and his time fixing it up. He focused on the roof and heating and cooling system first. He'd since gotten the master bedroom completed but had only just started on the sitting/living room.
The house was perfect for him. Broken, but still salvageable. He sat on his deck, eating and drinking. And relaxing.
Sitting outside, nursing his second beer, he couldn't help but think back on the victim. Belle French had not only been a beautiful woman, she was from all accounts, a kind and generous woman. Creative and intelligent, a rare combination.
After eating he went back inside the house, stripped off and got into the shower. Standing with the hot spray running over his face and body, he found himself, unbidden, thinking again of the woman in the portrait with her bright blue eyes and pale skin and chestnut curly hair. Everything . . . everything he had heard about this Belle French . . . she sounded like the perfect woman. Beautiful inside and outside.
Unbidden, he had several brief fantasies . . . of her showering with him . . . of her wearing That Red Dress . . . of her having supper waiting for him when he got home . . . of her lying in his bed. She probably giggled when she was amused, like a little girl - but she was no little girl. She probably would cry out when a man took possession.
And scream when she came.
He scrubbed himself.
Really, Gold?
This had been a long day.
She was this high-powered designer and he was just a police officer. He was a good police officer, a damn good police officer, but just a police officer. He knew his superiors put him on high profile cases because he was the best. He was deemed capable of magic when working on these complex, nasty cases. That's why he was on this case.
But he had to wonder . . . if he had met this woman . . . before . . . would she have spoken to him? been nice to him? accepted a date with him?
From everything he'd heard, she probably would have. She was a nice lady - classy. Yeah, she'd have gone out with him - if he'd had the guts to ask her.
What was he thinking? If they had met, he wouldn't have had the nerve to approach her. He would have felt like a peasant in the presence of royalty.
Still, as he lay down in his bed rubbing his sore, aching knee, he couldn't help but fantasize about that pert little body, that angelic face, that sweet smile, imagining her lying next to him, pressing her lush curves up against his body. He went to sleep cradling a pillow in his arms as if it might have been a woman – no, not a woman, a very specific woman, a little brunette with brilliant blue eyes.
Thank you, thank you to all my reviewers (I'm not responding to anybody's theory and you folks have a lot of theories): orthankg1, OneMagician, cynicsquest, Erik'sTrueAngel, juju0268, Chauchi, Robin4, kagi-chan2, jewel415, deweymay, Aletta-Feather, onlyinyourdreams77, Grace5231973, and Ying-Fa-Dono (Guest): Again not saying one way or another who the killer is.
NEXT: Gold returns to Belle's apartment
Gold meets Ms. Potts
Gold visits Lacey's apartment