“Only because you’re not as tall as I am,” Richard retorted, as he shifted so his head didn’t bang the ceiling.
They drove the short distance to Elena’s apartment and got out to find she had one of the converted artist lofts down in the commercial district.
“Wow,” Andy said, as he stood outside. “I’ve always wanted to go into one of these.”
“Exactly. This is our chance.”
Laughing, the two of them headed in. Using the manager, they got into her apartment, closing the door nicely in his face. Richard turned to look around and whistled. The loft had a soaring double-height ceiling, with a loft section off to the right, long lights hanging down low, big exposed rafters in the ceiling. “I wonder what it’s like to heat this place.”
“I doubt it’s that bad,” Andy said, “because every one of these places are sold as soon as they become available.”
“And that just brings up another question,” Richard said. “We’ve seen murders done for less, but what are the chances that somebody wanted this loft?”
Andy looked at him, pulled a notebook from his pocket, and said, “You know what? Unfortunately that’s just all too possible. These things are expensive, and it’s quite a bit more to get them in the first place. But they turn over instantly as soon as anybody has one free.”
“Well, guess what?” Richard said. “One is about to come free.”
“And, if it doesn’t, we need to find out who stands to inherit.”
“Yeah, if it isn’t a lover who gets to gain.” As he stood and looked around at the beautiful white and silver high-end loft, Richard realized that this model wasn’t just a model but she was also wealthy. “Do you think these body models make this kind of money?”
“I was just thinking that,” Andy said. “This has got to be worth what, a million?”
“But it’s also decked out to be worth like a million and a half,” he said. “You don’t see anything quite like this everywhere. I thought these were working people.”
“But then it goes along with what Joe Johnson told you, about how working for the high-end artists could put these models on the map. In this case, apparently that artist is Cayce.”
“So what would somebody do in order to make sure they got to work with Cayce? And they can’t work until there’s a spot?”
“Which brings us back to that whole point of this maybe being all about competition.”
“Let’s take a look.”
They headed to her bedroom. If there was ever a place to find out what really went on in a person’s life, it was in the bedroom.
Chapter 4
Cayce had been working three hours already. She had this massive, expansive wall—twenty by sixty feet. It wasn’t that she particularly liked this size, but it was something she was certainly capable of doing. She put the roller back down and relaxed her shoulders, rotating them and her neck to ease up the tension. She had a base color on the back wall, and she had the sky with the clouds working in. She was doing the foreground in this one, and that was tougher—a fantasy forest winter design.
“That’s quite a job,” a man said behind her.
Cayce stiffened, then turned to look at Detective Richard Henderson. “Are you back to bug me some more?”
“Do I bug you?”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “What do you want?”
“I have a few more questions,” he said. He looked at the many trays of paint all around her. “Good Lord,” he said. “Are you really doing this whole wall?”
She shrugged her shoulders several times, again feeling her muscles cramp. “Yes, and I have to do the background first, before I start doing any of the fine detail.”
“And how long does something like this stay up?”
“Weeks, months sometimes,” she said. She walked to where she’d placed her coffee, realizing it was lukewarm at best right now. She took a big slug, nearly spitting it out. “Back to the questions, Detective,” she said pointedly.
She was caught by the way the light played along his cheekbones. Just the way he stood there. She moved a little to the left, so she could take a look at him from a different angle. Her mind immediately filled in all the details of this man and realized he had unforgettable features. But, of course, that sent her mind spinning, only to wonder what the rest of him looked like. Just from a model’s perspective, she assured herself.
He frowned at her. “What are you looking at?”
“Your cheekbones,” she said bluntly. His eyebrows shot up, and she grinned. “I am an artist.”
He shrugged uncomfortably and said, “Well, I won’t be part of your installations anytime soon.”
She nodded, smiled, and said, “That’s fine too, considering you weren’t invited anyway. So, questions?”
He glared at her. “Joe Johnson.”
“Good model,” she said instantly. “I really like him.”
“Personally?”
“No,” she said. “Not personally. But he’s a very good model. He could hold the position and stand for a long time, but he wasn’t cut out for the actual cutthroat part of the business.”
“Isn’t that a little hard to believe?”
“Every business is cutthroat, if somebody stands to gain a ton of money,” she said. “There are always markers that define success, fame, or wealth. But knowing that your face will be on every magazine is a thrill for a lot of people.”
“True,” he said, “and Joe wasn’t cut out for it?”
“No, not at all,” she said. “But that didn’t stop him from being damn good at what he did.”
“Would you use him again, if you had a chance?”
“I don’t body-paint men very often,” she said, “but, yes, I would.”
“And did Elena have anything to do with him?”
“You’d have to ask him,” she said. Cayce hated talking about her friends, particularly the ones who were no longer here to answer any questions.
“We have to pry into Elena’s life,” he said gently. “Somebody took it from her. No way I’ll let that happen to anybody else.”
Her eyes widened as she thought about that. She
