Richard nodded and tucked away that note in the back of his mind. “Good to know. Did you know Thorne personally?”
“Yeah. I worked with him the last two years. I’m not sure exactly what job Thorne came in on, but he was a good kid.”
“Know anybody who would hate him enough to kill him?”
“Interesting you’d say hate enough to kill because I think that lovers tend to love enough to kill.”
“Were you two lovers?” Richard asked bluntly, wondering at the artistic minds he was surrounded by and how differently they seemed to take his words.
“No, we weren’t,” he said. “Thorne often went both ways, but he fell in love with the person, not the body.”
“And did he have a current lover?”
“Not that I know of,” Frankie said. “I didn’t know him that well outside of work though. We’d have a couple beers on the job, as we had dinner to carry us through another evening of working overtime, and we’d talk about whatever installation was happening at the time, talk about Cayce’s artwork and how it was just so unbeatable and impossible to replicate. Then we’d have a good laugh and carry on back to work,” he said with a shrug. “As for Cayce, she’s one of a kind.”
“Do you love her?”
Frankie flashed him a bright smile. “I absolutely do love her,” he said. “She’s very lovable. She’s not very approachable. And, no, we’re not lovers, never have been lovers. We don’t intend to ever be lovers. It’s not that kind of a relationship.” And, with that, he waved goodbye and walked on.
Richard turned to look at Anita through the huge plate glass window. She immediately dropped her gaze and pretended to be busy at her desk. She wouldn’t get away from him that easily. He stepped inside the office, approaching her. “I’m looking for all the artists you’ve hired and staff of any kind you’ve worked with for the last two years.”
She looked at him, and her face fell. “Two years?”
He stared at her steadily. “And just how many people are we talking about? It surely can’t be that many.”
She looked at him, shrugged, and said, “No, it’s probably not more than thirty, forty, fifty, maybe.”
“I want all the names, phone numbers, and contact information.”
She stared at him, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t even know if I’m allowed to give you that information.”
He gave her a strong, hard smile. “You’re allowed. It’s actively encouraged that you do. And, even if you don’t,” he said, “I can get a warrant, and then you’ll have no choice.”
“But see? That’s the thing. If you get a warrant, then I won’t have any choice,” she said, “so it won’t piss off anybody.”
He walked into her office, sat down on the single chair across from her, and asked, “Who would be pissed off at our efforts to find out who murdered two people in the industry?” He leaned forward, adding, “I really want to know who those people would be.”
She stared at him in surprise. “How would I know?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but you seem to be concerned about people being upset. And I want to know what people you’re concerned about.”
She frowned at him, looked down at her desk, then back up. It was obvious that she was either nervous or didn’t have a clue how to take him.
Now that was something he was used to. And it didn’t bother him in the least if he was disturbing her sense of calm. He smiled at her and said, “Seriously, I would like to know who would want to hurt Cayce.”
“I don’t know anybody who would want to hurt her,” she whispered. “You don’t understand. Cayce isn’t—” She stopped and stared out the window for a moment. “It’s not that she’s not lovable, just that she’s not cuddly. She’s somebody who you stand back and admire from a distance. She’s not the good-old-coffee-klatch friendly type because I think she lives in her own world of art. She keeps to herself and has a reserve that naturally keeps people away. But, when she smiles at you and when she includes you in something, you feel like you’re special,” she said simply. “Just because you’re part of her world, you’re special. And I love that. I love knowing that I’m helping her do what she does. Because she is so very talented.”
“Agreed. I’m already sold on her talent,” he said. “I saw the installation with the little kids, and I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.” His face just beamed.
“Wasn’t that wonderful?” she said. “You should see the art critic reviews. They’re just raving about it.”
“I’m sure they are,” he said. “However, you’re getting off the topic. I want to know about the people who would be upset at the success of the installation. I want to know about the people who would be angry that she’s at the top of the news again. I want to know who hates the fact that the media loves her.”
Anita stared at him for a long moment. “Fenster, Gruber, and Naomi.” Then she shrugged. “For sure on those three, but I’m not sure how many others.”
“Fenster, Gruber, and Naomi. Who is Fenster?”
“Somebody who worked with her a couple years back. She fired him because he was telling people that her designs were his designs.”
Richard quickly pulled out his notebook and jotted down notes. “Gruber?”
“Gruber was stealing from her,” she said, in a disapproving tone. “I’m talking like paper and pencils, some of her old designs, cans of paint, anything, and then we found out he was selling them as pieces of her. It was disgusting that he was capitalizing on her name and her reputation, and people were loving it, lapping it right up, while he turned a profit.”
“Okay, well that certainly warrants being
