Chapter 16
When Richard didn’t show up in the two hours he’d promised, Cayce finished off the spaghetti. She couldn’t hold off anymore. She realized that his job would probably keep him away from her on a regular basis. And there wasn’t as much spaghetti as she had thought, so she was happy to polish it off.
She curled up in front of the fire with a glass of red wine, thinking about her day and Naomi. Surely Naomi wouldn’t have done anything for that payback comment from the thief. And it could just as likely have been his version of payback because she managed to keep her purse, but she took a tumble. Any and all of it was possible, and that was the problem.
When her phone rang, she looked down at it, not surprised to see it was Richard. “Hey,” she said. “I gather you got detained.”
“We have another one,” he said, his voice grim.
“Shit,” she said, putting down her wineglass before she spilled it. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll send you a photo.”
“Do I have to?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m sorry,” he said. “We need an ID, and this is the fastest way to get it.”
She took several deep breaths. “Fine,” she said. “Send it.”
Sure enough, he sent it. Staying on her phone, she brought up her email and looked at the photo. “That’s Liana,” she said softly. “I used her on one project about eight months ago.”
“Why?”
“Because the person commissioning the art piece asked me to,” she said. “Where did you find her?”
“In a dumpster between the other two,” he said.
She winced at that. “So somebody really thinks she’s just a piece of garbage to throw out. Is that it?” she snapped, her voice gaining strength.
“Some people do look at it that way, yes,” he said. “And, no, I’m not one of them.”
“No, of course not,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. “No forensic evidence? Nothing?”
“No,” he said, his voice even darker. “Once the media gets hold of this, it will get nasty. I think you should avoid going to work tomorrow.”
She gave a startled laugh. “What am I supposed to do instead?”
“Are you ready for the next installation?”
“Because I needed something to focus on,” she said, “I am a little ahead.”
“Then please stay home,” he said urgently.
“But it doesn’t make any sense that he would be targeting me. He’s after my models.”
“Do you remember what you body-painted on Liana?”
“Of course, dolphins,” she said with an aching sadness. “Turtles and dolphins.”
“So, a waterscape.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And how did it work?” he asked.
She frowned at that. “Meaning?”
“Did it have something special in it, like on Elena? Was it something that this guy would be looking for?”
“But it would have been six or eight months ago,” she said, bewildered.
“Yeah,” he said. “We need to contact her next of kin.”
“I’m not sure there is any,” she said slowly. “She was a talker and was friends with the investor. But there was something about not having any family. Or at least nobody nearby.”
“Do you have a last name for the investor?”
“No, but I will phone Anita and find out.” With that, she hung up and quickly called her assistant. When it went to voicemail, she groaned. She sent him a text. She’s not answering. I’ll check my records to see if I have any paperwork for it.
Good. And that was all he wrote.
She went into her home office and went through her emails. It was probably the fastest way. The company was called Waterscapes. With that in the search box, she quickly pressed Enter, found what she needed, and texted Richard back. Phil Hennessy, and she gave him the phone number.
She got a thanks back and that was it.
She slowly made her way back to her couch, where she sat on the floor, this time in front of the fireplace, just rocking in place. “Poor Liana,” she whispered to herself. It made no sense that she’d worked for her all that time ago. Where had she been since?
She frowned, wondering if Liana had been doing other modeling or something else since then. A short time later, when Hennessy called her, she stared at her phone and frowned as she answered. “Hello?”
“I haven’t seen Liana for months,” he said preemptively. “When did you last see her?”
“I think when she did the modeling for me,” she said sadly. “She wasn’t my regular model. I put her in the picture because of your request,” she said, “and I don’t know what happened after that.”
“That’s what I was afraid you would say,” he said. “The cops just called me.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I had to give them your number. Do you know where she’s been these past months?” she asked him.
“No clue. She was here one day, had been back and forth, around a lot prior to the art thing,” he said, “and then she wasn’t. And I realized what a fool I was.”
“Meaning that, by giving her that body-painting gig, you thought she would stick around and pay more attention to you?” She kept the judgment out of her voice. She knew a lot of these men with money just didn’t seem to care about helping young people, as long as they stayed with them. It wasn’t always about sex. It was often just about companionship.
“I guess,” he said. “Maybe I’m just a fool. But now I’m really hurt to think that she’s been murdered.”
“Me too,” she said. Her intercom buzzed. She stared at it and said, “I have to answer the door,” she said.
“That’s fine,” he said. “We should get together and have coffee sometime.”
She responded in kind, knowing that he didn’t mean it. As soon as she hung up, she walked over to the intercom. “Hello.”
Graham called out, saying, “A package is here for you.”
“From whom?”
“No sender is noted,” he said, “and it doesn’t have your apartment number on it, just your name.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Somebody’ll come by and pick it up. Just keep it off to the
