“I do watch the news, so yes, I’m aware. What does any of that have to do with me?”
“Probably nothing, but we have a few questions.”
“Fine,” George huffed. “Let’s get it over with. My day is already ruined.”
Leading them into an office which was decorated in an art-deco motif, George Stokler sat behind his large desk, and folded his hands together. He stared at the two of them in silence.
Sin and Jack sat in the two chairs in front of the desk and stared back.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Agents, but it’s been a very long day. I’ve read about what happened to that girl, but I don’t understand how I can help you.”
Sin pulled a photo of the victim from her worn backpack and placed it on the desk. “Does she look familiar?”
George’s face blanched as he looked at the photo. “Yes. I mean, I’ve seen her pictures in the paper and on the news.”
Sin leaned into the desk and repositioned the snapshot. “The young woman you’re looking at has a connection to this and one other gallery,” she lied.
“What kind of connection?” his voice cracked as he spoke. “I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”
“I spent a lovely day with your sister up in Delray yesterday.” Sin watched George’s expression turn cold. “She sends her love.”
His complexion deepened as Sin continued, “Vivienne Spinner, our murder victim, was a student at ASPB and frequented your sister’s gallery. It’s my guess that she frequented yours as well. She was probably here asking questions about your mother at some point.”
George’s eyes never veered from Sin. “I get all kinds of starry-eyed, would-be artists in here asking about Miranda, Agent O’Malley. It’s not my business to memorize the face of each one.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked the public if they have seen Vivienne near your gallery at my next press conference?”
George shot out of his chair, “You can’t do that! That type of smear campaign could ruin me.”
Sin placed a white pearlescent nail on the picture of Vivienne and nudged it forward. “Then I suggest you take a closer look.”
George sat back down, placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and stared at the picture. “I swear, she doesn’t look familiar,” he said. “Let me ask Bobbi. She usually fields the Miranda fan club.”
The receptionist looked at the picture. “I know Vivienne,” she said without hesitation. “She is really sweet, but a bit quirky. Why are you asking questions about her? Is she okay?”
Sin looked at her in dismay. “Do you watch the news or read the paper?”
Bobbi wrinkled her nose. “No, I only watch and listen to positive stories and TMZ.”
Sin closed her eyes and arched her brows, suppressing her frustration. “When was the last time you saw Vivienne in the gallery?”
“Four days ago.”
“You seem certain of the day,” Jack said. “Why is it so clear?”
“It was the last day of the big end of summer sale at the mall.”
Sin was getting more frustrated at Bobbi with every word that came out of her mouth, so she tried another line of questioning. “What type of questions did she ask and why was she quirky?”
“The typical Miranda questions. Was I a fan? Did George paint? Was there anything I could tell her about Miranda that wasn’t in her book,” she shrugged. “Those sorts of things.”
“And the quirky comment?”
“I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” Bobbi said. “It’s just that she was very shy and seemed out of place.”
“Meaning?” Jack said.
“Just that she was—I don’t know—kind of awkward.”
“Can you expound on awkward,” Sin interjected.
“She always stared at the ground and spoke in whispers. And then there was the way she looked,” Bobbi added. “She was pasty, like she never went out in the sun, and she was always dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.” She looked at Sin who was dressed in black jeans and a white ‘t.’ “Not like you . . . you rock those jeans. Vivienne was more the farmer jeans type.”
Sin had had just about enough of Bobbi. “Thank you for your time. Please write your name, phone number, and address on a piece of paper in case we have any more questions.”
Sin and Jack were about to leave when she stopped and faced George. “One more thing,” Sin said and pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket. “Do these words mean anything to you?”
George read the page and his posture stiffened. “No, they mean nothing,” he said. “What do they mean?”
“Not really sure,” Sin said taking back the paper. “We’re just checking all the bases.”
Back outside, Jack was quick to comment. “Did you notice his mannerisms when he read the words? They mean something to him.”
“Yup,” Sin agreed, as they walked back to the car. “He’s lying, just like his big sister. Now we just have to figure out why.”
18
Ashley Stokler was busy with a client when she felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. Using discretion, she pulled it out and checked the number. It was a Coral Gables area code and she only knew one person who lived there. Politely excusing herself from the customer, she walked back into her office and answered the call.
“My dear brother, what’s the occasion? It’s not my birthday and I’m sure it’s not Christmas. I—”
“Why the hell didn’t you warn me about the goddamn FBI?”
Ashley sat at her desk and crossed her long legs. “What, and ruin the surprise?”
“Do you know what this kind of publicity could do to our business?”
“Don’t you dare talk to me with an attitude,” Ashley voiced through gritted teeth. “Listen to me, you little freak, do you know how many people will want Mom’s paintings if her work is somehow connected to these killings?”
There was silence on the other end before she heard a high pitched giggle. “We could make a killing, couldn’t we?”
Ashley leaned back in her chair
