Murder at the Art Gallery Read online

I heard this and I didn't like it, but I wasn't going to let my good mood be ruined so, I'd just focus on the good news.

  “Ok tell me the good news.

  “Do a search on YouTube for cat protects owner at mall.”

  I did the search and right away a video came up of Roger protecting me at the mall. It already had a couple hundred views.

  I laughed, “That's amazing, who put it up?”

  “Another social media nut like me. I don't know them.”

  I yelled out, “Roger, come look. You're a hero. People are talking about you.”

  Then Jill said, “Listen I don't know how to say this, but there's some bad news too.”

  “Please don't let it be anything about Roger.”

  She said no, “It's not about Roger, there are no problems with him. It's about David Towsky. David committed suicide.”

  Chapter Three

  The news of David's death hit me like a slap.

  David had been a great friend of mine. He was a very talented painter, and we’d known each other for years. I’d never known him to be depressed. Hell, I’d hardly seen him frown.

  “What do you mean that David has committed suicide? He had everything going for him. He was getting a showing at a gallery, doing work on a regular basis. Last time I saw him, he was the happiest he'd been in a long time. And now you tell me that he's committed suicide. Something just doesn't add up here.”

  “I find it completely surreal. I still don't believe that it's true.”

  “There's no reason why he would commit suicide. Who says he committed suicide and how did he do it?”

  “The police are saying he died of an opioid pain killer overdose.”

  “Wait a second, that is just not true. First of all, I know that David is allergic to those types of drugs and he wouldn't take that in a million years, not for medical reasons, not for recreational reasons. Second of all, David had no reason to kill himself, his life was going just great. I'm going to have to visit Fred and find out how he came to this conclusion because I don't believe for five minutes David committed suicide. This was either an accident or somebody killed him and there's nothing in between.

  “Mandy, how could you be so sure? After all, David was an artist and artists have been known to be mentally ill, and to abuse drugs. Maybe there was some deep dark secret that he didn't want anybody to know about and having all this success just made it worse and he couldn't take it.”

  “Oh Jill, David wasn't one of these deep, dark and heavy souls. If it wasn't for his art, he'd be a ditz. He always had his head in the clouds thinking about art. In that respect I agree with you, he was an artist and he was slightly nutty, but not the type that brooded about life and was constantly seeing the glass half empty. So no, I may not have known everything about David, but I knew this much, David wouldn't so much as hurt a fly, let alone kill himself.”

  “This just sounds to me that the police have no idea why he's dead and this seems like a good theory. Which is crazy because that is going to break his mother's heart. I forgot, Margot must be beside herself with grief. David had moved back here to be close to her in her old age, and they had formed a great bond over the last couple of years. News that her son committed suicide would make her question everything. And she would somehow blame herself. Anyway, I have to make a couple of phone calls, this just doesn't make sense. I'll talk to you later Jill, and I'll tell you all about the stuff I got Roger.”

  Hands shaking, I hung up with Jill. I sat for a moment, unable to think, before I decided to call David’s mother. After many rings, I was prompted to leave a message. I don’t know how I managed to make a sound, but I did.

  “Hi Margot , It's Mandy. I am devastated by the news. I will call or visit tomorrow.”

  I felt terrible about bothering Margot, but I was certain she could use a friend. At that time, I needed a friend just as badly. I stared at my phone for a long time, still reeling at the fact that David was dead.

  I thought back to my college days when I first met David. He was good looking, artistic and a gentle soul. I was dating Daniel and I thought that David would make a perfect boyfriend for Jill. He was a little flighty and so was she. There was only one problem that I discovered shortly after I mentioned Jill to him. He was gay, so hooking him up with Jill wasn't going to fly. But we developed a friendship and I would go to see his art shows, however small they were. He was a good artist and I have always been a supporter of the arts, so it worked out. He lived in New York City for a while, but he moved back here to be close to his mother.

  This being labeled a suicide just didn't make sense. There had to be more to his untimely death. Who would want to kill David? It's not like he had enemies. He was mellow, level headed, lived with his boyfriend, Harold, with whom he had broken up with recently, but it was an amicable parting.

  That's what David said. Maybe it wasn't as amicable as I thought. Maybe Harold was crazy with jealousy and grief. Breakups can really bring out the freak in people and who knows, maybe Harold went off the deep end?

  I needed to calm down. Allowing my imagination to run wild would be of help to no one- least of all myself.

  Fred. I needed to call Fred. It didn’t matter how busy he was with paperwork. He would listen to me.

  After a couple rings, Fred picked up.

  “Mandy, I'm picking up this call because I know that David was close to you, but I'm very busy with paperwork and all the legal ends.”

  “Okay Fred. I just have to know - why is it being labeled a suicide?”

  “There was no sign of conflict or violence. We found a glass of water by his bed with the substance in it.”

  “Was this an opioid painkiller?

  “Yes, I guess the press got a hold of that.”

  “Okay Fred, listen to me. David was allergic to opioid pain killers, he would never take this in a hundred years. His life was turning around. Everything was going great for him. Why would he kill himself? Can't you re-access what's going on? I don't know why anybody would kill David, but I'm telling you this is not a suicide.”

  “Mandy, sometimes the people that we think we know are people we don't really know completely, especially if they have a dark side. Sometimes that dark self comes out and does ugly things. I see it every-day, seemingly nice people do horrible things. It's possible David was one of them and you just didn't know, I'm sorry Mandy. I have to go, please don't jump to any conclusions, I really think that this is suicide, nothing mysterious here.”

  After we’d hung up, I sat on my bay window bench and thought over what Fred had said. It was true that many people had a dark side. Maybe David did, too.

  There were likely all kinds of professionals involved-It wasn’t just Fred investigating David’s death- there were specialists, coroners, people who studied the crime scene and gathered evidence.

  So far, nothing pointed to foul play. I thought of consulting my tarot cards. David was supposed to have done an art show that coming weekend that I’d also forgotten to do a reading of. I was so preoccupied with Roger, I’d forgotten.

  Could there be a connection between the show and his death? Could a jealous artist have murdered David? It would have to be somebody that knew him well or a rival artist.

  Even though I was an emotional wreck, I had to try to do a reading to see what the cards would say. I know 90% of the world would think I'm nuts for looking at Tarot cards at a moment like this, but if I can keep calm, I might get an idea of why my gut keeps saying that it's not a suicide.

  All this while, Roger had been sleeping in the chair opposite me. He had adjusted very well to the house. At least something was going right.

  *****

  ‘I walked about the room and lit my candles. After drawing the curtains closed, I slid a large pillow from beneath the tarot table and sat down. I spread the cards before me in a five-card horseshoe spread, reluctant to look. I reached across the table to turn them overand see what message they held about David. The cards showed that there wa
s something or someone hidden in the background. There was danger, but the danger had already passed, David was dead. But the question is, was this hidden thing something in David's psyche or something in the real world? The cards kept saying something close to David, but I still couldn't figure out if it was his psyche or someone. Or even some thing.

  The phone startled me from my meditative state. Which was just as well. I was too emotionally raw to properly conduct a reading. I’d approach it again when I had a clear mind with which to do so.

  I grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter. It was Jill.

  “Hi, I just called to see how you were doing. I knew that David's death would be weighing heavy on your mind.”

  “Well, I spoke with Fred, and he told me that everything pointed to suicide and I begged to differ, but it didn't make any difference. In spite of what Fred said, I still have this gut feeling that something was not right.”

  “Listen, maybe we should just go out and get a coffee or something to take your mind off this, otherwise you're going to drive yourself nuts.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Meet me at Joanie's coffee shop in ten minutes.”

  *****

  Joanie's Coffee and Cupcake Shop was one of the more popular places in town. Joanie had decorated it in a retro style, hinting at the early sixties, but with modern touches. It had bright colors, with old fashioned booths topped with Formica, and a black and white tiled floor. You always felt as though you’d stepped back in time when visiting Joanie’s.

  A person could sit there, order a coffee and pastry and read or use the wi-fi and Joanie wouldn't shoo you out. Joanie was someone else I went to high school with. This had always been her dream to open up her own bakery – coffee shop. I was one of her best customers.

  Roger was up and around, rubbing himself against my legs. He was getting used to living here very quickly. I was very glad. I put the collar on him and we went to the car.

  I breathed a bit easier once we were inside the coffee show. It felt safe to be around- and talk to- other people. Jill’s presence calmed me the most, as it always had.

  She knew I needed to get out and about and here we were talking about Roger. Roger was very calm, He sat on the floor next to our table. No one at the coffee shop was uncomfortable with Roger being inside. I’d often come here with Fluffy when he was alive. But, I’d been cat-less for years, so Roger did come as a surprise to them. Joanie’s eyes widened when she spotted him.

  “Oh Mandy, you got a new cat, it's so beautiful. Is it a he or a she?”

  “It's a he.”

  “Well that's a very beautiful tabby. He's big too. Good thing you didn't go for a kitten, they’re just too much trouble.”

  Joanie bent down and pet Roger and he basked in the affection. Roger was an animal that needed love. He would allow people to get close to him. But he apparently knew when there was danger too. I guess that's instinctual.

  Joanie said, “Sorry to hear about David, I know you two were close friends. It's terrible when these things happen, people killing themselves for no good reason. And he seemed like such a nice quiet man. Who knows why people do the things they do?”

  I didn’t want to tell Joanie that I’d consulted the tarot cards, or that David was allergic to pain killers. I didn’t want to seem even more insane.

  The bell above the coffee shop door rang, announcing a customer. I wished I hadn’t turned to see those freshly-polished black dress shoes as they scuffed Joanie’s tiled floor. But I had. My eyes moved from his shoes to his dark jeans, and from there to his button-down shirt. When his puffy, red eyes caught mine, my throat closed.

  Harold. David’s ex-boyfriend.

  Harold’s face fell when he saw me. He strolled across the store to where we sat.

  “Oh Mandy, I'm just so heartbroken about David. I just don't know how this could have happened. We broke up a couple of months ago, and it was my fault, I had been cheating. I went back after a month to see if we could resolve our issues and maybe get back together.

  “He told me he’d found someone else, but wouldn’t tell me who. I never saw him publicly with anyone else. Neither did any of our mutual friends. I don't know if he was just playing with my head, or trying to get back at me. But David was never that calculating. I keep blaming myself, thinking if we'd been together still, would this have happened? Was there something I could have done to stop this? I just have no idea. He was never the type to take his life, but it just goes to show, sometimes we just don't know the people we love the most.”

  Harold sat at the end of our table. He hunched over, put his head in his hands and sobbed. Tears rolled down his arm and dampened his shirt sleeves. I felt terrible for him. I felt terrible for all of us.

  In an attempt to lighten the mood, we tried to remember the good times that we’d had with David. I recounted some of my experiences while at college and spoke of his early days as an artist and how his professors lauded his ability to paint. Everyone at that table had watched David morph into the accomplished artist he had been. We’d all watched him struggle for years before he found the recognition he’d deserved.

  We shared different funny stories that happened to all of us while hanging out with David, he had a great sense of humor. By remembering the good times, we felt less sad about what had happened.

  We decided that feeling bad about David dying was not going to help any of us, we remembered the David we loved and we grew up with and that we would keep his memory alive as long as we lived.

  That seemed to be a good way to deal with the situation, and I did most of this for the sake of Harold, who was a bit of a basket case right now, but I could see that Jill had been affected too. She was a good friend of David's as well.

  During all this, Roger would switch between the floor and jumping on my lap. He then would put his head on the table, so all you saw was this head sitting on the table. That made us laugh, and in the course of this Harold became aware that I had a new cat and was introduced to him.

  It was a relief to be amongst old friends, and to know that we had all turned out just fine. Most of us had found work doing the things we loved, even if we weren’t rich. I’d long ago learned that wealth was nothing if the person who held it was miserable.

  Jill loved her animals, Joanie loved her shop, and I loved my cards.

  It seemed that the good things in life brought happiness, while the bad things-the evil things-were what brought wealth.

  The poor and passionate were the ones that brought music, art, and beauty into the world. And maybe that was more important than bringing money into it. Still, life would be much better if the artists of the world were compensated more fairly.

  The peaceful thoughts didn’t last long, as Harold brought us back to reality. He had a hand curled beneath his chin-his elbow propped up on the table.

  “I wish I knew who David had been seeing. I wish I had the peace of mind that before he passed, he was with someone who had loved him. Hopefully someone who had loved him better than I did,’ Harold said.

  The table went silent. Jill and Joanie put their heads down. I wanted to comfort Harold, but I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like I’d known the guy, either. I couldn’t tell Harold that yes, David was happy and well-loved before he’d died.

  I couldn’t tell Harold anything.

  Chapter Four

  The next following day was filled with new responsibilities and new ways of looking at my world. Roger was early to rise, and that meant I was too. His mews were higher pitched and shorter than usual. He had perched at the foot of my bed, and his gentle voice woke me. I didn’t feel guilty that day. I felt that if Fluffy could see Roger and me right now, he would be happy for us. Fluffy wasn’t the one who decided I should be alone- that was me punishing myself. What for, I wasn’t certain. But I knew that morning that I was done.

  “Is Roger hungry?” I asked. To my amusement, he mewed back, as if to answer and leapt off the bed.

  I fed Roger t
he generic cat food I’d found at the store, which would have to do until I’d determined what his favorite flavors were. I set down a fresh water dish for him, then headed to work.

  The gallery would still show David’s art. I was sure the gallery had contingency plans in place for instances such as these. David probably wouldn’t have been the first artist to die of an overdose before a show.

  *****

  I got some pastries and coffee from Joanie's place and headed to work like any other morning. As usual, I was the first one there and usually opened up the place, since I had the keys. Most would stroll in late, so somebody had to keep the place open from early, early being 9 AM. Others liked to stroll in at eleven AM, and the owner never got in until 12 noon. He was one of those well to do people that probably had the gallery as a hobby and not because it was such a marvelous investment. Still, it looked like I might be hired here permanently, so I tried to be positive and do as much good in here as I could.

  The graphic designer, Katie Wiggins, usually was there early too. Katie was young, quiet, and a little unusual with multi-colored hair, and ripped up jeans, but this was probably her way of being cool. From time to time the owner would instruct her to dress more professionally, but because she mostly worked in the back of the gallery, away from patrons- he didn’t press the issue often. I had become friends with Katie. Katie liked that I was an astrologer and read tarot cards. I had done a couple of readings for her and she thought it had helped her out when making a couple of decisions. So we were on good terms.

  I sifted through the mail to make sure there weren’t any checks in the pile. Most of our clients purchased online and paid with credit cards. Occasionally we’d receive a call from an elderly person-lonely and wanting to speak with someone. We’d guide them through the buying process, inquire about print sizes or frames, and provide our address so they could send us an old-fashioned check.