Ivy watched him and then got up and moved to the desk, sitting down in his chair. A little space between their bodies felt necessary right now. “Max, you’re the man I love. Not Louie. Not Jack Moline. Not Bruce Holland. Not any of the men you’ve periodically accused me of lusting after.”

  “And not Hale?”

  “Of course not!”

  “But you did love him. Once.”

  She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desktop. “Why do you do this to yourself? Yes. I loved him. A long time ago.”

  “But it was over?”

  “Yes.”

  “And even if he’d changed his mind, insisted he wanted to work out the problems in your marriage, you would never have gone back to him?”

  “Max —”

  “Answer the question.”

  She was surprised by the coldness in his voice. “No. I’m committed to you now. Completely and forever.”

  His eyes held hers for a long moment before looking away.

  “What are you trying to suggest? I hated him! You know that.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes!”

  “As much as I did?”

  “More!”

  “Enough to kill him?”

  Her eyes opened wide. “What?”

  He got up and walked to a filing cabinet, lifting out one of the folders. “Have the police questioned you?”

  She felt a small spasm in her cheek. “Of course they have.”

  “And what did you tell them — about us?”

  “Nothing!”

  He slipped the folder into his briefcase.

  “Where is this coming from?’ Her mind struggled to understand his sudden anger. “Is it Louie? You can’t really be worried about our relationship. We’re friends, Max. Nothing more.” She’d seen his jealousy before, but it had never been this strong.

  He grabbed his suit coat and yanked it on. “I’d never let anything or anyone come between us, do you understand that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Hale deserved what he got.”

  “Max, you’re frightening me.”

  “Am I?” His eyes flashed.

  “Yes!”

  His face looked as if it had been carved from a block of granite. Slowly his smile returned. “You’re right. After all we’ve done to achieve this moment, I’m not going to think another negative thought. Negative programming leads nowhere. I know you love me. Come here.” He held his arms open wide.

  Something about his demeanor continued to frighten her. Still, as he stood there, his handsome face lit up just for her, she couldn’t resist.

  He folded his arms around her body, whispering very softly, “We both know what happened to Hale. And that secret will bind us together. Forever.”

  24

  Bright and early Tuesday morning, Sophie was shown into Detective Cross’s office and asked to wait. She was clad in a comfortable pair of old jeans and, compliments of her husband, a WMST sweatshirt. She’d taken the day off. Too much was happening and she needed some time to sort everything out. She felt apprehensive as she took a seat, fidgeting with the note she’d reluctantly brought with her. No matter how sure Bram was, she still wasn’t certain this was the best thing to do.

  Cross entered a few minutes later, stuffing the remains of a doughnut into his mouth. “Ms. Greenway. I didn’t expect to see you today.” He sat down behind the desk.

  “I didn’t expect to be here,” she said, pushing the piece of crumpled paper toward him. “I thought you should see this right away.”

  He picked it up, taking a moment to study the contents. “Where’d you get it?”

  “I found it the night Hale died. I was hurrying over to the gate house with my son when I spotted it on the floor next to the back door. Since I didn’t have time to look at it right then, I put it in my purse. I forgot about it until yesterday when I was looking for my lipstick.”

  He studied her carefully. “You think someone gave this to Hale?”

  She nodded.

  “Who is” — he looked down — “Ezmer Hawks?”

  “An artist. A favorite of Hale’s. Next month, the Chappeldine Gallery is having an opening for his new work.”

  “He doesn’t sound like much of a friend to me.”

  “I agree.”

  “Did anyone see you pick this up?”

  She knew what he was thinking. “Just my son. Look,” she said, attempting to control her frustration at being doubted, “I’m not lying. I don’t presume to know what everything in that note means, but I can’t help but believe it’s important. My husband feels it’s nothing less than a death threat — with the signature of the man who murdered Hale at the bottom.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I agree with him.”

  “Because it would get your son off the hook?”

  She uncrossed her legs and sat forward in her chair, giving herself a moment to regroup. “I was afraid you’d think that. And you’re right — I’d do anything to help my son.”

  “Even manufacture evidence?”

  “No! Of course not. I found the note Saturday night. My husband thought you had a right to see it. It might help you solve the crime, and ultimately, that would benefit Rudy.”

  He nodded. “All right.”

  Sophie knew he wasn’t convinced, but he also couldn’t afford to ignore the letter. “Actually, while I’m here, maybe you’d like to explain something to me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for one thing, just because my son found Hale’s body doesn’t mean he … shot him.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So why have you called him down here twice since Saturday night?”

  “He hasn’t told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  Cross leaned back in his chair, making a bridge of his fingers. “We found jacket fibers on a nail near the back door of the gate house. We’ve determined that this was how Mr. Micklenberg’s killer exited the building.”

  “So?”

  “The fibers were from your son’s coat.”

  Sophie let out an involuntary gasp. “What are you saying?”

  “He lied to us about the chain of events that night, Ms. Greenway. When we talked to him, he never once said anything about going down the back steps. Yet, those fibers tell us very clearly that he did. Also, he said he saw a woman going into the back door of Micklenberg’s house. The problem is, you can’t see the back door of the main house from the gate house’s second-floor window. He may have seen someone go in all right, but he saw it from the back door — or outside. Either way, he’s not telling us the truth. We want to know why.”

  Sophie had never even considered that Rudy might have lied. “I — I don’t understand.”

  “I can see this comes as a shock, and I’m sorry. But until Rudy decides to talk, he’s going to remain a prime suspect.”

  “I see,” she whispered.

  “We’ll check out the note. And I’ll send someone over to the Chappeldine Gallery today. Maybe the owner can shed some light on it.”

  “Maybe,” said Sophie. Her mind felt dazed, unable to focus on what he was saying.

  Cross looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any more time this morning. I have a meeting.”

  “Of course.” She stood. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “No problem.” He moved around the desk and walked over to the door, opening it for her as she passed in front of him. “Oh, and Ms. Greenway?”

  “Yes?” She stopped, meeting his eyes again with some difficulty.

  “Try to convince your son to level with us. In the long run, it’ll be best for him.”

  She nodded and then silently left the office.

  Since the Chappeldine Gallery was on her way home, Sophie decided to stop and see if Kate had a few minutes to talk. She needed a friend right now. A ton of bricks had just been dropped on her head. Even though deep inside she knew Rudy couldn’t have had anything to do with Hale’s murder, she was at a complete loss to explain why he’d lied. Still, she had one advantage over the police. She knew the note she’d found was genuine. And it meant something important. Perhaps it was the key that would unlock the truth behind Hale’s death. Or maybe it was just a dead end. Either way, she knew she couldn’t rest until she found out.

  From comments Rudy had made, Sophie knew Hale had visited the gallery several times recently to view Ezmer Hawks’s new works. Not only did she want to take a look at them for herself, but she had some specific questions she wanted Kate to answer.

  On Tuesday mornings, the gallery was closed to the public. Kate usually worked on the computer in her small office in the back. Sophie knocked loudly, hoping she would hear. In a matter of seconds, the young woman emerged from the hallway, waving a greeting as she trotted to the door. “Hi,” she said brightly. “What brings you here so early?”

  “Offer me a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you.” She moved into the darkened gallery.

  Kate seemed a bit puzzled by her unexpected appearance. “I’ve already got the pot on. Come on back.” She led the way to the storage room.

  Once seated comfortably on a stool, Sophie watched Kate pour fresh coffee into two red and white mugs. She looked unusually pale today. The events of the other evening had no doubt taken their toll on her as well.

  “So?” said Kate, wiping up a spill on the counter. She kept her back to Sophie. “What’s up?”

  “Well, I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to chat.”

  “About what?”

  No use beating around the bush. “Ezmer Hawks.”

  Kate straightened her shoulders, but didn’t turn around. She folded the washcloth very carefully and placed it next to the sink. “What about him?”

  “I thought maybe you could give me some background. I’d be interested in anything you know about the man.”

  “Why?”

  Sophie was getting the distinct impression Kate was stalling. She wondered why. “I think he may have had something to do with Hale’s murder.”

  Very deliberately, Kate turned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who told you that?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Then how can you make such an accusation?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you. Last Saturday night, as I was following Rudy over to the gate house to see if we could help Hale, I noticed this piece of paper on the floor next to the back door. I picked it up, but I was in such a hurry, I just stuffed it in my purse. I found it again last night.” She hesitated, wishing Kate would hand her the mug. She’d only had one cup of coffee at breakfast. Normally she didn’t feel human until her third. “It was a note written by Ezmer Hawks to Hale.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “No. I gave it to the police.”

  Her eyes searched Sophie’s face. “When?”

  “This morning. Anyway, it was a drawing. A sphinx with fire between its paws. A picture of Hale was in the fire.”

  “Really?” Kate handed her the mug. She took a sip from her own as she leaned against the counter. “I think I may have something you’ll be interested in seeing. But finish your story first.”

  “Well,” said Sophie, holding the hot mug in her hands, “the thing is, it wasn’t just a drawing. There was a note as well. It said” — she reached into the pocket of her jeans and retrieved the piece of paper onto which she’d copied the words:

  “I’m here and I’m watching. I want you to call the police and tell them the truth. Tell them what you did. Nothing less will be acceptable. Do it now. If you refuse, you’ll pay the price. Remember: ‘For every evil under the sun, there is a remedy …’ Make that call!

  Signed, ‘Ezmer Hawks.’ “

  Kate held the mug to her lips and peered over it. “What do you make of it?”

  “It’s pretty clear. Hawks wanted Hale to make some sort of confession. If he didn’t, he’d pay the price.”

  Kate looked surprised. “You think Ezmer Hawks murdered Hale?”

  “Don’t you? It’s an obvious threat.”

  “I suppose.”

  Sophie didn’t understand her lack of excitement. After all, she knew Rudy had been interrogated the night of Hale’s murder. And he’d been called away from the gallery on Sunday afternoon for more questioning. The sooner the murderer was caught, the sooner Rudy could get back to his normal life.

  Kate pulled up another stool and sat down. “So. What do you want to know from me?”

  “Well, first, was Hawks at the party Saturday night?”

  “No. Not that I was aware of. But I’m at a disadvantage. I’ve never actually met the man.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “We do all our business by mail. He lives somewhere near Soldiers Grove in northern Minnesota. When I offered him the chance to have a show here this spring, he jumped at it. He’s been sending me his work little by little. I have seven of his most recent pastels.”

  “Was he going to come down for the opening?”

  “He hasn’t said.”

  Sophie found her answers frustrating. How could she know so little? “Is that normal? Don’t you usually go to someone’s studio to judge their work before you offer them a show?”

  Kate shrugged. “He’s eccentric. It wasn’t an option.”

  Sophie wasn’t satisfied, yet there wasn’t much she could say in response. Kate had the right to run her business any way she saw fit. “I understand that Hale came here several times to see the new work.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did he always have such a violent reaction?”

  “Violent reaction?”

  “Well, the day I was here, he no sooner looked at the drawing than he started to sweat.”

  Kate turned the mug around in her hand. “Yes, I remember that, too. Actually, the first pieces Ezmer sent down really delighted him. But the next time he came, he did act kind of weird. Almost like he was frightened.”

  That was it, thought Sophie. Fear. “And you know nothing else about Ezmer Hawks? His age? His background?”

  “All I have is a box number, which, by the way, I gave to Hale that morning. That’s it.”

  “You don’t have a short biography? A résumé of some kind?”

  Kate stood, once again turning her back to Sophie. “Well,” she said, drifting over to a pile of papers on top of a low file, “yes, I think he sent me something once. I don’t remember where I put it. It was before I had my file system in order. I should ask him about sending another.” She turned around, giving Sophie a sheepish smile. “I look a lot more organized than I am.”

  Sophie found that hard to believe. “Could I see the drawings?”

  “Sure. Just wait a sec.” She left her mug sitting on the counter and crossed to the back. After rummaging through a group of portfolios, she found the one she wanted. “Okay. Stand over by this easel and I’ll go through them with you.”

  Sophie quickly obliged.

  Kate lifted the first one up.

  Just as Sophie had suspected, the pastel drawing was rather innocent, almost childlike. Nothing very exceptional. The gesture was kind of nice. “Let’s see the next one.”

  Kate placed it on the easel.

  Again, just a simple, rather silly drawing. After a respectful pause, Sophie said, “Next,” attempting to keep the impatience out of her voice. This time, the picture was definitely an outdoor scene. A vast blue sky above logs and a flame. “Do you really like these?” she asked, trying not to sound judgmental.

  “Yes. I think they’re wonderful.”

  Well, no accounting for taste.

  Kate placed the fourth drawing on the easel.

  Another outdoor scene. Lots of pinks and violets. Sophie motioned for her to move on.

  “This is the drawing I think you might find interesting.” Kate lifted up the largest one so far.

  Sophie’s eyes opened wide. “It’s that sphinx with the fire between its paws!” She stepped closer, unable to take her eyes off it. “How did Hale react when he saw this?”

  “The same way he acted the day you were here. And when he saw this one” — she held up an even larger drawing — “he got even more upset.”

  “I can see why.” This time the flames held a face. The likeness of a boy. Sophie stared at it for almost a minute before speaking. “You have no idea what it means?”

  Kate shook her head.

  “Well, the police can’t imagine I made up the note after they see these.”

  “Excuse me,” said Kate. “They think you made it up?”

  Sophie sipped her coffee. It was almost too cold now to enjoy. “I was afraid they might assume I’d concocted it as a way of taking some of the heat off Rudy. There’s no question now. I’ve never even seen these before. You can swear to that.”

  Kate massaged her forehead, a scowl forming.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh … nothing.”

  “Come on. Give.”

  Kate set the portfolio down, leaning it against a table. “Well, maybe it was a mistake to give that note to the police.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t take this wrong, Sophie — and I’ll do anything in my power to make sure nothing comes of it — but even though you haven’t seen these before, I know someone else who has. Someone who’s shown a great deal of interest in them.”

  “Who?”

  Kate swallowed hard. “Rudy.”

  25

  On Wednesday morning, Ivy and Max were shown into a conference room at the offices of Weise & Crawford in downtown Minneapolis. At one end of the long table sat Charles Squire, a tissue held to his nose. He sniffed them a greeting and then blew hard.

  “Bad cold?” inquired Ivy, waiting while Max pulled out a chair for her.

  “Yes.”

  “Pity.” There was no love lost between them, so why pretend now? Max sat next to her, nodding to a man in a postal uniform. “Don,” whispered Ivy, laying her purse on the table. “How … nice to see you … again.” Don Micklenberg was Hale’s only living relative. A nephew by his now-deceased brother. She’d spoken with him briefly at the funeral the day before.