Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(56)
Josie sighed and buzzed Lou. “Thanks. Send her on up.”
Otto adjusted his gun belt and left.
Josie heard Roxanne and Otto mutter a polite hello on the stairs.
Roxanne entered the office wearing a pair of tight white pants tucked into black suede boots with fur wrapped around the top. She wore a red shirt with drawstrings at the neck that ended in tiny white pom-poms, which bounced against her chest as she walked. The outfit looked out of place on a woman with wrinkles around her mouth and eyes and across her forehead. Josie flashed to an image of her mother the day she arrived in Artemis two years ago in a miniskirt and skintight top, and she felt a moment of sadness wash over her, and then the crazy urge to call her mother. One more attempt to make things right.
Roxanne closed the door behind her and Josie gestured to the conference table, where they took a seat across from each other.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Spar?”
“I guess you talked to the mayor. Well, it backfired.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“What do you mean, backfired?”
“I figured you’d talk to him and he’d lay off. Instead, he’s come to see me twice. Asking why I’m trying to set him up. Why I don’t trust him. If you want the truth, he’s a grown man acting like a juvenile.”
“If he’s harassing you, then file charges. Don’t let his position keep you from doing the right thing.”
She leaned her head back and laughed. “And what do you think the knucklehead men of Artemis would do to me when they found their crony strung up over stalking charges filed by a barmaid? You think they got my back?”
“This isn’t about the men in Artemis. It’s about your rights.”
“Let me remind you, I make my tips off the men in Artemis. They think I turned on one of their buddies, what happens to my tips?”
“I understand that. But you shouldn’t have to worry about walking from your car to your apartment at the end of your shift.”
“I just want him to leave me alone. Quit driving by my place. Quit creeping on me, and I forget the whole thing.”
“So he can harass someone else?”
Roxanne dropped her chin to her chest in frustration. When she lifted her head she gave a look that showed she was worn out by the conversation. “Let’s be honest. I’m not a save-the-planet kind of lady. You want someone to string up the mayor then get somebody else. Got nothing to do with me. Just let him know, I’ve read up on the stalker laws, and he’s getting mighty close to crossing the line.”
*
Otto felt a twinge of guilt leaving Josie to deal with Roxanne. Josie had filled him in, and the situation had the makings of a political drama that he hoped she could derail.
He drove thirty minutes to Presidio to find the artist known in West Texas as CC, or Celeste Chesnick. Her studio was in her home, located in a tree-lined neighborhood south of town. Otto had called ahead and the woman said she would be in all morning.
Her small clapboard-style house was surrounded by similar homes, but the property was distinguished by emerald glass balls hanging from its trees, colorful pots of bonsai pine trees, and a multicolored picket fence. It gave the chipped paint on the house a hip flair, especially compared to the old and unkempt homes in the block. He parked in the gravel driveway under a shade tree and met CC on the front porch. She was wearing a red gauzy dress that drifted around her thin body, faded cowboy boots, and a floppy-brimmed leather hat that all together signaled her vocation as an avant-garde artist. Her skin was a creamy chocolate brown. Dozens of beaded cornrows clicked against each other as she moved.
“Welcome!” She smiled warmly and held her hand out to Otto, who introduced himself.
“Please call me CC. It’s good to meet you, Otto.” He held his hand out as if to shake, but she grasped it in hers, holding it as if they were high school sweethearts, and led him inside her home. She waved her other hand around her living room–turned-gallery with a flourish.
“Welcome to CC’s world. Take a moment to look around while I get us drinks. Iced tea good for you?”
“Sure. That would be great.” He watched her glide out of the room, her dress wafting behind her and leaving the scent of lavender and lemons. He couldn’t place her accent, but it was soft and friendly, he guessed Caribbean.
After Simon had said that he refused to sell CC’s jewelry in his secondhand shop, Otto had imagined a devil-worshiping hag, not a pretty waif offering iced tea. The artwork in her gallery was a mix of colors and textures, but it all came together against whitewashed plank walls. Certainly no satanic signs or gang symbols were present.
CC entered the room carrying a wooden tray with a pitcher and two giant margarita glasses filled with iced tea and a decorative umbrella. Otto thanked her and they sat down on high-backed chairs that flanked a fireplace.
After a brief discussion of her art and gallery openings Otto pulled the small plastic baggie out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her.
Her eyebrows rose in recognition. “Yes, this is my piece. Is there a problem?”
“This necklace was found at the scene of a murder.”
She drew in a sharp breath, her expression concerned, and made the sign of the cross over her chest.
“The secretary that was killed? Are you familiar with the story from the news?”
“Of course. It was terrible. And a man kidnapped?”