Hit and Run in Cherry Hills Read online

  Kat’s insides knotted. “I doubt that.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know her.”

  Kat folded her hands in her lap. She didn’t know what to say to that. After all, Valerie was right.

  Valerie shifted positions so she was sitting cross-legged in the chair. “Ever since I can remember it was ‘Nikita this’ and ‘Nikita that.’ Nikita always did things better. She could run faster, her grades were better, she made prettier paintings. Me, I can’t do anything right in Mom’s eyes.”

  Kat watched as Valerie started playing with her eyebrow ring again, silently questioning whether all the facial jewelry was Valerie’s way of rebelling. It seemed counterintuitive, but if Valerie believed she couldn’t do anything right in Melissa’s eyes, why not go to the extreme and do everything she could wrong?

  “You have any sisters?” Valerie asked.

  Kat shook her head. “I’m an only child.”

  “You’re lucky. It bites knowing you’re always being compared to somebody better.”

  Kat found herself wondering how much Valerie had resented always being in Nikita’s shadow. Enough to kill? Perhaps she’d finally grown tired of coming up short all the time and had decided to eliminate her biggest rival once and for all.

  As heinous as the theory was, Kat couldn’t rule out the possibility. Taking in Valerie’s hard face and flashing eyes, she certainly didn’t seem to be shedding any tears over Nikita’s death.

  In fact, Kat thought with a chill, the expression on Valerie’s face almost seemed to suggest that she thought her sister had had that accident coming to her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As soon as Kat stepped through her apartment door, Tom raced over to greet her. He meowed the whole way, unable to contain his excitement over her return.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, squatting so she could pet the brown-and-black cat. “I had to stop somewhere after work.”

  Tom purred his forgiveness as he rubbed against her hand. He had to turn around several times to make sure he marked her properly. When he finally seemed satisfied, he flopped onto the floor and sprawled his legs out.

  Kat rubbed his stomach. “It’s nice that you’re always so happy to see me.”

  Matty trotted over to join them. Kat reached toward the yellow-and-brown tortoiseshell with her other hand, but Matty ignored it in favor of licking Tom’s ear. Tom’s eyes slipped shut, and his purring intensified. Between Kat’s belly rub and Matty’s head massage, he looked to be in cat heaven.

  Kat showered the felines with attention for a few minutes before standing up. “You two want to help me with some research?” she asked.

  The animals peered up at her, their eyes wide.

  She crossed the room and turned on her computer. While she was waiting for it to boot up, she went into the kitchen to change out Tom and Matty’s water. Both cats followed her, anxious to see what she was up to. When Kat dumped the old water in the sink, Matty was right there, ready to get a drink straight from the faucet.

  “I don’t know why I even bother leaving a bowl out for you,” Kat told the tortoiseshell as she turned on the tap.

  Matty ignored her, too busy lapping up water. She didn’t seem to mind that she was making Kat wait to use the sink. She probably knew the computer took forever to boot up.

  Or, more likely, she just didn’t care as long as she got what she wanted.

  By the time Matty had quenched her thirst and the water dish was refilled, the computer was ready. Kat sat down and grabbed the mouse, eager to learn more about Nikita Stoll.

  Performing a simple Google search returned a ton of hits. Kat clicked on a few articles and skimmed over them. The more she read, the more surprised she became that she had never heard of Nikita Stoll until yesterday. Imogene was right. Nikita was a minor Cherry Hills celebrity.

  Matty vaulted onto the desk. Her eyes locked on to the keyboard, but Kat thwarted her with a hand to the chest.

  “Sorry, Matty.” Kat picked up the tortoiseshell and relocated her to her lap. “I’m working on something.”

  Matty struggled a bit but stopped when it became clear Kat wasn’t going to give in. Conceding defeat, she settled down and closed her eyes.

  Kat turned her attention back to her online search. She clicked on one of the links that featured a picture of Nikita and Valerie together. Nikita had a bright smile on her face, her arm slung around her sister’s shoulders.

  Valerie didn’t look nearly as happy. In fact, her expression was as sullen as it had been at Imogene’s, and Kat had to wonder if the young woman always looked as though she’d rather be somewhere else.

  Kat started reading, surprised to note the article was actually a write-up on Valerie, not Nikita. The event was to celebrate the results of a bike-racing competition, and Nikita was quoted as congratulating her sister for placing second. The quote was generic enough that Kat suspected the reporter had worked in the artist’s name simply to get more hits on his article.

  Kat pulled up another browser window and ran a search on Valerie Stoll. She found a few more bike-racing articles, but nothing that told her much about Nikita’s sister or whether there might be some hard feelings between the two.

  Remembering the painting she’d seen in Lady Fairchild’s guest room, Kat Googled Nolan Calabresi next. If his life was as tormented as his art would suggest, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had something to do with Nikita’s death.

  Except Nolan didn’t have much of an online presence. All the articles she came across focused on his paintings rather than his personal life. She couldn’t even find any pictures of the man.

  However, she did locate a photograph of a painting he’d done almost two years ago titled My Life. The man in the painting had a leash wrapped around his neck, which somebody beyond the edge of the canvas was using to choke him. His features and clothing were indistinct, and the background was merely an accumulation of red and black slashes. Kat formed the impression he was inside a cave or cavern, but she had no idea if that was accurate.

  Matty stood up before Kat could examine the painting further. The tortoiseshell made a show of setting her front paws on the desk and stretching as if Kat wouldn’t be able to figure out what she was up to.

  “I know you’re dying to sit on the keyboard,” Kat told her. “And I don’t think I’m getting anywhere here, so have at it.”

  Matty didn’t need any more encouragement. She scrambled onto the desk and, after stopping briefly to lick her hind leg, shifted her attention to the monitor.

  Kat scratched Matty’s back. “Don’t tell me you’re a fan of Nolan’s art. Even you could paint better than that.”

  Matty pawed at something on the screen.

  “What is it?” Kat asked.

  She studied the spot that had captured Matty’s interest. A fuzzy, blue triangle hung from a section of the leash near the man’s neck. Despite her best effort, Kat couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be.

  She grabbed the mouse and scrolled down to read the article, hoping she might find the answer there. As explained by Nolan, the leash encircling the man’s throat represented society’s hold on him and how he was powerless to break free. Nolan went on to say that the man did have one weapon in his arsenal though, and that was his inner shark. Only by channeling the energy of this fighting animal did man have a chance to reverse his destiny and escape from society’s shackles.

  Kat sat back in her chair. It certainly sounded as though Nolan were crazy enough to run over a woman.

  Before she could dwell any longer on Nolan or his painting, her cell phone rang. She gave Matty a pat before standing up to answer it.

  Her stomach did a somersault when she spotted Andrew’s name on the caller ID. “Hey there, stranger,” she said into the phone.

  “Hey. Just thought I’d tell you I’m going to have to cancel our dinner plans for tomorrow.”

  “I take it the case isn’t solved yet.”

  “Nope. And I plan on working t
his thing day and night until it is.”

  Kat walked back over to Matty, who continued to stare at the computer monitor. “Well, whenever that happens, we’ll go out and celebrate.”

  “Sounds good. So, what are you up to this Friday night?”

  Kat glanced at the multitude of browser windows lined up on the computer’s task bar. “Nothing.”

  “You’re obsessing over yesterday, aren’t you?”

  Kat sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it. “I was just looking up a few things online.”

  “Need I remind you that investigating Nikita Stoll’s death is police business?”

  “You can’t ban me from looking stuff up on Google, Andrew.”

  “I’m just worried about you. Whoever killed Nikita doesn’t behave like they’re afraid of the law. Between stealing a car, driving at night without headlights, and running over a woman, we could be dealing with somebody who’s very angry.”

  Kat thought about Nolan Calabresi channeling his inner shark. “Do you have any leads?”

  “You know I can’t discuss that with you.”

  Kat tamped down her disappointment. “Well, I hope you catch this person soon.”

  “Me, too.” He paused, then said more softly, “Enjoy your night.”

  Kat set her cell phone on the desk and ran her hands down Matty’s back. “What do you say I shut this old thing down and get out a shoelace for you to chase? That would be more fun than staring at a computer screen all night, don’t you think?”

  Matty rotated her head around, her tail swishing from side to side.

  “I’m glad you agree, because, I have to tell you, Matty, shoelaces make a lot more sense to me than art.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kat had made the other Furry Friends Foster Families board members a promise when she’d agreed to approach Fireside Gallery about 4F’s January fundraiser. That was what she kept telling herself anyway as she headed to the art gallery Saturday morning after finishing up her shopping at the Wenatchee malls.

  But a small part of her couldn’t help but wonder what she might learn about Nikita Stoll while she was there.

  The gallery occupied a single-story building located on one of Wenatchee’s main thoroughfares. Only street parking was available out front, but a yellow Corvette was pulling out of a spot just as Kat arrived. She grabbed it.

  The first thing that struck her when she walked through the entrance was how bright and spacious the showing area was. Rather than being cluttered with furniture, the floor had been left open—probably to encourage potential buyers to keep walking as they took in the different items on display. In addition to the paintings and framed photographs hanging on the walls, several pedestals were spaced around the room, each supporting a single sculpture, pottery item, or other three-dimensional piece.

  Kat heard the click of heels on hardwood floors seconds before she saw the tall redhead materialize from a side room. Dressed in a sleek black dress with her hair gathered in a stylish chignon, she looked as if she were on her way to a cocktail party.

  The redhead halted next to Kat, a warm smile stretching out her ruby-red lips. “Welcome to Fireside Gallery. I’m Shannon Gottfried, the proprietor.”

  “Kat Harper,” Kat said, shaking Shannon’s hand. “I believe Imogene Little called to let you know I would be stopping by today on behalf of Furry Friends Foster Families.”

  “Ah, yes.” Shannon’s expression turned grim. “Imogene gave me the skinny on what happened to Nikita as well. Her death was a great loss to the art community. I’ve never met another human being with her talent.”

  “Did you know her well?”

  “Probably not as well as her fellow artists did. They’re quite a tight-knit community.”

  “They are?”

  “Well, sure. They’re always doing things together. In fact, the man who left here right before you arrived threw a party for the whole crew just the other night.” Shannon hung her head. “It was on Thursday night, actually, the night Nikita died. It’s a shame to think she might still be alive if she had attended.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t invited,” Kat said.

  “It was an open party. Anybody could have shown up, even those who aren’t particularly interested in art.”

  “Huh.” Kat pondered over that. “So the artists don’t view each other as competition?”

  “They’re more like colleagues than competitors,” Shannon said. “Most are eager to help each other out. And who better to understand the struggles that all artists face than another artist? By fostering a community spirit, everybody benefits.”

  Kat supposed that made sense. Still, she thought Shannon might be sugarcoating the situation a little. “So you’re saying there isn’t any jealousy between some of the local artists?”

  “Well, naturally, some friction is bound to exist. But for the most part, they tend to want to help each other out.”

  Kat let her gaze stray as she thought about the best way to coerce Shannon into revealing the names of the people who might have envied Nikita’s success a little more than was healthy. But before she could figure out how to phrase the query, Shannon stepped back and held her arm out.

  “Would you like to see some of the pieces we currently have on display?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure.” Since Kat was here for a favor, it seemed prudent to humor Shannon a little.

  Shannon led Kat around the gallery, stopping to provide some background on each piece. Kat nodded at the appropriate intervals, doing her best to appear as though she could see more than colors on a canvas.

  After forty minutes, they finally reached the spot where they’d started.

  “That’s it out here,” Shannon said.

  Kat blew out a breath, grateful that was over. Looking at art was not one of her favorite pastimes.

  Shannon headed for the entryway she had first emerged from. “Now I’ll show you the back room, where we keep some of our more evocative pieces.”

  Kat hoped Shannon didn’t hear her sigh.

  Kat followed Shannon only to stop dead in her tracks as soon as they rounded the corner. The sculpture given the prime display space in the center of the room was that of a naked man, his head held high and his arms folded across his chest as he stared intently off into the distance. Kat couldn’t help but wonder if he was supposed to be looking for his clothes.

  “Striking, isn’t it?” Shannon said. “That particular piece isn’t for sale, but we do have some of the artist’s other work available. Would you like to see those?”

  “Er,” Kat stammered, “it’s not really my style.”

  A blip of disappointment passed over Shannon’s face before her smile returned. “Very well, then. Perhaps you would be interested in something else.” She strolled toward the far wall and held her hand up to one of the photographs. “What about this?”

  Kat’s cheeks flamed when she saw the black-and-white photo was of a woman with nothing covering her private areas except for her crossed arms and strategically arranged hands.

  Shannon squinted at Kat. “I take it nudes aren’t your thing.”

  Kat imagined she had to be as red as a radish. “No, not really.”

  “Very well, then.” Shannon dragged her gaze around the room as though in search of something more modest.

  Kat figured she’d better steer this conversation back to Nikita before the gallery owner found her something else to look at. “Shannon,” she began, pretending to scan the room, “Nikita Stoll didn’t happen to create any of the works in here, did she?”

  Shannon shook her head. “Nikita preferred to focus her energy on nature paintings.”

  Kat nodded, relaxing a little. She had half feared her question would be answered in the affirmative.

  “I can show you some of her work, but I’m afraid none of it is for sale,” Shannon said.

  “Because of her death?” Kat guessed.

  “Because we sold out this afternoon,” Shannon corrected.
r />   “Sold out?”

  “Once word of her passing made its way around, we had people scrambling to snatch up her paintings. I’ll tell you, some collectors were offering double the asking price. Nobody wanted to be left out.”

  Kat frowned. “That’s pretty morbid, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all.” Shannon didn’t seem the least bit ruffled by the urgency to buy up a dead woman’s artwork. “You have to understand, Nikita’s demise means she can no longer produce. There will never be another Nikita Stoll created for all of eternity.”

  “So her dying actually made her artwork more valuable,” Kat mused.

  “Yes.” Shannon wrung her hands together. “Of course, I’m not saying her death wasn’t a terrible tragedy. I’ll miss Nikita as much as anyone. But from a business standpoint, well, I can’t deny the effect her car accident had on the value of her paintings.”

  “How much are her paintings worth now?” Kat asked.

  “Some of her work went for mid to upper five figures.”

  Kat’s jaw almost hit the floor. “And that’s all because she died?”

  “It’s a matter of supply and demand. The supply has been cut off, therefore the value of her art goes up.”

  “And you benefit from this?”

  Shannon frowned. “Well, my gallery works on commission, so we only receive a portion of that.”

  “How much is your commission?”

  Shannon shifted her weight between her feet. “Fifty percent.”

  “Fifty percent?” Kat arched an eyebrow. “You mean half of the artists’ profits go to you?”

  “You have to understand, it costs a lot of money to maintain a gallery. And our rate isn’t anything unusual. Fifty percent is quite standard for this industry.”

  “So how much did Fireside make this week just off of the sales of Nikita’s work?”

  Shannon fingered her hair. “I have yet to tally up the numbers. The sales aren’t technically final until the money changes hands and the artwork is shipped.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “There’s no set timeline.” Shannon was looking more flustered by the minute. Several tendrils of her hair had slipped out of the perfect do behind her head and were now sticking to her forehead. “And our cut really only covers the cost of keeping the gallery operating.”