The Muse (Interracial Mystery Romance) (Dark Art Mystery Series) (22 page)

You knew a dead girl was out there, didn’t you, Grandma? Why didn’t you tell me?

“This is the last photo. Your brother left the back of his studio at four forty-five in the morning. It is unclear where he went. There appears to be more blind spots near your brother and grandmother’s living spaces. I would like to have cameras placed there without them knowing it.”

Unease sat in the pit of my stomach, but I nodded that his idea was okay. A week ago I would’ve never considered uniting with a stranger to spy on my family, but then a week ago no innocent girls had died under my watch.

“The only footage of your brother I find is him later in the day, around nine in the morning, where it appears he’s singing in a tree.”

“He does that when he’s nervous.”

“What do you think he was nervous about?”

“I’m not sure, but I plan to find out. In fact, I plan to find out why all of them--Reece, Grandma, Dayanara, and Hex--were running around the grounds early in the morning while a young girl was killed.”

“I would like access to your brother’s studio, Grandmother’s cottage, and assistant’s rooms, as well as Dayanara Castillo’s living quarters.”

“You have my permission, but if there is one thing I know about my family, it’s this: if they know you’re coming to look, they’ll hide it all. I’ll need to have them away for something else while I allow you the time to search. However, for Dayanara’s quarters I would like to be there. I can’t have her transported now.”

“I understand.”

I yanked out my top drawer, opened my small lock box, and pulled out several keys. “I keep extra keys for my assistant’s living quarters. She’s on the third level in the west wing. That whole area is hers. If you unlock the main hallway you’ll have access to all of her rooms.”

“When should I try there?”

“She’ll be the easiest to keep busy. I’ll have her leave now. Hold on.” I pressed the speakerphone button and dialed her number.

“Hello?” she asked after the first ring. “I saw the door was locked so I ran down to the kitchen to grab us some food.”

Why didn’t you tell me Dayanara had gotten out of her living quarters the night the first
girl was killed? What are you hiding and why?

“Breakfast for me won’t be necessary.”

“Is everything okay, sir?”

“I’m just exhausted. I’m going to sleep. However, I need you to go to my Orlando office.

The original signed contracts to the CTS deal are there. This is too delicate for someone else to handle. It has to be you.”

“You want me to fly to Orlando to get them?”

“Yes. When will you be able to leave?”

Her exasperated breath traveled over the phone to me. “I can leave in less than an hour.

Will I be taking your private jet?”

“Of course.”

Once the call finished, I returned my attention to Detective White. “I suggest you begin your search of Reece’s living area around five. That will give you plenty of time.”

“And the others?”

“Have you had any sleep, Detective White?”

An embarrassed expression crossed his dark face. “Not yet, but neither have you, it seems.”

“Well then, let’s get some sleep and meet tomorrow morning to search Dayanara’s area.

Unless you happen to find the murder weapon in my assistant’s space.” I’d meant the statement to be a joke, but with the photo of Reece walking back with a bloodied Dayanara lying right on front of my desk, neither of us laughed.

Chapter 17

~Elle

Alvarez’s drink W.H.L. hadn’t worked at all.

I knew exactly what happened last night. The feel of Alvarez’s lips dominated my

thoughts and disturbed all the goals I’d set before me this summer. I barely slept. Hex thought he woke me up with his artist mania, but I’d been lying in bed with my hands on my thighs and thoughts dancing in my mind of maybe touching myself to the memory of Alvarez’s body pressed against mine in the hallway. I couldn’t stop thinking about him once I dressed and went down to breakfast. His witty explanations of Cuban men played in my head like a romantic comedy set in an exotic place. Hope flowed within me that I would spot him on my stroll to Hex’s studio. Disappointment arrived next, when I didn’t see him.

How ridiculous that I’m anticipating seeing a man I’ve only known for two days.

The time with Alvarez played in my mind over and over as I took off my clothes, put on my slippers and robe, and left the dressing area to climb Hex’s stage for a modeling session.

“Cuban men are born with two hearts, one for them, the other to give to their special
lady.”

Alvarez crowded my head.

“Do you need any coffee?” Hex asked.

“I’m fine.” I counted eight chairs on the stage. “Will you have other models here today?”

“Yes.” Hex scurried around his studio. His black and white hair flopped around as he moved through the space like a madman. Since knocking on my door this morning, he’d been going on non-stop about his first painting in the series and how it would be the one to start it all.

I nodded at appropriate times. In the few moments I feigned listening, Alvarez popped into my head.

What am I going to do about him? Why can’t I be strong enough to be on my own? At the
first sight of an attractive man who’s nice to me, I’m already swooning like a romantic idiot.

“. . . and the color should be enough to see you all but in the most delicate manner.” Hex hurried to the light switches and toyed with them. The left side of the room went dark, then the right. Next he turned them all on, and continued to flip them back and forth, trying to figure the mood he wanted for the painting.

After five minutes of blinking lights, I had enough and raised my hands in the air. “Hex!

Just relax.”

“I only have the temporary models for barely an hour. The fact that I even have them is a shock to me. I’d put in a request months ago.”

“I thought you said you didn’t even know what the subject of your collection was going to be until we sat in the limo and you yelled out
sacrifice
.”

“No. I always knew what it would be. I just never had a word for it. All I had was the feeling, and then you gave me the word. By the way, have you figured out what you’re going to sacrifice?”

Sex, maybe. Then I’ll have a stronger reason to block Alvarez’s offering to be
amigos
.

“No, Hex. I haven’t really thought of anything.”

“What do you want in life?”

“To be happy.”

Hex laughed. “Maybe you should shoot for something smaller.”

I thought about that for a minute. The past ten years with Michael raced through my head.

“I want to be different than the woman I’ve been before. I want to be strong, confident, and sure of what I want out of life--and if not sure, prepared to figure it out.”

Hex clapped his hands. “Damn, the gods have really been working their magic today.

This session may be just what you need.”

“Okay.” I twisted my lips in confusion, but didn’t ask anything else.

“I don’t know how to help you be all those things you just said, but these models may know. However, I have a simple fix for being different.”

“What?”

“Cut your hair. Die it. Change your style of clothes. Listen to music you’ve never

considered. Eat things you never in your life would’ve sampled years ago. Just act different. Just stop being you.”

“That simple?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

The door opened. Eight women took their time entering the studio. Whispers carried in the space as they talked amongst themselves and drank in the amazing art Hex had lying around.

The first thing I noticed was that they had no hair. No matter their race, height, or width, smooth, shiny heads met my eyes.

Why don’t they have any hair?

“Thank you so much, ladies, for accepting my invitation.” Hex pointed to a table of refreshments. “If you find yourself hungry or thirsty, there are food and drinks over here. There’s a dressing room on the far right. I made sure my maid put out several robes and slippers for you all to wear. Are there any questions?”

The tallest one, with dark chocolate skin, shook his hand. “Will we be naked the whole hour?” she asked.

“Possibly. I’m going to be taking photographs and then later painting the image that I like. Because I only get such a short time with you all, I’m probably going to use all of the time I have snapping a lot of photos. Is that okay?”

Everyone nodded. One by one, they went into the dressing room, changed into their

robes, and came to sit next to me on the stage. For some reason, their bald heads made me uneasy. It wasn’t that they weren’t still beautiful. Many were even captivating. Without the hair to distract the viewer’s eyes from the face, I could see the enchanting detail of high cheek bones, pointed little noses, and bright eyes that glittered when one of them focused on me for a few seconds. Yet, their presence put me on edge. Hex never explained what the session would be about, just that it dealt with his theme of sacrifice.

What did they sacrifice and how does it compare to me?

“Elle, go ahead and let down your hair, and everybody go ahead and take off your robes.

Feel free to hand them to me.” He walked around and gathered them.

I undid my bun, but with stiff, nervous fingers. What was I supposed to do, flaunt my long hair to them? The strands fell down over my shoulders, down my back, and continued behind the stool I sat on.

“How beautiful! How long have you been growing your hair?” a woman on my right

asked.

I turned to answer and froze. My lips remained parted. No words left them, just a silent gasp of shock. They didn’t have breasts. None of them. Nothing but scarred tissue decorated their chests. I checked the women on my right and even behind me. Each of their happy faces seemed to shift to pitied expressions, as if they’d just realized that I never knew they didn’t have breasts.

They’re cancer survivors. Hex has me modeling with cancer survivors? Why? What is
this picture supposed to say with me in between them?

I hadn’t survived anything. These women should have been the center of the painting, not me. I cleared my throat and walked over to where Hex tinkered with his big camera. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” he asked.

“The damn picture.” I did my best to keep my voice low, but the rage inside of me was rising each second until I thought I would blow and scream. “What is this painting supposed to say? Are you trying to say that I’m better than them, or that they’re better than me?”

“No.” He didn’t even have the respect to turn away from the buttons on his camera. “I’m trying to make the viewer think.”

“About what?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“When you saw Michael’s first painting of you, the glorious Archangel, what did you see?”

“A naked girl with long hair made to look like wings.”

“That’s what I saw, too. Granted, I thought you were beautiful, but what was the big deal?” He turned a screw on the side of his camera. “What was the whole point? Yet the art world clapped and cheered, claiming it was the masterpiece of our time, when in the end it was just a pretty girl with a nice rack and good length of hair.”

“So then, I’m right. The point of this painting is to say, ‘Hey. She’s no big deal.’”

Hex sighed. “Look at them and tell me what you see.”

I directed my attention to the women on the stage. They’d been whispering to each other again and gesturing to us. From here, it appeared like we tickled them. Their faces showed beautiful smiles boasting magnificent teeth. Their skin gleamed in the perfect lighting. Even their scarred flesh seemed to hold its own intricate designs, as crazy as it seemed. Luscious curves still decorated their hips and the swell between their legs. They were striking and endearing like a tribe of taunting sirens on top of a cliff in the middle of the sea. I gazed at them for longer than I should have, just exploring their bodies and faces.

They sat on that stage with a boldness I’d never been able to muster in all of my years of modeling, and even more breathtakingly, they sat there united. I had no idea if they’d even known each other before this day, but their strength bonded them together. Their battle scars from that horrific disease revealed them as warriors, and they didn’t shy away from it. Instead they kept their heads high, shoulders raised, and their gazes set on Hex and me, as if daring us to say they weren’t the most physically powerful and magnificent beings we’d ever set our eyes on.

“What do you see, Elle?”

“Beauty.”

“What else?”

“Strength, survivors, unity. I could go on and on.”

“That’s what I want my viewers to see.”

I hugged my arms around my own breasts, as if to conceal them. “Why the hell do you want me in the picture? They definitely don’t need me.”

“Do you want me to be honest or lie?” He looked into my eyes.

“Honest.”

“You’re the reason people will stop and look at the picture. I doubt they’ll even notice the women around you at first, but when they do, they’ll study and compare. You’re the anchor in normalcy for the close-minded so they won’t run out of the room screaming. But once they take the time to truly give the other women a chance, you’ll probably be forgotten.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

He returned to his camera. “You asked for the truth.”

Fine. He has a point.

I took the time to really think his words over. How bad would it be to lose my identity in a sea of something bigger than me? I formed my lips into a smile. “If I had to choose a group of women to be lost to, it would be them. They inspire me to be more.”

“That’s the point.” He pressed something. A click sounded. “Okay. The clock is ticking.

Are you done being a diva?”

“Oh, be quiet. I wasn’t being a diva.” I hurried back to my seat.

“Is everything okay?” one of the women asked when I sat down.