“Like there’s enough for real art in my civil servant’s salary.”

“I’d make you a deal.”

“I’m sure you would. One I still couldn’t afford.”

Stacy stepped in. “Actually, we’re here to question you about a couple pieces of property you and Riley have for sale. Three, to be exact.”

Riley burst out of the back, cell phone clutched in his hand. “June! I sold that piece to-” He saw them and stopped, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Aunt Patti, what a nice surprise.”

He kissed her cheek, then turned to Stacy and grinned. “I didn’t know you were an art lover, Stacy.”

“I’d better be. If I wasn’t, my sister’d be pretty pissed at me.”

“Your sister?”

“Jane.”

He stared at her a moment, looking stunned. “Jane Killian’s your sister?”

“I thought you knew.”

His face took on an expression of delight. “My God, I love her work. She’s a genius!”

Stacy laughed. There was a time that statement would have bothered her. Her and Jane’s relationship had come a long way in the past couple of years.

All it had taken was a maniac trying to kill Jane-and damn near succeeding.

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

“Does she have local representation?”

He reminded her a bit of Buster, big and enthusiastic, nearly quivering over the possibility of a “find.”

He caught her hand. “We’re having an opening Saturday night. I’d love it if you came.”

“Riley!” June admonished him. “Stop flirting with her. She’s spoken for.”

“No ring,” he teased, smile widening. “I can flirt if I want.”

It occurred to her that this was the second time in recent days someone had made a similar comment-no ring, no commitment.

“I apologize for my brother’s exuberance,” June said, scowling at her sibling.

“Please, don’t apologize. He’s right. I’m not wearing a ring.”

Patti’s mouth dropped and June looked distraught. Stacy cleared her throat. “That didn’t come out quite the way I planned. I only meant that Riley didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Thank you,” he said with exaggerated solemnity. “So, will you come Saturday?”

“It’s Shauna’s show, isn’t it? Spencer and I will be here along with the rest of the Malone clan.”

He sighed dramatically and released her hands. “The Malones get all the best ones. Always have.”

“Oh, stop it,” June scolded. “Patti and Stacy are here on official business. Let them do their jobs.”

Instead of being chastened, he looked delighted. “By all means, don’t let me stand in the way of justice.”

Patti grabbed the opening. “You have three pieces of commercial property for sale, listed with Gabrielle Realty. Is that correct?”

“It is,” June answered. “After Katrina, we decided to divest of some of our holdings. The businesses were all devastated by the storm. We lost tenants, had to fight with insurance companies, deal with repairs and all that entailed.”

“We decided it wasn’t worth it,” Riley offered. “Life’s too short.”

“Why did you choose to list with Marcus Gabrielle?”

She looked uncomfortable. “I read about his murder. It was…horrible. Shot down like that, in his own driveway.”

She rubbed her arms. “I thought this city was over that. I thought Katrina had taught us all something.”

Dream on. Unfortunately, the criminal element was never “changed” for long. In fact, murders were significantly up, though mostly turf wars between rival gangs.

June sighed. “He was a good customer of ours. A true patron of the arts. When we decided to sell the properties, we chose to return the favor.”

“I liked him,” Riley offered. “He seemed like a good guy.”

Stacy didn’t disabuse him of the notion, though she found it almost funny. The “good guy” cheated on his wife, physically bullied his girlfriend and manufactured and distributed meth.

Stacy stepped in. “Did he ever come in with people you’d describe as unsavory? Or whom you were surprised to see him with?”

“No,” June replied. “He mostly came alone. Or with his wife.”

“No one else?”

“And once with that agent of his. What was her name?” She looked at her brother.

“Trudy,” he answered, “short gray hair.”

The same agent who had escorted them to the properties today.

“What’s this all about?” June asked, as if suddenly questioning their visit and interview.

“Just following every lead,” Stacy said smoothly.

“Any suspects?” Riley asked.

“We’re working on it.”

“I’ve thought of his wife and kids so often in the past few days,” June murmured. “Such a tragedy.”

The gallery phone jangled; Riley excused himself to answer it.

“If you think of anything, June, please call.”

“I will, of course.” She walked them to the gallery entrance. “We’re still on for brunch tomorrow?” she asked Patti when they reached it.

“Absolutely. You still making eggs Sardou?”

She said she was. From inside, Riley called for his sister. “See you Saturday,” she said, then ducked back into the gallery.

As the late afternoon sunshine spilled over them, Patti looked at Stacy. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Spencer.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Are you fighting?”

Stacy shook her head. “With all due respect, Patti, I think that’s a little personal.”

“Not in this family.”

She was right. There was no worry of dysfunctional secrets or deeply harbored hurts in the Malone family. They pretty much laid it all out for everyone to see.

“We’re not fighting,” she said. “But we are talking about me getting my own place.”

“It finally happened. We all told him it would if he didn’t commit. We warned him he’d lose you.”

Well, that explained his proposal. Family pressure. Screws applied and turned.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Patti. He asked me to marry him. I said no.”

The older woman looked confused. “But you and he-”

“He doesn’t love me,” Stacy said softly. “And I want someone who does. I think I deserve that.”

Patti’s cell phone buzzed, cutting her off. Sending Stacy an apologetic glance, she answered. “Captain O’Shay.”

Stacy watched as Patti listened, her expression sharpening. “Thank you for letting me know. I’m coming now.”

She snapped the phone closed and looked at Stacy. “That was Alison Mackenzie from FACES. The City Park Jane Doe’s facial reconstruction is complete.”

Saturday, April 28, 2007

8:45 p.m.

By the time Yvette clocked in that night, she had worked up a fierce case of righteous indignation. Of course Detectives Malone and Killian hadn’t believed her. If a teacher, nurse or librarian had presented them with the same story, they would have jumped right on it. But a stripper? Oh no, with her they needed “proof.”

Typical cops.

What had she been thinking, turning to them? How could she have hoped they would protect her?

When had the cops, or anybody else, ever protected her?

The one calling himself the Artist had killed Marcus. He was obsessed with her, had been in her home several times. He had killed Marcus “for her.”

If Detectives Malone and Killian wanted proof, she’d get it for them.

She didn’t know why it was suddenly so important that they believe her, that she prove she was right, but it was.

Tonya poked her head into Yvette’s dressing area. “Just checking on you. Everything okay?”

Yvette smiled grimly. “I haven’t heard from him again, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“He hasn’t been in, either, but I’m on the lookout. If he shows tonight, I’ll know it.”

“If he does, let me know right away.”

Tonya nodded. “I was thinking, I’ve seen him in here before this. Before the storm.”

Yvette had landed the job at the Hustle after Katrina. The Hustle was one of the first clubs to reopen-and they had needed girls. Besides, it had been a nice step up for her.