Page 28 of The Artist

“Found the starting point.Definitely arson,” said the voice on the radio.“And we found a body.”

“Roger.I’ll be there in a moment.”She turned to Alexis and squeezed her shoulder.“We’ll figure this out.As soon as I know more, I’ll let you know.”

“Nice to meet you, Deputy Jacobs.”Peter held out his hand.

“Miranda is fine.I’m pleased to meet you, too.Take care of our girl, will you?”

He nodded.“I’ll do my best.”

She turned and headed back toward the burned out Victorian house that had been The Armstrong Gallery.

Alexis’s baby.Her life.She’d started it with Jim, now the last of him was gone, too.

“Oh, Peter, that body has to be Heather.She would have been in at this time.I can’t believe that Heather’s dead.She didn’t deserve this.If it started in the office, they had to know she was there.They had to.”She buried her head against his shoulder, allowing the tears to fall.

He held her close.“We’ll figure this out and see that Horace pays.”

She looked up at him.Alexis knew her eyes were red and covered with a sheen of tears.“How?You’re his airtight alibi.”She blinked and the tears rolled down her face.

“I don’t know but we will…somehow.”

Alexis leaned against him with her arms around his waist.There has to be a way to make Horace pay for Heather’s murder.I know she was murdered.If the fire started in the office, she had to have been in there.She always started the day looking over yesterdays receipts, if any, and making coffee.She never left the office except to open the door for the day.

I will figure this out and I will make Horace pay for taking Heather’s life if it’s the last thing I do.

The next morning,Horace sat in his dining room with his first cup of coffee and the latest copy ofThe Aspen Times.The fire at The Armstrong Gallery was the cover story.He’d hated doing it and hated having all that beautiful art destroyed.

He stopped his perusal of the article.His hands began to shake.Someone was dead.Found in the remains of the gallery, in the office where the fire started.

Groaning, Horace threw the paper off the table.He stood and paced the room.“Those morons.Why’d they have to kill her?I liked her, and now, if they get caught, they will be facing a murder charge and won’t hesitate to implicate me.”He ran a hand through his hair and then both hands, pushing it up and out from his head.“I’ll be facing an accessory-to-murder charge.”

At the sound of the doorbell, he stopped pacing and talking to himself.He straightened his hair before going to the door.When he opened it, he was surprised to see Peter Kincaid standing on his porch.

“Mr.Kincaid.I thought we said all we were going to yesterday morning.”

Peter pushed into the house, past Horace, and settled on the sofa in the living room.

Horace lifted a brow.“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“I know what you did, using me as an alibi, but it won’t work for your associates, and I have a feeling you know that.They started that fire before picking me up.You know it, I know it, and the sheriff’s department knows it.”

He stared at Kincaid.“You seem to have this all worked out.Would you care for a drink?”He headed to the small portable bar that was currently in the corner of the living room next to the fireplace.

“No.It’s too early to start drinking, at least for me, but you go on ahead.I’m sure you have a reason to induldge.”

“I believe I will.”He poured two fingers of bourbon into a glass.“Heather’s death was a horrible tragedy.I always liked that girl.We even dated for a while.I’ll miss the sunny smile she always graced me with regardless of what threats Alexis and I were hurling at each other.”

“I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her, though I understand she will be greatly missed.Wait a minute.”Peter leaned forward, his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed.“How do you know it was Heather?It wasn’t printed in the paper, I read the article.”

“I…um…it was a guess.But who else would have been there if it wasn’t Alexis?Only Heather.”Horace brought his drink to the conversation pit and sat in an armchair, facing Peter.“What do you really want here, Mr.Kincaid?I thought we finished our business yesterday morning.”

“We didn’t even get started.”Peter sat forward and rested his hands on his knees.“I will be rebuilding The Armstrong Gallery and hosting a one-man show there as soon as it’s possible.I figure we’ll make enough money to cover the expenses of the reconstruction.”He frowned.“For some reason, Alexis is determined to rebuild.I’m afraid what happened this time will happen again.What do you think, Horace?Do you think you can keep your men from committing murder and burning down her gallery again?”

Horace lifted his glass to his mouth and looked over the top of it.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.My men had nothing to do with that fire.Or poor Heather’s murder.”

“Save it for the sheriff’s office.I’m sure they’ll be here to question you soon.”Peter stood.“You better get your story straight, because you know your goons will roll over on you at the first opportunity.I’ll show myself out.”He left the room.

Shortly, Horace heard the door slam.He sipped his bourbon and sat quietly for a moment.Those fools would be the death of him…in more ways than one.He drank the rest of the bourbon in two gulps, set the glass on the coffee table in front of him, then stood and prepared to leave the house.He had to give the appearance of being a caring neighbor and friend to Alexis so the suspicion wouldn’t be on him.Even though everyone in town knew about the bad blood between them, he had to put on a show.