Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

I think she's . . .”
    Kelly closed the distance, snapped her fingers in Valentine's face and pronounced, "She's stoned!"
    But Valentine did not do drugs. On closer inspection, she looked ghastly. Her unblinking gaze remained riveted on some illusive something outside the windows. Her flyaway hair fell across her forehead, concealing one cheek. I saw her hands then, clutching the armrests, fingers curled and rigid, as spastic as claws.
    "Why is it so cold in here?" Melanie complained and straightened up to rub her arms.
    "I think we'd better call 911," I said. "I think she's had a stroke." I scurried around the glass tabletop to Valentine's side and gently touched her arm. Her skin was cold to the touch in the air-conditioned air. I gave her arm a gentle shake. "Val?"
    She slipped sideways, the wing of the chair catching her sliding head. An unruly strand of dark hair fell away, exposing her forehead.
    Melanie shrieked, "Oh my God!"
    A glistening glob like a dab of wet black paint dotted the olive skin on her forehead. I swallowed air and held it in my lungs. I knew that if I looked at the back of her head it would be a mess. I didn't look. "She's . . .”
    "Oh my God, not dead," Melanie cried.
    ". . . been shot," I finished lamely.
    "And robbed," Kelly added.

    "Jeez, why would anyone want to shoot Val Russo?" asked the first cop on the scene. He was about my age, twenty-five or twenty-six, and looked hot and tired and like he'd like to get into shorts and a tank top himself instead of the buttoned-up uniform he was wearing. On second thought, from the devouring looks he was casting in Kelly's direction, it was her shorts and tank top he wanted to get into. But he was a professional and realized he was on duty and this was no ordinary call, still his eyes darted back and forth between the victim and the super model. I sighed heavily. The attention showered on Kelly by every male who came within a mile of her was becoming annoying.
    "Aren't you . . . ?" the officer asked.
    "Yes," she replied with petulant impatience and did one of those slinky runway walks around the gallery, keeping a distance between herself and Val.
    The cop had put on his hat when he got out of the Wrightsville PD cruiser but now he took it off, thought better of setting it down on Valentine's desk, and just held it in his hand.
    "What are you waiting for?" Melanie exploded. "Do something!"
    He turned to her. You could see it in his eyes: Wow, two knockouts in one room! He looked at me. Not bad either. "I've secured the scene," he replied, "and we're waiting for the M.E. Val is dead but only the doc can pronounce. And the investigators are on their way."
    The Wrightsville Police Department is located next to Town Hall on the Causeway on Harbour Island, a two-minute drive away. One minute if they had the sirens blaring.
    He chatted nervously, "Val Russo was good to everyone on this island, even the surfers. The artists loved her. She gave them all a chance, even the bad ones." He looked toward the rear of the gallery, to a short hallway that led to an alley. "She even let the kids set up a ramp for their skateboards out there. Then gave them money for ice cream. Who'd want to kill a nice lady like that?"
    I noticed he'd stopped looking at her. It was disconcerting having her sitting there behind the desk like that, watching the scene outside. She was there, but not there.
    "The motive was robbery," Kelly said flatly from across the room. "My uncle’s new painting was here. Someone stole it. And all the other pictures."
    For some reason the cop looked to me for verification. "That true?"
    "Yes," I replied, and reached for a brochure from atop the stack on the corner of Val's desk.
    His hand stopped me and I was surprised at how fast he moved. "Don't touch anything!"
    "Sorry," I said. Married to Wilmington PD Lieutenant Nick Yost, I knew better.
    "What's this missing painting worth?" he wanted to know.
    Kelly replied, "Nobody knows. Not yet. Besides it wasn't for sale. Uncle J.C. was doing Miss Russo a favor by letting her exhibit it because she had helped him out in the early days. The painting, all his paintings, are being shipped to New York in a couple of weeks. There's going to be a big auction at Christie's right after Labor Day."
    Outside the window, police cars and an ambulance roared up to the gallery, all at once, all together. They parked every which way. Law enforcement types got out including a short woman with a medical bag, and