Page 10 of Ruthless Cross

"It seems somewhat ironic that an art collector would be killed in an art museum."

"I agree. There has to be a tie. Although, Juliette's mental health adds a new dimension to the investigation."

"Especially in light of the heated conversation that went on between her and her husband shortly before he went over the railing. Juliette's answer to you last night didn’t seem like the whole truth."

"No. I thought her daughter led her to that answer."

"But I can't imagine that frail woman being able to shove Judge Corbyn over the railing."

Savannah made a good point. "Maybe she had someone else do it," he suggested.

"Possibly."

"Well, keep digging." He got to his feet. "I'm heading over to Arthur's house now to see what other clues I can find."

"We don't have a warrant yet," Savannah reminded him.

"Hopefully, with my personal connection, I won't need one."

"From what I saw last night, I wouldn't be so sure. Juliette might not have found you to be a threat, but Callie certainly did, especially when you started questioning her mother."

"I understand her protective instinct, but I think I can win them both over."

"With your charm?" she teased.

He smiled. "That, too. But I was thinking more about my past relationship with Arthur. He introduced me to both of them as a friend. I just need to remind them that we're on the same side."

"Are you on the same side?" she challenged.

"I'm on the side of the truth. We'll see where we all end up when we get there."

* * *

It had been a hellishly long fourteen hours, Callie thought, as she took a seat on the couch in Arthur's study just before ten o'clock on Saturday morning. She'd managed to get a few hours of sleep, and after taking a long shower and changing into jeans and a sweater, she felt marginally better, but she was still weighed down with worry.

She hadn't wanted to go to the art exhibit the night before. She'd tried to beg off several times, but her mother had insisted. She knew how important it was to her mom to have support at her events, so she'd been the dutiful daughter and agreed to attend. She'd never imagined it would end up the way it had. She'd never been Arthur's biggest fan, but she couldn't believe someone had hated him enough to kill him.

She drew in a shaky breath at the memory. Arthur's murder had been so public, so undignified. He would have hated that. Appearances were everything to him.

Her gaze drifted to the life-sized painted portrait of Arthur on the opposite wall. He had been an extremely handsome and vain man. He'd also been a brilliant lawyer and judge. He was generous with his money, especially when it came to art and struggling artists, but he could be stingy when it came to leaving a tip after a good meal. In many ways, he was still an enigma to her. She'd sensed he had secrets, but she'd never thought those secrets were big enough to get him killed.

She'd been shocked when Flynn MacKenzie had asked her mother about a tense conversation she'd had with Arthur only a short time before Arthur was killed. Seeing her mother flounder in search of an answer had made her worry.

Fortunately, her mom had followed her lead, and the explanation was certainly plausible. They had, in fact, argued about their weekend plans when they'd picked her up in the limo on the way to the event. That hadn't been a lie. She just didn't know if that's what they'd been arguing about in the museum. She hadn't mentioned her mother's recent concerns about Arthur's fidelity to the police or the FBI agents, because they hadn't asked, and she really didn't know anything.

That was a question for her mother, but her mom had been in no condition to speak coherently about anything. Hopefully, today she would be better, but that might be a foolish hope. She'd seen her mother spiral downward too many times to count, and an event like this might trigger a complete breakdown. She'd already put in a call to her mother's doctor but had gotten his answering service. She'd asked for a call back as soon as possible, but she wasn't sure when that would happen, and she was dreading the next interrogation, especially if it was going to be done under the penetrating blue gaze of Agent Flynn MacKenzie.

The man was not only incredibly attractive, he also seemed to be unusually preoccupied with her and her mother. That was partly her fault. She'd let him see her tears earlier in the evening, and he thought those tears were a mystery he needed to unravel, particularly in light of what had happened. But her tears were completely irrelevant to Arthur's death. And her mother was innocent as well. She needed to make sure Flynn understood that.

Blowing out a sigh of frustration, she set down her coffee mug on the table in front of her and picked up a blank notepad and pen. She needed to start making plans about what needed to be done. Making calls to Arthur's family and friends was at the top of the list, although the news of his death was already online and on the local news broadcasts. However, there might be some people her mother would want her to contact personally. She just didn't know exactly who they would be.

Arthur had very little family. He'd lost his first wife and daughter in a tragic accident years ago. His parents were long dead, and he had one sister, but she lived in Australia, and, according to Arthur, they hadn't spoken in years. Still, she would need to get word to her of Arthur's passing. She had no idea about Arthur's other friends. Her mom would know many of them, but she'd only been in Arthur's life a little over a year and a half.What about his old friends from high school, from college, from the law firms where he'd worked before becoming a judge?

And would her mother know about Arthur's wishes for a funeral?Had they talked about death and funeral options in the short time they'd been together?It seemed unlikely. Arthur was only sixty-five, and her mother was sixty-two. They had been planning on years together.

She jotted down questions:Cremation or burial? Does he have a plot? Would he want a religious ceremony?He'd been raised Catholic, but he never went to Mass.Would he want one now?

Tapping her pen against the paper, she wrote down what she knew he would want for sure—a big, splashy, newsworthy funeral. He would want an obituary detailing the amazing achievements in his life. He would want press conferences about his murder. He would want the world to be desperate to find his killer.What else?

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