Kitsune and I made our way to the entrance, the polished glass doors inviting us inside. As we stepped into the museum's foyer, the soothing strains of classical music filled the air. The soft lighting illuminated the artwork on display, creating an ambiance of reverence and appreciation for the arts.
A young woman stood behind the front desk, her welcoming smile brightening as she spotted Kitsune. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, and I couldn't help but notice the way her gaze traveled over his form.
"Welcome to the Cherry Blossom Art Museum," she greeted, her tone friendly and slightly flirtatious.
Kitsune returned her smile. "Thank you,” he said. “We're here to do a bit of research. Is there anyone we can speak to about the museum's records?"
The young woman's gaze shifted to me briefly, her smile fading just a fraction. “Of course,” she said. “Let me check if the curator, Mr. Henderson, is available."
As she made a call, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Kitsune had a way of drawing people in with his aloof charisma, and it seemed that the museum's receptionist was no exception.
Kitsune turned to me with a knowing look, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Seems like someone's taken quite an interest," he said, arching a brow.
I tried to shrug it off, my tone casual. "Just doing her job, I'm sure."
But Kitsune's playful grin persisted. "Or maybe it's my irresistible charm."
I rolled my eyes. Before I could respond, the young woman returned with a name and a room number, and Kitsune thanked her before we headed in the direction she had indicated.
As we walked through the museum's corridors, my thoughts were a mix of curiosity about our upcoming meeting and the lingering annoyance at the receptionist's flirtation. Jealousy wasn't an emotion I was accustomed to, and I couldn't help but wonder how this newfound feeling might affect our investigation.
Or even why I was jealous in the first place.
I didn’t have any claim on Kitsune. I barely knew him. Sure, I spent most of my time with him, but still.
Kitsune and I reached the door of the room where Mr. Henderson was said to be.
Kitsune knocked lightly on the door, and a muffled voice called out, "Come in."
We entered a small office filled with filing cabinets and shelves lined with neatly organized folders. Mr. Henderson sat at a desk, poring over a stack of paperwork. He looked up as we entered, his eyes crinkling in a friendly smile.
"Good afternoon," he greeted. "How can I assist you today?" His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you that disgraced detective?”
The heckles on my neck raised. “Actually –”
Kitsune stepped forward, grabbing my wrist and giving it a silent squeeze. “Yes. I'm Kenji Kitsune, and this is my associate, Piper Rose,” he said. “We're here in connection with the Spring Art Festival records. Specifically, we're interested in any information related to an artist named Victoria Scheffeld who was sponsored by the museum."
Mr. Henderson's expression shifted slightly, his brows furrowing in thought. “Are you here officially?” he asked.
“Would you like to speak to the town manager about it?” Kitsune countered.
Mr. Henderson frowned.
It took everything in me to keep my face relatively neutral. The truth was, Kitsune was brilliant. I already knew that, but watching him avoid the question without actually lying was both informative and entertaining.
“Ah, Miss Scheffeld, you say?” he asked. “Let me check our records."
He turned to a computer and began typing; the keys clicking softly in the quiet office. As he worked, my curiosity grew. Victoria's connection to the museum was an intriguing lead, and I hoped that the records might shed light on her relationships within the artistic community.
It was only then that I realized Kitsune still held my wrist in his hand. I tried to look at him from my peripheral, hoping to give nothing away. For some reason, I worried if I did that, he might release his hold on me and I didn’t want that. His fingers were rough but gentle, and I liked the feel of him against my skin.
Mr. Henderson turned back to us with a nod, interrupting my thoughts, thank goodness. “Yes, we do have records of Miss Scheffeld’s participation in the Spring Art Festival,” he said. “She was indeed sponsored by the museum. Her work was quite exceptional, and we were proud to support a local talent." He frowned.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“You made a face when you looked at her file,” I said. “I was curious why that was.”
“Oh, erm, it’s nothing,” he said. “I just didn’t approve of the social circle she was affiliated with. However, I looked passed that and let her art speak for itself.”
I exchanged a glance with Kitsune.
“Social circle?” he asked.
“You know the sort,” he said. “Not really friends unless you need something.”
“Loan sharks,” Kitsune stated.
Henderson cleared his throat.
“You mentioned she was local?” Kitsune asked.
“Well, on her application, she mentioned being Detective Richmond’s sister.”
Kitsune leaned in, finally releasing his hold on me, his tone earnest. “Do you have any information on her interactions with other artists or individuals associated with the museum” he asked. “I didn’t think she was local, regardless of her family. We're trying to get a better understanding of her connections currently."
Mr. Henderson considered the question for a moment. “While I don't have specific details, I can tell you that she was a regular attendee of our art events,” he said. “She often mingled with fellow artists and patrons during gallery openings and exhibitions. If you're looking for individuals who might have known her well, I would suggest speaking with some of the artists who exhibit here regularly if you haven’t already spoken to Detective Richmond."
“We appreciate your help,” I said slowly. I wasn’t sure if Kitsune wanted me to speak, but there was something that was going on in my mind that I couldn’t just set aside. “I’d like to ask one more question, if I may. Um, I wanted to know. Actually, I was wondering about the museum's funding. Specifically, who are the main contributors or sponsors?"
I cleared my throat and held my breath. My hands were behind my back, preventing me from fiddling with my fingers. The last thing I wanted was to show I was nervous even if maybe I was. Even if it was already obvious.
Mr. Henderson's expression shifted, his features tightening just slightly. It was clear the question had struck a nerve. “Well, you see, we don't typically discuss our financial matters, young lady,” he said. “The museum is a nonprofit organization, and we rely on a variety of sources to sustain our operations."
I could sense his discomfort, but the question was a crucial one. "We understand the sensitivity of the topic, Mr. Henderson,” I said, my tone more insistent. I took a breath, trying to control the way I spoke. “However, we believe that understanding the financial support behind the museum might help us in our investigation. Any information you can provide would be greatly appreciated."
I smiled as brightly as I could.
He hesitated, clearly torn between his duty to the museum's privacy and our request for information. Kitsune recognized the dilemma and stepped in with a firm but respectful approach.
"Ms. Rose is right, Mr. Henderson," Kitsune said, his voice even. "We're not looking to pry into the museum's affairs unnecessarily. But if this information could potentially help us uncover the truth behind Victoria's case, it would be invaluable. We're simply trying to follow every lead."
After a thoughtful pause, Mr. Henderson let out a resigned sigh. “Very well,” he said, his eyes still lingering on me as if he wasn’t sure what to make of me. “The museum's primary source of funding comes from grants, donations, and memberships. We have a group of dedicated patrons who contribute generously to ensure the museum's continued success."
Kitsune leaned forward, hands still in his pockets, eyes fixed on Mr. Henderson. "Mr. Henderson, in the matter of sponsoring an artist like Victoria, who would typically have the most say in accepting their application and granting the sponsorship?" he asked.
Mr. Henderson considered the question for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought. "Well," he began, "we have a small panel comprised of members from the museum's board and some local artists. They review applications and make decisions on sponsorships. It's a collaborative process to ensure a fair and balanced selection."
I exchanged a glance with Kitsune, and it was clear we were both thinking along the same lines. If a small panel had been responsible for approving Victoria's sponsorship, it meant that there were individuals within the artistic community who had been intimately involved in her journey as an artist.
"Could you please share the names of the individuals who serve on the panel responsible for approving sponsorships?" I asked.
Mr. Henderson hesitated, a subtle discomfort evident in his expression. "Well, I must respect the privacy of those involved,” he said. “The panel values confidentiality."
“I understand the need for discretion, Mr. Henderson,” Kitsune said. “However, we're investigating a serious matter, and knowing who served on the panel might help us better understand the circumstances surrounding Victoria's sponsorship."
Mr. Henderson sighed, clearly torn between his commitment to confidentiality and the desire to assist in our investigation. "Very well,” he relented. “Besides myself, the panel includes Dan Baron, the town manager, and Adrian Lancaster, who heads the local hospital."
“I’m sorry, did you say Adrian Lancaster?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.
Henderson glanced at Kitsune. “I did,” he said. “Why?”
“No reason,” Kitsune said, stepping forward. “Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Your cooperation is much appreciated. We'll be sure to handle this information with the utmost discretion.” He placed a hand on the small of my back and led me out of the office.
As Kitsune and I walked down the hall, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in my gut upon hearing the Adrian’s name. The revelation that he was part of the panel responsible for approving Victoria's sponsorship had caught me off-guard, and I couldn't deny the fact that I wanted to throw up.
Kitsune, always observant, noticed my unease and glanced at me when we were certain we were alone. "Everything okay?" he asked.
I took a deep breath, my fingers tapping lightly on the folds of my skirt. “Yeah, of course,” I said.
Kitsune stopped walking altogether. He didn’t take his hand off my back and arched a brow in my direction. He said nothing, just waiting.
I huffed a sigh. “You’re really annoying,” I said.
“You’re the one refusing to cooperate,” he said.
I glanced away. “It's just... Adrian,” I said. “I wasn't expecting to hear his name."
Kitsune's brow furrowed in concern. "Adrian Lancaster, the head of the hospital?" he asked. “You know him?”
I laughed, a hollow sound, my stomach still tied in knots. "I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to truly know him. It’s not even him—you know what? It’s not a big deal. I didn’t mean to overreact. Let’s go.”
The memories of a past that I had tried to put behind me resurfaced, and I couldn't help but feel a mixture of dread and apprehension. I had distanced myself from Alexander for a reason, and the thought of having to interact with anyone from his family again, especially Adrian, especially in the context of our investigation, sent a shiver down my spine.
We walked through the lobby. The woman behind the desk seemed excited to see Kitsune again, but I wasn’t in the mood to tease.
It was only when I stepped outside did I finally feel like I could breathe again.