CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The guests craned their necks, straining to witness the disturbance. Several patrons screamed and drew back.
“Which one of you is Jon Claude Donnell?” The man asking strode to the center of the gallery and surveyed the crowd slowly. He wore a suit with a gold shield clipped on his belt. His demeanor was grave.
“Mr. Donnell,” the detective said. “We’re taking you in for questioning in regard to a series of burglaries that took place earlier this evening.”
Max held her breath. What could Jon possibly have to do with burglaries?
“We have your partners in custody.” He motioned for an officer to place Jon in handcuffs.
“Millie?” Sherman spoke up. “What are you talking about, man? This is Max Foster, the artist. She painted all these great canvasses.” He gestured to the paintings adorning the walls. “You’re totally whacked, man.”
“Millie, what’s going on?” Jon asked. “Tell them who you are.”
She waved her fingers and took a deep breath. “My name is Max Foster...I’m the artist.”
“That’s my brother, Merrick Foster.” Max’s voice sounded small in the silence that followed.
“Sounds like some kind of conspiracy going on here,” the detective said. “Take these two in, as well. We’ll sort it all out downtown.”
Max felt faint, as though her knees would buckle at any moment. A uniformed officer approached her, brandishing a pair of handcuffs.
Merrick turned to Willa. “Take my extra key and go to my house. I need you to take care of Blondie for me.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed. “You’re being arrested and all you’re worried about is your dog?”
“Hello Merrick.” Shel Carney snapped handcuffs around his wrists. “I was wondering why you never called me back.” She flicked her gaze over Willa.
The room was spinning around like a carousel and the flashing lights were making her dizzy. She’d thought of so many ways to tell Jon that she was the real Max Foster, but she hadn’t imagined it would come out this way.
The news photographer flashed her picture as the handcuffs were fastened around her wrists.
She’d worked her tail off to promote Max’s art and had thought this night would end in triumph. Instead she’d seen the man she loved led away in handcuffs along with her best friend, who appeared to be in a daze.
When the photographers arrived, she had orchestrated the photos so that the correct names would be listed but, if Max decided not to level with Jon, the mistake could easily be overlooked as being the photographer’s error. She’d dictated the stories to both art critics and handed them a carefully prepared press release. Tomorrow, she would read about it in the Sunday papers.
Exhausted, Willa climbed out of the car and unlocked the front door of Merrick’s house.
A throaty growl greeted her as she pushed the door open.
A helpless whimper escaped her throat. Great! The only way this evening could get any better. I get to die of dog bites. “Here Blondie,” she called. “Nice doggie.”
“Hey, girl,” Willa said. “You know me. I’ve been here before.” She held out her hand.
“Don’t be mean to me, Blondie. I’ve had a really bad night.” Willa squatted down and held out her hand. “C’mon girl. Your daddy cooked us both a steak last night and then he took me to his bed and bonked me like crazy.”
“Now he’s in trouble and he sent me here to take care of you, so you better let me in.” Willa stood up, took a deep breath and stepped inside.
“Don’t cry, Max,” he said.
She sniffled and turned away from the window, her eyes focusing on him. “How much trouble are we in?” She shivered. “I didn’t know it was against the law to lie...and I only lied about being Max Foster to Jon.” At the mention of his name she burst into a fresh bout of tears.
Merrick wished he could comfort her but his hands were restrained. “Max, I don’t know what this is all about, but I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut until we figure out what’s going on.”
She looked at him plaintively. “But I have nothing left to hide.”
“Max, listen to me.” Merrick leaned close so that only she could hear. “Something’s going on with your boyfriend Jon, and we’re not a part of it. Don’t get us involved.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Max said.
“The police came to arrest Jon. He’s done something illegal, not us.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said. “Jon wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
“Like he didn’t attack me without cause at the gallery?”
Her tear stained face showed disbelief. “What happened?”
“Willa and I ducked into Cherise’s office. Jon burst in and started ranting at me and then he punched me.”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head adamantly. “That doesn’t sound like Jon,” she said. “He’s a complete gentleman.”
“Max, I’m not crazy. He attacked me with no warning.”
Baby, what did you do to land us in here?
The detective had said they had his partners in custody. Who is he talking about? Millie? Max?
All of the mysterious allusions Millie had made about being a bad person came flooding in on him. She kept insisting that he didn’t know her. Maybe she was a part of a criminal gang. After all, her father was a drug dealer and her mother, a prostitute. No wonder she’d fallen into a life of crime. But, why was she claiming to be Max Foster, the artist?
The officer released one of Jon’s wrists from the handcuffs and attached it to a ring welded to the arm of the metal chair.
Jon gazed at the restraint in disbelief. “This really isn’t necessary.”
“Standard protocol, sir,” the young officer said.
“Could you tell me the whereabouts of the young woman who was transported in the other squad car?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. Detective Obermann will be in to interrogate you shortly.” The officer left him alone in the sterile room.
Jon’s stomach was tied in knots. He imagined a number of possible scenarios, each worse than the last. He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. An hour had ticked by since he’d been brought in. What are they waiting for? What are they doing to Millie?
“It’s about time,” he said. “What’s going on? Why am I being detained?”
The shorter of the two men seated himself at the table across from Jon. He glanced up from the paperwork in his hand to meet Jon’s gaze. Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, the man’s eyes were tired beyond mere fatigue. His eyes had seen too much. “Mr. Donnell, I’m Detective Obermann. Detective Wise here is your arresting officer. I understand that you were responsible for setting up the art show. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it was my idea.” Jon looked from one man to the other. “I wanted to showcase the paintings of a young local artist.”
“And you were the one who made up the guest list?”
“Yes,” Jon said. “I personally invited clients of the firm I own. Cherise Gilman, the gallery owner, sent out invitations to her clientele as well. Why do you ask?”
Detective Obermann’s world-weary eyes assessed him. “Mr. Donnell, several of the people on your guest list were the victims of a series of well orchestrated burglaries tonight. These thieves knew the homeowners would be out because they had your guest list in hand.” Obermann huffed out a terse sigh. “I’m trying to decide if you’re an accomplice or if you were simply their dupe.”
“Dupe?” An explosion of anger flared inside Jon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do you admit to knowing a Mr. Dean Alonso and Mr. Dennis Alonso?” Detective Obermann took off his glasses and stared at Jon without expression.
A tingle of fear kissed the back of Jon’s neck. “Of course I know Dean. He’s an old fraternity brother of mine. I hired him to cater the art show. Denny is his younger brother.”
“And this Denny, as you call him, was hired to provide a valet parking service tonight?”
“Yes, there wasn’t enough street parking available.” Jon shook his head. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“It appears that your friends carried out the burglaries while you entertained the victims. Your pal Dean called you the mastermind. He says you were the one who came up with the plan.”
Jon felt as though the building had fallen on him. “No, of course I didn’t,” he growled.
“How did they get the guest list?” Detective Obermann made cryptic notes on his pad and glanced knowingly at the other detective.
Obermann and Wise exchanged a knowing glance. Obermann chortled. “He wanted it so he could choose the most affluent homes to burgle.”
Jon stared at the man, open-mouthed. “I can’t believe this.” He ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “You’re telling me that Dean and his brother broke into the homes of some of the art patrons while they were at the show?”
Obermann gave a slight shake of his head, his eyes fastened on Jon as a bird of prey might examine the mouse held in the grip of his talons.
Icy fingers of fear tickled down Jon’s spine, sending little spasms skittering into all his organs.
Jon moistened his suddenly dry lips. “When I last saw Dean, he was setting up the bar and buffet early in the evening, but I looked for him an hour later and couldn’t locate him.”
“Why did you think the artist’s name was Millie?” Wise asked. “If you were sponsoring her, why didn’t you know her name?”
“I don’t know.” Jon’s stomach roiled with anger and shame. He’d been such an idiot on so many levels.
Obermann’s expression was flat; unreadable. “So, you are denying any involvement with the crimes?”
“Of course, because I wasn’t involved.” Jon looked at his handcuffed wrist and then at the two detectives as the severity of the situation caved in on him. “I’d like to call my lawyer now.”
She felt robotic, like a metal shell with its intricate wiring ripped out. She shivered and Merrick wrapped his tuxedo jacket around her shoulders, but it failed to warm her. The chill was soul deep.
She stood beside Merrick, feeling strangely isolated, as though she was watching the events unfold from some distant planet. Yet, she was grateful for Merrick’s big, take charge presence. Without him, she might collapse into tears.
Merrick called a taxi to take them to his truck which was parked at Willa’s apartment building.
Max stumbled climbing up into the truck in her short, skimpy dress and stilettos. Merrick lifted her onto the passenger’s seat, a look of concern on his face. She managed a facial twitch that may have passed for a smile.
Max leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes. As she felt her tension ebbing, she imagined herself melting into the leather. Erasing herself; evaporating; ceasing to be.
She opened her eyes, focused on the windshield wipers and the rain. The rhythmic sweep of the wiper blades was hypnotic, as they arced across the glass, clearing a runway for new raindrops to land and then clearing it again.
Merrick drove Max to her loft and held his jacket over her to protect her from the rain.
She tried to send him away but he followed her upstairs.
He turned on the overhead lights, illuminating the loft with an unkind glare.
She cleared her throat. “I’m okay, Merrick,” she insisted. “Really.”
“Why don’t you get a few things together and come to my house for a couple of days. You can sleep in a real bed and eat regular meals.”
A sense of panic rose in her throat and tried to strangle her. “I have to talk to Jon. If I go with you he won’t know where I am.” She shrugged out of Merrick’s jacket and handed it back to him with an attempt at a smile.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Merrick asked. “I can call Willa and let her know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please go.” She gave him a little shove toward the door and when he’d gone, locked it behind him.
She sank down on the futon and removed the high-heeled sandals, amazed that she’d been able to stay upright on them for so long. She had no more tears to shed. Curled up, she pulled the duvet around her, still wearing the red sequined dress.
By the time Merrick turned his truck into the gated community that he called home, the rain had stopped and the sky was a lighter shade of gray with the approach of dawn.
He shook his head, remembering when he’d been attacked. Jon Donnell was not a rational man.
When he pulled into his driveway beside the Jetta, a feeling of warmth suffused him. An independent man, he’d always felt complete unto himself, but now he felt like he was missing something vital unless Willa was in close physical proximity to him.
When he opened the front door, he was surprised that Blondie didn’t greet him. Blondie always waited up for him.
He opened the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of juice. He reflected on the previous nights events; glad the police realized that he and Max weren’t involved in whatever crime Jon had committed. He touched the bruised area high on his cheekbone, where Jon had landed one lucky punch.
Opening the door to the Master Suite, he stood beside his bed where Willa and Blondie slept. He felt a tightness in his chest.
She stirred and opened her eyes. “Oh, Merrick,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He pulled the cover up around both of them and nestled her in his arms. Merrick closed his eyes and sighed. Holding Willa felt like he’d finally come home.