Emily had to admit that they were. Judyta was right. It was baffling.
“The police will figure it out,” she said. “They always do.”
“Hah! I’m not so sure,” said Judyta, who didn’t seem to have a lot of confidence in the NYPD. “If we can’t figure this out, neither can they.”
“I’m sure they can,” said Emily. “They have all that high-tech CSI stuff. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for what happened.”
She felt horrible. And partially responsible. After all, she was Judyta’s assistant. And now one of their models was dead. Murdered. Right in front of their eyes.
“This is all my fault,” she said therefore.
“Now, now,” said Sylvia, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Don’t say that.”
“I should have noticed something was wrong.”
“Of course not. How could you?” The old lady mused for a moment. “That young man must have had enemies. Why else would anyone go to all this trouble to murder him?”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with him,” said Judyta. “Some… maniac wanted to draw blood and so he did. Whether it was John or someone else didn’t matter. Not in the least. I’ll tell you what I think. I think this was the work of a serial killer. Perfecting the perfect kill. Serial killers are always doing this sort of thing. Showing off their murderous skill set. Proving their superiority. I’ll bet the police know exactly who’s behind this and why. They probably even have a nickname for him. The Crossbow Killer or something.”
“You read entirely too many James Patterson novels, my dear,” said Sylvia.
“Excuse me,” Emily muttered, suddenly not feeling well, and quickly getting up. As she headed for the door, she heard Sylvia say, “Really, dear. Can’t you see the poor girl’s upset?”
The officer parked at the door looked up when she opened it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay put, miss,” he said.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said. “I don’t feel so good.”
He must have noticed she was about to pass out, for he barked, “Jackson! Take her to the bathroom, will you?”
Jackson, a jolly-faced youth, did as he was told, and escorted her to the bathroom, then took up position outside while she splashed some water on her face and then sank down on the toilet seat. She wasn’t usually the squeamish type, but this murder business had really done a number on her. Her legs felt like jelly, and her stomach was tied up into knots.
As she sat quietly, her head in her hands, trying to regain her composure, she heard distinct voices from the other side of the thin wall behind her.
“Nasty business,” said a gruff male voice.
“Baffling, too,” said another, equally gruff male voice.
“What about the wall?”
“Not a blemish. Windows, too. Not a scratch on them.”
“That bolt must have come from somewhere, Shakespeare.”
“I know, sir, but it can’t have passed through brick or glass, can it?”
“No, I suppose you’re right. What about a device built into the wall?”
“We went over that wall with a magnifying glass, sir.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“What about the table?”
“Perfectly ordinary table, sir. Besides, according to the trajectory that bolt must have come through the window. There’s no other way. Must have.”
There was a momentary silence, then: “Baffling. Just like you say, Shakespeare.”
“Exactly, sir.”
A toilet was flushed, and the voices died away.
Emily emerged from the stall and moved over to the sink. She splashed some more water on her face and pulled some paper napkins from the dispenser. She dabbed them at her face and looked up. Looking back at her wasn’t the fresh-faced and shiny visage she knew. Instead, she was pale and puffy-eyed. Even her brown hair hung limp and lifeless. She shook her head. What a terrible business.
She joined the others again, and saw that Tanton Skroch was gone. Probably called in for his police interview. Sylvia was still chatting with Judyta, and she joined them. Sylvia had brought out her wallet and was showing pictures of her goddaughters, all tucked into a foldable picture holder. There were at least a dozen.
“And this is Ellie,” she was saying. “She has kids of her own now.”
Emily made an effort to smile. “I didn’t know you had so many goddaughters.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” said the old lady proudly. She pointed at another picture. “This is Mollie. My friend Natalie’s little girl. She was born on Christmas Eve.”
“A Christmas baby,” said Emily.
“What about that cat?” asked Judyta, tapping a picture of a cat which had apparently slipped into the collection.
“That’s Gemini,” said Sylvia with visible affection. “She’s my precious baby.”
She would have told them a lot more but at that moment the officer opened the door and bellowed, “Emily Stone. Miss Emily Stone!”
Emily shot up. “That’s me.”
“They’re ready for you now,” said the officer.
She glanced back at the others, who all sat looking at her anxiously. Then Sylvia gave her a pat. “You’ll do just fine, dear.”
“Tell them about my serial killer theory,” said Judyta. “Or better yet, don’t. I’ll tell them myself.” She nodded self-importantly. “Oh, I’ll tell them!”
Start reading Murder at the Art Class now
About Nic
Nic has a background in political science and before being struck by the writing bug worked odd jobs around the world (including but not limited to massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).
When he’s not writing he enjoys curling up with a good (comic) book, watching British crime dramas, French comedies or Nancy Meyers movies, sampling pastry (apple cake!), pasta and chocolate (preferably the dark variety), twisting himself into a pretzel doing morning yoga, going for a run, and spoiling his big red tomcat Tommy.
He lives with his wife (and aforementioned cat) in a small village smack dab in the middle of absolutely nowhere and is probably writing his next ‘Mysteries of Max’ book right now.
www.nicsaint.com
Also by Nic Saint
The Mysteries of Max
Purrfect Murder
Purrfectly Deadly
Purrfect Revenge
Purrfect Heat
Purrfect Crime
Purrfect Rivalry
Purrfect Peril
Purrfect Secret
Purrfect Alibi
Purrfect Obsession
Purrfect Betrayal
Purrfectly Clueless
Purrfectly Royal
Purrfect Cut
Purrfect Trap
Purrfectly Hidden
Purrfect Kill
Purrfect Boy Toy
Purrfectly Dogged
Purrfectly Dead
Purrfect Saint
Purrfect Advice
Purrfect Cover
Purrfect Patsy
Purrfect Son
Purrfect Fool
Purrfect Fitness
Purrfect Setup
Purrfect Sidekick
Purrfect Deceit
Purrfect Ruse
Purrfect Swing
Purrfect Cruise
The Mysteries of Max Box Sets
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)
Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)
Box Set 4 (Books 10-12)
Box Set 5 (Books 13-15)
Box Set 6 (Books 16-18)
Box Set 7 (Books 19-21)
Box Set 8 (Books 22-24)
Box Set 9 (Books 25-27)
Box Set 10 (Books 28-30)
Box Set 11 (Books 31-33)
The Mysteries of Max Shorts
Purrfect Santa (3 shorts in one)
Purrfectly Flealess
Purrfect Wedding
Nora Steel
Murder Retreat
The Kellys
Murder Motel
Death in Suburbia
Emily Stone
Murder at the Art Class
Washington & Jefferson
First Shot
Alice Whitehouse
Spooky Times
Spooky Trills
Spooky End
Spooky Spells
Ghosts of London
Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place
Public Ghost Number One
Ghost Save the Queen
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
A Tale of Two Harrys
Ghost of Girlband Past
Ghostlier Things
Charleneland
Deadly Ride
Final Ride
Neighborhood Witch Committee
Witchy Start
Witchy Worries
Witchy Wishes
Saffron Diffley
Crime and Retribution
Vice and Verdict
Felonies and Penalties (Saffron Diffley Short 1)
The B-Team
Once Upon a Spy
Tate-à-Tate
Enemy of the Tates
Ghosts vs. Spies
The Ghost Who Came in from the Cold
Witchy Fingers
Witchy Trouble
Witchy Hexations
Witchy Possessions
Witchy Riches
Box Set 1 (Books 1-4)
The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse
One Spoonful of Trouble
Two Scoops of Murder
Three Shots of Disaster
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
A Twist of Wraith
A Touch of Ghost
A Clash of Spooks
Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)
The Stuffing of Nightmares
A Breath of Dead Air
An Act of Hodd
Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)
A Game of Dons
Standalone Novels
When in Bruges
The Whiskered Spy
ThrillFix
Homejacking
The Eighth Billionaire
The Wrong Woman
Copyright © 2021 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.
Published by Puss in Print Publications.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editor: Chereese Graves.