Page 83 of Bed of Thorns

He’s not capable. He’s not a murderer.

I prayed to God that was the truth.

After flushing, I leaned against the wall, curling my knees against my chest as ugly, wretched thoughts filtered into my mind. Edmond had taken a recent trip to New York, at least from what he’d told me. Did he… No. No! I refused to think that way. He wouldn’t risk everything we had, what he’d worked so hard to achieve with something so horrible. That wasn’t possible. Within seconds, I was dry heaving, my body weak from the fear and anxiety.

Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control.

I had no idea how long I’d remained in the bathroom, but when I finally managed to get to my feet, I couldn’t take the not knowing any longer. I moved toward my laptop, allowing my fingers to fly, finally locating an article on Joseph’s murder. It had occurred over a week before, a brutal killing that had included…

Knife wounds.

I continued to shake, the vision I’d experienced at the party floating through my mind continuously. I couldn’t seem to calm my nerves, a cold chill coursing through me. This was crazy. If Joseph was part of the mob, there were dozens of people who likely wanted him dead.

Why did he pursue you? Why was he insistent on asking about Edmond?

The voice inside my head was tossing out one question after another, my stomach ready to lurch again. This was just coincidence. It had to be. I continued searching, finding nothing that would indicate who’d been involved. I couldn’t stand this. I just couldn’t take it.

I took a step away, thinking about what few names I’d heard Edmond mention.

Carl Walters.

A quick search supplied me with what appeared to be typical information found on any company on the internet. They seemed legit, praises for them listed on various sites like Yelp. I still wasn’t convinced. After finding the site for the Virginia State Corporation Commission, I easily found the firm listed as active and in good standing. Even every name on the statement of principals checked out. There were no red flags.

What the hell was the name Edmond had mentioned in passing, Adam’s real name? Damn it. I had trouble remembering. After another quick glance at my watch, I realized I needed to get my ass in gear and head to the gallery. Hissing, I thought about it for another minute before moving away from my computer. Then it dawned on me.

Markus Collings…worth. That sounded right. I typed in his name. There was nothing substantial on the man whatsoever. In fact, there was so little on him that I wasn’t certain I’d even remembered the correct name. He was a well-known businessman with several corporations, which had provided an opportunity for him to be in various magazines over the years. He had a family. A house. A nice dog. Blah. Blah. Then they died tragically and…

I searched for any additional information on what had happened to his family. Jesus. They were there, then they were gone. After that, he’d disappeared from anything being covered in the news. Why did I feel like everything I’d looked at had been purposely written, details removed? It certainly wasn’t making it easy to follow a trail. Sighing, I closed the search window then moved toward the bathroom. For now, I’d have to put it behind me, but I did need to know where the box had been hidden.

He owed me that.

* * *

“That’s perfect, Mark. I appreciate you waiting. I’m sorry again that I was late.” I stood back, nodding as I glanced at the incredible microscopic track lighting I’d selected.

“Don’t worry about it, Ms. Carver,” he said then climbed down on the ladder. “Do you need anything else today?”

“Not today. The last lights for the showcase pieces are coming in on Thursday.”

“I’ve already got you down on the schedule.” He grinned, giving me a onceover then started to grab his things.

Smiling, I moved toward the back, still uncertain about a few of the items. I also needed to spend time reaching out to other local artisans. The gallery had been a gift of blood and loyalty. At minimum I could use it to provide space to painters, sculptors, photographers, and other craftspeople to highlight their beautiful creations. Maybe that would make me feel somewhat better for my good fortune.

“I’m leaving now, Ms. Carver,” Mark called.

“Thanks again, Mark. See you Thursday.” After checking over some of the paperwork, adding the invoice Mark had left to the batch of others, I glanced at the paintings that had already been brought in and made a final selection that I’d been debating for a couple days. As soon as I started to head into the main gallery, I heard footsteps.

“What did you forget, Mark?” I popped out into the room, immediately stiffening.

Carl Walters stood in my gallery, gazing from one side to the other. When he heard my voice, he turned his head, a slow smile creeping across his face. His eyes were just as dark, his gaze as menacing as it had been the night of the party.

He took a deep breath, holding it then walking closer.

“Mr. Walters. How lovely of you to visit my gallery.”

The quiet was deafening until my heart started beating quickly.

“Very nice,” he said as he glanced from one side to the other again, his gaze settling on the lights that had just been installed. “Forgive my intrusion, Mercedes. I know you have a lot of work to do so I won’t take much of your time. May I see the painting?” he asked, pointing to the one in my hand.

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