I looked up as Kylie said, “Where have you been?”
“I was working on my pages. What happened?”
“The center director’s dead,” Kylie whispered.
I was glad she hadn’t said Layla’s name. I kidded myself that it sounded less personal, more clinical, to keep it semi-anonymous.
The students’ conversation stopped as Naomi pushed through the crowd and headed down the hall toward me. I met her halfway and tried to stop her.
“Oh, not again,” she said in dismay. “I leave the place for twenty minutes and somebody gets attacked again? It’s not Minka, is it?”
“No, it’s not Minka.” She tried to brush past me and I grabbed her. “Naomi, stay back.”
“Then who—” She screamed then, loud enough to pierce my eardrum. I guess she figured it out.
I pulled her close in a forced hug. She struggled to get away.
“Let me go. I need to—”
“No, you can’t go near her.”
“Let go of me, damn it. She’s my aunt, my family. I don’t—”
I shook her. “This is a crime scene. We’ve called the police.”
“Why? She’s not—”
“Naomi,” I said bleakly.
“No!”
“I’m sorry.” I wrapped my arms around her.
“No, no,” she moaned. “It’s not true.”
“I’m sorry. Layla’s dead.”
She sagged against me. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. I’m sorry. She’s dead.”
Hell, Layla Fontaine, artistic director, mover and shaker and bitch royale, wasn’t just dead. She’d been murdered. Coldly, brutally, and audaciously. Someone had walked into BABA as bold as could be and shot her in the chest while at least twenty people worked in rooms nearby. Everyone in the building had to have heard the gunshot, so it wasn’t like the killer was trying to be stealthy. No, he—or she—had used a gun, drawing almost instant attention to his deed.
Was her killer really so arrogant? Or just pissed off? Or desperate? Or insane? Did he really think he’d get away with it? Looking around and not finding any obvious killer types waving guns in the air, I saw clearly that, so far, someone was indeed getting away with it.
Had Layla and the assailant argued about the Oliver Twist? Was it a buyer who discovered Layla’s lie about it being a first edition? Had he thrown the book at her, then shot her in cold blood when she laughed in his face?
My imagination had taken flight and I had to reel it back in. But as long as Layla had to die, that would be the motive I would want the killer to have.
I continued to hold Naomi in my arms as she cried and moaned. I understood what she was going through. Besides being her employer, Layla was her aunt. It wasn’t easy to find a loved one lying dead in a pool of blood.
I’d been there, done that. It sucked.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Minka yelled from the door of her classroom. Her voice carried all the way across the building. And down the street and over the bridge and into Richmond County. Her clunky boots stomped across the gallery.
“Oh, God, don’t let that cow come over here,” Naomi whispered.
“I won’t.” Even in this grim circumstance, it made me smile to know I wasn’t alone in my low opinion of Minka.
Over Naomi’s shoulder, I watched Mitchell stop Minka from advancing down the hall. She stared daggers at me and I met her squinty gaze levelly. She started to say something; then her mouth slammed shut. And for that brief moment, I could see what she was thinking. She was thinking she’d gotten off easy with the gash across her head instead of a bullet hole in her chest. She was alive, not dead and lying in a pool of blood.
The sudden vulnerability I saw in her eyes made me look away. I never ever, ever wanted to think of Minka as weak or helpless. It would take all the fun out of hating her.
“Stay back, please,” Mitchell said, stretching his arm across the hall entrance to block her.
“Who the fuck are you?” she said, with a contemptuous curl of her lip.
Ah, there was the Minka we all loved to hate.
Mitchell simply waited her out, not taking his eyes off her for a second. After a long standoff, Minka huffed. “Fine, whatever. Jerk wad.”
As she flounced back down the hall, I looked at Mitchell and sighed. “Sorry about that, but thanks.”
“No problem. She’s a peach. What else can I do to help?”
“Can you take Naomi to the lounge? She needs to sit down.”
“No,” Naomi protested. “I’m not leaving her.”
“You’ve had a bad shock, Naomi,” I said. “You need to sit down or you’ll pass out. I promise I’ll watch her until the police arrive.”
“But she’d want me to stay with her.”
“You’re probably right.” Layla had always loved bossing Naomi around. Still, she was a dead weight in my arms so I gave her an affectionate squeeze and said, “You’re so thoughtful to consider what Layla would want, but I’m more concerned about you right now.”