Cafe Latte (A Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery Book 6) by Hamilton M L

Author:Hamilton, M L [Hamilton, M L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-10T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

T ate ran into Matt Landers as he got out of the rental car at the lodge. The other man waved to him, stopping to wait for him to catch up. The heat rose off the asphalt of the parking lot like an oppressive wave as he hurried to the other man’s side.

“Hey, Matt.”

“Hey, Tate, how’s Grace?”

“She’s okay. She went to pick out the floral arrangements for the funeral today.”

“Carl said the funeral’s a week from Saturday,” said Matt, opening the door of the lodge.

Immediately, the air conditioning wafted over them. Tate breathed a sigh of relief. This place must pay one hell of an electrical bill each month.

“Yeah, it was the first day we could get.”

“How’s your business? Can you be away that long?” asked Matt, motioning for Tate to follow him down the hall leading to Carl’s office.

“Yeah, I talked with my people this morning. I guess everything’s running smoothly. I’m not sure they’re gonna want me to return.”

They both laughed.

“Hey, Matt, Carl mentioned that I could see my father’s office.”

“Of course. I’m headed there right now myself. It wasn’t so much an office as a cubicle in an office, but you’re welcome to go through his stuff.”

Tate slowed as they turned the corner. “Can I ask you something?”

Matt turned and regarded him a moment. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“Do you know someone named Pablo Escobedo?”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “The name sounds familiar. Who is it?”

“I don’t know. I got into my dad’s shed today, and in a cabinet, he had four paintings by this artist named Pablo Escobedo. The paintings were amazing, but he had them stashed in a shed under a tarp. Besides that, they were so not anything I would expect my father to be interested in.”

“Did you try using a search engine to look the artist up?”

“Yeah, I tried searching for him, but I didn’t find anything.”

“Huh. Maybe text Carl. He and your dad were pretty close, or Doug. I think Doug was the closest to him.”

“Thanks, Matt. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, son,” said the other man, then he motioned to a door. On the wall next to the door were three placards listing the men’s names. Tate stared at his father’s name beneath the title of Prelate. “This is us. Your dad had the cubicle at the very back of the room.”

Tate followed Matt in, pausing to take in the dark room with the partitions breaking it into thirds. The two front cubicles were larger than the one Matt pointed to for his father and they were side by side. Each held a desk, a leather desk chair, and a number of personal items affixed to the partition walls.

Matt stepped into the back cubicle and turned on a desk lamp, then indicated the space was Tate’s. Tate walked to the entrance and peered inside. His father also had a desk and a leather armchair. Behind the desk was a bookcase filled with manuals and binders and on top of the bookcase was a portable stereo.

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