Old Wounds by Nicole Castle

Author:Nicole Castle [Castle, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-04T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Alan opened the door to the large country house he'd spoken about on the phone, perfectly composed as he led Frank into the sitting room. Frank had never been to Alan's home in the country, but he was fairly certain this was not it. The décor was far too gaudy for his tastes. Antoinette Bergeton was on the sofa, slumped over, clearly dead. It wasn't the corpse he was looking for. “You found her like this?”

“I made her like this,” Alan said with a slight smirk. “No one messes with my favorite artist and gets away with it.”

Frank put his gun away and rubbed his face. “Alan, you can't just...kill people.” Alan raised his eyebrows. “It takes planning, it takes—”

“Darling, I've thought about killing Antoinette for years.” Alan patted him on the shoulder. “I did call the professionals for the hard part.”

Frank glared at him. When Alan had said he needed Frank's “particular set of skills,” he didn't have body disposal in mind. “Now you want me to clean up after you?”

“Oh, I so love when you glare. But don't you worry, I got plenty of information out of her.”

“You decide to wait until now to mention that?” Frank grabbed her by her ankles and lugged her off the sofa. It went without saying that Alan had no intention of lifting a finger to help him with the rotund woman, but he kept up just fine as Frank dragged her through the house towards the bathroom. “What did she say?”

“After she drank down her poisoned tea I told her she had about twenty minutes to live so she'd better get talking or else I'd ensure that she was buried in something abhorrent that made her look fat.”

“That's not bad, actually,” Frank conceded.

“I know. At any rate, she said that she met an English gentleman last year around the time I was selling my gallery.”

“Simon,” he spat. He shoved her into the thankfully also oversized bathtub. “He was using her.”

“It turns out that they got to be pretty close friends,” Alan said, proudly handing him a hacksaw that he'd already procured and brought to the bathroom ahead of time. The floor was covered in plastic trash bags that smelled like lavender. There was a clear PVC raincoat waiting for him, obviously belonging to the deceased owner of the house, trimmed in pink and decorated with flowers. Alan had also brought an umbrella. Frank shook his head and got started. “She told him all sorts of things about me, and about Marcel's failure as an artist. A failure he blamed on Casey. Simon had Antoinette's husband killed for her last year. She thought with all the extra money she inherited that she could keep Marcel happy, but Simon convinced her Marcel could have fame and glory if only there were a scandal.”

“A scandal like witnessing the murder of a more successful artist.”

“Yes. She must've told Simon when I was meeting Casey. I suppose Marcel didn't trust her to get it done properly.

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