Free Art and Arsenic (Veronica Margreve Mysteries Book 2) by Valerie Murmel Page A

able to pay my firm’s consulting rates – or this exhibit was important enough to him to pull in all the available resources and do what’s necessary to make it go off without a hitch. And this show was also special to Alex – at least because he said it would be his last. Maybe he decided to ensure it really was that way? And – if Alex and Fred were mixed up in something shady together, as seemed possible, given Fred’s threats and allusions to what he controlled – then perhaps Fred’s death not only freed Alex from it, but also allowed whatever it was to remain a secret? Fred had talked about making things worse for Alex, and even “ruining his life” – perhaps Alex took matters into his own hands to prevent that form happening?
     
    Connie apparently didn't try to cover up the fact that Fred was living separately – perhaps because she didn't see any value in doing that, as the police would easily check? Or perhaps because she didn't have anything to do with her husband's death – even if the timing of it was so “convenient” for her?
     
    The day had become a bit warmer, and the rain had stopped. After making my way through a long line at game security, I got to my seat and was squirming, twisting and turning to look for Alex or Connie. In my glancing around, I noticed a guy couple of seats over. Athletic, tall, attractive, looked to be in his thirties, wearing a Sounders hat, so that I couldn’t really see his eyes. He was sitting in what I assumed was one of Vinay’s company’s seats and probably worked for Vinay’s start-up. He seemed to smile at me, and I thought of going over and saying hi, but then I spotted Alex a couple of rows away, just getting to his seat.
     
    The police had talked to Alex already, I knew. But there were a few details I wanted to clear up for myself – and I wanted to see his reactions to the questions in person. I sprinted up the stairs towards where he was sitting, wanting to catch him before his companions, if he had any, showed up.
     
    He raised his head in surprise at seeing someone approaching him, without giving any sign that he recognized me.
    “Hello”, I said, trying to at least seem friendly for the time being.
    At realizing that I was speaking to him, he took white ear buds out of his ears; the white wire snaked into his jacket. He had been listening to music, so probably not expecting someone to join him any second now. Good, that would give us some time to talk in peace.
    “I am Veronica Margreve, I was doing some website work at Nordqvist Fine Art gallery last week.”
    “Hello.” Still no recognition, just confusion on his face.
    I decided that surprise was on my side in this case. The seat next to him was still empty, and I sat down and asked him directly:
    “What were you arguing about with Fred Nordqvist on Thursday?”
    “What? What are you talking about?” He furrowed his brows.
    “I heard you. You came into the inventory room and argued.”
    “What the hell? No, I wasn’t...” He was starting at me.
    “I heard you, on Thursday around 3pm. That was right before someone came into the gallery. You and Fred argued, went out into the main space, and then came back. You said that you weren’t going to work for him any longer. What was that about?”
    “I don’t know what you’re going on about. Leave me alone!” He sat up, looking about ready to bolt. There were people sitting in the rows above and below us, and a couple of seats down, so I thought it would be unlikely that he could get away, unless he was prepared to pole-vault over the crowd.
    I leaned in:
    “I heard you. You also said the money wasn't fair, under the circumstances. He asked whether the show set-up was done, and you said almost, that it was going to be the last one. And he objected, said that he could influence some things. Then you said: ‘Looks like I can’t get out of this as long as you’re around. Damn you.’ That could be interpreted as a threat, given