Free If It Bleeds by Linda L. Richards Page B

gallery. In formal language, it terminated their agreement, effective the first of the upcoming month. I rested my butt on the edge of the desk while I thought back over my interactions with Sam. I was certain there had been no hint that there was anything wrong between Sam and the artist he said he’d discovered.
    Steve had intended to end the relationship.
    And now Steve was dead.

NINETEEN
    B y the time I got back to my place, I was so tired it was all I could do to keep from just dropping into bed fully dressed. The extra effort I was putting into covering a crime had pushed me over the top of my resources. Still, I had work to do. I uploaded the evening’s photos to my computer. I went through and organized them, wrote a few captions and some inane copy, then filed my column to the Post ’s news server for the early edition.
    I was just about to drop into bed when I saw something sticking out of my bag. The brochure Sam had given me at the gallery. I’d forgotten about it. I read more about Steve’s background with interest. I wasn’t surprised to discover that there really was someone in Steve’s life named Eldert. It was there in the brochure, in the extract below the picture of the painting.
    Eldert Harris was the son of my grandfather’s best friend. The friendship ended badly and Eldert took on his father’s legacy of anger. The painting before you was created from my imagination. That’s how I think of Eldert: angry and passionate for a reason. So much that happens between us as humans doesn’t get washed away by the water of life .
    The water of life . I was suddenly wide awake. I grabbed my laptop and went back to Google. The first entries I found meant nothing to me. The phrase was often tied into Christian ideology. I hadn’t known that, but it wasn’t what I was after. I read a bunch of definitions until I saw that the phrase could refer to “a concentrated solution of ethanol.” More online searches.
    â€œBooze,” I said.
    So much that happens between us as humans doesn’t get washed away by the water of life.
    There was something I was missing, that was clear. But what?

TWENTY
    I was so tired I would have slept all day had my phone not started ringing in the morning. I checked the time as I pulled it toward me. Eight fifteen. And I didn’t recognize the number.
    â€œThis is Buddy Gareth,” a man’s voice said when I answered.
    â€œThe Ice Man,” I said before I thought about it.
    He sounded pleased. “Yes. That’s right.”
    I asked him much the same as I had of the caterers the day before. The big difference was that he knew something.
    â€œI saw Steve getting into his car just after I installed the ice sculpture.”
    â€œBefore the opening?”
    â€œThat’s right. Maybe half an hour. And I thought it was odd.”
    â€œWhat was?”
    â€œWell, it was his big night, wasn’t it? You wouldn’t think he’d leave.”
    â€œAnd you’re sure it was him?”
    â€œAbsolutely. I didn’t really know who he was before I was contacted for a sculpture. Then I paid attention, you know? Celebrity client.”
    â€œBut you thought it odd he was leaving? Had he just forgotten something? Or was going to pick someone up? Or—”
    â€œNo, sure,” he interrupted. “I thought about all that stuff. But I saw them arguing. Then he just took off, you know? Like someone was chasing him.”
    â€œArguing?”
    â€œI mentioned that, I think.”
    â€œYou did not. Tell me now.”
    The Ice Man described an argument in the gallery between Steve and a man. What man? The Ice Man didn’t know.
    â€œHe was blond and kinda girly, you know?”
    I told him I did. “What was said?”
    Buddy couldn’t tell me. He’d been too far away to hear.
    â€œBut then he left, just as I was leaving. That’s when he almost slammed into the old