The Art of Death by Margarite St. John Page A

down then and pick up everything.”
    “Did you get my purse?”
    “Yes. I don’t know why you’re worrying about the Jane Doe statuette. I thought you didn’t care that much about awards.”
    “I don’t.”
    “But you want the silly thing anyway.”
    She nodded.
    He laughed dismissively. “It’s the worst statuette I’ve ever seen. Nickel-plated, badly cast, a face so generic it could belong to anybody. Not a good representation of what you did to win the award. If a generic face like that was all you came up with as a last resort to help the authorities, the victim would stay anonymous forever.”
    Madeleine giggled despite the pain in her head. “True. But it’s mine and I want it.” She rolled to her side so she could see her suitor better. “You really didn’t notice the ship captain?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “I was reading a text your friend Kimberly sent me.”
    “You mean, your patient Kimberly. What’s she want?”
    “An apology,” he said with disdain.
    “For what?”
    “The therapy I provided when she was young.”
    “So what are you going to do?” she asked.
    “Deny the details -- .”
    “Deny what details?” she asked suspiciously.
    Anthony gazed out the window. “Exercises I had her do. That sort of thing. And I’ll remind her that it worked.”
    “But she wants an apology.”
    Anthony stood up. “Well, she’s not getting it.”
    “You better watch out, Anthony. Kimmie’s crazy.”
    “Not a word I use, Schatzi, but I get your point. She says the therapy is ‘our little secret,’ but if I don’t apologize, she’ll not only go public about me but about you too.”
    Madeleine struggled up on one elbow. “About me?”
    He opened the door to the hallway. “I’m going down to get your computer and that ridiculous award before they’re moved to Lost and Found and it takes me an hour to track them down.”
    “Wait!” she cried. “What was the question the ship captain asked?”
    Anthony sighed heavily. “No one asked a question before you fainted.”
    “But the man did! I know he did. I heard him but his words made no sense.”
    “Then you’ll have to ask someone else because I didn’t see a man that looked like a ship captain and I didn’t hear a question just before you fainted.”
    Madeleine flopped back on the bed. “You’re gaslighting me, aren’t you?”
    He shot her a look of pity. “Take a nap, Schatzi. I’ll be back before room service knocks on the door.”  

Chapter 16
Shooting at the King
Saturday, May 11, 2013

    While Madeleine was recovering from her fainting spell in an Indianapolis hotel, Kimmie was entering the Baker Street restaurant on Clinton in Fort Wayne. It was within biking distance of her apartment -- not an easy ride, for there were no shoulders on Auburn Road and no bike lanes on Clinton. She stowed her helmet and elbow and knee guards in a saddle bag, fluffed out her hair, and entered the bar.  Fortunately, both booths were empty, so she slipped into the one nearest the kitchen. 
    She smiled at Dennis, the handsome bartender dressed in black, slipped off her messenger bag, extracted her cellphone, checked again to be sure it was fully charged, and laid it on the table.
    “Are you alone today, Kimmie?” Dennis asked as he began removing the extra place settings.
    “Amber will be here in a few minutes.”
    “Do you want a menu?”
    “Not until she gets here. Meanwhile, I’ll start with a martini, something summery. Surprise me.”
    “My favorite request,” he said. “We have oysters on the half shell again in case you’re interested. Raw, Rockefeller, casino. . . .”
    “Six of the Rockefeller when Amber arrives. But could I have the bread basket while I’m waiting?”
    “Of course.”
    When Dennis returned to the bar, Kimmie picked up her phone, willing it to ping. She couldn’t wait to get Dr. Beltrami’s reply to her very diplomatic request for an apology. Perhaps he would not only apologize for the unorthodox