Love, Art, and Murder – Mystery Romance

“Goodness. How old are you?” he asked. “I was taught to never ask, but young ones like yourself never seem to mind.”

“Sadly, I’m passing that time in youth where women love to boldly yell out their age, but I’m not there yet. I’m twenty-nine.” I unwound the long, single braid that wrapped over and over, at the top, into a tight bun. Those silky, black strands fell down in a wavy pattern past my knees and draped my shoulders and back like a curtain.

“Ay Dios mio! Look at that hair. You were beautiful before, now you’re hot!”

I cringed. “Thank you.”

He snapped a few more, handed me back my money, and then finally put his cell phone away. I took the time to do a quick twist of my strands and wrapped it all back into a haphazard bun.

“Well, I wish you luck.” He shook my hand and headed back to his vehicle. “You’ve got my card. Call me if you ever need a ride around the city.”

“I will.” I walked through the iron gates and scanned the castle’s grounds. The image of the body bag played in my head.

Should I worry about that?

I wasn’t even sure a dead person resided in the bag and there didn’t seem to be a sign of danger or chaos anywhere I looked. No cops lingered about. No firemen or news people roamed the span of thick grass that leaned away from the cool wind. No one stepped around the white brick walls as they soared several feet into the air and gripped unlit torches. Nosy onlookers didn’t crowd near the huge moat which wrapped around the entire property and glittered sparkling blue under the sun. Even the grounds people, tending to the tons of multicolored lilies scattered everywhere, didn’t stop their watering or weeding, nor peek around the many banyan trees decorating the front. In fact, they all looked bored with indifferent masks on their faces—no smiles or frowns, widened eyes of shock or gaping mouths. They glued their gazes to their given tasks and kept their hands busy.

Maybe it’s not even a dead body in there. And if it is, maybe it’s an old employee for the family who died in his sleep. Either way, stop making yourself nervous. Everything will be fine.

Yet, my fingers shook and my heartbeat sped up, probably more due to the oncoming nervousness of beginning a new job than the mysterious zipped body bag the EMT drove away with.

There’s nothing to be worried about. This is a new life, a new beginning.

The farther I walked down the black pebbled path to the castle the more I came to the conclusion that maybe there was no great tragic mystery that had occurred after all. Everything seemed business as usual, well, everything except the skinny guy lounging on a branch high up in the banyan tree several feet ahead of me. He was a small guy with that golden complexion most Hispanic people possessed. Birds chirped near him as he swung his legs and sang out the lyrics to John Lennon’s “Imagine.” Long black hair hung past his shoulders. White highlights spread throughout the strands, giving him more of a zebra print effect than stylish flair. He wore blue jean overalls with paint drops splattered all over the material.

This has to be Hex.

Before accepting the nude model job, I’d researched the artist for hours at the library’s computer and studied his Morbid Series, which was filled with shattered sculptures and mixed media portraits of decaying men and women.

Of course, I’d heard of him before. How could I not?

For many years, Hex had carried on a public feud with successful artist—and my ex-boyfriend—Michael. Like two wizards wielding similar magic on the opposite sides of the spectrum, they battled each other with their art in galleries, did public rants about the other’s lack of vision in television interviews, and even published academic essays on the other, critiquing and questioning their collections. Where Hex portrayed darkness and death, Michael exposed light and the joy of life. Due to that difference, Michael had forbade me from viewing Hex’s collections. He didn’t want the darkness to pollute my glow.

And still according to Michael, my light went out.

Hex continued singing, oblivious to me standing directly under the tree branch. I guess I’ll wait until he’s done with this song. When Hex hit the chorus, he closed his eyes and yelled the lines. Each note reached a shriek. Each word more jumbled than the one before.

“Who are you?” A deep voice sounded behind me.

“What?” I turned.

A man towered over me. He had muscular shoulders and brown eyes that glittered back at me in the sunlight. He must’ve been a few years older than me. He boasted the same golden complexion that Hex had, sported a close cut hairstyle, and dressed in a dark blue suit complete with a gray tie loosened at the neck. Due to his huge size, the clothes seemed more like a costume on a powerfully built warrior than a business man. His face didn’t go with the outfit either. It was molded with flawlessness in mind—high cheek bones, full lips, broad pointed nose. Deep-set eyes under bushy eyebrows were the only part of his face that showed off his masculinity.