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“Oh my Lord!” Philip cried. “Do you think there’s some sort of connection? I mean, first Claxton is killed and now his wife’s shop is vandalized.”
“I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “There could be. But the weird thing is—the damaging graffiti on Mignon’s walls struck me as having a similar look and feel to Booker’s work.”
Philip looked completely stricken. “Oh no,” he said. “No. Booker wouldn’t... he couldn’t... at least I don’t think he would.” He peered at Theodosia, who was studying the painting closely and said, “What do you think? Is the iconography the same?”
Theodosia studied the painting. It was a series of snarling blue wolves, looking almost like paper dolls strung together. Painted over the wolves were numbers, letters, and symbols. It was a striking piece that would fit beautifully into a supermodern home.
“It’s not quite the same,” Theodosia said slowly. “This has focus and a rare kind of beauty, while the vandalism at Mignon’s boutique was practically mindless, more like a cheap imitation of Booker’s style.”
“So that’s good, right?” Holly said. She looked even more twitchy than she had before.
“I suppose so,” Theodosia said. “Unless...”
“Unless what?” Holly asked.
“Unless Booker changed up his style for the vandalism. I don’t know why he’d do that except to throw the police off his trail.”
“Or maybe it was a deliberate provocation?” Philip asked. “Booker was saying, ‘Look at me, I can get away with this?’ ”
“I suppose that’s a possibility,” Theodosia said. She gazed at the blue wolf painting again and said, “Have either of you talked to Booker lately?” This prompted Holly and Philip to exchange nervous glances.
“What?” Theodosia said. Something was clearly worrying them.
“The weird thing is, Booker seems to have disappeared,” Holly said.
Theodosia nodded. This didn’t come as news to her. Riley had mentioned the same thing earlier today.
“We’ve been thinking that Booker might have gone away on a kind of self-imposed retreat,” Holly said.
“What makes you think he’s on retreat?” Theodosia asked.
“For one thing, he does that now and then,” Holly said. “Goes off to think or meditate.”
“Contemplate his navel,” Philip said.
“The other thing is, I tried to call him because we actually have a check for him,” Holly said. “One of his paintings sold. I called him late yesterday and again today and left a message but he hasn’t responded.”
“Is that unusual?” Theodosia asked.
“Booker basically lives hand to mouth, so yes,” Holly said. “When we have a check for Booker he’s usually Johnny on the spot, practically beating down the door.”
“And there’s for sure no sign of him?” Theodosia asked.
“Philip even drove over and checked Booker’s place. Knocked on the door but he wasn’t there. He talked to a guy who was working out back, another artist, who hinted that Booker might have taken off to parts unknown.” Holly wrinkled her nose and threw another quick glance at Philip.
“Holly,” Theodosia said. “Do you have any idea where these parts unknown might be?”
Holly gazed at Philip. “Should I tell her?”
“I think you pretty much have to,” Philip said.
“What’s going on?” Theodosia asked.
“Booker supposedly has a place on Little Clam Island. It’s one of those tiny islands off the tip of James Island. Anyway, he talked about having a place there, maybe still does... a kind of studio. Well, the way he tells it, it’s really more of an old fishing shack. There’s no electricity or anything and it’s way out in the boonies. There’s an overgrown trail that weaves in through the swamp, but it’s probably easier to reach by boat.” She hunched her shoulders forward and gave a shiver. “I think there are probably creepy-crawlies on that island... you know, snakes.”
Philip stared at Theodosia. “You did the right thing, telling the police that the vandalism was similar to Booker’s work. Even if he’s not responsible for tearing up that shop, maybe they can find him, get him some help.”
“Booker needs help?” Theodosia said.
