Page 58 of XO Karma

“Art,” I say simply. As if everything I witnessed last night can be encapsulated to that single word.

“Really?” She waves her hands around at the walls filled with paintings. “I live and breathe it. I also majored in art history in college. Why do you think my foam creations are such masterpieces?”

“I thought there was some kind of special barista school you went to or something,” I tease, and she nudges me with her foot under the table.

“Hey, those masterpieces are alllll me.”

I shift in my seat, trying to determine what to share. Exactly what could she help with? She stares at me expectantly. “What do you know about taxidermy art?”

Amara grimaces. “It’s not my favorite.”

“Yeah, mine either,” I grumble.

“Are you talking about Isla Westerford?”

I attempt to mask my surprise. “You know her?”

“Of course. She’s world-renowned in the art world and a bit of a local celebrity.”

“For those weird animal things?”

“Yep.” She huffs a laugh. “But I’ve always thought it was bullshit.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, curiosity piqued.

“She claims to get millions for these pieces that are hardly something special. The stones aren’t even real.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, a hundred percent,” she says with complete conviction.

“So you don’t think they’re really selling for that much? Why lie?”

“I mean…” She taps her pen against the table. “It’s possible they get that much. I just doubt it’s for that particular art…”

“Amara,” a barista calls from behind the counter, drawing our attention to the sight of a forming line. “Little help?”

“Coming,” she calls out, standing and turning to face me, her voice low. “Those pieces are interesting and different… but not a million dollars different. Hell, one of Van Gogh’s paintings sold for less a few years ago. Van Gogh!” She huffs a laugh. “So if you want my resident art nerd opinion, I think those sparkle carcasses are bullshit.”

Amara turns, sauntering to the counter, leaving me with that bombshell and my thoughts. I don’t know much, but what I do know is I need to get back into that house.

Something is awry at the Westerford estate, and I’m going to find out what it is.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a familiar voice asks, sliding in the seat Amara just vacated.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Aster, eyes dropping to his fresh clothes, then up to his wet hair. “And when the hell did you find the time to shower?”

“It’s noon.” He takes a sip of his beverage in a to-go cup. “I’ve already showered, worked out, and did some recon on last night’s victim.”

“You didn’t mention sleep,” I point out, and he shrugs. “Guess that makes two of us.”

His eyes soften as he stands, holding out a hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m walking you home. You need to rest.” My exhaustion overtakes my urge to argue, and I place my hand in his. He tugs me to stand, eyes holding mine as his thumb slides over my knuckles, and I pull away, heading for the door, with him quick on my heels. Amara gives me a cheeky smirk and an eyebrow waggle as we leave, and I wave her off.

When we’re on the street, Aster shrugs off his denim jacket and hooks it on my shoulders like he did last night. He has to stop being so nice. I keep forgetting the horrible things he’s done.