"Makes sense. So, we'll help him, because he's important to you."
"Thanks." He liked how simple Savannah kept things. Loyalty and trust were what made them work so well together.
"It looks like the judge is headed somewhere," she murmured.
He nodded as Arthur slipped away from the group and down a hallway. "Maybe the restroom. I'll see if I can find him. I'd prefer to have our conversation sooner rather than later."
"Go. I'll wander around out here and see if I can learn something about art or maybe find an attractive, single, art collector."
He smiled, doubting she'd have any trouble doing that. He headed across the room but was almost immediately waylaid by his father's former assistant, Gretchen Vale.
"Flynn, is that you?" she asked, surprise in her eyes.
"Gretchen, hello."
She gave him a confused look. "I can't believe you're here, at an art museum. I thought you had given up your love of art after your dad…"
"That was a long time ago, Gretchen. You look well. Are you still running the gallery in Laguna Beach?"
"Yes, with my husband, Stephen. He's here somewhere," she added, with a vague wave of her hand. "How have you been?"
"I'm good."
"What are you doing now?"
"I'd love to chat, but I have to meet someone. Excuse me."
"Of course. Maybe we can catch up later, Flynn."
"That would be great," he lied. The last person he wanted to talk to was Gretchen. He didn't know what he really thought about her, but the one thing he did know was that he couldn't trust her.
He moved across the room and turned down the hallway where he'd seen Arthur go. As he came around a corner, he ran smack into Arthur's stepdaughter, Callie Harper.
He caught her by the arm as she stumbled. "Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't see you."
"It's fine," she said quickly.
She glanced away, but not before he saw what looked like tears in her dark eyes.
His gut clenched at her beauty, at her inexplicable sorrow. Before he could ask her if she was all right, she slipped past him. He thought about following her, but he needed to focus on Arthur. He checked the nearby restroom, but it was empty. He wandered down the hall, scanning the two exhibit rooms for any sign of Arthur, but he was not among those admiring the work of German sculptor, Heinrich Schmidt, or in the crowd viewing the erotic art of Sylvia Plum.
When he re-entered the hallway, the museum speaker announced that the exhibit would be opening shortly in the Grand Hall. He joined the throng of guests making their way back to the center of the building.
He scanned the hall for Arthur, but there was no sign of him. Nor did he see Juliette or Callie. The absence of all three of them bothered him.
Savannah came up next to him. "Did you find Judge Corbyn?"
"No. And I don't see him now."
"Neither do I. Maybe he's on one of the other floors. The entire museum is open tonight, right?"
"I believe so. But why wouldn't he be here now, supporting Gerard?" His bad feeling grew as Victoria Waltham stepped up to the microphone. After welcoming the guests, she directed their attention to a large screen for a short video of Gerard's life and work.
As the video ended, Callie came back into the hall. She took a glass of champagne from a waiter, her attention on the stage as Gerard stepped up to the microphone. The artist thanked everyone for coming and talked about his inspiration for his latest collection.
Flynn barely heard what Gerard was saying, every nerve in his body on high alert. Something was wrong. Where the hell was Arthur?
He heard a crashing noise overhead. It was so loud that Gerard paused, and the entire crowd looked upwards just in time to see a body come over the fourth-floor railing.
A woman screamed. The crowd scattered as the body crashed to the ground. People ran for the doors, diving for cover behind statues, not sure where the danger was coming from.
He pushed through the crowd, the first to run toward the body and not away.
When he saw the crumpled body of a man, his brown eyes wide open, his gaze fixed in disbelief, the breath left his chest.
It was Arthur Corbyn.
And he was dead.
Chapter Two
Flynn squatted down next to Arthur's body, wondering if there was anything he could do to help him, but it was clear from the positioning of his body that Arthur's neck was broken. There was a pool of blood gathering under his head, spreading across the stage in an alarming amount. Arthur's pants were halfway down his thighs, revealing black knit briefs. Only his face was unmarred by the violence that had taken his life.
Savannah came up behind him. He gave her a grim look. "He's gone."
"I'm sorry," she said, concern in her eyes.
He stood up, glancing overhead. "I'm going upstairs."
"I'll stay here."
He jogged over to the stairway, taking the steps three at a time, until he reached the top floor. A broken vase lay shattered on the ground near the spot where Arthur had gone over the railing. As he looked over the railing, he could see the chaos in the grand hall. The small stage had emptied. There were broken champagne glasses on the floor, trays dropped haphazardly, some personal items strewn about in the rush toward the exits.
And there was Arthur's body in the middle of everything. Savannah and a security guard stood next to the body.
Juliette ran forward, screaming in anguish, her daughter, Callie, right behind her. The guard held her back to maintain the integrity of the crime scene, getting some help from the museum director Victoria Waltham, who tried to comfort Juliette.
But he doubted Juliette could hear or see anyone but Arthur. And he couldn't blame her for her hysterical screams. She'd just seen her husband die.
Beyond the small circle surrounding Arthur, he could see that most of the guests had already fled the building, with probably the killer among them. Anger and frustration ran through him.
He should have pressed Arthur for more information. He should have insisted they talk immediately. But regrets would get him nowhere. He might not have been able to save Arthur, but he would find his killer. He would get him justice.
Pulling out his phone, he snapped several photos of the scene below, then did the same for the broken vase near his feet. He moved down the corridor. There were two exhibit rooms on this floor as well as two restrooms. He moved in and out of those rooms, but they were empty and there was no sign of a struggle or an additional crime scene. There were however security cameras, so hopefully there would be helpful footage.
He snapped several more photos and then made his way back into the hallway as Savannah came up the stairs, with a man in a dark suit, who was wearing an ear piece.
"Flynn, this is Rand Bentley, Director of Museum Security," Savannah said.
"Mr. Bentley," he said. "I'm Agent MacKenzie."
"Did you find anything up here?" Rand asked.
"Just the broken vase. No obvious trace of blood on the railing. I'm hoping the cameras caught the judge's fall."
Rand's lips tightened in anger. "Unfortunately, the system went down several minutes before Judge Corbyn fell over the railing. My tech guy believes the system was hacked."