“Oh, yeah, right.” She skewered him with a stare of disbelief. She was thin to the point of being bony, her taupe size-practically-nothing skirt and sweater hanging off her thin frame. “You really expect me to believe that after twelve or so years you’re just dropping by for a chat? Give me a flippin’ break. Where the hell is my broom?” She walked to an alcove and retrieved a push broom and dustpan. “You want to talk?” she muttered as she began cleaning up the mess. “About what?”

“Jennifer.”

“Oh, God, why?” She stood suddenly and stared at Bentz as if he’d just flown in from Jupiter. “What good will it do now? That poor woman.”

Downstairs another patron wandered into the gallery. Bentz saw her through the open railing. A silver-haired woman with red reading glasses perched on the end of her tiny nose, she wore a perpetual scowl along with white capri pants and a sleeveless top, She wandered through the displays only to stop and contemplate a glass mosaic cat that might have been the ugliest piece of so-called art Bentz had ever seen.

Jesus, was she serious? A piece of crap with a price tag that probably exceeded what Bentz made in a week?

Fortuna leaned over the railing and called cheerfully, “Hello, Mrs. Fielding! I’ll be right down.” She left her broom and dustpan propped against the ladder and glanced at Bentz. “You know, I really don’t have anything to tell you.”

“I’ll wait.”

Rolling her eyes as if to say “whatever” she headed down the stairs at a quick clip. Once on the main floor, she began showing the dour Mrs. Fielding pieces of colored glass that resembled African beasts. Ugly lions and gazelles and elephants. At least, that was his interpretation. Who knew what the artist really had in mind?

Bentz took it upon himself to clean up the mess, hauled the broom and dustpan back to the little closet, and even found another lightbulb. He’d just screwed it in so that it showcased the black and red mess of a painting when Fortuna walked up the stairs.

“Oh, don’t think you’re getting on my good side just because you played janitor,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“I could have done it myself.” She spied a piece of glass he’d missed and picked it up before folding her arms over her chest. “Just what the hell is it you want to know?”

“Jennifer’s state of mind before she died.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t know.”

“You were one of her closest friends.”

“What does it matter now?”

“Someone’s been calling me, saying she’s Jennifer.”

“Oh, so what? Someone’s just having a little fun at your expense.”

He hauled out the copies of the photographs and Fortuna eyed them. “These were sent to me.”