Milo said, “Friendly, maybe that’ll extend to us.”
The merriment seemed staged to me. I said nothing as we waited. When the twins drifted away, we walked up to her.
Appraising smile. “Hi, you two.”
Milo said, “Good show.”
“Geoffrey’s a force to be reckoned with.” Okash looked at her drinks, then at our empty hands. “Don’t like Prosecco? It’s muy tasty.”
Milo patted his gut. “Moderation.”
“Is for people who doubt themselves,” said Medina Okash, placing a fingertip on his gut and rotating slowly. “Feels luscious and gorgeous to me.”
Milo managed a smile. The things we do in the call of duty.
She switched to me, fingertipping my turtleneck precisely over my navel. “A little more L.A.-toned for you…ooh, an innie. So where do I know you guys—the Harrison thing last month? Or was it Art Basel Miami?”
Milo flipped his lapel just wide enough to show her his badge.
Generally that evokes shock. Medina Okash’s affect didn’t change. “Police. Let me guess: Benny.”
Milo nodded. “We came by earlier but you were closed.”
Okash took in the crowd behind us. “Obviously, this isn’t really a good time so if you could come back tomorrow—ya know, scratch that. Time is nothing more than the longest distance between two places.”
I said, “Tennessee Williams.”
A painted eyebrow arched. She knuckled my arm lightly. “A cop who appreciates literature. Let us chit and chat.”
—
We followed her to a door at the back of the gallery. She opened it and waited as we stepped through. Brushing Milo’s arm as he passed. Doing the same to me and adding an instant of hip-to-hip pressure.
Expressionless throughout the contact; the who-me? demeanor of a kid trying something naughty.
The back room was a storage area set up with floor-to-ceiling vertical racks. Every gallery rear I’ve seen is crammed with canvases. Verlang Contemporary housed less than a dozen paintings, all wrapped in brown paper.
Medina Okash said, “I’m assuming you’re here because Marcella told you Benny worked here.”
Flat voice, matching eyes.
Milo nodded. “You know Marcella McGann.”
“Not well enough to know that’s her surname,” said Okash. “To me she’s Marcella the woman who takes care of Benny. She got Benny hired.”
“Did she.”
“Oh, yes. She showed up one day, told me about the place she worked, and asked if I could help out by giving one of her residents something to do, he liked to draw. My first thought was,Who needs the complication?Then I thought,You’ve always appreciated outsider art, Medina. Why not help an actual outsider?”
“What did Benny do here?”
“Swept up, straightened, accepted deliveries. If I was here cataloging he’d let me know someone was at the door. I’d send him to get food if a yummy truck was nearby. Mostly he just hung around. No problem, very sweet. And actually very diligent. At first Marcella or someone else from the home would walk him and pick him up. Then, maybe a week in, he began making the trip himself.”
I said, “Did he ever report any problems during the walk?”
“Never,” said Medina Okash. “So he still hasn’t come home? That’s not good.”
Sympathetic words. But no affect to match.
