My breath caught in my throat. Would she take it or wouldn’t she?
If Harlan had anything to do with it, she wouldn’t. “You heard me, Imogene. You’re not going anywhere.”
Brows knitting, she glanced up at him. Even without false eyelashes or any trace of makeup, her brown eyes, luminous with tears, were beautiful. And disdainful.
Keeping her gaze trained on Harlan, she snapped open her purse, removed a tube of lipstick and anointed her mouth with the brightest, most electric shade of pink I’d ever seen.
Another little smile on his face, Syd said, “Lovely.”
She dropped the lipstick into her purse and, reaching out, took Syd’s proffered hand. Together they strolled out of the kitchen without so much as a backward glance in Harlan’s direction.
“What the hell was that all about?” he asked.
I really don’t think he knew. “I have no idea, Harlan, but don’t you admire a woman who can apply lipstick without a mirror? It takes such a steady hand.”
He shrugged. “Let her tour the place with him. It’s not worth fighting over.”
Either he was kidding himself or trying to kid me. Imogene wouldn’t be back after her “tour.” Syd had won a TKO. And Harlan? Well, he’d just lost another contest.
Halfway back to Rossi, who was still loyally standing guard at the La Cornue, though he didn’t know why—yet—I heard Harlan say, “Hey, buddy, didn’t think you’d make it.”
Relaxed, twirling a wineglass stem between his fingers, Rossi tensed. Just a momentary clenching of his muscles, and then the reaction disappeared. But I’d learned to read his body language. Someone of interest had walked in and sent Rossi into full detective mode.
I glanced over a shoulder. Oh, Ted Wolff from Breeze City. In a sport jacket and polo shirt, he looked relaxed and at ease, just a man out for a pleasant evening’s entertainment. But as he strolled the room, Rossi’s hooded eyes followed his every move. Strange. Obviously Rossi knew something that I didn’t.
A loyal employee, Ted first checked out the fixtures Breeze City had donated to the cause before striding across the room to me. “Everything looks good, Mrs. Dunne,” he said. He pointed to the Tiffany sconces. “Your choices make sense in here.”
“That was the whole idea. I’m glad you could make the opening.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t have missed it. Besides, Mrs. Vega needed a ride. She doesn’t like to drive at night any more.”
“Beatriz is here? With you?”
He nodded. “Yeah, she’s around somewhere, talking to somebody she knows.”
Was I reading into Ted’s expression? Though he did seem a tad nervous, that could have been my imagination working overtime. Actually I was the one operating on nerves. I checked my watch. Ten minutes to ten. Nearly time to get Rossi into the act. The open house was winding to a close. Already the chatter and laughter of the guests had lessened, and the musicians had stopped playing.
Imogene and Syd had probably left by now. Or were in the parking lot, making out in Syd’s truck. The possibility made me happy.
Harlan, imperturbable at being dumped, or pretending not to care, leaned on the island, his arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other. A studied insouciance, it didn’t work on me for an instant.
“Want to go out for a drink later?” he asked Ted.
“Can’t, old boy.” Ted laughed. “Have to get my date home.”
“Oh. Forgot. Of course.” He chuckled a bit. “Afraid I can’t say the same thing.”
“Win a few. Lose a few.”
“Lately I’ve been losing more than I’ve been winning. So...on that jolly note, I’ll run along. No point in hanging around. I’ve seen the sights if not pressed the flesh. In a manner of speaking.” He forced a laugh. It came out of his throat ragged as a cough.
He waved farewell and said, “Good show, Deva. If you see Imogene, tell her to take a cab home.”
“I doubt that will be necessary,” I said to his retreating back.
Omigod, Rossi, cell phone in hand, was following Ted out the door.
“Rossi, you’re not leaving are you?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.
“I have to make a call.”
“Please don’t leave,” I pleaded, seizing his hand between my palms. “I need to talk to you. It’s serious.”
“What about? Our conversation? I meant what I said. I won’t pressure you again.”
“No! You don’t understand.”
“I think I do,” he replied, those dark eyes Sandra and I both loved burning into mine. “And it’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t. There’s something I have to tell you.” I glanced over at Ted, who was staring out a window at the pitch-black garden, pretending not to listen, but I knew darn well he was. “We need to be alone before I can talk about it,” I whispered in Rossi’s ear.
He arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
Oh, God. We were sending and receiving mixed messages. I clung to his hand. Misreading my intent, he stroked my palm with a finger. “I’ll make this call as short as possible.”
“But—”
“Be back soon.” A few strides and he was gone. Ted moved away from the window, and I sent him a wan smile. “Guess the party’s over.”
“Seems that way. I’d better find out where Beatriz went to.”
Distracted, I just nodded as he took off, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I hadn’t even had the presence of mind to say I’d love to see her before they left for the night.
In the dining room next door, the lights went out. The Florida room across the way was already dark. Only a small lamp on the hallway table gleamed, sending mysterious shadows along the wallpapered walls.
Judging from the few echoing voices and footfalls on the stairs, not many people were left in Sprague Mansion. Suddenly I felt isolated and vulnerable.
For the life of me I didn’t know what to do. Put the drugs back in the island and risk having the killer retrieve them. Or leave them hidden all over the place where any casual visitor might find them. Or take them home with me and try to explain everything to the police.
Not one of those “solutions” was any good. The best thing was to tell Rossi. Call him on his cell, and if he didn’t answer, then call 9-1-1 and ask for the police. I blew out a breath. That wasn’t such a hot option either. When Rossi found out I’d known about the stash, he’d have a royal fit that I’d concealed the truth from him all evening, made small talk for hours while sitting on a powder keg—so to speak.
The house was practically silent. I couldn’t delay much longer. Before I knew it, Marian Stilwell or another committee member would be in to say I had to leave so they could lock up for the night.
Well, right now, drugs or no drugs, crisis or no crisis, I had to use the ladies’ room. I didn’t want to step out of the kitchen even for an instant, but I had to. The tension had finally hit my urinary tract.
I’d make it fast, and if Rossi wasn’t back by the time I returned, I’d make that 9-1-1 call. Plan decided upon, I dashed across the hall to the powder room. When I came out less than two minutes later, the dim hall light had been extinguished.
On the first floor, only the kitchen remained lit. Apparently some latecomers had dropped by to see it; I could hear people in there speaking in hushed tones. Perhaps their quiet voices, as if they didn’t want to be overheard, was what caused me to hesitate. Instead of entering, I stood outside in the darkened hallway and peered around the open door frame.
Ted and Beatriz were standing by the island. They were probably waiting for me. Yet, still, I hesitated.
“The Madonna’s head,” Beatriz said. “One must rub it briskly for the mechanism to work. I’m rubbing, but nothing is happening.”
“Try harder,” Ted urged.
“Sí. My hands are not what they used to be.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. We haven’t got all night. Let me try.”
“No. This is for me to do. Once more I rub.”
Stunned, I stood frozen in the darkened hallway, transfixed with disbelief. They knew. Ted and Beatriz both knew about the altar’s hidden panel and were trying to open it. Unbelievable, and yet I had to believe. I’d heard them admit it.
“Madre de Dios, the switch is here somewhere,” Beatriz said. “I know, for I opened it once before, but now I cannot.”
“You sure you know what you’re doing, old lady?” Ted asked, disgust and impatience tingeing his voice.
“That tone I do not like, niño,” Beatriz said. “Speak to me with more respect.”
“Respect!” Ted snorted.
Heart pounding, I stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe. What now? If I attempted to walk away I risked having them hear me. They’d realize I’d been eavesdropping, that I knew they were aware of the altar’s secret. But why shouldn’t they know? That didn’t necessarily mean they knew about the drugs. Especially not Beatriz, elegant, sophisticated, exquisite Beatriz. On the other hand, as much as I hated to give in to the possibility, the exact opposite could be equally true.
Not daring to peek into the room again, I stood stiff as a sentry with my back pressed against the hallway’s William Morris wallpaper. For once, I didn’t give a damn how stunning it was. All I wanted to do was crawl away and escape from what I’d just heard.
But there was no escape.
“Deva Dunne,” a loud, carrying voice called. “What on earth are you doing out here in the dark?”
Chapter Forty-Four
“Shh!” I put a finger to my lips though no one could see me do it.
“We’re ready to lock up, dear,” Marian Stilwell said, coming over to me in the dark. “Are you all right?”
I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes. No.”
“Someone’s out in the hallway.” Beatriz.
“Oh, you still have visitors,” Marian said. “Are they a problem?”
“Not at all.” I smiled into the dark. “There’s no problem, Marian.”
“Well, if you’re sure, I’ll go check the upstairs rooms.” And picking up her long blue skirt, she hurried away.
It was too late now to pretend I wasn’t there, so I peeled myself off the wallpaper, flung back my shoulders and, like nothing was wrong, strolled toward the kitchen. Not a moment too soon either. Ted’s silhouette loomed in the open doorway.
“Anybody out there?”
Showtime. “Hi, Ted.”
“Oh. There you are, Deva.”
Not Mrs. Dunne.
“I thought I heard voices,” he said. “What’s going on out here?”
“Nothing much. Just having a chat with the committee chair. She’s getting ready to close up shop.” I moved into the light. “Is Beatriz with you? I haven’t seen her all evening.”
“Yeah, she’s here.” His eyes on me were wary, suspicious. I could read questions in them. No doubt he wondered if I’d overheard anything. I brushed past him and continued into the kitchen, a happy little designer who’d just enjoyed a successful evening studded with compliments on her creative talents.
“Beatriz!” I exclaimed, as if delighted to see her.
She was in her usual black, unrelieved except for a yellow rosebud pinned to the shoulder of her gown. She attempted a smile. I beamed one back at her, though for once, I didn’t reach out to give her a hug but stood with the island a barrier between us.
I hoped to God that would be the only thing to separate us—nothing more. If Beatriz admitted she knew about the altar’s secret, that would mean she had nothing to hide. No knowledge of the drugs. No clandestine operation under the guise of a legitimate business. No laundering of contraband through the Spanish Galleria. No furtive association with Ted Wolff...only friendship, for the simple reason that he had been Hugo’s friend, a man Beatriz had treated like a son.
At least I think she had.
My heart heavy, I waited, breath catching in my throat, for her to say something about the altar. But she didn’t say a word. Nor did Ted, who simply stood silent and frowning, one foot tapping the floor as if he were impatient to leave.
Beatriz coughed a little as if readying herself to speak.
Ah, now she’ll tell me. I knew she would.
“That French stove is magnificent,” she said, glancing across the room, her eye for a quality object as true as ever.
“Yes, it is.” I faked a laugh as my heart plummeted to my feet. “Wish I could buy it. But then I’d have to build a house around it.”
She patted the altar’s marble top. “I must say this too is beautiful in here. You were wise to use it as you have. In this space it’s perfecto.”
“Yes, and you made the look possible, Beatriz. I’m very grateful and hope some visitor will fall in love with the altar and simply have to have it.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment as if fatigued beyond endurance.
“Are you feeling all right?” I asked, alarmed by her sudden pallor.
She opened her eyes and nodded, even as a spasm of pain twisted her lined face. “A little pang is all. Nothing to worry about.”
If only that were true. I eyed her carefully. Always frail, tonight she looked less well than usual, and her night wasn’t over yet. For I had to put her to a test, a test I hoped to heaven she’d pass. But first I had to get rid of Ted. What his role in all of this might be, I didn’t know for certain, but I did know I couldn’t deal with him and Beatriz at the same time.
Rather pointedly, I raised the cuff on my taffeta sleeve and studied my watch. “Uh-oh, less than ten minutes before closing time, and I have so much to carry out to the car. Lieutenant Rossi said he’d help, but he stepped outside for a while. Would you mind doing me a favor, Ted?”
“If I can.” He raised his chin at Beatriz. “I have to get this lady home soon.”
“It’ll only take a minute. I think the lieutenant’s on the front verandah. Would you go tell him I need him, please?”
Ted hesitated before doing as I asked, but finally, an annoyed flush mounting his cheeks, he turned on his heel and stomped out of the kitchen.
As soon as he was out of sight, I hurried around the island and took Beatriz’s hands in mine, recoiling only a little at their icy touch. “I have a secret to share with you.”
“You do?” Her eyes widened into round black pools.
“Yes.” I glanced over a shoulder toward the open kitchen doorway and lowered my voice. “That’s why I wanted Ted to leave.”
“What is it?” she asked, a tad of alarm leaping into her face.
“Something I discovered by accident earlier this evening. Something nobody else knows anything about.”
“A mystery,” she said, stiffening as if about to face a sudden danger. I wasn’t surprised. Beatriz had always been perceptive.
“Exactly,” I replied.
“Don’t keep me in suspense. You must tell me before I explode.”
“Better, I’ll show you. Look at this.” I bent down and caressed the Madonna’s head. The hinges creaked, and I stepped aside quickly before the panel could bonk me on the knee again.
As the door swung open, Beatriz gasped and clung to the marble top. The sudden terror in her eyes told me that without something to cling to, she’d collapse on the floor in a puddle of black silk.
“You knew,” I whispered.
She nodded. Just once. “Sí. And now you know, too. You’ve seen them.”
“Seen what?” I had to play this game out, admit to nothing and let her tell me.
“The bags of cocaine. Hugo hid th
em inside.” She shuddered, a tremor that shook her whole body. “I’ve been so frightened.”
God forgive me, but I simply shrugged my taffeta shoulders and said, “Are you hallucinating, Beatriz? There’s nothing in the altar. It’s empty.” I waved a hand. “Take a look.”
With a growl much like a feral cat’s, Beatriz let go of her support with one hand and bent down. A single glance inside the island and her growl turned into a smothered scream. She straightened, all the color draining from her face. “I’m a dead woman, amiga. He’ll kill me now.”
“Who will kill you?”
She was struggling for breath. “No matter. Let the good Lord take me and do with me as he wishes. My life is over.”
Her hand with its bold heirloom rings slipped from the marble top. Before I could catch her, she slumped to the floor and lay stretched out on her back, the toes of her velvet evening slippers pointing north and south.
I dropped to my knees beside her, urging her to open her eyes. She moaned but didn’t move, not so much as an eyelid. As she lay there, a wizened old woman the size of a half-grown child, I patted her cheeks and massaged her hands, calling her name, begging her to awaken. All the while fighting off my own guilt at causing her so much anguish.
Had I been too harsh in searching for an answer? I feared so, but the truth had to come out, and it had—some of it anyway. She’d known about the drugs. No telling what else she knew. Or what part she’d played in all of this.
Whatever her role might be, she was terrified of someone. But who? The same person who killed José and Hugo, the two men she’d loved? As I gazed at her quiet face, I struggled with the guilt swirling inside me. My clever little ploy had reaped its reward, but my poor friend was the loser.
“Beatriz,” I urged. “Beatriz. Open your eyes.”
If she heard my plea, she didn’t respond, but lay as silent and still as if in a tomb.
Help. I needed help. I needed 9-1-1. Where was my purse? I couldn’t remember for a moment. Oh, across the room, somewhere under the kitchen sink. Though I hated to leave Beatriz even for an instant, I had to. Letting go of her hands, I stood and murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
Rooms to Die For Page 22
