Rooms to Die For

by Jean Harrington

  Her beaded evening bag lay on the island’s marble surface. There must be a cell phone in it.

  Without wasting a second, I undid the bag’s jeweled clasp and reached inside, groping for a phone. But what I pulled out wasn’t a phone. It was a pistol. A Taurus pistol. In unlikely pink, of all colors, and small enough to fit a woman’s hand. No question, the gun would fit Beatriz’s small beringed fingers to deadly perfection.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  After checking the Taurus for bullets, I stood there with the loaded pink gun in my hands, too stunned to move. It looked like a toy, or a harmless accessory, one that Imogene might like. But it was lethal, a little killing machine. And the question gnawing at me was why, oh why, did Beatriz walk around with a weapon in her purse?

  Self-defense? She said she’d be killed now that the drugs had gone missing. A breath caught in my throat. Good God, then I’d be responsible for her death.

  I glanced down at where she lay unmoving, and gun in hand, raced across the kitchen for my own purse. With the Taurus in my left hand, I reached under the sink with my right and fumbled for my bag. When my fingers grasped it, I yanked it out, dumped the contents in the sink, and made a distress call to 9-1-1. Then in the quiet, darkened house, I listened for approaching footsteps. Nothing. No Rossi yet. No Ted Wolff either.

  Ted. Acting on a hunch, my pulse racing faster than normal, I released the gun’s safety and emptied the cartridge. I’d no sooner dropped the bullets into the sink when Ted sauntered back in.

  “I couldn’t find the lieutenant...whoa!”

  Oh. Right. The gun.

  He flung his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot.”

  “Of course not, Ted. Why would I shoot you?”

  He slowly lowered his arms. “What are you doing with a gun?” He peered at the Taurus as if he recognized it, or maybe I was imagining things.

  “Sorry. My dad was a cop and told me never to leave home without one. So I keep it in my handbag, but I had to empty everything out fast to call 9-1-1. Beatriz has fainted.”

  His glance darted about the kitchen. “Where is she?”

  I pointed the Taurus’s snout at the island. “Over there. On the floor. I couldn’t bring her to.”

  His eyes never leaving the pistol, Ted rounded the side of the altar and careened to a stop. But instead of tending to Beatriz, he peered into the empty compartment. “Well, what do you know? A secret compartment. Some hiding place, huh?”

  “Sure is,” I said, picking up my purse and stuffing everything except the bullets back into it. “But right now I’m only interested in Beatriz.”

  I hurried over to her, and casually, as if it were of no importance, placed my bag with the useless pistol inside on the island top. Let’s see if he bites.

  Kneeling beside Beatriz, I chafed her hands. They were cold and lifeless, and her lips were blue. “I wish the medics would get here. I’m afraid we’re losing her.”

  Ted cursed and slammed the panel door shut with an ear-jarring bang. “Maybe that’ll bring her to. Now let’s cut through the bull. You know about the altar. So where’s the goods?”

  “What goods?” I looked up, right into the Taurus’s single eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, standing to even the playing field a bit, forcing myself to sound cool.

  “You’re lying. It was all in there—I saw it. You’re working with the old lady. I knew I couldn’t trust her.” He moved in closer, the Taurus inches from my face. “You got ten seconds to tell me where you hid the stuff.”

  I backed up a step. “You’re bluffing. You haven’t got the guts to shoot.”

  “You don’t believe me? Neither did Hugo. His mistake.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Come on, come on. Five seconds.”

  “Kill me and you’ll never know. Besides, you won’t get away with it. The house is guarded. The minute that gun goes off, the cops’ll be all over you. Like flies on a jelly donut.”

  Ted sneered. “Time’s up. You’re coming with me. You’ll talk later.”

  The sirens screamed even louder.

  Over their shrill cries, I shouted, “I’m not going anywhere. Go ahead. Shoot.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Drop your weapon.”

  Rossi at last.

  He stood, legs apart, in the kitchen doorway, his Glock aimed at Ted’s head.

  “Don’t shoot, Rossi,” I yelled. “He’s not armed.”

  Unflinching, Rossi stood his ground, kept his gun on his target but held his fire. He trusted me. That was the greatest gift he could possibly have given me. And in that moment I realized, down to my soul, that the time had come for me to trust him completely too.

  Ted didn’t have the same faith in my word. He squeezed off a shot, a second one, and a third. Getting the message, finally, he flung the gun across the room with an oath. It hit the La Cornue with a smack, leaving a baseball-sized dent in the middle of the dry roast oven. Wait till Tiny Forbes saw that.

  “Move away from him, Deva,” Rossi said.

  As I stepped away from Beatriz, Ted reached out and, quick as a striking snake, he grabbed me around the waist. Holding me like a human shield, he said, “Go ahead. Shoot.”

  “You’ll leave with her over my dead body.” Rossi calmly lowered his weapon.

  Ted’s breath fanned the back of my neck, the rush of air on my skin damp and unpleasant. Rossi stepped into the room, his gun still lowered but at the ready.

  Dragging me with him, Ted moved back a step.

  Rossi moved forward.

  Ted moved back.

  Locked in their weird power dance, the two men didn’t hear the slight rustle of silk. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Beatriz inch along the floor, positioning herself directly behind Ted.

  One more step was all we needed.

  “Rossi, come and get me,” I yelled.

  He charged forward and Ted jumped back, tripped over Beatriz stretched out behind him and plunged to the floor, taking me with him. The fall broke his hold, and I scrambled to my feet and rushed to Rossi’s open arms. Well, to one of them. He held the Glock in the other. In tandem, we strode across the room to where Ted, looking dazed, lay spread-eagled beside Beatriz.

  “Get away from the little lady,” Rossi said, “before I blow you apart.”

  Ted reached for the island and, leaning on it, pulled himself to his feet.

  “I’ll take care of this guy and be right back,” Rossi said, marching Ted from the kitchen at gunpoint.

  Outside Sprague Mansion, the sirens screeched to a halt. Thank God. The medics. Though it seemed like an hour since I called 9-1-1, only a few minutes had passed. Not too many, I prayed, and dropped down next to Beatriz.

  “Help is here, Beatriz. Help is here. Open your eyes,” I pleaded. “Speak to me, mother to daughter. Please.”

  Her eyes opened to slits then instantly closed, but her hand groped for mine. I seized it between my palms and held on tight. At my touch she rallied and, staring into space, said, “I was wrong not to go to the police. But I was frightened. So frightened.” Her voice, weak to begin with, faded to a whisper. I could hardly hear her and leaned closer, my ear to her cheek. “When Ted discovered where the drugs were hidden, he killed Hugo. I feared he would kill me too.” Her soft voice broke. “I should have let him.”

  “No, Beatriz, no. Whatever you’ve done, Rossi will help you. I’ll help you too.”

  “And what of my José?”

  “What of him, Beatriz?”

  But only a gentle sigh, a mere wisp of air, escaped her lips. Her lids drifted down, and though I begged and begged, they didn’t open again.

  “Deva.” I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and glanced up.

  “Oh, Rossi, she’s gon
e,” I murmured and burst into tears. He reached down and, lifting me up, held me against his chest while I soaked his shirt with my tears. “She was like a mother to me in so many ways,” I croaked out.

  “Shh.” Holding me in the circle of his arms, he led me away from Beatriz’s body. Together we stumbled over to the La Cornue. I leaned against it, with Rossi’s arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Deva. I know you were very fond of Mrs. Vega.”

  “Very fond,” I said, sniffling. I needed a tissue. Leaving his side long enough to grab a handful of cocktail napkins off the island, I patted my cheeks dry and went back to nestle against him. “Ted killed Hugo.”

  “Yes. I’m not surprised.”

  I pulled out of his embrace a little so I could look up into his face. “You’re not surprised? You knew?”

  He shook his head. “Suspected.”

  “What made you suspicious?”

  “The motherboard.”

  “The what?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. Now I have a question for you. How did you learn the truth about Hugo’s death?”

  “A few minutes ago, just before she...just before...Beatriz told me.”

  Voices and heavy footsteps pounded along the hall. A moment later two paramedics hurried in and rushed over to Beatriz. I forced myself to stay where I was and not hamper their effort.

  “Go on,” Rossi urged gently.

  “Hugo hid the drugs. Ted found out, forced him to confess and then shot him.” A thought occurred to me, and I stiffened in Rossi’s embrace. “I’ll bet he used Beatriz’s Taurus to do the dirty. I found the gun in her purse, and he saw me holding it. I could have sworn he recognized it. After all, Rossi, how many pink guns are in circulation?”

  Rossi’s glance cut over to the medics. Their efforts to help Beatriz, though well-intentioned, were futile. Even I, the least medical person in the world, had recognized that instant when her spirit separated from her body. She was lost to us and had taken her secrets with her. Some of them anyway.

  The older of the two medics, the one with the name Joe embroidered on his uniform pocket, stood and approached Rossi.

  “Nothing we could do, Lieutenant. She was gone before we got here. We’ll take her in so the ME can examine her. He’ll get back to you with the cause of death.”

  With a nod at me, Joe turned and together he and his partner lifted Beatriz onto a gurney, though feather that she was, one of them alone could easily have lifted her.

  Then they covered her with a sheet and wheeled her away.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Once Beatriz was gone, Rossi took me by the hand and studied my face. “Your freckles are still showing. That means you’re stressed. So let’s find you a seat. Maybe in that Florida room across the hall. I saw some chairs in there.”

  “No. I can’t leave here.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have to guard the kitchen.”

  He looked at me with worry in his eyes as if the night’s events had unhinged me. Well, dammit, they had. “It’s all right, Deva,” he said in the coaxing tone usually reserved for the mentally ill. “You’ve been through a lot. Relax. You can give me a statement later when you feel up to it. Come on.” He cocked a finger, urging me to go with him.

  I pointed to the La Cornue with a shaky hand. “Before we leave, lift the cover off that copper pot and look inside.”

  “Are you serious?” Probably thought my brain had gone viral.

  “Go ahead,” I urged.

  He shrugged and, as if indulging a precocious child, did as I asked.

  One glance inside the kettle and he uttered an oath. The same one Ted used earlier when he didn’t find any drugs. “What the hell is this?” he said, removing one of the bags.

  “It’s probably cocaine.”

  He reached in, lifted out the three other bags and cursed again.

  “There’s some in the oven too,” I said. “The one that dry roasts.”

  On the second try, he found the correct oven and, like a chef revealing his masterpiece, he removed the casserole dish loaded with drugs and set it on top of a burner.

  “There’s more,” I told him. “Come on, I’ll show you.” My turn to crook a finger and lead the way. I hurried across the room on my ivory stilettos that were starting to kill and flung open the refrigerator doors. I indicated the chiller drawers. “In there. Ten bags.”

  He yanked open the drawers, took one look and left the fridge ajar without touching anything.

  “That’s not all,” I said.

  One word only. “Where?”

  “Under the sink. In a paper carryall. I filled it up.”

  “You filled it up? I think I’m the one who needs a seat.” He waved a finger under my nose. “Don’t move.” He strode over to the sink cupboard, pulled out the carryall by the handles, and dumped its contents on top of the island.

  He took his cell from a pocket. “Batano, I want you in here. Now.”

  Repocketing the cell, he said, “If this stuff is what it looks like, it’s the biggest drug bust in Naples history. In southwest Florida history.” He paused, plainly agitated, the first time I’d ever seen the unflappable Victor Rossi well...flapped.

  “Any more?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”

  He waved his arms around the room. “Where did you find all this?”

  “In a secret compartment.”

  He sighed. One of those sighs that rise up from the belly and echo in the air. “No more hide-and-seek games, Deva. Just tell it to me straight.”

  A hand on his holster, Batano big-bellied his way in. Catching sight of the bags piled on the island, he let out a whistle. “What’s this?”

  “What it looks like,” Rossi said. “Call Vice. Get them over here fast. Make sure Hughes stays with that Ted Wolff. I’ll be out to talk to him in a minute.”

  Batano left, and Rossi turned his full attention to me. “Well?”

  “It was hidden in here. All of it. Watch.” As he looked on, I rubbed the Madonna’s head, and the panel door swung open.

  Rossi bent down to peer inside, then stood, looking none too happy. “You can explain everything to the vice squad when they get here. But what I want to know is why you didn’t tell me about this sooner.”

  I’d expected this and met it head-on—with a little bit of phony defiance. “One simple reason. I didn’t want cops swarming all over Sprague Mansion wrecking opening night.”

  “Suppose Wolff made his move earlier? How would O.K. Corral have gone down then?”

  “I figured nothing would happen with so many people floating around.”

  “That was a chance you shouldn’t have taken.”

  I didn’t reply. He was absolutely right. I was perched on shaky moral ground, and it was crumbling fast. My only possible defense was that nothing had happened during Showhouse hours. But I wouldn’t bring up the obvious, not with Rossi’s scowl daring me to argue with him.

  For once I shut up and in an uncomfortable silence we waited together for the narcotics team to arrive. I was about to break down and apologize for my stupidity, but never got the chance.

  “Lieutenant.” Batano loomed in the doorway. “The chief wants you to call him ASAP.”

  “I’ll go outside to make this one,” Rossi said, pressing on his cell as he strode from the room. “Stay with her, Batano.”

  While Batano stood guard in the doorway, I kicked off my killer heels and slumped on the floor, letting the green taffeta mop up the footprints of a couple hundred people. The hell with it. Though I loved the dress and it had cost far more than I could afford, I’d never wear it again. I planned to strip and toss it in the trash the minute I got home. It would always remind me of Beatriz...Beatriz on the night she di
ed. My little madre.

  I leaned against the island’s carved panel. “You have my back,” I told the Madonna, “but don’t worry about the dress. That doesn’t matter. Take care of Beatriz, please.”

  Maybe I was losing it, having girl talk with the Virgin Mary, but somehow I felt comforted and sat without moving, an exhausted lump, for the narcs to find me. I was sending up another prayer when a pair of plainclothes officers barged into the kitchen. The first man slid to a stop when he saw the white bags piled on top of the island. Then he lamped me on the floor beside it.

  “Mrs. Dunne?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached into a pocket, removed a leather-covered badge and held it out. “My name’s Nick. This is Mark.” Whether those were their real names or not didn’t matter.

  Nick stared down at me. “You okay?”

  “I guess so. We’ve had quite a party.”

  He pointed at the bags. “I understand you found this substance.”

  “That’s correct. Strictly by accident. It’s all over the place.”

  “Mind showing us where?”

  “Some on the stove. In the refrigerator. The chiller drawers.”

  He nodded at Mark, and they moved in on the stash. Once they had the drugs secured in zippered leather bags, they began searching the kitchen with the thoroughness of long experience. I watched for a few minutes and then stood, not without difficulty, and said, “You’ll probably miss the hidden panel.”

  After I popped open the island mechanism, Nick said, “Why don’t you find another seat? The lieutenant will be with you soon.”

  He obviously wanted me out of their way, and besides, I could use a comfortable chair. In my gorgeous, nonfunctioning showroom, the lack of seating was a definite design flaw. But bar stools would have obscured the beauty of the altar and cluttered up all that wide open space. In its current state, the kitchen was an attractive shell that offered a tantalizing vision of how truly gorgeous—and functional—it could be. With more money, fifty to seventy-five thousand, lavished on it. Ah, well...