Although I failed to understand her reasoning, I asked, "So, what do you think he's doing?"
"Oooh!" Her tear-stained eyes squinted with anger. "He's in the clutches of a brazen hussy!"
Veronica began typing some notes. "Is this a woman you know?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, her brow furrowed in anger. "Her name is Patsy Harrington, and we've been rivals since our debutante ball in 1963."
"Rivals?" I asked, enthralled. I loved cotillion catfight stories.
"I met my Harry at that ball. Patsy had her eye on him because he was the most eligible bachelor in New Orleans at the time, so she purposefully spilled punch on my dress. But that didn't matter one whit to Harry. He danced with me the whole night, and Patsy has been after him ever since. She's not one to be outdone."
"That's a long time to chase after a man," I said. "Are you sure about this?"
"I'm sure." She wiped a tear from her eye. "Even after all these years, my Harry is still a catch. And that Jezebel Patsy is shameless. She'll go to any lengths to get him."
"So, how can we help you?" Veronica asked.
"I need for you girls to follow Harry and get pictures of him with Patsy so that I can confront them," she explained with a sob. "He's going to be working late tomorrow and Saturday night."
"We're working on a big case right now," Veronica began, "but it sounds like we could take care of this in an evening or two. What do you think, Franki? Are you willing to work some overtime?"
Twyla looked at me expectantly. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like she'd just turned up the sniffling, sobbing, and dabbing a notch.
"I'm game." I didn't mind giving up a weekend if it meant catching a cheater in the act. I, of all people, knew the pain and self-doubt that came with betrayal, and it infuriated me to think that a husband would cheat on his wife. Especially if that husband had been dating me.
As quickly as Twyla had turned the tears on, she turned them off again. "Maaahvelous!" She began rummaging around in her purse and then pulled out an envelope and handed it to Veronica. "Here is a recent picture of Harry, his business card, the make, model, and license plate of his car, and my contact information."
I couldn't help but notice that Twyla was remarkably well prepared for a woman who'd happened upon our office by chance.
Veronica examined the picture and passed it to me.
Her "catch" of a husband looked exactly like Alfred Hitchcock with a Hitler mustache and a bad toupee. If Patsy's been chasing this guy for fifty years, I thought, she's either blind or senile. Or both.
Veronica rose to her feet. "Twyla, we'll be in touch Sunday morning with a report."
"Thank you, ladies," Twyla said brightly as she tied her scarf around her hair. "When this dreadful mess is all over, I do hope you'll stop by for some tea in the rose garden. In the springtime, of course."
"We'd love to, Twyla," Veronica said.
Slipping on her Jackie-O glasses, she waved her chubby fingers at us. "Toodle-loo." Then she slunk out the door.
* * *
Veronica and I scanned the crowd of students on break outside the Slidell School of Beauty an hour later.
"It's not going to be easy to deal with the Babe of Blackness so soon after that sunnily clad Southern belle, Twyla Upton," I said.
"I'm sure you'll manage," Veronica replied.
"Don't be too sure of that." I reluctantly resumed my hunt for Domenica. To my dismay, I spotted her smoking a cigarette with some other students.
I pointed in her direction. "There she is. At the picnic table."
"Where?" Veronica lifted her Chanel sunglasses and strained her eyes to see.
"How can you miss her? She's the only one wearing all black."
"Okay, I see her now." She placed her sunglasses into her handbag. "It was hard to make her out with that black SUV behind her."
I snorted. "So, how do you want to handle this?"
"We're just going to go over there and tell her we'd like to talk to her."
"In front of the other students?" I asked, surprised. "Do you think she'll agree to that?"
"I don't think she'll let the presence of the students stop her. If she's got something to say, she'll say it."
"You're probably right about that," I said, remembering the no-holds-barred comments Domenica had made in front of her mother. Then I opened the passenger-side door. "Let's get this over with."
The moment Veronica and I got out of the car, it was clear that Domenica had seen us. She shot up from the picnic table and threw her cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with her foot. Her face dark with fury, she started walking quickly toward us.
"What are you doing here?" Domenica asked as she approached us. "Can't you see I'm at school?"
"It looks like you're on a smoke break to me." I was already tired of her attitude.
Veronica shot me a look and then turned to Domenica. "We'd like to ask you a few questions. This will only take a few minutes."
Domenica flipped her bangs in frustration. "But my mother and I already told you everything we know. Stewart killed Imma and got away with it. Then he obviously killed Angelica too. End of story."
I struggled to control my rising temper. "That's what we wanted to talk to you about. Is there somewhere we can sit down?"
Domenica stared at me blankly, refusing to make a suggestion.
"Okay then," I snapped, abandoning all attempts to hide my frustration. "Let's just do this right here. I'll start: Why are you so sure that Stewart killed Angelica?"
Obviously unintimidated by my tone, Domenica took a step toward me and raised her chin in defiance. "Who the hell else would have done it?"
I willed myself to calm down. "I don't know. But she could have had other enemies. From what we've been told, she was a difficult person to deal with."
"That's for damn sure." She flicked her tongue piercing. "But do you really think anyone else hated her enough to kill her?"
"That's what we're trying to find out, Domenica," Veronica said in a soothing tone. "But we need your help."
"Look," Domenica began, clearly at the end of her patience, "the only person who had a reason to kill Angelica was Stewart."
"But why?" I asked. "He'd already been acquitted of your sister's murder, so what did he stand to gain by going out and killing someone else?"
Domenica curled her lip in disgust. "You're the detectives. Why don't you two go figure that out and leave me alone?"
I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Domenica. If you know something, you need to tell us." And then I added, "Do it for your sister."
She gave me that hostile, sociopathic stare of hers. "Here's what I think happened: Stewart got sick of paying her to keep her mouth shut, so he told her he wasn't going to do it anymore. She threatened to go to the cops, and he strangled her—with a scarf, just like he did my sister."
"Why do you think he was paying her?" Veronica asked.
"Well, someone certainly was. All of a sudden she started buying fancy clothes and jewelry and stuff, and she didn't have a job. Even my dad thought Stewart was paying her off."
"Did he have any proof?" I asked.
"He didn't need any," she said. "It was painfully obvious."
"But what do you think Angelica knew about Stewart?" Veronica asked. "According to your mother and Concetta—"
"Wait," she interrupted, stunned. "You talked to Concetta?"
"Yes," Veronica replied.
"Well, that's interesting," Domenica said angrily, "because my Mom and I haven't seen her for months."
Despite her acidic disposition, I felt kind of sorry for Domenica. One by one, her family members had all abandoned her, and some had apparently done so of their own volition.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Veronica said. "But as I was saying, Angelica testified that she didn't know anything about Stewart or his relationship with Imma, so I'm not sure whether she really did have any evidence against him."
She crossed her arms. "That's hilarious, because An
gelica made it her number one priority to know other people's business. That's how she got ahead in life. So I'm sure she was keeping an eye on Stewart, if for no other reason than his connections."
"In the fashion industry, you mean," I clarified.
"Yeah, what else? I'm sure you've heard all about Jessica's ambition by now. It was legendary." Then she turned to look at the other students, some of whom were starting to enter the school. "Are we about done here? Because I've gotta get back to class."
"Just a few more questions," Veronica assured.
Domenica sighed. "Like what?"
"Your sister told us that you became a goth after Imma's death," Veronica said.
Domenica threw her arms into the air. "Oh, God! Of course my sister, the saintly nun, would bring that up."
"She's just worried about you, Domenica," I interjected.
"Only because she thinks I belong to a Satanic cult." She crossed her arms. "But just because I wear black clothes and makeup and listen to death rock doesn't make me a devil worshipper."
"True," I agreed, although I had my doubts, particularly in light of what appeared to be the points of a pentagram tattoo sticking out from the low-cut neckline of her black cotton shirt. "So, what you're saying is that goth is basically just a fashion statement for you."
"No, I'm not saying that," she countered hotly. "For me, goth is a way of life. But having a fascination with death doesn't make me a disciple of Satan."
"O-kaaay," I was unsure what to make of the "fascination with death" revelation.
"I'm glad we're clear on that," Domenica snapped. Then she looked behind her and saw that all the other students had gone inside the school. "Now I've really got to go."
"Just one more question," I pressed. "Were you close to Angelica, like Imma and Concetta were?"
She laughed hollowly. "Let's see, Angelica always told me I was fat and ugly when I was a kid, and she betrayed my sister's memory for money. So, what do you think?"
"It sounds like you didn't like her very much," Veronica said.
She looked Veronica in the eyes. "Honestly, lady, I hated the bitch. And I'm not the least bit sorry she's dead." Then she turned and walked back toward the school.
After Domenica was safely out of earshot, I turned to Veronica. "So, do you still think she's just going through a phase?"
Veronica didn't reply, and she didn't need to. I could tell that she, like me, was beginning to wonder whether Domenica could have killed Jessica. I was also starting to question just how long the list of suspects in this case was going to grow.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"That's interesting." Veronica was standing in her office with the phone to her ear and her hand on her hip.
"What?" I asked as I returned the growing Evans case file to its place on her desk.
Veronica hung up the phone. "Concetta left a message while we were out. She says she remembered something she'd forgotten to tell us. She's coming in."
"I wonder if it's about her psycho sister."
"No clue." She glanced at the time on the phone display. "But she'll be here any minute."
"Intriguing. Are there any other messages?"
"Mr. Orlansky's assistant," Veronica replied taking a seat at her desk. "Apparently, three of the five scarves were purchased with cash. They have the video file for one of the scarf purchases, but they had to request the DVD for the other two from Baton Rouge. Anyway, Mr. Orlansky wants to go through the first file with me tonight."
"That was fast! Looks like someone's in a hurry to watch videos with you." I sat down on the edge of her desk and shot her a knowing grin.
Veronica smiled wryly as she turned on her laptop. "Maybe I should bring some popcorn and Raisinettes."
"That should keep his hands and mouth busy. For a while, anyhow."
"Cute, Franki." She looked at her agenda. "Right now I've got a scheduling problem to work out."
I moved so that I could see her screen. "What do you mean?"
"Well, we've got the Upton stakeout tomorrow and probably even Saturday night. So, if the DVD for the other two purchases in the next day or two, we won't be able to look at it until Sunday at the earliest. And I can't let the Upton case jeopardize the Evans investigation."
"Do both of us need to do the stakeout?"
"Yeah, it's my company policy to have backup in a situation like that. It's one thing to go undercover to talk to a sales girl at LaMarca, but it's another thing altogether to try to entrap a man committing a crime. For all we know, this Harry Upton could be dangerous."
"I'm sure that Mr. Orlansky would be only too willing to work some really late nights with you," I said with a wink, fervently hoping that she wouldn't ask me to go with her. Although I'd been doing my best to keep my chin up in the workplace, I was still really down about Bradley. All I wanted to do was go home and curl up in my bed.
"I don't want to be there alone with him after the store closes." She chewed her lip for a moment. "Maybe David could go through the tape with him?"
As much as it pained me, I responded truthfully, "Veronica, you know as well as I do that Mr. Orlansky isn't going to work late with the likes of David."
"You're right. So…"
Here it comes, I thought with dread.
"Any chance you could go with me after the stakeout? If it comes to that, of course."
"Actually, I don't have any plans for the weekend," I said looking down at the floor.
"How are you feeling about the whole Bradley situation?"
"Not so good." I sighed. "But my main worry right now is my nonna. She's been suspiciously quiet after hanging up on me."
"You think she's up to something?"
"Of course she is!" I exclaimed, gesticulating Veronica-style. "She's busy scaring up some more Sicilians for me. And based on the ones I've encountered so far, I can honestly say that Harry Upton is a 'catch' by comparison. So is Ed Orlansky, for that matter."
Before Veronica could respond, the office bell sounded. She rose to her feet. "That must be Concetta."
I followed her into the lobby. Indeed, Concetta was standing there, looking uncertain. She was dressed almost exactly as she had been the day before, in the same sensible shoes and white shirt, only this time her ankle-length skirt was a muted brown instead of gray.
"I hope I'm not interrupting." Her close-set eyes had a worried look about them, and she was fingering the cross at her neck.
"No, not at all," Veronica reassured.
"Oh, good. This case is so personal to me. I'd really rather not talk about it over the phone."
"I understand completely," Veronica said. "Why don't we go over to our conference room so we can talk?"
Concetta shook her head. "Oh, no. This won't take long. It's just that I remembered something about Angie and Stewart, but I'm not sure whether it's important."
"We certainly appreciate all the information you can provide," Veronica said as she walked over to David's desk for a pad of paper and pen.
Concetta tugged at the cross around her neck. "Well, not too long after Imma's murder, the police called and told us we could come and get Imma's things. So, my father and I flew to London a few weeks later, um, under the radar, so to speak."
"Under the radar?" I asked.
"I mean we didn't tell Angie we were coming." There was a remorseful tone in her voice as she added, "My father didn't want to give her time to prepare for our visit."
Veronica's head snapped up from her notepad. "Why not? Did he think Angelica had something to do with Imma's death?"
"It's not that he believed Angie killed her," Concetta said. "But he did think she knew something about her murder. And after I told him what I'd seen, he was convinced of it."
"What did you see?" I asked, captivated.
"Well, I went into Angie and Imma's room first, while my father was downstairs talking to the dorm manager. The manager had given me a key so that I could get in. When I walked into the room, Angie was there with Stewart."<
br />
"Really?" I was shocked that Stewart would be bold enough to return to the scene of the crime when he was under suspicion for the murder.
"Yeah, and I could tell that they'd been deep in conversation," she explained, her eyes open wide. "In fact, when Angie saw me, she jumped up and started babbling, as though she felt nervous. Or guilty."
"Did you hear anything they were saying to each other?" Veronica asked.
"No, nothing." She looked down at the floor.
"And what did they say to you?" I interjected.
Concetta turned to me. "Stewart never said a word. He lowered his head and then walked past me and left. But Angie said the usual things. You know, like 'What a surprise!' and 'Why didn't you tell me you were coming?'"
"Did you ask her what Stewart was doing there?" I noticed that Concetta was gripping the cross on her necklace so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.
"Of course!" she exclaimed. "But she never answered because my father walked in right at that moment."
"And you didn't tell him what was going on," Veronica deduced.
"No, not until we got back to New Orleans." She looked shame-faced.
"Did you ask Angelica again later what Stewart was doing there?" I asked.
"I never got a chance to," Concetta replied softly. "She never spoke to me again after that trip."
"Why didn't you tell your father that Stewart had been there?" I pressed.
She looked at Veronica and me. "My father was a stereotypical, hot-blooded Italian male. I was afraid that if I'd told him what I'd just witnessed, he would have done something awful. To Angie or Stewart or both. I'd already lost my sister, and my mother was ill…I couldn't lose my father too."
"Of course not," Veronica soothed.
Concetta's eyes filled with tears, and then she looked directly into Veronica's eyes as though searching for something. "But I lost him anyway."
"I think we have all the information we need." Veronica placed her hand on Concetta's back. "Can I get you a glass of water? Or maybe some chamomile tea?"
"No, no." She shook her head as though coming out of a stupor. "I need to get back to the church." Then she headed for the door. "I'll let you know if I remember anything else."
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