by Mary Kennedy
“I think you just saved me from making a big mistake,” Lucinda said candidly. “I tend to get carried away at flea markets. I should never be allowed to go by myself.”
“Well, tag along with us,” Andre said. “We go to estate sales all the time. Stick with us and we won’t let you get ripped off. I still think you should have bought it if you really liked it.”
“I did like the cute little rabbit munching on the leaves,” she admitted. “I know it’s probably not to everyone’s taste, but I adore things like that. But as you say, it wasn’t a genuine Chelsea. Andre, how did you figure that out so quickly? You seemed to know even before you looked at the mark on the bottom of the bowl.”
“The pieces from the Chelsea factory have more detail,” Gideon said. “The one back there was close, but not close enough. With a genuine Chelsea, you might expect to see more figures on the piece and the colors are a bit muted. Once you see a real Chelsea rabbit, you’ll be able to spot the fakes more easily the next time.”
“That’s good to know,” Lucinda said. “I happened to see a soup tureen with snails and rabbits on the lid, so I bet that was a genuine Chelsea. The style and the colors were very similar to this one.”
“Then it probably was.” Andre smiled at her. “It’s always good to ask for proof, though. Any reputable dealer will be happy to provide you with the provenance. We always do that at our shop.” He handed Lucinda a card. “Stop by sometime,” he said. “Any friend of Ali’s gets a dealers’ discount. That’s twenty percent off anything you buy.”
Lucinda laughed. “Oh, Ali, you have the nicest friends!”
25
“What’s up?” Noah’s voice raced over the line. “I got your message about spotting Kevin Moore in town. Did you find out any more about him?”
We’d just gotten back from the flea market, and Ali had surprised me by heading straight out to play tennis. She was happier than I’d seen her in days, but I was at loose ends, wandering aimlessly around the apartment, when I finally called Noah again.
“Not yet. He was sitting at an outdoor café with Persia, and that’s all I know. But there’s something else I want to run by you . . .” I paused to fill Barney’s bowl with his favorite crunchies. Scout was on special vet food for overweight cats and was chowing down on the opposite side of the tiny kitchen. “You have some crime scene photos, don’t you?”
Noah laughed, a soft, sexy sound. “Yes, I have a few shots of the dance studio. But it’s not public knowledge.” I figured he’d snared copies because of his connection with his cousin Chris on the police force.
“I can keep a secret,” I prompted. “I just need a quick peek at them. Two seconds, really. That’s not a problem, is it?”
“No, of course not.” He waited a beat. “It’s almost six o’clock. What are you doing about dinner?”
“Dinner?” I pretended to think. “Well, I’ve just fed the cats, and I was going to make myself a salad.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. It sounded like I was angling for a date. Why didn’t I just tell him I had plans or that I was going out?
“I think we can do better than that. How about dinner at Marcelo’s? He makes the best lasagna in town. It’s still your favorite, isn’t it?”
“I’m surprised you remember.” I was secretly touched that he remembered my taste in Italian food. I love all kinds of pasta, but lasagna is at the top of the list.
“Shall we meet there at seven? It’s right off Franklin Square.”
“Sounds good.” I tried to inject a casual note into my voice, but the truth was, my heart thumped with anticipation. I had to remind myself that dinner with Noah was going to be all business.
* * *
Marcelo’s was packed but the gorgeous brunette hostess gave Noah a warm smile and ushered us to a window table. I saw her give me a quick once-over, and a little frown flitted across her perfect features. Did she see me as competition? Did she think she had a chance with him? Maybe. To his credit, he ignored her and locked eyes with me as we sat down. He ordered two Pinot Grigios and said, “Something’s up. I recognize that look, Taylor.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, it’s the ‘I know something and you don’t’ look. You must be following a lead you haven’t told me about, some new development with the case.”
“Am I really that transparent?” I asked teasingly.
“Only with people who know you very well.” He grinned. “Did you find out any more about Persia and why she was meeting with Kevin Moore?”
“Not yet.” I paused. “I’m waiting for her to say something about it, but if she doesn’t, I’ll have to confront her.”
I nibbled on a dinner roll, hoping the wine would arrive soon. I felt a little uncomfortable dining with Noah tonight. There was a yuppie crowd in Marcelo’s, and the soft lighting and candles practically screamed “date night.” But I knew we weren’t really a couple; we were old friends and nothing more. At least that’s what the rational side of my brain told me. The emotional side—the little devil on my shoulder—told me that we might pick things up right where we’d left off.
Electricity was in the air. He picked up my left hand and twined his fingers through mine. “I know you spend every waking moment thinking about the case, and that makes sense to me. You’re devoted to your sister. You’re not going to rest until Chico’s murder is solved and she’s not a suspect anymore. I get it.”
I nodded. “You’re right about that. Until an arrest is made, Ali will be a suspect and I’m going to be a wreck.” I managed to keep my voice steady, but my heart was thumping at the touch of his warm fingers and I let myself remember what it had been like back in Atlanta. Noah and Taylor. Taylor and Noah. All our friends said we were perfect for each other, and no one suspected we would follow different paths. “It’s completely unfair. It’s not like she was the only person at Chico’s that night.”
Uh-oh. Noah raised his eyebrows, and I realized I may have let the cat out of the bag. Luckily the waitress arrived just then with our wine, and I untangled my fingers from Noah’s and took a hefty gulp.
“Now I know something is up,” he said, shooting me a shrewd look. “You never drink on an empty stomach. You’re way too controlled for that.”
I smiled weakly and pointed to the half-eaten dinner roll. “Half a dinner roll—”
“Doesn’t count,” he cut in. “What’s going on, Taylor? Who else was at Chico’s that night? This is no time to hold back, and if you think you’re protecting someone, I can tell you right now that you’re making a huge mistake.” His tone had taken on a hard edge; the playful banter had vanished.
The server reappeared with dinner menus but Noah waved her away. “Talk, Taylor. What do you know?”
“Okay, the thing is”—I paused, wondering if I was doing the right thing—“someone from the Dream Club told me something in confidence.” I sat back and wrapped my fingers around my wineglass.
Noah immediately went into detective mode, his eyes laser-locked on mine, and his jaw tightened as he leaned slightly toward me. I could see why he’d been so successful at interrogations. It was impossible to hold anything back with those dark eyes boring right into me.
“Go on,” he said. His voice had a steely edge to it. “Who was it and what did she say?”
“It was Dorien.” I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath, and the words came out in a rush.
“Dorien?” he asked, his dark eyes intent. “The woman who reads tarot cards,” he said wryly. “What did she tell you in confidence?”
“She finally admitted what she was doing at Chico’s the night he died. It turns out it wasn’t a date; it was strictly a business transaction. She’s opened a catering business on the side, and Chico was her first customer.”
“A customer?” Noah shook his head in disbelief. “And no one else knows about this?”
&
nbsp; “Afraid not,” I said, feeling unhappy at having to rat out Dorien. But did I really have a choice? The sooner the police solved the crime, the sooner Ali could get back to her life. Chico’s unsolved murder was like a sword hanging over all of us.
“What kind of food?”
“She brought dinner. For two.” I hesitated. “Veal scallopini, not that it matters.” I gave a little shrug. “She said she only stayed for a few minutes. She dropped off the dinners and gave him some quick instructions about how to reheat the food.”
“Dinner for two,” Noah said. “Interesting.” He ran his hand over his jaw in a gesture that was so familiar to me, it tugged at my heart. “It sounds like Chico had planned a romantic evening for himself and a lady friend.”
“I know,” I said softly. “The candles were a giveaway.” I thought of Persia’s dream. The candles, the soft lights, the Latin music. How could she have nailed it so perfectly if she hadn’t been there? But picturing Persia as Chico’s lover was too much of a stretch. There’s no way those two would ever be a romantic duo.
It had to be someone else. Maybe Jennifer Walton, the politician’s wife? If she was really having an affair with him, they couldn’t be seen together publicly, so what better place than the dance studio? Or had Chico invited Lisa, the ex-wife, over for a possible seduction scene? And then maybe something went wrong, an argument ensued, and that explained the shouting in Spanish that the Harper sisters had heard?
“And it never occurred to Dorien to go to the police with this information? She delivers dinner to a guy who’s later found poisoned? Then she decides to keep quiet about it? Are you kidding me?” He raised his eyebrows.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I said, “but I understand where she’s coming from. She wanted to protect her new business. Who would order meals from her if word got out?”
Noah laughed and signaled the server for two more glasses of wine. “Do you think she’s telling the truth? That all she did was deliver dinner and she had no desire to hurt Chico?”
“I believe her. I know it sounds odd, but Dorien is a pretty quirky, eccentric person. I don’t think she worries too much about consequences.”
“What’s the next step?”
“I encouraged her to tell the police. I think I persuaded her because she finally realized the truth will come out anyway. Now that they know she was at Chico’s that night, it’s only a matter of time before they turn up at her door.”
“So we can place three people who visited Chico in the studio that night,” Noah said thoughtfully. “Dorien, who brought dinner, and his mystery guest. And Ali, who went over for five minutes to confront him about the real estate deal.”
“And Ali isn’t guilty,” I insisted.
“Of course not. This certainly puts a different spin on things, though.” He reached for a manila envelope on the seat next to him. “Do you want to take a quick look at a few of the crime scene photos before we order? They’re not too grisly but—”
“But you know that I have a weak stomach.” I finished the sentence for him. “Yes, let’s take a look.” The server placed our wine in front of us, and I sipped it absently while Noah pulled out a sheaf of photos and handed them to me.
“Can you tell me what you’re looking for?” Noah asked, as I riffled through them.
“I’ll know it when I see it.” I didn’t want to tell Noah my suspicions until I was absolutely sure. I skipped past the photos of Chico, lying prone next to the sofa. And the low coffee table, set with candles and serving pieces. The plates half full of food, the wineglasses, and the chiller for the wine bottle.
And then I saw it. It was right where I remembered. Sitting on a lovely mahogany sideboard between the kitchen and the studio.
A large soup tureen, with rabbits and snails. Exactly like the one Lucinda had described.
“I found it,” I said, my voice hoarse with excitement. I pointed out the soup tureen to Noah, and of course, it didn’t mean anything to him.
“What does this tell me?” he asked, his dark eyes intent.
“I think it means there were four people who visited the studio that night,” I said slowly.
“Is the fourth person Kevin, the drive-by guy with the California plates? Because there’s no evidence he actually went inside the studio even though he’s still in Savannah.”
“No, it’s someone much closer to home.” I fell silent, my thoughts whirring. It didn’t seem possible but Lucinda must have been in the studio at some time. What could prim and proper Lucinda want with the hot-blooded Chico? I remembered that she must be lonely because she’d joined an online dating service. Was she capable of falling for a man like Chico? It seemed improbable, but I knew from personal experience not to rule anything out.
“I think we better order dinner, the place is filling up—” Noah broke off, giving me a long, penetrating look. “Are you all right, Taylor? You look worried.”
“I’m all right,” I told him. “Not worried, just surprised. I’m trying to get my mind around some new information, that’s all.” I summoned a reassuring smile. My mind was racing, trying to absorb the photo with the soup tureen. Maybe it was a coincidence? Maybe Lucinda had seen the tureen someplace else? But Andre had said they were unusual and very hard to find.
Had the soup tureen been visible at the memorial service? I struggled to remember, to picture the scene in my mind. No, I decided. It wasn’t there. All the kitchen items had been cleared away and the sideboard was bare, except for a couple of floral arrangements. I blinked, wondering how to make sense of all this. I suppose it was possible that Lucinda had visited the studio at some time, for an innocent reason, and that’s when she spotted the soup tureen. It was possible, but was it likely?
Noah leaned back and looked relaxed, with his arm resting on the top of the red leather banquette. “So it’s all good, right?”
“Not really.” I thought of Lucinda. What would she do if people found out she’d had a relationship with Chico and that Persia’s dream was spot-on? “There’s one person whose reputation is going to be damaged by this, I’m afraid.” Whether she’s guilty or innocent, I thought sadly.
“A damaged reputation isn’t as bad as being charged with murder,” Noah said mildly.
“I’m not so sure. Here in Savannah, appearance is everything.”
And then I told him about Lucinda and the Chelsea rabbits.
Noah listened quietly, not interrupting. When the server appeared again, looking a bit frazzled, he ordered two lasagnas and then said quietly, “This is a game changer.”
“It could be a coincidence, right?” I desperately wanted to believe that there was a logical explanation for Lucinda’s comment.
“Not very likely, Taylor. If Lucinda was in the studio that night, she should have come forward with this information immediately. Her fingerprints might still be there,” he said thoughtfully.
“Nobody’s picked up on that yet, I guess.”
“Nobody will pick up on it. I’m sure she’s never been convicted of anything so her prints won’t be in the system.”
I nodded, remembering that Sam Stiles had told me that it was going to take a long time to process all the crime scene fingerprints. There were hundreds of fingerprints, and apparently dozens of clients visited the studio every day.
“Do you think Lucinda could be part of the real estate deal Chico was involved in?”
“I’m sure she wasn’t. She watches her pennies very carefully; she’s a retired schoolteacher and lives off a small pension.” I remembered that Lucinda told me she saves all year for a summer trip to Maine. There was no way I could imagine her being a player in a high-stakes real estate scheme.
Noah drained his wineglass and then drummed his fingers on the table. “Both Lucinda and Dorien visited Chico. Dorien visited him the night he died to deliver food he’d purchased, and Lucinda visited
him”—he paused—“who knows when or why?”
A beat passed. “There’s still the question of motive,” I offered. I finished my roll and reached for another, suddenly hungry. “I can’t imagine any reason for either one of them to want to kill him, can you?” Noah shot me an enigmatic smile. “What?” I asked, wondering where his thoughts were headed.
“Follow the money, remember?” The server placed two steaming plates of lasagna in front of us; the smell of tomatoes and roasted garlic was enchanting. She offered to bring us another bottle of wine, but I didn’t dare indulge; I had to remain clearheaded.
“Follow the money?” I frowned. “But Lucinda and Dorien don’t have any.”
A sly half smile crossed his face. “Exactly,” he said.
“But what—”
He put his finger to his lips and shook his head. “Think about it,” he said cryptically.
26
“I had a very interesting dream last night,” Sybil announced dramatically. “I do hope I can go first tonight, while the details are still fresh in my mind.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her rings glittering. Sybil doesn’t believe in the adage “Less is more,” and was sporting opulent stones on every finger. The rings were dazzling in the light of the fat vanilla candles Ali had scattered around the living room. Her fingernails—so long they could do battle with a porcupine—were freshly painted blood-red.
“Well, of course you can go first,” Ali said distractedly. She paused with the coffeepot still in her hand. “Just give me a second to get everyone settled.”
“Take all the time you need. I can wait, my dear,” Sybil said serenely. She’d taken on a regal air as if she were royalty and Ali her loyal subject.
We’d called an impromptu meeting of the Dream Club for seven thirty this evening. It was the day after I’d had dinner with Noah, and my mind was still reeling from our conversation. I found it impossible to believe that either Dorien or Lucinda had killed Chico. At least Dorien had come clean that she’d visited Chico that night. Lucinda was still keeping secrets.
