Death Comes to Dogwood Manor

by Sandra Bretting

  “Did you say ‘decorator’?” I shot Lance a look.

  “Yes, if they have any kind of formal training,” Waunzy said. “It’s hard to miss, what with the green color. A woman—or man—would have to be blind not to notice it.”

  Lance met my gaze head-on. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Missy?”

  “Definitely. I think it’s time for you to find Erika Daniels.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The next few moments passed in a blur. First, Lance withdrew a latex glove from his back pocket, which he slipped over his right hand. Then he walked to the canopied bed and carefully ran his fingers under the mattress. After a moment or two, he pulled something out from under the bedding and straightened.

  “Got it.” He held aloft a worn American Express card, which he flipped over and read. “Yep, it belongs to Miss Roy.”

  Evangeline gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness!”

  “Not so fast.” Lance walked over to where she stood. “I’m going to give this card to you,” he said, as he unlocked the handcuffs and handed her the card, “but you’ll need to go down to the police station right now and give a sworn statement. I’ll have an officer meet you in front of the mansion. The Rolls-Royce needs to stay here for now.”

  “No problem.” She happily accepted the card. “I’m just thrilled to have my Amex back.”

  “Remember…it’s a sworn statement. You’ll be under oath.”

  “Got it.” Even Lance’s dire warning couldn’t dull Evangeline’s mood, though, and she practically skipped from the room.

  Next, Lance withdrew his cell phone and called for a backup unit. Once he clicked off the line, he began to take pictures of the wallpaper behind the dresser. He moved too close to it at one point for Waunzy’s liking, and she reached out for his arm.

  “Not so close.” She gave a gentle tug. “There’s no shelf life to arsenic. It stays toxic forever.”

  In the meantime, Ambrose and I looked around the room, trying to find more of the deadly wallpaper. Fortunately, every other wall wore a coat of dull eggshell-colored paint. Once we finished scouring the room, we returned to the canopy bed.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Here, people thought this wallpaper was sooo cool. The guy who built Dogwood Manor shipped it all the way from England. I’ll bet if you go back and look at the county records, they’ll say he died of some mysterious illness.”

  Ambrose thought it over. “Actually, we don’t know what this room used to be. Maybe it wasn’t always a bedroom.”

  “True.” I glanced again at the innocent-looking vines covering the wall. Delicate stalks tapered up and out and ended just shy of the ceiling. “Which only makes it sadder. It could’ve been a nursery, or maybe a library, where people spent hours reading books. It upsets me to think of all the people who touched this wall, without ever realizing it was poisonous.”

  “Then don’t think about it,” Ambrose said. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”

  Now that we’d scoured all the walls, we wandered back to Lance, who took a final photo before lowering his phone.

  “I can take you to Erika Daniels,” I said. “She has an office at the Factory.”

  “That’s right,” Ambrose said. “Missy here ran into her in the lobby on Monday. That’s when they figured out they both rented studios at the Factory.”

  Now it was my turn to look pleased, since Ambrose had obviously been listening to me. “I can’t believe you remembered that! It was right after I saw her at Dogwood Manor. To be honest, I felt sorry for Erika, because she’d just lost her job at the mansion.”

  “Look, we could stay here all day and discuss this,” Lance said. “But it’s time for us to get the murderer. And I should probably cover up this wall before I leave.”

  “That’s true.” Waunzy hovered nearby. “Even though it takes a while for the poison to build up in people’s systems, it’s quicker if they touch the wall and then lick a finger.” She shuddered lightly. “You don’t want that to happen to anyone.”

  “Gotcha.” Lance checked his watch. “It’s twelve thirty now. I’ll leave a message for the responding officer that he has to seal up this room when he comes for Miss Roy.”

  “You know what I can’t get over?” Waunzy had finally stopped studying the paper, and now her eyes held a faraway look. “I actually feel sorry for Herbert Solomon. I’m sure he never suspected a thing.”

  “Probably not,” Lance agreed.

  “That’s something I thought would never happen.” Waunzy tsked a few times. “Me feeling sorry for that old tightwad. Go figure.”

  With a final cluck of her tongue, Waunzy left the room and wandered into the hall, and we all followed suit.

  Unlike the bedroom, the walls in the hall wore smooth white plaster, like vanilla frosting spread over an angel food cake.

  I ran my hand along the nearest one. “Let’s only hope the original owner used wallpaper in just one room and not the whole house.”

  “You’re right.” Ambrose spoke up behind me. “But anything could be under all this plaster. Guess the next owner will have to rip out the walls to be sure.”

  “Not necessarily.” Unlike Ambrose and I, Waunzy didn’t sound too concerned. “You should see the stacks of photos I have back at my office. Piles and piles of them. The Bleu Bayou Historical Society has more old pictures than you can shake a stick at. I can figure out which walls had wallpaper on them in no time at all. It’ll be like figuring out a giant puzzle…and I do love a good puzzle.”

  Now it was Waunzy’s turn to practically skip as she moved away from us and down the hall.

  “Well, don’t that beat all.” I turned to address Lance, who stood beside me now. “Here I thought Waunzy would be devastated, since she wanted to buy this house and restore it.”

  “She doesn’t look devastated to me,” he said. “And there’ll be time later to figure out who’s going to get the mansion. Right now, we need to get the person responsible for killing Herbert Solomon. Are you coming with me, Missy?”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you want to be there when I interview Erika Daniels?” he asked.

  My gaze flew to Ambrose, who, no doubt, would want me to say no, since he’d urged me to stay away from police investigations. “I dunno if I should go.”

  “You’re the one who found the body,” Lance said. “And you’re the one who’s helped me before. You don’t even have to get out of the squad car. Just listen to what Erika Daniels has to say for herself.”

  “I know, I know.” I tossed him a grin, against my better judgment. “You want me to use that ‘freaky sixth-sense thing.’ You want me to figure out if she’s lying. What do you think, Ambrose?”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I really do trust your judgment. And it sounds like Lance needs you right now.”

  “Thanks, Bo.” I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed for all I was worth. Amazing to think how far he’d come in only a few short days. Ambrose used to hate it when I helped Lance, but now he supported my decision. If that’s not progress, I don’t know what is.

  CHAPTER 22

  Lance and I left the hall soon afterward, too concerned with our mission to remain in place. Once we arrived in the foyer, the sound of an idling car engine broke our silence. The machine rumbled away on the other side of the plastic tarp, and staccato bursts of blue light swept under its hem.

  “My backup got here so quick,” Lance said.

  I followed him under the tarp and onto the marble steps. The kudzu seemed even thicker now, since fewer people had tromped over it during the past few days, and roots brushed against my ankles.

  After a quick glance at the responding officer, who sat in his squad car with Evangeline Roy, I threw open the door to Lance’s dusty cruiser and sl
id onto the passenger seat.

  Which wasn’t easy, considering the inside of the car was a mess. Beside me lay a rumpled Cheetos bag and a week’s supply of the Bleu Bayou Impartial Reporter. A crushed Dr Pepper can and some gum wrappers dirtied the floorboard around my feet.

  “For goodness sake, Lance,” I said, as I shoved the muck aside. “I don’t know what’s worse…your diet or your mess.”

  “You sound like my mom.” He’d slipped behind the wheel and started the engine. Once he engaged the light bar on the car’s roof, he quickly maneuvered the cruiser onto LA-18. “The only time I can find stuff is when it’s like this.”

  I did my best to ignore the mess as we traveled to the Factory. As expected, every parking space was full, since lunch was over, but Lance drove straight ahead until we reached the glass door of the lobby, then he angled the car alongside the curb. It was the best spot in the lot.

  “One of the benefits of being a cop.” He killed the ignition and threw open the door. “Now, where’s her office?”

  “That’s a good question.” I tried to remember everything Erika Daniels had said when we’d met in the lobby. “I think it’s on the second floor, close to Pink Cake Boxes.”

  “Got it.” Lance exited the car and hopped onto the sidewalk.

  When I did the same, he threw me a funny look. “You can stay in the car, you know.”

  “No way.” Shards of sunlight ricocheted off the chrome bumpers and glass windshields all around me and warmed my body from head to toe. “For one thing, it’s hotter than Hades out here. For another, I can just wait in the lobby while you take her into custody.”

  He nodded, and we stepped toward the entrance. The minute he threw open the plate-glass door, a wash of cold air hit me, which felt heavenly after sitting in the stifling police cruiser for the ride over.

  “I’ll wait right here.” I strode over to a sleek Mies van der Rohe couch that anchored the lobby. I had the whole couch to myself, since the rest of the building was hard at work. Even the Starbucks barista was gone.

  Normally, the woman works behind a counter tucked near the back wall. A line of customers usually zigzags across the lobby early in the morning, and it doesn’t disappear until almost noon. But now, a silver roll-bar blocked the counter from the rest of the lobby, and the barista had swept every surface clean.

  Lance quickly made his way to the elevator. He glanced around the empty space, then carefully withdrew a Glock 22 from his holster. When the elevator doors whooshed open, he leaned forward and prepared to enter.

  Lorda mercy! Erika Daniels stood in the otherwise empty car with a shocked look on her face.

  “That’s her, Lance!” I screamed, as I moved away from the couch.

  Everything slowed. Erika’s gaze ricocheted from Lance to me and back again. When she realized what was happening, she suddenly lurched forward, which sent some papers in her hand flying into the air, like a snowstorm.

  Lance leveled the Glock at her. “Stop right there.”

  He cocked the gun for good measure. Fortunately, the ploy worked, and Erika wobbled to a stop, her high heels pinging against the sleek tile floor.

  “What’s…what’s all this about?” Her gaze flew back to my face. “What’d you tell him, Missy?”

  “Put your hands up,” Lance said. “Now.”

  “Bu…but why?” She took a deep breath, then did as he’d asked. All the while, she looked to me for answers. “What did you tell him, Missy?”

  “Only the truth,” I said. “That’s all.”

  Suddenly, her face hardened. “Don’t listen to her, Officer. She’s lying. Whatever she told you, don’t believe it. She’s trying to frame me.”

  Lance didn’t pay any attention to her, of course. “You have the right to remain silent…”

  Her gaze ping-ponged around the room. “She’s…she’s…she’s trying to get even with me.” She spoke quickly now, grasping at straws. “That’s it. Missy owes me money. She can’t pay me, so she’s trying to get rid of me.”

  Lance continued to read Erika her rights as he expertly pulled another pair of handcuffs from his waistband. Then he slipped them around her wrists and engaged the lock, all while keeping the Glock trained on her face. A crisp sssnnnaaapp echoed in the lobby as the cuffs clicked shut.

  “You have the right to speak to an attorney,” he said, “and to have an attorney present during any questioning.”

  She obviously wasn’t listening to him, because her expression fell flat. “Why didn’t you stay out of it, Missy? Now look what you’ve done. I did us all a favor by getting rid of that horrible man. But you had to go and ruin it!”

  “He had a wife, Erika,” I said in a stage whisper, chilled by the blank look in her eyes. She only cared about herself; that much was obvious. “How can you live with yourself?”

  “Me? That man was cheating on his lovely wife. Didn’t you know? He was seeing some tramp on the side.” She looked disgusted now, as if she couldn’t believe Herbert Solomon’s gall. “He even wanted me to create this beautiful bedroom for him and his lover on the second floor of the mansion. For that he’d spare no expense. Pppfffttt. But when it came to my fee? He tried to stiff me. Said I should be grateful for whatever pittance he gave me, because I was just starting out in the business. That’s when I decided he didn’t deserve to live.”

  “So, you shoved him into a tiny bedroom where you knew he’d breathe in poison night after night?” I asked. “That’s just sick.”

  She smiled faintly. “Is it? Is it really? I thought the plan was quite ingenious. He never suspected that the reason I wanted him to sleep in that bedroom was because of the wallpaper. For once he trusted me and did just what I asked. The fool.”

  “Do you understand these rights…” Lance continued. He wouldn’t be deterred by our side conversation.

  Erika continued to ignore him, though, and her thoughts seemed a million miles away. “I would’ve gotten away with it, too. I was this close.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger together tightly. “But then you had to go and ruin it, Missy. I hope you’re happy. Here I did us all a favor and now you want to see me punished for it. That’s the only thing that’s wrong here.”

  Lance’s voice rose, since he was clearly tired of being ignored. “With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak with me?”

  “Sure. Whatever.” She finally addressed the policeman. “This is all a dream, anyway. I’m going to wake up any second. Any second now…”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Lance said, “but this is no dream. You’re arrested for the murder of Mr. Herbert Solomon.”

  CHAPTER 23

  By the time I slogged back to Crowning Glory after the drama in the lobby behind me, I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders.

  Watching Lance escort Erika Daniels to his squad car left me even more drained than I’d expected. Here I’d sped through the day on a massive dose of adrenaline, which had continued through the confrontation in the lobby, but now, slowly but surely, my energy began to flag. At this point, I wanted nothing more than a hot bath and my cool bedsheets.

  Beatrice glanced up at me when I schlepped through the doorway of the studio.

  “There you are!” Her excitement rattled the chandelier earrings she wore. “People have been calling here nonstop. I was about to send out a search party for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’m okay.” I made my way to the counter and shimmied onto a bar stool.

  “Everyone knows about Erika Daniels,” she said. “Everyone. It’s all anyone’s talking about. Can you believe she spent all day working in our studio, and we had no idea she was the murderer!”

  “Tell me about it.” My gaze wandered to the shiny mirrored tiles behind Beatrice’s head. Somehow, the decorations seemed even colder now, and not at all chic, since I knew the person responsible for choosing them. “Do you th
ink we can get our old stuff back? I don’t even want to look at this furniture anymore.”

  “Sure, I don’t see why not. The building manager said he’d store our stuff for us until we figured out what to do with it.” Beatrice had moved from behind the counter, and she chose the bar stool next to mine. “What happened when Detective LaPorte arrested her?”

  “It was crazy. Definitely one for the record books.”

  I proceeded to tell her everything about the afternoon: from the way Waunzy reacted to the tainted wallpaper, to the way Erika tried to blame me for the crime. The tale was so outrageous, Beatrice moved closer and closer to my bar stool, until I could count every sequin in her chunky earrings.

  “That’s incredible!” She finally leaned away. “She’s gone completely off the rails. I’m so glad nothing happened to you.”

  “Me too. But you know, we’ve dealt with all kinds of criminals around here. You’d think we’d be used to it by now.”

  One of the worst crimes involved a murder at the Sweetwater mansion at the start of the new year. The killing was bad enough, but then Ambrose found a bloody cross at the crime scene and that brought the “crazy” to a whole ’nother level.

  Then there was the time a killer zeroed in on someone the night before a big wedding at Morningside Plantation. The poor victim ended up on the dirty floor of a public restroom, only steps away from the elegant ballroom where the wedding was supposed to take place. And, finally, what about the lunatic who murdered someone and then stuffed her body in a rain barrel? All those killers had devised unique ways to deal with their enemies, and none of them had accepted responsibility for their actions afterward.

  “You should’ve been there, Bea. Erika denied everything. All of it. Turns out she knew exactly what she was doing when she told Herbert Solomon to use that bedroom.”

  Beatrice flinched. “That’s diabolical. Who could do that to another person?”

  “Psychiatrists would say they’re narcissistic, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that Lance has her in custody and Ivy Solomon knows who murdered her husband. That’s what counts.”