Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “He’s a good watch dog,” I said. I turned the conversation back to the house. “I’m afraid to ask, but what did they take?”

  “The police made out a full report about the break in. The strange this is, nothing seemed to be missing. Not even those nice oil paintings you have over the fireplace. It’s like they were looking for something in particular. That’s what the cops said, too. They said the place was ‘tossed’.”

  Looking for something. Just like the guys who broke into our hotel room. But what were they looking for?

  “I can’t imagine what they’d want. Except for the antiques, there’s really nothing of great value in the house. Maybe Thelma’s silver. But they didn’t touch that, either?”

  I could just see Nina pursing her lips and shaking her head with her usual confidence. “Nope. It’s still there. And Marcella, honey, don’t you worry. I cleaned the place up so you’d never know it happened. Except for the broken glass on your back door and the ripped sofa covers.”

  “My sofa? What did they do to it?”

  “I’m so sorry, honey. They took a knife to it.”

  “Bastards,” I said, spitting the words. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it, Nina.”

  My very proper Presbyterian neighbor laughed. “It’s okay, honey. I think that’s the perfect word for those hooligans.”

  Chapter 13

  “Do you still want to go to the ball, Cinderella?” Quinn took me in his arms and hugged me tight.

  I’d completely forgotten about our plans after Nina’s news. “I don’t know.” I raised my eyes to his. “How about you? Are you up for it?”

  His eyes crinkled. “I’ll make any excuse to see my wife in an evening gown. Especially that sparkly red one.”

  “Even though I got it at the second hand shop?”

  He leaned back and held me at arms length, looking me over. “Are you kidding? That dress is going to jump for joy when it gets to wrap around you. A big moment in its life.”

  I laughed and pushed him back. “Oh, Quinn.” I glanced toward the closet at the red gown and shoes I was dying to wear. “Okay. Let’s do it. Heck, how many chances do we have to go to such a bash, huh?”

  He chuckled. “We don’t even need a fairy godmother or magic wand.”

  I glanced at the alarm clock on the bed stand. “Whoa. If we’re going, we’d better get a move on. Can I have first dibs on the shower?”

  He laughed and made a grand gesture toward the bathroom. “You bet.”

  ***

  The silky dress, snug around my ribs, made me aware of every breath I took as I walked with Quinn toward the ballroom. My handsome husband wore his black suit with a bowtie and starched white shirt. I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the hall windows and my breath caught in my throat. My husband looked like a young Indian brave on his way to his first prom, and I glided on his arm in a scarlet fantasy.

  We entered the darkened room and bumped against some of the biggest jewels in New York State.

  “I think I should have worn my sunglasses,” I said.

  Quinn led me through the crowd of fancy hairdos, diamonds, and rainbows of silk and satin toward a small table in the back. A string ensemble played light classics at the far end of the hall. The polished marble floor reflected dozens of swags of starry lights strung overhead.

  A green glass globe cradled a flickering candle in the center of our table. Quinn pulled out my chair and I slid onto it, already grateful to get off my feet. I loved the look of my red stilettos, but they were already pinching my toes. A waiter appeared out of nowhere with a tray of fluted glasses.

  “Champagne?” he asked.

  My husband and I exchanged a pleased glance. Quinn relieved the waiter of two glasses. “Thank you.” He handed me one and clicked his against it. “To us, my dear. Forever and a day.”

  I sipped the golden-bubbled nectar and smiled. “To us.”

  My eyes scanned the room, taking in the Escada, Dolce & Gabbana, and Prada gowns and at least four women who wore Manolo Blahnik shoes. From what I’d heard, one pair could cost up to a thousand dollars. About nine hundred and ninety-seven dollars more than I paid for my scarlet strappy shoes I got at the Salvation Army. The gray-and-blue-haired contingent was prevalent, sporting Hermès scarves and jewelry. I almost felt like a teenager in their presence. An underprivileged teenager at that.

  Quinn studied the reflection of his bowtie in his wine glass and repeatedly tried to straighten it. I put my hand on his and gave him a heart-melting smile. Or at least I hoped it was. “Honey. Leave it alone. It looks perfect already, and you’re the handsomest guy here.”

  His hands dropped to his lap and flashed a crooked smile. “Sorry. It just didn’t look even.”

  I laughed and sat up with interest when the orchestra began to play The Blue Danube Waltz.

  He stood and stepped to my side. “Forget about the tie. Nobody’s going to notice me when I’m with you, anyway.” With a flourish, he offered his hand. “Shall we?”

  I floated to my feet and followed him through the crowd of dancers. We found an open spot near the orchestra. He only stepped on my shoes once, a record, but I didn’t care. My dress, so beautifully draped, moved easily in rhythm with our steps, and my hair fell softly on my bare shoulders.

  I looked into Quinn’s eyes and felt a rush of warmth. He squeezed my waist and twirled me around in a perfect arc. A tingle raced down my spine and crept between my legs.

  He whispered in my ear. “You look gorgeous. I can’t wait to get you alone.”

  I stroked his hand with one finger and whirled with him across the floor. “You’re such a devil.”

  A figure loomed out of the crowd and tapped Quinn’s shoulder. Shaken from the delicious moment, I looked up in irritation. Earl Tiramisu stood behind Quinn, without his cane. Pomade slicked his thick white hair into a curly mane. Tonight he wore a well-tailored tux with a pale blue carnation in the buttonhole. Shiny patent leather shoes gleamed from his wide feet.

  His gravelly baritone boomed over the music. “May I cut in?”

  Quinn looked at me, then Tiramisu. “Er… I guess so. But just one dance. I want her back.”

  I forced a polite smile and took the heavy man’s hand. Cool and dry, it clamped mine with possessive force.

  He began to waltz me across the floor, his limp not evident. “Miss Hollister? I hope you don’t mind.”

  “It’s Mrs. Hollister, sir. And where’s your cane?” The words came out as a challenge.

  He chuckled. “Mornings are worse for me. After a handful of Advil and some time, I become almost limber.”

  My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh. So sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “No, no. Not a problem, my dear. I just wanted to congratulate you on your win today.”

  “Thank you.”

  He continued to whirl me around the floor with surprising skill. When we reached one end of the room, we headed back toward the center.

  “So,” I said. “How did your psychic readings go today?”

  A knowing smile crossed his lips. “Quite well, thank you. But I’m most interested in our appointment tomorrow morning. I feel Ruby has something to tell me.”

  A fluttery laugh escaped me. “Well, I guess we’ll see.” It dawned on me that I hadn’t told Quinn about the appointment I made for Ruby’s reading. “Maybe she knows tomorrow’s lottery number.”

  His brow furrowed. “Oh, it’s not about the future, my dear. It’s all about the past.”

  I wondered what kind of checkered past our one-year-old bird could have. “I see.” But I didn’t. “How interesting.”

  “You mentioned your mother earlier, Mrs. Hollister. I couldn’t help but hear that she’d been taken ill. I hope she’s recovering?”

  Not surprised at how quickly rumors spread throughout the bird world, I shook my head and corrected him. “She didn’t take ill; she had an accident, Mr. Tiramisu. She’s at the hospital now, recovering from a skull fracture.�
��

  He threw his head back and his eyes widened. “Oh, my. How horrible.”

  We danced for another few bars.

  “Is she staying nearby? I hope you can visit her.”

  Something didn’t gel. I stopped gushing out all of our personal information. “Yes. She’s being well cared for, thank you.”

  “And how is she?”

  “Fine.” I almost told him that she wanted a chocolate shake and made a friend who liked her favorite soap opera. But I held back. I didn’t even know this guy. Why was he so interested in my mother?

  “I see. Well, please extend my wishes to her for a speedy recovery.”

  I wondered why he cared so much, but just as quickly realized he was probably searching for things to say, like I was. “I will. Thank you for your kindness.”

  The music ended and Quinn appeared at my side.

  “My deepest thanks for allowing me a few moments with your delightful wife, Mr. Hollister. You are most certainly the luckiest man at the ball.”

  “Okay. You’re welcome, I guess.” A jealous frown crossed Quinn’s face, to be quickly retracted when he realized it was inappropriate. Appropriate or not, I loved it. Seeing him jealous made my heart swell once again.

  The music started up and Quinn took my hand. “If you’ll excuse us, Mister…?”

  “Tiramisu. Indeed. Let me bid you good night.” Tiramisu issued a short bow in my direction, slowly limping into the crowd.

  I felt guilty for my crack about his cane.

  Quinn whisked me off to dance to another old classic, and I forgot about Mr. Tiramisu for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 14

  Romantically speaking, the night was a flop. We’d both had too much champagne and dancing, and by the time we wandered back to our suite at 1 AM, we’d stumbled out of our clothes and collapsed on the bed. We lay in each other’s arms until nine the next morning, when Ruby’s chirping woke us to bright sunshine and soaring temperatures.

  “Morning, Tiger.” I looked through blurry eyes at a very disheveled Quinn. His hair was tousled and messy, his boxers were twisted, and his breath was all but sweet. I knew I must look the same—or worse—and started to run to the bathroom to repair the damage and brush my teeth.

  Quinn grabbed my hand and stopped me mid-stride, pulling me back to the bed with him. “What happened last night?”

  I turned my head so he wouldn’t smell my morning breath. “Nothing.”

  “That’s what I mean.” He ran his fingers down my side in a provocative manner. “We need a rain check.”

  I sat up and stroked his stubbly cheek. “We do. But not this morning.”

  His look of disappointment warmed my heart. He kicked back the sheets and put his hands behind his head, frowning. I tried not to notice his morning state and hurried to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  “Why not this morning?” he asked.

  “Oh,” I said through foamy toothpaste, “I forgot to tell you, we have an appointment with the bird psychic at 10:15.”

  He lumbered from the bed to the bathroom. “What?”

  “Bird psychic,” I mumbled around the toothbrush.

  He scratched his stomach and yawned. “Are you nuts?”

  “Probably.” I spit out the toothpaste and swished mouthwash. “But it might be fun.”

  “Who is it?” he asked. He sat on the edge of the tub and stretched his arms over his head.

  “Earl Tiramisu.”

  “That overgrown dessert? I can’t stand him!”

  “I know, I know. He’s a strange bird. No pun intended. But it could be fun, baby. Let’s just do it for grins, okay?”

  He frowned. “I guess so. But I need to pee. You done?”

  “For now. Want me to order breakfast?”

  “Yup. Get some more of those croissants. And blueberries. They were good.” He stood up and lifted the toilet lid. “Don’t just stand there. You know I can’t go to the bathroom when you’re watching.”

  A laugh escaped me, but I tried to cover it. “Sorry, big guy. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He waved me out of the room and I made the call for breakfast.

  ***

  We ate, showered, and changed, and by ten were on our way to room 504 with Ruby. Tiramisu opened the door on the first knock, and ushered us into a suite profoundly different from ours.

  Unless he lived there year round, I figured he must travel with trunks full of props. Purple velvet drapes covered the windows and most of the empty birdcage leading to the balcony aviary. Wind chimes hung from the ceiling, tinkling in the breeze from the air vents overhead. Several crystals were suspended from the mantle, glinting in the light of the fire that crackled below. The inner door was closed to the built-in balcony cage, and the air conditioner cranked full blast. The murky light seemed spooky, especially with the circle of candles and incense Tiramisu had lit on the round wooden table. I nearly gagged on the too-strong scent of cheap sandalwood.

  I half-expected Tiramisu to don a purple velvet turban with a big sparkly jewel in the middle and to pull a crystal ball out of his bag.

  “Put her cage right here,” he said, pointing to the fringed red damask tablecloth.

  I obeyed. Ruby hopped from perch to perch and chattered, seemingly oblivious to the man who claimed he could connect with her mind.

  “Gimme cookies.”

  Quinn chuckled and I covered my smile. “Sorry, Mr. Tiramisu, she’s always hungry.”

  “Not a problem. Matter of fact, I have some special treats here to share with her, if she likes.” He held out a fancy seed ball on a string. “Here you go, little girl. Come try these. It’s imported.”

  Ruby hopped to the side of her cage and pecked toward Tiramisu. Quinn opened the cage door and let her hop on his arm. The bird could barely contain herself, and stretched her neck towards Tiramisu’s ball of seeds.

  “Hold on, little lady,” Quinn said. “Don’t be greedy.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Tiramisu said. “Just set her down right here beside me on this perch.” Ruby walked from Quinn’s arm to the perch beside Tiramisu. He stroked her soft feathers and began to hum with his eyes closed.

  It was all I could do not to laugh, but I smothered it and tried to appear serious. Quinn didn’t fare as well. He coughed to cover his laugh, then jumped to his feet.

  “May I use your facilities?” he asked.

  Tiramisu opened one eye with evident displeasure. “Over there.” He gestured toward a door on the far side of the room.

  “Thanks.” Quinn practically ran to the room with shaking shoulders. I heard him snicker when he closed the door.

  “Some people just don’t believe. But now, with the Doubting Thomas gone, we’ll make progress,” Tiramisu said. He squeezed his eyes shut again and resumed the humming.

  The room fell quiet. Quinn made no noise behind the bathroom door, and I figured he’d be in there for a while, to avoid facing this. Ruby happily pecked at the seed ball. Tiramisu switched to a chant.

  “I’m getting something.”

  Ruby ate like a pig and didn’t seem to notice the creepy man who supposedly invaded her brain.

  “Really? What are you seeing?”

  “Not seeing, sensing,” he corrected. “I sense there has been a big change in the family over the past month. Something to do with death. And money.”

  “Money?” I shrugged and shook my head. “We’re just barely making a profit on our antique shop. I don’t think so.”

  “It may not be you. Or your husband. Does anyone else live with you?”

  “Well, yes. My mother, Thelma.”

  “Thelma?” He opened his eyes as if startled. “That’s your mother’s name?”

  I nodded.

  “I see. I sense that it has something to do with her. Her money.”

  I chuckled. “She’s the only one with money in our family.”

  “Really?”

  “My stepfather died. Just a few months ago.”

  He
looked strangely vindicated. “Perhaps his death troubled our dear Ruby. Was she very close to him?”

  I stopped and thought for a moment, although I wasn’t buying his act. “Actually, she did like him. Quite a bit. He paid her lots of attention.”

  Tiramisu stroked her feathers some more. “Well then, that could be it.”

  Ruby jerked her head away from the seed ball and shrieked. “Let me go!”

  Tiramisu’s eyes popped open again. He peered at the bird. “Excuse me?”

  I frowned and leaned toward her, smoothing her feathers. “You okay, sweetie?” In seconds, the bird began pecking at the seeds again, as if she’d never screeched such odd words. I lifted my eyes to Tiramisu. “She’s never said that before.”

  Tiramisu leaked a sly smile. “I think we’re tapping into some very uncomfortable memories here. She’s upset, remembering his loss.” He closed his eyes again. “Now, what was Thelma’s husband’s name?”

  I hesitated.

  He opened his eyes and wagged his finger at me. “Please don’t start doubting this, Mrs. Hollister. It will interfere with the healing. I just want to let her know he’s okay. That he’s in a better place.” The eyes closed and he hummed again.

  I controlled the eye roll that threatened. “Okay. His name was Raoul. Raoul Rodriguez.”

  Tiramisu opened one eye and almost looked disappointed. “Raoul, you say?”

  My shoulders slumped. A wave of exhaustion hit me, and my patience grew thin. “Yes. My stepfather was Raoul Rodriguez. He was the best dad a girl could ask for. We all miss him very much.”

  He returned to his ministrations of Ruby, emitting soothing clucking noises while stroking her feathers. “There, there. Raoul is in a better place, Ruby. No need to mourn.”

  Abruptly, Tiramisu put Ruby back in her cage and stood, as if he’d lost all interest in the topic. “That should take care of the problem.”

  Quinn emerged from the bathroom, just in time. “Wow. All done?” he asked.

  Tiramisu pushed back his chair and flipped open a billing book. “Yes. We got to the root of her problem.” He flipped to a clean page and scribbled some figures. “That will be thirty-five dollars, please. That includes tax.”