Chapter Twenty-Six
Whether or not James and Kay wanted some kind of revenge against Stew Hawkins, I convinced myself their private feud had nothing to do with me or my role as interior designer. Anyway that sounded good to my conscience.
So I tamped down my guilt, and as soon as Lee returned from the bank with a supply of petty cash, I left for the Stahlman house. My knee, hugged by an ace bandage, had slowed me down but not knocked me out. Which was a good thing. For no way could I let the windfall from James slip through my fingers.
At Whiskey Lane, two identical panel trucks sat in each driveway, and without checking I knew that true to his promise, Tom Kruse would have the same number of uniformed men working in each house. About to suggest we break that rule, I walked in to 590 feeling a tad foolish.
In the living room, the odor of wet paint permeated the air, an odor many people objected to but that I loved for the way it signaled fresh, new beginnings. Rocking to whatever his iPod was pumping into his ears, a lanky young guy was busy painting the ceiling. I caught his attention and pointed to my own ear. He removed the buds. “Is Tom around?” I asked.
“He was working in the master bedroom earlier.”
I found him there and greeted him with, “We have a problem.”
He rested his brush across the top of a paint can. “What’s wrong?”
“James and the bikini are getting married.”
“That’s a problem?” Tom shot me a grin. Ah, the power of a well-filled flag.
“The wedding’s in two weeks.”
“Umm-hmm.” He bent to pick up his brush.
“In this house.”
His jaw dropped and so did the brush. “Oh God, no.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“Well, I’ll tell you right now, I can’t finish this job in two weeks.” He waved an arm at the dated wall covering. “Not with all that paper to be stripped off. No telling what’s underneath it. And some of the rooms need three coats of paint.”
“Okay, how about this? The bedrooms stay as is until after the ceremony. The kitchen too. That leaves the living and dining rooms, the foyer, den and library.”
“Even so...”
I pointed to his brush. Paint was dripping onto the floor. A first, I’d bet, for perfectionist Tom. He grabbed the brush with an oath. Another first.
“Suppose we hire a temporary crew?”
Tom shook his head. “No dice, Deva. That’s how you lose quality control. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”
“You’re right. So do I.” Back to Plan A. “How about taking your men out of 595 and putting them to work over here? Would that help?”
“It might. If we work through the weekend.” He pulled a rag out of his back pocket and wiped up the drips. “That means time and a half for the men.”
“I’d be willing to double their hourly rate providing they finish in twelve days. Mr. Stahlman gave us two weeks, but I’ll need at least two days to put the rooms back in order after you’re through.”
With Tom’s promise to do his valiant best to meet the timetable, I limped across the street. If Stew refused my request, I could kiss James’s check goodbye, and I really couldn’t afford to do that. Or to lose Stew as a client either.
My knee throbbing and my heart beating faster than normal, I rang Hawkins’s bell. The moment the chimes pealed, Teresa yanked open the door, her face falling at the sight of me. Without saying hello, she peered over my shoulder as if hoping someone else might be coming along the walk. “They’re late. They should be here by now.”
“Who?”
“The exterminators.”
Small critters were a problem in southwest Florida where everything, including la cucaracha, thrived in the heat and humidity. So the bug men, as exterminators were affectionately known, made regular calls at almost every building in town.
But this was different. In jeans, a washed-out T-shirt and no makeup, Teresa looked too scared to have had an encounter with a mere water bug or two.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“A snake.” She hissed out the word.
Another python? “Omigod. Where?”
“In my kitchen. Under the sink.” She shuddered. “I slammed the cabinet shut and trapped him inside. Nothing can make me go back out there.”
“I don’t blame you. Not a bit.” As she peered up and down the street, I glanced past her, into the living room. Tom’s crew was applying a coat of desert sand latex to the walls. Even partially finished, the room had taken on a masculine vibe that would suit Stew’s personality to a T.
“Is Mr. Hawkins at home by any chance? I need to speak to him,” I said.
Teresa shook her head, sending her ragged ponytail into a little dance. “No, he’s out of town. At a convention. Of all the times, just when we’re infested with snakes.”
“Oh, surely not.”
“What do you know? You didn’t see it.” She shivered. “I can’t stay here, I’m too afraid. But I don’t know what else to do. I have no other place to go.”
“Can you reach Stew?”
“Sí. I mean yes. He left a number in New York. I called him there. But he hasn’t called back.”
“I hope he does. I have a problem too.”
“Not like mine. Mine is worse.”
Arguable, but I never got to debate the subject with her, for an exterminator’s truck pulled onto the driveway, and two men in coveralls jumped out of the cab.
Teresa raced outside to embrace—I mean meet—them. As she was relating her woes, the living room phone rang. I did debate answering that—for a second or two—then made a dash for the receiver.
I was in luck. It was Stew.
“Who’s this?” he barked.
“It’s Deva Dunne.”
“What the hell’s wrong with Teresa? She sounded half nuts on the phone. Something about snakes.”
“Well, uh, she says the house is infested with them.”
“That’s crazy.”
“She doesn’t seem to think so. She’s out on the driveway right now, speaking to the exterminators.”
“Dammit, I leave for a few days and all hell breaks loose.”
“She’s scared, Stew. Afraid to stay here in the house. Says she has no place else to go.”
A sigh wove its way through the line followed by a long moment of silence. “Okay,” he said finally, “I’m glad you’re there, Deva. Do me a favor, will you? Stay with her while she packs some clothes. Buy her a one-way ticket to LaGuardia and give her some cab fare to my hotel. Put everything on my tab. And give the exterminators a key. Tell them to do whatever it takes. Then lock up the house.”
“What about the painters?”
“Oh for crying out loud, I forgot about them.” Another sigh. “Tell you what. Put a halt to all that decorating stuff until I get back. We have to get the house fumigated first. What good’s a fancy redo if my girlfriend...housekeeper...won’t spend a night in the place?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Even with my gimpy knee, I happy-danced across the street to relate the good news to Tom. He flung down his brush—on a wad of yesterday’s newspaper—and wasted no time in hurrying over to 595 to inform his crew the game plan had changed, to put what they were doing on hold and transfer their equipment to 590.
Afraid to stay in the house with the snakes and the exterminators, Teresa waited outside while Tom and I went over the change in plans. Then I hurried back to 595 as fast as my knee allowed, and together Teresa and I packed a bag for her trip. That took a little longer than it should have. Afraid a snake lurked inside her walk-in closet, she refused to step foot in it. So I did the selecting, and she disapproved of half the things I brought out. Through trial and error we finally filled a carryon with two or three outfits and collected some underwear to toss in too. When she quietly balled up a new black teddy and stuffed it in a corner of the bag, I pretended not to see a thing. A pair of spike heels went in next, and we were finished.<
br />
Luckily Southwest had a late afternoon flight to New York with a few empty seats available—one of the advantages of Florida’s off season. We booked her on it, and I drove her to the Ft. Myers airport.
Once free of the house, Teresa morphed into a different woman. Actually the transformation began inside, right after Stew’s phone call. While I stood on snake guard, she changed out of the ratty T-shirt and jeans into a snug print dress and red heels, and spritzed herself with Opium. She was brushing out her hair as we got into the loaner, and most of the way to the airport kept busy putting on her face. Not easy in a moving car, though I did try to control fast stops and starts, especially while she was applying the mascara. Five coats.
A mile from the airport, she screwed on some dangly earrings then added an armload of bangle bracelets and a great big I-gotcha-smile.
I tore my attention from the road for a second to glance over at her. She looked as sunny as the day.
“There wasn’t any snake, was there?” I said.
She hesitated, but not for long. “No. But it’s your word against mine.”
“You need to get to New York so bad you cooked up a whole scheme?”
“Why not? I can’t leave Stew up there all by himself—or worse, not by himself. Look what happened when he went to Vegas without me.”
“You know something, Teresa? You missed your calling. You’re a fabulous actress.”
She shrugged off the compliment. “I’ve been acting my whole life. It was the only way out of my village.”
“I see.” And I did.
Her charade had been anything but honest, but she hadn’t committed a crime. At least I didn’t think so, and actually without intending to, she’d done me an enormous favor. For both reasons, I had no intention of tangling with her over this, but she didn’t have to know that.
“What happens if Stew finds out what you did?”
“He won’t unless you tell him.”
“I won’t say a word, but he’s a sharp guy. He may figure things out for himself.”
“Then he’ll be flattered. Besides, I’m going to make him very, very glad to have me there.”
Of that I had no doubt and dropped her off at the Southwest gate with something like a blessing though I couldn’t quite bring myself to say, “Have a wonderful time.” Maybe the thought of Connie Rae’s little purple notebook full of girlish confidences stopped me. One line especially kept playing over and over in my mind—the one in her round, childish scrawl saying her husband knew that without heart surgery she would die.
Anyway, after we waved goodbye, Teresa sashayed into the terminal, and I checked my watch. Darn it. One house problem under control and another waiting to be solved. But this upcoming one I was looking forward to. I had a date with Harlan Conway to plan the new house. But I’d never make it back to town in twenty minutes, and a late arrival would be sure to irritate The Great One.
Before airport security asked me to move, I made a quick call and left a message on Harlan’s voice mail, doubting if any excuse, however legitimate, would matter to his prickly ego.
Well, nothing I could do about that except drive the loaner five miles over the limit all the way back to town. Rossi would have had a fit had he known, but it did get me there only ten minutes late.
Two surprises awaited. Harlan wasn’t annoyed, and his office turned out to be quite spartan, a single room in the industrial park off Pine Ridge Road. In addition to a computer desk and a couple of filing cabinets, a large drafting table faced with a pair of upright chairs were the extent of the furnishings. Though initially surprised by the modesty, I forgot all about it when I glanced up at the walls. They were breathtaking. Against a taupe background, he had hung double-matted line drawings of his architectural achievements. There were several mega-mansions, a hospital, a bank, even a small museum. All had pride of place, and I was fascinated, studying first one and then the other.
He watched me, a smile playing about his lips. “You like what you see.” It wasn’t a question.
“It’s eye candy, Harlan. I do have one major concern though,” I said, sitting across from his drafting table to rest my knee.
“Yes?” One of his eyebrows lifted as if he couldn’t believe that, after viewing his work, I could have any serious concerns.
“What Rossi and I have in mind doesn’t begin to compare with any of these projects.” I waved my arms at his walls.
“Not a problem,” he said. “I understood that the night I saw your building lot. I fit in small projects like yours around my major clients. In fact I find the change of pace refreshing.”
“So for what I have in mind, a set of drawings won’t take you long?”
“No. A few days at most. Now I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“During preliminary planning sessions, I like to meet with both clients. But the lieutenant chose not to join us today?”
That one was a question. Time for me to take an acting lesson from Teresa.
“He’s so terribly busy...he said you’d understand...one hardworking professional to another.”
He frowned but nodded. “Very well. Ultimately, the lady of the house is the one I aim to please. So what do you have in mind, Mrs. Dunne?”
He leaned across the drafting table, and if I were the susceptible type, those dazzling blue eyes with their impossibly long lashes—no five coats of anything on those babies—would have had me in a flutter. But with Rossi in my life, I reacted to Harlan Conway as if I were a piece of wood. All I wanted from him was a set of house plans.
I cleared my throat and plunged right in.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Life was seldom perfect, and when it was—watch out. I learned that lesson a few days later when I had:
Two major projects under control.
Plans for a jewel of a new house in the works.
An Audi dealer who promised Tony’s insurance would cover repairs to my car.
A knee that had stopped throbbing and a forehead without a lump.
And last, but far from least, I had Rossi to love.
Then Tom Kruse called me at the shop and stole the line I’d used on him the other day. “We have a problem.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone. I think you better get over here. Make it fast, okay?”
Ready for high fives a moment earlier, I hung up not wanting to slap anything except my own forehead. Lee took one look at me and hurried over to the desk.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I thought so earlier. Now I’m not so sure. I hate to leave you alone in the shop again today, but the painting contractor needs me. Sounds like he has an emergency.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Deva. I’ll manage just fine.”
“I know you will. You always do.”
“Besides,” she added softly. “I won’t exactly be alone...”
Busy retrieving my purse from the lower desk drawer, I didn’t recognize the import of her words immediately. It took a second, and when the message hit home, I let the bag flop back into the drawer and leaped to my feet. “Are you having a baby?”
Her smile beamed from ear to ear. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re having a baby! Omigod!” I caught her in a bear hug and held her tight. Too tight? I let go. “Did I hurt you?”
She laughed. “Paulo said the same thing this morning. I’m fine. Just fine.”
She looked it too. Always lovely, she had taken on a radiance hard to miss. Why hadn’t I noticed it before now? Too busy with my own concerns, that was why. For shame.
“When?” I managed to ask while I swiped a finger at the tears springing into my eyes.
“In December. Around Christmas.”
“What a wonderful time to have a baby.” Especially in southwest Florida. The days were cool, the nights cooler.
“We wanted you to be the first to know. And Paulo asked me to m
ention something else.”
“Yes?”
“The bank has approved us for a mortgage.”
“Wonderful!”
“Yes, we’re thrilled.” As if to prove it, her smile went from ear to ear. “So are you still willing to sell us your condo in Surfside?”
“Of course. I’d love for you to have it. That would be a perfect solution all around. Let me speak to Rossi. He won’t be putting his place in Countryside on the market anytime soon, so I’m pretty sure I can move in with him until the new house is ready. Don’t worry. We’ll work something out.”
I reached back into the desk drawer and lifted out the purse. “You’re going to be a beautiful mother, Lee. And just for the record, I want to be called Aunt Deva.”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t have him call you anything else.”
Him. This time I needed tissues to mop up my tears. “I’d like to have a baby too some day. A little boy maybe. I don’t know if I’ll ever be that lucky but I’m hoping so. I can see him now. He has red hair and a tough-sounding name. Rocco Rossi. What do you think of that?”
“I think you’ve picked out a daddy.”
“I have. So maybe I better marry him and find out what life has in store.”
“That’s what my momma would say.”
I hugged her again—more gently this time. For sure, her news had shaken up my thinking. Planning a house was one thing. A good thing. Planning a whole life was better, far better. After all, my doctor hadn’t said I’d never have a child, just that the odds were greatly against it. Who knew? I might just beat those odds.
Humming “I Will Always Love You,” I left the shop already making plans for the future—a baby shower for Lee and a small, intimate wedding for Rossi and me. On the lanai of a brand new house overlooking a Gulf inlet with an orange sunset gilding the water.
But those ideas were for a golden tomorrow. With an effort, I yanked myself back to today as I drove the loaner over to Whiskey Lane and a house with a more immediate wedding in its future. Usually calm in the face of any job-related glitches, Tom had sounded beyond harassed. I couldn’t imagine what had gone so wrong he needed me there for immediate back-up.
[M. by D. #5] The Design Is Murder Page 12
