In the silence—even Charlotte had wisely scooted into her cage for a midday nap—we listened for Kay’s arrival, and the minute a car door slammed, we both stiffened. As his fiancée’s stilettos clicked across the bare floors, the pink in James’s cheeks faded away.
Putty-faced again, he rose to greet her though he might have been wise to remain seated. Or better still, to stretch out flat on the breakfast nook bench.
With her long, leggy stride, Kay reached the kitchen quickly, pushed through the swinging door and careened to a stop when she saw me.
“Oh, you’re here too.” Obviously less than pleased, she rallied fast. “Well, I must say the painters have made wonderful progress. The house should be ready in plenty of time.”
For the wedding.
She held out her arms to James—a far cry for sure from the way Marilyn had greeted him. He hurried to embrace her and placed a discreet peck on her cheek. “You look lovely,” he murmured.
She did, in a black linen mini that showcased legs already highlighted by strappy spike heels. A lime-green bag tossed over a shoulder added a touch of colorful chic.
“But then, you are forever lovely,” James added, running his hands along her arms.
“You always say the most marvelous things, darling. No wonder I love you.”
She kissed him for real, and while they were enjoying it, I wished I were somewhere else, even outside talking about snakes with Mike and Tony.
The kiss ended, finally, and loosening his embrace a little, James cleared his throat. Here comes the bombshell.
“I wish I could say only wonderful things to you, darling, but that’s not always possible. Do come and sit down.”
Good move.
“You look positively grim, James. Is anything the matter?”
She suspects something.
I sat in a corner of the breakfast nook, quiet as dust, while he took her by the hand and led her to the table,
Once they were safely seated, he said, “There is something I have to tell you, darling.”
Alarm swept across Kay’s face. “Well, for God’s sake, Jimmy, out with it.”
He took a deep, bracing breath and expelled it slowly. “Marilyn didn’t drown after all. She’s come back. From the dead, so to speak.”
Kay gasped and half rose from her seat, then fell back onto it as if she didn’t trust her admittedly gorgeous legs to hold her.
James leaned across the table to retake her hands. “I have an appointment with my attorney at three today. I’m starting divorce proceedings immediately.”
Well, well. No histrionics, but no wasting time either. Chalk one up for James.
“I knew that bitch wasn’t dead.” Her face rage red, Kay yanked her fingers out from under James’s and sat up straight. “How dare she do this to us? Where has she been all this time?”
“It’s a long story that—”
“The nerve of her. Showing up just before our wedding.” Kay’s hand flew to her mouth. “Ooooh.” The realization had struck home, and she slumped against the back of the bench, stunned by the truth.
“Exactly,” James said, a sardonic smile playing with his lips. “She’s saving us from bigamy. Perhaps we should be grateful.”
“Grateful?” Kay leaped to her feet. “I could kill her!”
Chapter Thirty-One
So far I hadn’t said a thing. All I’d done was witness James’s kissing technique—which I have to admit was pretty darn good—and listened to Kay’s outburst. Not that I blamed her for feeling the way she did or anything. Still, when James said, “Don’t worry, dearest. We’ll work this out together,” I figured my career as a marriage counselor had ended before it began, so I eased off the breakfast nook bench.
As Kay slumped in her seat, I said, “If you’ll both excuse me.”
“Of course, Deva, thank you.” James’s earnest eyes telegraphed his gratitude, though he hadn’t needed my help after all.
I paused. “Just one question before I go?”
His attention focused on Kay, he nodded briefly, eager now for me to leave.
“In light of what’s happened, I assume there’s no necessity to rush to completion.”
A puzzled frown knitted his brows.
“The house?” I said.
“Oh. Yes. I mean no. No rush at all. Your original schedule will be fine.”
That was when Kay astonished me. She laid her head on the tabletop and burst into tears.
As James murmured words of comfort and stroked her hair, I escaped out the back way through the living room sliders. Relieved to be in the open, I took a deep breath that gave my nose a thrill. Edging the property, gardenia plants the size of small trees perfumed the air with a magical scent. I loved it and inhaled again.
Though the exterior of the house wasn’t something James had hired me to deal with, I was curious about those treacherous terrace stairs. The two painters were nowhere in sight, but Mike and Tony, on their hands and knees, were busy chipping away at the stone and didn’t notice my approach.
“Hi, Tony,” I said, bending over him for a closer look.
About to chisel out a tile, he missed it and hit his thumb instead. He dropped the chisel and jumped to his feet, waving his bonked thumb in the air. “Cripes, you scared the shit out of me. You can stop a guy’s heart sneaking up on him like that.”
I stepped back, out of reach of his flailing arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“He’s been pretty jumpy lately,” Mike volunteered.
Tony shot him a why-don’t-you-shut-up-for-a-change look, and for once Mike took the hint and went back to his task.
Tony stood sucking his thumb. The gesture made him look like a pouting child, but I hoped he wasn’t badly injured. He needed those big, strong hands to make a living.
“Can you flex it?” I asked.
He took the finger out of his mouth and wiggled it up and down.
“Yeah, it’s all right,” he said, returning to his knees. Even the rubber knee pads he and Mike wore didn’t relieve all the pressure. Laying tiles and stone all day every day was hard work. The relentless summer sun beating down on them didn’t make it any easier. Neither did curious women.
Though I didn’t stay to ask any more questions, I did notice that the new stones they were installing had a rougher surface than the old ones. No doubt, the stairs would be much safer now.
Beads of perspiration had popped out on my forehead. It was hot as Hades out here, and the sun wasn’t helping my freckles any, but now that I’d gotten this far, I wanted to have a look at the pool behind the boxwood hedge. Avoiding the stairs, I started down the grassy slope.
Apparently not ready to give up talking, Mike called after me. “You’re looking good, Mrs. Dunne. Real good.” I half turned in time to catch him giving me an eye sweep. “Green’s your color all right. Glad to see the accident didn’t do any permanent damage.”
“Are you?” I challenged. “So is Lieutenant Rossi.” Let Mike chew on that for a while.
Undeterred, he said, “Any news for my boys at State?”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. That’s not the road to success. At least not according to my philosophy. If you don’t keep whittling at the problems life hands you, they never go away. My grandfather always—”
“Your grandfather isn’t paying you,” Tony said. “I am. How about whittling on the chatter? That jibe with your philosophy?”
I’d gone halfway down the slope when Mike yelled, “Well, Mrs. Dunne, what about it?”
I swiveled around, and hands akimbo, shrew style, yelled back, “I should have two installations for you by next week. But if you bring up the subject again, the deal’s off.”
“Not a problem,” he yelled. He wiped the sweat off his forehead onto a tattooed arm and sent me a happy wave. As cheerful as if he were on vacation at St. Tropez, he acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Or an enemy. Maybe that
accident in my driveway had been just that—an accident, not a deliberate attack.
Still, Naomi’s warning echoed in my mind. His writing shows a felon’s claw. Don’t trust him. He could be charming, she’d said, which made him doubly dangerous. I’d be wise to heed Rossi’s advice and have nothing further to do with Mike Hammerjack, but a promise was a promise. That and my own stubborn nature stood in the way of prudence.
I continued down the slope and stepped behind the boxwoods.
Oh my.
A competition-size pool lay in the sun, its classic rectangle filled with blue lapis lazuli water so inviting I wanted to take a skinny-dip dive right then and there. But Tony and Mike’s voices coming through the boxwoods quickly killed that impulse.
In the bottom of the pool, yellow tiles had been laid in the shape of five connected rings. A perfect practice pool for Marilyn, a former medal contender. Or a not-so-subtle reminder for her to keep on striving?
Whatever. Hidden back here, out of sight of the house and surrounded by a privacy hedge, the pool was a wonderful retreat for anyone and especially for a dedicated swimmer. Or it could be. James had obviously not spared any expense in building the pool but hadn’t spent much on anything else. Two forlorn-looking plastic lounge chairs offered the only seating.
Too bad. Some padded recliners sheltered with umbrellas, and a few ceramic jardinières would make the whole area more inviting. A little pool house at the far end of the property would be delightful for patio parties, or for reading, or napping, or any other leisure activity. But this was a pool built with a serious purpose in mind, not for fun.
I stood staring at the brilliant blue water. Why had Marilyn faked her own drowning? Had her life really been too burdensome to endure? Even if it had been, why pretend you were dead? She had chosen a cruel solution, even if James, as she claimed, had bored her to death.
Chapter Thirty-Two
That evening over dinner, I said, “You know something, Rossi, you’re a very interesting man.”
He’d finished his salad and moved the empty plate aside. Ready to start in on what he considered the good stuff, a slice of pepperoni pizza, he glanced over at me, a trifle surprised. “A compliment? What brought that on?”
“Why the surprise? It’s not like I never compliment you or anything.”
He stifled a smile. “True, but you don’t fling them around lightly. The last one I recall was in bed immediately after—”
“Those don’t count. That’s the heat of passion talking.”
This time he grinned ear to ear. “I’m disappointed to hear that. They’ve been some of your finest observations.”
“Well, there have been others too,” I retorted, hoping my face wasn’t flaming. Warm cheeks made my freckles pop. To buy a little time to think, I took a sip of wine. Ah! “Remember last winter when you wore a tie and a white dress shirt? I definitely told you how handsome you looked that night.”
“You really were saying I don’t wear a tie often enough.”
“Well, there is that, and also—”
He held up a hand for silence. “Wait! I remember another one. You once told me you liked standing beside me because we were on an even playing field. Eyeball to eyeball.”
“Right.”
“You were telling me I’m short.”
“No way. I meant exactly what I said. I like your height.”
“Or lack thereof. Now will you tell me something else?”
“Of course, anything.”
“What the hell’s this conversation all about anyway?” He washed down his pizza with a swig of Chianti and reached for another piece.
He was definitely finding his food more interesting than me. “Am I annoying you?” I asked, annoyed enough for two.
He looked up, mid-slice. “No, not at all. I’m curious. I really don’t get the point of this discussion.” He put down the pizza—rather reluctantly, I thought—and wiped his fingertips on his napkin. “So clue me in.”
“Well, it’s about Marilyn Stahlman. Her sudden return and all that. Why do you suppose she disappeared in the first place?”
“I’m a detective, not a mind reader.”
“You’re pretty good at that too.”
He arched a brow. “Another compliment?”
“Yes.”
Unimpressed, he went back to his pizza, but I wasn’t ready to give up. “She had to have a reason for staying away a whole year.”
“No doubt. A happy woman doesn’t stage her own drowning.”
“Go on.” I moved in closer. Rossi had excellent insight, and I wanted to hear every word.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “Remember how at the beginning of my interview with the Stahlmans, I said you could be excused?”
“Yes. That was my next question. Why did you do that?”
“Because I knew if you stayed to listen—as you were panting to do—I’d be asked these very questions.”
“I have a vested interest in James’s house, so it’s only natural that—”
He pushed his plate back from his place at the table. Not a good sign. A lecture was on the way.
“If Mrs. Stahlman pays the costs of investigating her disappearance, chances are good she won’t be charged with a crime. Her crime, as it were, was in creating emotional anguish in those who knew and loved her. Especially in her husband. But now that he’s engaged to remarry, I assume he’s made a full recovery.”
I wanted to comment, but Rossi was on a roll and wouldn’t let me squeeze in a word.
“Mrs. Stahlman’s motives for doing what she did are another story. Perhaps she’s mentally unbalanced. Perhaps she’s vindictive. Maybe she was suicidal the night she went for her famous swim and a fortunate quirk of fate saved her. In any event, once she pays up, the case—as they say—will most likely be closed.”
“But her motives are the most fascinating aspect of what happened. Why did she do it?”
“Be satisfied with the answer she gave. It’s simple enough. She wanted out of her life.” His attention roamed back to his half-eaten pizza slice. “Why so curious, anyway?”
I shrugged. “Chalk it up to a benign form of voyeurism. Mentally peeking into people’s lives. I guess what I do—my designing—is a form of that. I’m paid to look at how people live and then to change their surroundings. Maybe wondering why they do what they do is just going one step further.”
He picked up the Chianti bottle and filled our glasses. “Excellent justification for snooping.”
I didn’t want to laugh but I had to. “You earn your living by snooping. In fact you’ve practically raised snooping to an art form. So what’s your excuse, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t need one. Art’s only purpose is to be.”
“Good, Rossi, very good. That’s what I meant. You’re fascinating, and you don’t even have to work at it.”
He leaned across the table to give me a pepperoni—and Chianti-laced kiss. “You know something, Deva? When it comes to being fascinating, you win the gold medal. You’re the most fascinating woman in the entire world.”
Now that was what I called a compliment. Rossi knew it too, the fox. It had me kissing him like crazy.
And so to bed. If not to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Did you ask him?” Lee said the next morning.
I looked up from my computer screen. “Ask him?”
“The lieutenant about, you know, selling your condo and all?”
In blue, which always became her, Lee was a vision, especially now with the glow of early pregnancy lighting her face. With all the crazy events of the past few days, I had forgotten, but I couldn’t admit that and risk seeing her happy glow disappear.
“Rossi and I are meeting with the architect for lunch, so I thought I’d bring it up then.”
Her face fell a little.
“I promise there won’t be a problem,” I added quickly. “Rossi will be delighted that I’m selling you the condo.”
“We don’t mean to rush y’all, but we’re running out of time in our apartment. The landlord finally admitted his son’s moving back home, and he wants us out of there like yesterday.”
“Then consider it a done deal. The condo’s yours whenever you and Paulo want it. Furniture included if you like.”
Her eyes took on a shine and then the tears spilled over.
The rental apartment she and Paulo were squeezed into had come furnished, but only in a manner of speaking, so I’d suspected they would welcome the Surfside things. Besides I wanted to furnish my new home slowly and carefully, one piece at a time. On heart of pine floors I envisioned tiger maple chests and canvas-covered couches and kilim toss pillows...
The Yarmouthport bells jangled. A woman stepped in, took one startled look at Lee and froze inside the door.
“Do come in,” I said, giving Lee a handful of tissues. “My friend’s crying with happiness.”
“Oh, I’ve done that too,” the woman said and with an understanding smile strolled around, browsing the table displays.
Turning my attention back to Lee, I said, “Plan on moving as soon as you need to. That way you’ll be settled long before the baby comes.”
Her eyes shining, she nodded.
“If you like, I can help you plan the nursery.”
“I’d love that.”
“Will it be a boy’s room or a girl’s?”
“I don’t know. We want to be surprised.”
Another surprise, a good one this time.
“I’m partial to white with touches of primary colors,” Lee offered shyly.
“Me too! No insipid pinks and blues for this baby.”
I retrieved my purse from the desk drawer, stood, and with a quick hug for Lee, hurried off. Online scouting for Stew’s Western-themed furnishings would have to go on hold for a while.
* * *
When I reached the Magnolia Café, they were both waiting. From the frown on Rossi’s face, I could tell he was irritated. Well, five minutes alone with Harlan would do that to a saint.
[M. by D. #5] The Design Is Murder Page 14
