[M. by D. #5] The Design Is Murder

by Jean Harrington

“Probably not.” Planning on viewing some rentals today, he’d worn a shirt and tie and a pair of chinos. He loosened the tie as soon as he walked in and ripped it off. After catching me in a distracted bear hug, he sank onto a club chair, looking as tired and frustrated as I’d ever seen him.

  “Tough day?”

  “You could say that.” He held out his arms. “How about coming over here and letting me give you some TLC?” He patted his knees. “Come on. Come on.”

  “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

  “For you, always.” He grinned, only briefly, but still a good sign. I sat on his lap and laid my head on his chest.

  “Aah,” he said. “This is what makes life worth living.”

  “What happened today? You seem discouraged.”

  “No, I’m not discouraged. Once in a while the negatives get to me is all.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Well for openers, the chief agrees Kay Hawkins was murdered.” He heaved a sigh. “As luck would have it, the man we want to interview underwent heart surgery and can’t be questioned. Nor can his wife. The Stahlman woman’s disappeared again.”

  I lifted my head from his chest. “Marilyn?”

  “The same. No forwarding address. No active telephone number. Gone.”

  “So now what?”

  “We hope Stahlman will recover and shed some light on her whereabouts and on a few other issues as well. Until he does, we wait...and we search for his wife. Chances are she’s floating around somewhere with the boat guy she calls her fiancé. The Coast Guard’s working on it, but that’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. Especially if he’s tied up in some remote cove with the radio shut down.” He stroked my arm. “Do you know you have the softest skin in the world?”

  “Thanks but you’re changing the subject...so are James and Marilyn your two prime suspects?”

  He ran his fingers along my other arm. “Um, so nice...”

  “Rossi.”

  “At the present time, they’re persons of interest. So is everyone who was present the day Kay Hawkins died.”

  I stared into his eyes. “Me too?”

  “Technically. You found the victim, so you’re implicated. The same for the workmen and the other two women, the housekeeper Eileen and the one across the street—” a faint smile played with his lips, “—Teresa of the tight red pants.”

  “You noticed.”

  “I’m in love, I’m not dead.” His smile disappeared. “Judging from the bruises on the victim’s neck, I doubt a woman strangled her. That takes a lot of strength.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, anger can lend strength to someone who doesn’t ordinarily have it. Make that passionate anger and who knows?”

  As if trying to put the pieces together in his mind, he stared past me at the opposite wall—at nothing, really. “Practically speaking though, our culprit is mostly likely a man. What I’m hoping is that one of the women might know something that would help us.” His glance refocused on me. “That includes you. So if you can think of anything you haven’t mentioned yet, now is the time. The chlorine and the water washed off any forensic evidence that might have been left on the remains. All we have to go on are the bruises and the lack of water in the lungs.”

  He shifted me from one knee to the other.

  “Am I getting heavy?”

  “No not at all. I love having you just where you are.”

  I sat up straight. “There is one other thing.”

  He had leaned his head on the chair back and closed his eyes. “Go on.”

  He was actually seeking my advice. I couldn’t believe it. “What about the written statements? The ones you collected from everybody the day Kay died?”

  An eye, just one, slit open.

  “Have you sent them to a graphologist yet? It’s sad that we’ve lost Naomi, but there must be other handwriting analysts out there you can call on.”

  Both eyes opened and stared into mine. “Copies of the original samples have been faxed to Miami. We’re awaiting the outcome.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. Graphology’s an inexact science. I’m not even sure the word science applies. But at the moment, we have little else to go on, so we’re giving it a shot. Tomorrow I’ll question the witnesses in depth. Think I’ll start with Teresa. Get another look at those red pants.” He wiggled his brows up and down, Groucho Marx style.

  Red pants. “Sorry, you’re out of luck. Marilyn’s not the only person of interest who left town. Teresa’s on a trip too.”

  “I know. Puerto Rico. She’s due back tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, rats. You set me up for that one, Rossi. Not nice. Not nice at all. Besides, your knees are getting bony.” I went to get off his lap, but he was too fast. His arms encircled me, trapping me right where I really wanted to be.

  “Just so you’ll know, among other things today, I searched for a rental. Didn’t find a thing I liked. At least not in our price range. So yeah, I guess you could say it’s been quite a day all told.” His arms tightened around me. “But any day that ends with you in it is wonderful. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?”

  I raised my face for a kiss as a spurt of guilt snaked through me for not returning his lovely compliment. Rossi was and always would be the best thing in my life. But truth be told, he wasn’t the first man I’d ever loved, or the first best thing that ever happened to me. That had been Jack. How could I tell the truth without wounding my now and forever love? Better not to say a word, so I didn’t even try. Instead I dropped some good news on him. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “That right? Did I ever tell you detectives don’t like surprises?”

  “You’re going to love this one.”

  “Uh-oh. One of those.”

  “You ready for this?”

  “No, but go ahead anyway. The suspense is killing me.”

  “I found us an apartment.”

  His jaw dropped open. “You did?”

  “Yes. It’s perfect in every way except that it’s horrible, but—”

  “Wait, wait, wait. That’s an oxymoron.”

  “I know. What I mean is it’s completely furnished—hi-def TV, large sofa, kitchen appliances and every utensil we could possibly use, plus a king-sized bed. With a feather duvet. Best of all, Rossi, I got it for us by bartering.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Since I’m feeling mentally challenged tonight, would you please explain in simple terms?”

  “I redo the décor free of charge and in return it’s ours free for a year.”

  “There has to be a hitch. What’s the horrible part?”

  “The colors.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s a hitch?”

  “You haven’t seen them. Purple, lime green and orange. Everywhere. On everything. So while we’re living there, I’ll have to make some changes, but Tom Kruse’s men will be minimally invasive. You’ll see.”

  “Where is this perfect, horrible place?”

  “Pelican Marsh. It’s a mother-in-law apartment.”

  “Interesting. Very interesting. Actually fantastic.”

  “You’re impressed, I can tell.”

  “Good sleuthing, Deva. Can you also tell I’m chagrined.”

  I stood up from his lap and stared down at him, all of him—tieless shirt, five o’clock shadow...frown. “No...why?”

  “You expect me to live free of charge in a place that you’ll pay for with your labor?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, it isn’t like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that. Remember how you wanted to pay for our Hawaiian trip with money from the sale of Jack’s antiques?”

  “Ye-e-e-s.”

  “Then you may recall that was a no. How could I have gone on a vacation your late husband paid for? Much the same principle applies now. I can’t live there.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Three more days and we have to be out of here. Then what? Are you
going to let your male pride stand in the way?”

  “Without my pride—” he grinned, “—yeah it’s male all right—you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. No lioness wants a wimpy lion roaming around the lair. Isn’t that right?”

  Refusing to be baited, and a little hurt that my wonderful solution was being scorned, I folded my arms and waited in silence for him to go on.

  “Our imminent housing problem is not lost on me, and I very much appreciate your clever solution.”

  “Well, then...”

  He waggled a finger. “There’s more. So I propose an alternate solution.”

  “There is none.”

  “One that will make us both happy.”

  “Which is?”

  “The money I’d spend on renting temporary digs, I give to you instead.”

  “You don’t need to do—”

  The finger waggled again. “Not so fast. There’s a string attached. I want you to take the money and buy yourself a new car, another Audi if you wish, brand new with all the bells and whistles.”

  “Green with tan leather seats?”

  “If that turns you on.”

  “Well, actually only you do, but a new car would be wonderful. I am in the image business, and my car is getting shabby.”

  “It’s settled then. We move into a mother-in-law apartment and you get a new Audi.”

  He looked pleased and not the least bit tired anymore. I hated to dampen his mood but felt I had to remind him of the visual onslaught he faced.

  “Remember now, the colors in the apartment are beyond bad.”

  He stood, ripped off his tie and headed for the bedroom, probably for some shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. “I happen to like purple and orange and what was the other one? Oh yeah, lime green.”

  And he had the shirts to prove it. But I wasn’t finished with my news yet. “By the way, we’re going to have a ménage à trois, at least for a while.”

  Halfway to the bedroom, Rossi whirled around to face me. “Explain.”

  “No need,” I said, “there’s your answer.”

  Awake after sleeping off an exciting afternoon, Charlotte had hopped off the bed and was padding out to the living room to greet him.

  “She’s just in time for her cocktail dog walk. Want to come with us?”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  With three major projects to complete, a move to orchestrate, new home construction to check on and Charlotte to babysit, I had my work cut out for me. So after Rossi left for a day of sleuthing, I began in earnest with James’s empty house. Superior Home Cleaners was due at nine to wash the windows and polish the hardwood floors in the refurbished rooms. Though not strictly part of an interior designer’s service, I wanted to be there. Such attention to the final details made a renovation shine...and helped enhance the reputation of Deva Dunne Interiors.

  I reached Whiskey Lane just as the cleaners were arriving, but Eileen had already left for the hospital. She’d propped a sweet note in quickly scribbled handwriting on the kitchen table, thanking me for taking care of Charlotte.

  Poor Eileen, she was stressed beyond belief. If anything happened to James, she would lose the man she loved and her livelihood as well. I wondered what would happen to her if Chez Stahlman were no more.

  Anyway, while the cleaning crew did their thing, I sat in the breakfast nook with Charlotte and called my workroom. James’s reupholstered chairs and sofas were ready—yes!—so I arranged for a noon delivery. As a special favor for all the business I’d sent them, they agreed to move the rest of the furniture from safekeeping in the guest bedroom and arrange it in place.

  The house redo was coming together nicely but was far from complete. While James recovered in the hospital, workmen tramping through the house wouldn’t be a problem...but redoing the master suite when an invalid might need it soon wasn’t a good idea.

  I glanced around the kitchen. It too was badly in need of remodeling. But not now. If and when Eileen’s beloved boss returned home, she would want a functioning kitchen to prepare special delicacies for him. So as far as Deva Dunne Interiors was concerned, the Stahlman project had largely ground to a standstill.

  I assumed that even without Kay to please, James would live up to the terms of our contract, but—to stare reality in the face—if he died, all bets were off. I couldn’t pretend I’d be as distraught as Eileen if that were to happen, but Deva Dunne Interiors would definitely be affected. No arguing with fate, I told myself, and besides, James had already paid me generously for work rendered. The upholstery bill and today’s cleaning fee, I’d send to his financial advisor and hope for the best...

  Woof!

  I lowered my hand and let Charlotte lick my fingertips. “Hi, darling, you want something?” Her tail wagged. “I don’t read wags well. What would you like? A dish of water?”

  The wagging stopped.

  “You need to go out?”

  The tail turned into a metronome.

  “Okay, let’s get some fresh air.”

  Despite the glorious morning, all golden sunshine and salty sea breezes, a shiver of unease slid along my spine when I stepped onto the terrace. I hadn’t been out there since Kay died, and an eerie silence pervaded the lush garden.

  Charlotte ran down the stone stairs and headed for her favorite spot, the pool area. Darn. I should have put her on a leash. Now I’d have to chase after her, and I had no desire to go anywhere near that pool.

  “Where are you girl?” I called. To let me know she’d heard, she popped out from behind the hedge, then disappeared from view again. The little devil.

  I jogged down the stairs, calling her name all the way. Heart pounding, and not from the exercise, I rounded the hedge. There she was, digging divots in the grass. The pool, empty of all but water, sparkled aqua blue and beautiful in the sun. Relieved, I turned my back on it and concentrated on Miss Charlotte.

  “You having fun, honey?”

  She ignored me and kept on clawing at the grass, sending up tufts of the immaculate lawn.

  “What would James say if he saw you doing that?”

  At “James” she paused, but not for long. She was enjoying herself too much to stop. I bent over to scoop her up, hoping she had accomplished the reason for coming out in the first place. If not, another one of my outfits was doomed. As I reached for her, something shiny caught my eye. A brass button with red threads still clinging to it. Hmm. I picked it up and turned it over. The threads looked strong, as if they’d been forcibly snapped off, maybe from the strain of a too-tight pair of pants.

  I pocketed the button, and with Her Nibs in my arms, climbed the slope back to the house. The cleaning crew had left the windows sparkling and the washed and waxed floors ready for the next step—staging.

  Promptly at noon, the workroom truck pulled onto the drive. I gave Charlotte a doggie treat and left her in the kitchen while I directed furniture traffic. First the rugs. The beautifully faded Tabrizes, with ivory backgrounds and random patches of faded blue and coral, went down first. Then the sofas. Their blue damask repeated the blue of the rugs with the understated echo I’d hoped for. Not insistent. Not overwhelming. Perfect.

  In the dining room, we centered the heirloom table under the crystal chandelier and placed the new mirrored sideboard against a long wall where it shimmered like the showstopper it was. Along with the blue-and-ivory-striped host and hostess chairs, the mirrored sideboard dispelled the curse of the average dining room—drab brown furniture.

  So far, so good. After the movers left, I sprung Charlotte and let her explore the furniture and sniff out the interesting new scents. While she played, I took notes. The bones were in place; now to flesh out the skeleton—I needed to have the windows measured for draperies, shop at Clive-Daniel Home for lamps, design custom pillows, look for Limoges boxes and tabletop bronzes, and check James’s preferences in oil paintings.

  Before we left, I wrote a note to Eileen. When she found time, the mahogany pieces needed waxin
g and the sterling hollowware should be polished before going on display. My mouth fairly watered at the thought of how the silver would glow on that mirrored buffet—each piece adding luster to the other. I signed the note and propped it on the breakfast nook table where she’d be sure to find it.

  I attached Charlotte’s collar to her pink leash. “Come on, girlfriend, we’re going across the street. I have another client to take care of, and some tight red pants to check out.”

  I hoped Teresa hadn’t taken the pants to Puerto Rico. If not, they should be hanging in her clothes closet. I was dying to see if the button I found belonged on them. If so, what was it doing down by James’s pool? To my knowledge, the only time Teresa had stepped foot on the Stahlman property was the morning Kay died. But she hadn’t gone anywhere near the pool that day. Or had she?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “High time you got here,” Stew said, yanking open the door to 595. He stood in the entryway and upped his chin at 590. “You’ve been camped out over there for hours.” He pointed the lit end of his stubby cigar at Charlotte. “What’s that mutt doing in my house?”

  “She’s no mutt. She came in second at the Westminster Dog Show.”

  “A second-rater huh? Make sure she doesn’t—”

  “She won’t,” I said, cutting him off at the pass. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you. But with Mr. Stahlman gravely ill, I needed to finish what I could before he’s discharged from the hospital. I hope you understand.”

  “What’s to understand? My wife died over there.”

  “Actually your ex-wife, Stew,” I said as gently as possible.

  “A technicality. She was mine. He should have taken better care of her.” As you should have of Connie Rae. “So no, I don’t give a damn about his place. Or him. Come in, come in,” he urged, waving his cigar around. The moment I stepped inside, he slammed the front door so hard the whole house shook.

  “Concentrate in here now,” he said, barging ahead of me into the great room. “So far all I’ve got is a half-done paint job.”

  “Three-quarters done. As soon as your master bedroom is completed, the painters will be back to tackle the other bedrooms.”