Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design)

by Jean Harrington

  As we cruised along Fifth Avenue South, a parking slot opened up—a minor miracle—and I eased the Audi into it.

  In the warm April evening, the flower-perfumed air hinted that summer was ready to muscle its way into southwest Florida. Another month and the humidity would be relentless. But for now the palm fronds waved in the balmy breeze like fans, and the tourists strolling the open square wore the satisfied look of travelers who had hit perfect weather.

  We sat at a table on the pub terrace overlooking Sugden Square and ordered two house chardonnays and an appetizer plate of nachos. After sipping our wine and snacking on the nachos, we decided on two of the house specials, Black Angus burgers. Bad for the hips, good for the soul.

  I had a second glass of chardonnay so Lee drove home, chatting about Paulo all the way. Back at Surfside, quiet prevailed, not even a gecko scurried along the walkway. With no hope of seeing Rossi that evening, I slid a DVD into the player and settled down with Lee to watch Titanic yet again.

  An hour into the show, just when Leonardo DiCaprio in a borrowed tuxedo bent over to kiss Kate Winslet’s hand, a scream rent the quiet spring night.

  Then another. And another. Lee and I leaped off the couch.

  “AudreyAnn,” I said, racing out of the condo. With Lee right behind me, I tore across the lawn and barged into Chip’s lanai.

  “He’s dead,” AudreyAnn screamed. “He’s dead.”

  “Who?” I asked, knowing, knowing.

  “Chip.” Her voice rose to a banshee shriek. “He’s dead, I tell you. Dead!”

  “Where is he?” Lee asked quietly, somehow realizing that calm was the best antidote to hysteria.

  AudreyAnn pointed a trembling finger. “In there. The bathroom. Omigod.”

  We made a mad dash through the condo, careening to a stop in the bathroom doorway. A raw iodine odor clogged the air, and on the floor, the tiles, the bath mat, every garment Chip wore ran slick with blood. On his left wrist, a gash like an open maw oozed more blood.

  “A tourniquet,” I shouted. “We need a tourniquet. AudreyAnn, get a tie.”

  Shocked lifeless, she stood without moving.

  “A tie, a tie!”

  Lee ran into the master bedroom, yanked open the closet and came back with a silk necktie. Grabbing a pair of bath towels off a wall rack, I flung them on the blood-soaked floor and knelt on them. I wrapped the tie around Chip’s forearm, shutting off the blood flow, hoping to God I wasn’t too late. His face was as white as one of his chef’s aprons.

  I glanced up at AudreyAnn hovering in the doorway, wringing her hands. “Did you call 911?”

  Her mouth hung open. “No. I never thought—”

  “Get to the phone!”

  She didn’t move.

  “Hurry up! He’s dying.”

  She just stared at me. Without waiting for her to snap to, I jumped up and dashed into the kitchen. I yanked the phone off the hook and gave the emergency responder the vital information, begging her to hurry.

  “I’ll go out to the street and flag them down,” Lee said.

  I nodded. Every second counted. Trailed by a catatonic AudreyAnn, I hurried back to the bathroom to keep a vigil over Chip. His face had turned from white to gray. The seconds were eternities, though I knew only a few precious minutes had passed before the familiar siren wailed onto the Surfside tarmac.

  “This way,” I heard Lee call. “In here.”

  I stood and took AudreyAnn by the arm. It felt like a piece of wood under my hand. “Let’s get out of the way,” I said as two male ERU medics rushed into the bathroom.

  I don’t think she heard me, but she allowed me to lead her like a meek little lamb...AudreyAnn?...into the living room. I eased her onto Chip’s oversized lounger and perched on the couch beside Lee, my fists balled in my lap.

  Dear God, not Chip. Not sweet, lovable Chip.

  While the medics attended him, AudreyAnn gazed straight ahead, eerily unmoving. She didn’t even blink. I eyed her uneasily for a few minutes then finally asked, “Are you all right?”

  She slowly turned her head in my direction and looked at me without recognition as if I were a stranger who had somehow, for some unknown reason, decided to pay a social call.

  “He killed himself for me,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “For me. Imagine a guy doing that.”

  I stared at her, unbelieving. So Chip’s suicide attempt was a tribute to her ego? A notch on her gun? Disgusted, I shook my head and got up to pace away my nervous tension. One of the medics, the one with Bill sewn onto his shirt pocket, strode into the living room.

  I hurried over to him. “How is he?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood, but his vital signs are steady. We’re giving him a plasma transfusion before we move him.”

  “He’s going to make it then?”

  “His chances look good.”

  I turned to AudreyAnn. “Did you hear that? Chip’s going to live. He didn’t kill himself after all.”

  Hiding her face in her hands, she collapsed over the arm of the lounger and, shoulders shuddering, wept like a baby. In between sobs, gasping for breath, she blurted, “Thank God, thank God. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  Lee sent me a little knowing glance that said maybe, just maybe, Chip had done the right thing—convinced the love of his life that she needed, really needed, him.

  “Can someone answer a few questions for me?” Bill asked, shifting from one foot to the other, looking like the deluge was making him a little uncomfortable.

  “I can,” AudreyAnn said, wiping her eyes with the back of a hand. “I’m the patient’s next of kin.”

  Wrong. But who cared about the legalities? To Chip, AudreyAnn was kin, and if she thought so too, this might actually turn out to be a win-win situation.

  “Do you know any reason why the patient...” he consulted his clipboard, “...Mr. Salvatore, would attempt suicide?”

  “Yes, I do,” AudreyAnn said, her chin rising. “He thinks I don’t love him.” She smiled, more to herself than anyone in the room. “But I do. I just found out.”

  Bill flicked a male eye over her Junoesque form and continued writing. No comment, just that eye flick. But I read flicker very well. So apparently did Lee. She winked at me.

  Bill took down the rest of the information he needed and went back to the triage site in the bathroom.

  AudreyAnn sniffled a few times, but continued to sit straight as an arrow in the hideous defecation-brown lounger. When Chip recovered, I’d have to speak to him about getting a new chair.

  “There’s another reason he fell to pieces,” AudreyAnn said, glancing over a shoulder to see if Bill was anywhere in sight, “but I didn’t think the medic needed to know.”

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Lieutenant Rossi came by today. Told us Donny was poisoned. Did you know that? Poisoned.”

  I nodded as a sole tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Chip said even though he was innocent, when word got out he’d be finished as a chef. How could he reopen the restaurant with a poisoning hanging over his head? So whoever killed Donny, killed Chip’s dream.” She heaved a shuddering sigh. “If only Lieutenant Rossi had stopped there. But he didn’t. He probed and probed...he wouldn’t let up.”

  “What do you mean, wouldn’t let up? That’s not his style.” I’d seen Rossi’s questioning technique. Sotto voce, calm, quiet. To be interviewed by him was to get the velvet glove treatment...but I had to admit the velvet glove covered a verbal fist of iron. “I guess he had to get at the truth. But what more could Chip tell him?”

  She pointed a finger at her chest. “Not Chip. Me.”

  “Oh?”

  She heaved another sigh. “He asked how well I’d known Donny before the...uh...murder.”

  “And you did know him well, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I knew him all right.”

  “I’m curious. How on earth did you two meet?”

  Her eyes misted o
ver, whether with memory or regret I couldn’t tell. “At the Island Grill on a girls’ night out. Donny bought me a mai tai and stayed to talk. Said he had come over from Miami with his boss. Francesco had business interests here and was looking for a house. Thought he might relocate to Naples. Donny wasn’t happy about that idea until he met me...then everything changed...for both of us. I drove over to Miami with him one night and—”

  “The rest, as they say, is history,” I finished.

  She nodded then bit her knuckle to stifle yet another sob. “But our relationship was over weeks ago when he...when he...”

  “Asked you to move out?”

  She looked over at me, eyes widening in surprise. They were a striking shade of bright blue. Funny I’d never noticed before. Guess like everyone else I had trouble getting up above the carpe diem on her T-shirt.

  “How did you know he kicked me out?” she whispered.

  I shrugged. “Lucky guess. Obviously something happened to bring you back to Naples. Besides, I never believed you left to go live with your aunt.”

  “Chip did, though. He wanted to, I suppose,” she said, a spark of insight that stunned me. “So he was shocked when he found out about Donny. I tried all afternoon to convince him the six months had been a disappointment, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Well the night Donny died, you did give an Academy Award performance over his body.”

  “I know.” She actually looked embarrassed, remembering. “His death tore me up. A guy with a build like that. But I meant what I told Chip. I was over Donny. For good. He had a lot of baggage, and I didn’t need that.”

  “What kind of baggage?” While AudreyAnn was in a confessional mood, I wanted to keep her talking. She might say something that would help Rossi.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing I could put a finger on. A bunch of phone calls. He’d walk outside to talk, but I heard Francesco’s name come up a lot. And Donny had visitors he warned me not to mention to anyone.”

  “Visitors?”

  “Yeah, always two men at a time. In business suits. Who wears business suits in Florida except lawyers and bankers? These guys didn’t look like bankers. Toward the end, I wanted to leave anyway...I got scared. Something was going on, but I never found out what.”

  “Do you think they wanted to harm Francesco?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, but with those two I think anything’s possible.”

  The medics wheeled Chip through the living room on a gurney. Suspended from a pole, an IV drip fed liquid into his intact arm.

  AudreyAnn jumped up. “I’m riding in the ambulance,” she told Bill and, bending over the stretcher, she kissed Chip’s cheek. “I’ll make everything up to you, honey, every day for the rest of my life.”

  Though flat on his back and semi-conscious, whether he knew it or not, Chip was sitting in the cat bird seat.

  Unless, of course, AudreyAnn was lying like a rug.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I spent most of the night on the living room couch alert to any sound from next door. At 6:00 a.m. a car drove onto the Surfside driveway and stopped, leaving the motor running. I peeked through the blinds in time to see a weary AudreyAnn stepping out of a Yellow Cab. I opened my door.

  She greeted me with a nod but no smile. “He’s going to be all right,” she said, and without another word, walked into her condo and slammed the door.

  Back to normal.

  No. She’s just exhausted, I told myself, closing my own door and heading for the shower. I wanted to believe her devotion to Chip would continue, that she had meant every loving word. Of course if she really had gotten over Donny, that killed my crime-of-passion theory, at least as far as AudreyAnn was concerned.

  As for Chip, his suicide attempt revealed one thing—that teddy bear exterior hid a heart of fire. Although I didn’t want to go there, he had proven he was capable of murder. After all, he had nearly murdered himself.

  I stepped into the shower and turned the cold water on high. The icy spray gave me goose bumps and woke me up with a vengeance, driving all negative thoughts out of my head. I toweled off the chill and dressed quickly. Lee and I had to get to the shop. There was work to do.

  But when I finally got deep into Francesco’s presentation boards, the shop phone rang and rang, destroying my concentration. I looked up from the drafting table, wondering why Lee didn’t answer.

  Oh. She’d gone to Starbucks to get a mocha frappuccino for herself and a cup of black dynamite for me. Neither of us had slept much last night. We needed an extra jolt of caffeine to get through the day.

  But the phone. Couldn’t the caller leave a message? I flung down my pen, hurried across the shop to the bureau plat and grabbed the receiver on the eighth or ninth ring.

  “Good morning,” I purred, kitty sweet, phony as hell. “Deva Dunne Interiors.”

  “I want to kiss you all over,” Rossi said.

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “Very funny. And then I want to—”

  “Are we having phone sex?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know. I’m a virgin in that department.”

  “Where are you?” I knew he wouldn’t be so open on a Naples PD line.

  “At home. I’m going in a little later today. Worked most of the night.”

  “You heard about Chip?”

  “Yes. The hospital faxed the report to the station. I would have called but I thought I might wake you.”

  “You wouldn’t have, actually, but the big news is he’s okay.”

  “Or will be after some therapy. We don’t want an act two.”

  “No, but I think AudreyAnn has seen the light.”

  “If that’s what he wants.”

  “She had a few secrets to share, but I’d rather tell you in person.”

  “What say I pick you up after work? We’ll go to my place. I’ll grill a couple of steaks. Then I’ll think of something else.”

  “Sounds heavenly, but no need to sweeten the pie, Rossi. I’ll be there even if you have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

  “Are we back to phone sex again?”

  “Now who’s being funny? See you at five. I’d better go. I’m trying to finish a project.”

  “Wait, don’t hang up. I got to the bank yesterday and transferred some funds. If you ask Lee when she wants to leave, I’ll buy her a plane ticket. And can you find out if she has a checking account? If not, I’ll open one in her name and make a deposit to it. Once she stops by and provides her signature, the money’ll be available when she needs it.”

  “That’s wonderful, Rossi. I had a solution in mind, too, but you’ve solved the problem before I could. Lee will be beyond thrilled. Do you want to tell her the good news or should I?”

  “Good Lord, you tell her.” A typical guy, avoiding an emotional scene at all costs.

  “As soon as she returns.”

  “Great. Pick you up at five.”

  At least I think that’s what he said. A great screeching of brakes echoed up and down the alley. Outside the shop window a familiar black limo lurched to a halt, started up again, rolled a few more feet then came to another stop so suddenly, the driver lunged over the steering wheel, his head barely missing the windshield.

  Francesco.

  “Rossi, I have to go. Someone’s here. See you at five,” I said, hanging up before he could protest.

  As I peered through the window, Francesco barged out of the limo, leaving the ignition running and the driver’s side door wide open. He thumped his way into the shop with what looked like triumph on his face.

  “Nothing to it,” he said by way of greeting.

  “You mean driving?” I asked.

  “Yeah, a piece of cake.”

  “Francesco, not to be irreverent or anything, but you want another death in the family?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means do you have a driver’s license?”

  “No. That’ll take week
s.”

  “A learner’s permit?”

  “I guess you’re not listening. You know I lost Donny.” A shadow darkened his face.

  “Yes, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks. I miss the guy big time. But until I get another driver, what am I gonna do?”

  “Get arrested?”

  “Don’t take that attitude, Deva. I’m not looking for trouble. I’m a businessman. But I gotta get around.”

  “Hire another driver.”

  “I am. Jewels’s brother up in Rhode Island. He’s taking driving lessons even as we speak. As soon as he gets his license, he comes down, and my problems are over.”

  “Are you sure you want to wait that long?”

  “Hiring a stranger’s not the answer. The job’s delicate. I don’t want just anybody knowing my business.”

  I heaved a sigh. “I don’t have that problem, Francesco. I want people to know about my business. But right now, with your car clogging the alley, nobody can get to me.”

  He peered out at the block-long limo...a Bentley? “Oh yeah. I’ll move it, but where the hell do you park around here?”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll move it? There’s a parking lot in back of this building. When I return, after shutting off the motor, removing the key and locking the door, you can tell me what brings you here today.”

  “Sarcasm ain’t ladylike,” he said, slumping onto the zebra settee.

  “Ha!”

  “Hurry back. We gotta talk business. The wrecking crew gutted the kitchen and the baths. And that painter you sent over with the movie star name?”

  “It’s spelled differently.”

  “Whatever. He’s through with the ceilings and the priming. Now we’re waiting on you.”

  Guilt surged through me. My proposal should have been presented to Francesco days ago. My only excuse was murder. Literally. Well, I’d also had a lovelorn bride to deal with. An attempted suicide. And my own personal life.