Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design)

by Jean Harrington

  Not a single valid excuse in the lot. Not for a professional.

  “Be right back,” I said, hurrying out to the alley.

  Driving the Bentley proved more complicated than I expected. After a few lurchy fits and starts, I rolled the beast around to the rear of the building, parked and went back inside. Lee had arrived with my Starbucks lifesaver.

  “They gave me a giant black Sumatra, but only charged me for a large.” She handed me a tall cup. “I think the boy behind the counter was just being nice.”

  “Not surprising.” Francesco eyed her appreciatively as I handed him his keys.

  The cornflower blue dress matched her eyes. In blue with her blond hair cascading over her shoulders and a face like a Botticelli Venus, she would be a sensation in Paris. I could hardly wait to tell her what Rossi had wrought. But first Francesco.

  “I’ll split my coffee with you,” I told him, hoping he’d refuse.

  “Deal! Jewels didn’t make any this morning. Makes her gag.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  “Yeah, poor kid. But she don’t complain. She’s got the right name.”

  I nodded and poured half my Sumatra blend into a plastic cup and gave it to him. We sipped in amiable silence for a few minutes and then I said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  “That’s what I’m here for. I want to get this house stuff settled.” Again that cloud across his face. “As soon as they release Donny, Jewels and I are heading for Providence with his body. We’re laying him next to our nonno. It’s what they’d both want.” His eyes filmed over, but to my relief no tears leaked out.

  “Lieutenant Rossi’s one of the best detectives in the world,” I said. “If anybody can find out who...ah—”

  “—stiffed Donny,” Francesco finished.

  “Yes, well, Rossi can,” I ended somewhat lamely. How did anybody talk to this guy? I had to change the subject. “Have you ever heard of Zuber wallpaper?”

  He shook his head. “No. What’s it like?”

  “Expensive.”

  “Good. I don’t like cheap.”

  I guess he wasn’t so hard to talk to after all, and as Lee took off for the post office, I wasted no further time getting down to business.

  All was go, go, go. I had seldom had a client who grasped design concepts as quickly as Francesco did. He adored the Zuber murals and understood the wisdom of neutral surfaces in the living room and a vivid effect in the dining room. He agreed that the new case goods—primarily chairs and sofas—should be comfortable but minimalist. He even okayed a glass coffee table, realizing it wouldn’t vie for visual space with his antiques.

  He was a dream client.

  The ashes of roses toile paper for his baby daughter’s bedroom with a rose and green silk canopy over the crib fascinated him. Ditto for the nautical-themed cobalt blue and taupe scheme for little Frannie’s room. He even laughed, delighted at the idea of spelling out Frannie’s name with semaphore flags and hanging them over his crib. Every detail of the children’s rooms he approved, right down to the custom-designed carpeting by Stark.

  “I like your spin on the preppy colors for the kids’ rooms,” he said. “No Pepto-Bismol pink and no wimpy blue. So far terrific. Now what about the workshop?”

  “The workshop? I don’t rem—oh...the master bedroom suite.”

  “Yeah, where Jewels and me hang out together.”

  “In there you need both yin and yang,” I said, sliding another presentation board across the drafting table.

  His brow furrowed. “Who the hell are they?”

  “The male-female principles.”

  He grinned. “Sounds about right.”

  Ignoring the grin, I soldiered on in my best starchy Boston manner. “I envisioned your private suite as serene.”

  His eyes narrowed. I guess serene isn’t the word normally applied to his workshop. “I see it as largely monochromatic,” I added.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean yes. You supply the color with the force of your, ah, personality.”

  “Got it!”

  No question, he had mentally substituted the word sex for color, but whatever works.

  “So in keeping with a serene atmosphere, I see the bedroom wall treatments in a pale shade of almond.”

  As if a switch had been thrown, Francesco’s mood changed. “Almond, huh?” he said, frowning. “You know Donny was poisoned?”

  I nodded. “The lieutenant told me what happened.”

  “Cyanide. I got a whiff of it when I bent over Donny. At least it smelled like almonds to me.”

  Uh-oh.

  “So I got a favor to ask. Call that bedroom color beige or something. Anything but almond.”

  “Of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  “You’re not insensitive. You’re just not up on your poisons.” He took a linen handkerchief from a back pocket and wiped his eyes. “Poisoned. In my own house. My own kitchen. He ate my shrimp. So what does that tell you?”

  “That he died by mistake?” I whispered. “Somebody wanted to kill you?”

  Francesco ran the handkerchief over his eyes. “Yeah. Looks like somebody got the wrong boy.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill you?”

  He shrugged. “Like I told the lieutenant, I got no enemies. But Donny, yeah, he made a few. All’s I know is I’m never getting over it. Donny was family.”

  “Time helps, Francesco. It really does. I know that from personal experience. And now you have a new family.”

  He smiled and put away the hanky. “I do and I don’t. Jewels is scared to death. When we get to Rhode Island, she wants to stay there with Frannie until this business is settled. I don’t want her to but she can’t eat, she can’t sleep.”

  “Well, for a while that might be best.”

  He nodded and pointed to the presentation board. “Let’s hear the rest of this yin and yang stuff. I gotta get home and make some phone calls.”

  I pointed to the drawing of the king-sized bed. “The al—uh...ivory upholstery on the headboard is for serenity. It’s soft and quiet, the yin principle. To emphasize the masculine element, the yang, we’ll keep all the fabrics tailored. No ruffles, no frills. Greek key appliqués on the bed and window treatments, in Windsor Blue, and on the ivory carpeting as well. But the Greek motif on the carpet will be much larger. We’ll exaggerate it, make it dramatic.”

  “I like it all. Every damn thing.”

  With that he stood and stuck out a hand. I took it—warm and sweaty though it was—and we shook on the deal.

  “A handshake’s usually enough for the guys I do business with, but I won’t put you to the test.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a single piece of paper. A blank check.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and swiveled the daylights out of the ergonomic chair.

  “How much to start?” he asked.

  “The Zuber paper is nonreturnable and nonrefundable.”

  “So?” Pen poised over the check he waited.

  “Fifty thousand to be on the safe side.”

  He didn’t bat an eye. “What else?”

  “I need to put half down on the case goods. So that’s another twenty-five. Kustom Kitchens will bill you directly for the kitchen and bathroom installations. That leaves the orientals, the artwork and the accessories. But those can be taken out on approval and returned if need be.”

  “One hundred thousand to start?”

  “That should be enough.”

  He scribbled in small tight handwriting and slid the check across to me. “We’re doing a classic take on the house, which is what I want. But no fake ancestor pictures. You know, the ones with the stiff-looking guys in black suits.”

  “You don’t care for them?”

  “Do I look like my people came over on the Mayflower?” He scoffed. “Like Norm’s?”

  I laughed and locked the check in the drafting table drawer. “I’m taking the Fifth, Francesco.”


  “Smart broa—lady.”

  “Instead of portraits, how about landscapes? You could start a Hudson River collection. Echo the Zuber scene, establish a theme.”

  “Sounds good. I like woods. Show me a few. Now I gotta go. Jewels don’t like being alone these days.”

  “Isn’t Bonita with her?”

  “I gave her a check and let her go. At least for the time being. I don’t want to see anybody else get hurt. Besides, she was in the kitchen that night.” He shrugged. “She lost her husband, and now Donny’s dead. I figure if she hates my guts who could blame her?”

  Who indeed?

  “Chip and that salad girl won’t be back either. Not till we get the goods on whoever did it.”

  I stared him straight in the eye. “I was there that night. What about me?”

  He shook his head. “You got no beef with me. Same for the lieutenant. The other two, that’s different. But I’m trying to make it up to Chip. The money he found is his. I’m not going after it. The restaurant was one thing. I would have helped him rebuild. But a poisoning? Who the hell will eat in his restaurant after that?”

  “He didn’t do it,” I said, more out of affection than certainty.

  “You guaranteeing that?”

  “Sorry, Francesco, no guarantees. That’s why it’s so nice of you to let him keep the money.”

  “Yeah, it’s his as long as nobody else comes after it. You don’t stash money in walls without a reason. And here’s a guarantee—the reason ain’t good.” He treated me to the shadow of a smile. “Hey, maybe Chip’ll get lucky. According to the lieutenant, the money’s been there a long time. The guy who stashed it might not be around anymore.”

  “Then it’s Chip’s and that’s a good thing. He needs it. Thanks for looking out for him, Francesco.”

  “No sweat.” He stood and pulled the car keys out of his pocket.

  “You want me to drive you home? My assistant will be back in a few minutes. She can follow us in my car.”

  “How can I learn if I don’t practice?”

  Who could argue with logic like that? Well, I could have, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  After he lurched off I sat at the drafting table for a moment mulling over our conversation. Then, feeling like a complete rat, I called the Naples police. To the deep voice that answered, I said, “There’s a black Bentley limousine heading west on Fifth Avenue South. The man behind the wheel doesn’t have a driver’s license. He needs to be stopped.”

  “Your name?”

  “That’s unimportant. Just stop him before he kills somebody.”

  I hung up telling myself I had done the right thing. And that if Francesco found out, I could kiss the hundred thousand dollar check goodbye—before I even cashed it.

  Despite all, I hoped I could keep him as a client. When finished, the house would be a showstopper, and his willingness to pay upfront with no haggling and no argument was just what Deva Dunne Interiors needed. In short, he was a godsend. He’d impressed me in so many ways...his taste in interior design, his generosity, his good spirits, and up till now anyway, the fact that he didn’t take offense easily. He could have over my almond gaffe, but all he’d said was, “You don’t know your poisons.”

  Right, I didn’t. I swiveled around to the computer, and working fast, while the shop was empty, I entered the Wikipedia site and typed in cyanide.

  A few minutes later I sat stunned in front of the screen, my mouth rounding into an O. Omigod. No wonder Rossi went on full alert when Nikhil told him Cookie’s family had been in the jewelry business. Cyanide was used in the gold plating process.

  Before Daddy sold the plant, had Cookie helped herself to some poison?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Hey, did you call the cops on me?”

  Francesco. Oh God, why hadn’t I just let the phone ring?

  “Where are you?”

  “Never mind that. Answer the question. Yes or no.”

  I blew out a breath. There went the Rum Row house, the hundred thou, the chance to lift Deva Dunne Interiors out of the red.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to sound confident.

  “Thought so. I no sooner go around the corner, the cops are swarming all over me. What did you do that for?”

  “I was afraid you’d kill yourself.” I didn’t bother to mention the public at large.

  “You were, huh?” A moment of silence. “You were saving my life?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “You know what I like about you, Deva?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “You don’t lie to me. So in case you’re wondering, go ahead and cash the check.”

  “Thanks, Francesco, I will. Now maybe you’ll tell me where you are.”

  “I’m in the goddamn police station, waiting for my lawyer to give me a ride home.”

  I stifled a laugh. “I’ll be in touch soon,” I said and hung up, shaking my head.

  You really had to love the guy. No wonder he had no enemies. But he admitted Donny had. Hmm. Did that include the two guys in suits AudreyAnn mentioned? She said they’d talked about Francesco. Something else Rossi needed to know.

  I was on the phone with the painter setting up a meeting at the Grandeses when Lee walked in from the post office.

  “The line stretched all the way out the door,” she said. “I declare, everybody in town had a package to ship.”

  I cradled the receiver. “Lee, please sit down. I have something to tell you.”

  My tone must have scared her. A stone sinking into a pond, she dropped onto the little gold Chiavari chair by my desk. “What’s wrong?” Her face paled to a frightening shade of white. “Is it Paulo?”

  “No, no. I mean yes. Yes!”

  With eyes like alarmed blue pools, she sat statue still waiting for the axe to fall.

  God, I was bungling this badly. “You’re going to Paris. Rossi’s making the arrangements.”

  A light leaped into her eyes, and she went to rise, but her legs gave way, and she fell back onto the seat. “I don’t understand.”

  “Watch my lips move. You. Are. Going. To. Paris.”

  “That can’t be true.” Her fingers gripped the edge of the bureau plat, clinging to the wood as if it were a life raft. “Y’all are playing games with me.”

  “You know I wouldn’t do that. It’s true. I’ll miss you terribly, but think of what’s ahead. Paulo. Paris.” I spread my arms wide. “The world!”

  She remained scary white, her lips trembling, looking so stricken I hoped she wouldn’t faint.

  “But I have no money,” she said, her voice a whisper.

  “It’s Rossi’s gift to you. A plane ticket and enough to live on for a year.”

  She stared at me, unbelieving, her whole body rigid. “Paulo and I can’t accept a gift like that.”

  “Rossi will be crushed. You can’t refuse. You’ll hurt his feelings. Terribly,” I added, knowing that would cement the deal. Lee would never hurt a living soul, not if she could help it.

  A smile tugged at her lips, broke free and swept clear to her eyes. Her whole face aglow, she leaped up and hugged me. “I’m going to see Paulo?”

  “Yes, yes and yes.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as you give Rossi the word.”

  “Oh, I will. I will! I’ll call him right this minute!” She danced a little jig around the display tables, jostling one in her excitement, just catching a teetering glass candlestick in the nick of time. “Forgive me, Deva, I’m so excited.”

  “That’s the nicest part,” I said, the smile on my own face beaming at two women who came in to browse. They must have felt very welcomed; they stayed nearly an hour and bought a pair of mirrored sconces and a hand-painted tray. Before they left, one said the interior of her house had the “blahs.” Would I make an appointment to come take a look? I certainly would and did. Yippee, a new design client!

  Between customers, Lee texted her happy news to Paulo an
d received an instant reply. She blushed a rosy red and didn’t share the message, but I could guess what it said.

  At five o’clock a beat-up Mustang rolled down the alley and moments later the Yarmouthport sleigh bells jangled like it was Christmas.

  At the sight of Rossi, Lee burst into tears. He stood inside the door, his hand on the knob as if he weren’t sure whether to stay or leave.

  I turned the sign in the window to Closed and snapped off the overheads.

  “Lee is absolutely thrilled,” I told him.

  “I can see that,” he said wryly.

  “Oh I am, Mr. Rossi, I am. It’s just that I’m so beholden to you. Paulo is too. We both are,” she finished, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “But we’ll repay you. Every penny. Just as soon as we’re able. Paulo said to tell y’all that. I’ll get me a job as soon as I can speak a little French.”

  Rossi let go of the door handle and stepped into the shop. “Don’t worry about that. Consider the money a gift.”

  “No, sir, we simply couldn’t.”

  I smiled inwardly. The iron man meets the steel magnolia. Rossi shrugged resignedly and said, “How about an alternate plan then? Maybe Paulo can paint Deva’s portrait for me someday. I’d like that. You know, to look at and talk to.”

  Lee grinned at me through her happy tears, no doubt remembering our conversation about Paulo’s first big commission.

  Looking sheepish, as if he’d given too much away, Rossi changed the subject. “So, young lady, when do you want to leave for France?”

  “As soon as I can, Mr. Rossi. Just as soon as I can.”

  He laughed. “I’ll go online tonight and buy you a ticket on the first plane to Paris.”

  We locked up, and Lee left for Surfside in my Audi. Rossi and I swung by the SunTrust Bank to deposit the day’s receipts then headed for his place in Countryside. As he drove, I snuggled next to him, a hand on his thigh.

  “You created a lot of happiness today, Rossi.”

  Violating his rule of never taking his attention off the road—though actually he’d been doing that quite a bit lately—he glanced over at me.

  “I hope that trend continues. There’s something you need to know.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  He nodded, his attention back on the road. “I should have told you sooner. The money I’m giving Lee is the money I was saving for Hawaii.” He cleared his throat. “I was kind of hoping we could go together sometime. But after this, Honolulu’s out for a while.”