'Ah yes, I'm from Christie's, in London. I'm here to evaluate Mr. Carbinicci's vast art collection.' His eyes locked on to my cleavage like a dog spying a meaty bone as I wiped away the last of the champagne with a finger.
I didn't mind the odd glance. In fact, I found the experience somewhat refreshing. However, this guy was headed for a slap if he continued to openly ogle my breasts.
'May I say, your necklace is truly stupendous, a beautiful work of art.' He smiled. 'Absolutely breathtaking! May I?' he asked. He reached out to inspect it more closely with his hands.
'Ah, and there I was thinking that you were admiring my bodywork,' I replied. I was relieved. He looked down at my cleavage and I watched as the penny slowly dropped and his cheeks began to redden.
'Oh! Goodness me. No, was I, did I? Oh, dear Lord!' he stammered and averted his gaze. 'No. I can assure you, I was just admiring your necklace,' he replied.
'That's okay,' I said. I didn't realize how quickly I could embarrass him. 'Most boys normally ignore the tinsel and baubles and go straight for the gifts under the tree, tearing at the wrapper to get at whatever is inside,' I said. I laughed and hoped I could lighten his embarrassment. Ah well, so much for British humor. This guy was about as stiff as an ironing board and just as entertaining.
'Let me see about replenishing your glass,' he said. He took hold of my empty glass and scanned the room for a waiter carrying a drinks' tray. He either had a lousy sense of direction or had used the excuse to put a few miles between us. I think the latter. I let out a sigh of relief as I watched him mingle with the other guests.
'Drink, madam?' a waiter asked. He lowered his tray to a more appropriate height so I could view the whole selection.
'Ah yes, thank you. Yummy!' I replied as I took a sip from one of the glasses.
'Louise, Louise!' Rota yelled. She beckoned me to join her. 'Come and meet Tony,' she said. She grabbed my hand and led me through a throng of people to... oh my God! 'Tony, allow me to introduce Louise Deveraux.'
'Hello Louise and thank you, Lord!' the old crooner said. He smiled. He clasped his hands in prayer and took both my hands in his. He raised each one and gently kissed it. His eyes never left mine as I stared back in awe.
For some reason, I felt flushed and hot, a little giddy as the room tilted forward for a brief moment. 'Is it hot in here or is it just me?' I asked.
'Louise, they tell me that you're a famous writer,' Tony said. 'I must admit, having now met you, I'll be sure to lay my hands on every book you've written.' He smiled and raised my hands to kiss them once again. He stared adoringly at my face.
Suddenly, everything seemed surreal, as if I were floating. All that I could hear was the opening lines to that all familiar song, 'I left my heart in San Francisco.'
'Okay, okay. Let's give the lady some air people!' a voice yelled. The blurry images started to make some sense. 'How are you feeling?
'I'm okay. Did I faint?'
'How is she?' Rota asked. I could hear worried tones in her voice.
'She'll be fine. She just went a little dizzy, nothing serious,' the voice remarked. He half-knelt at my side. His hand held my wrist to check my pulse.
'Are you a doctor?' I asked. His eyes looked familiar.
'Yes, my dear,' he replied. 'Now, when you're ready, I'm going to help you stand and the two of us are going to take a short stroll outside, freshen you up a little and then you'll be as good as new. So, when you're ready,' he said. He held out his arm so I could link mine through his for support. 'When was the last time you ate?' he asked.
The cool night air had the same effect as a damp face cloth and covered my arms in goose bumps.
'Oh, lunchtime, I think,' I replied.
'It might be wise for you to have something a little more substantial next time, especially if you plan to have champagne. Otherwise, I suggest you stick to mineral water.'
'Well, thank you for your arm, kind sir and I will heed your advice.' My arm rested on his as we re-entered the building. I looked at him again.
He smiled. 'Just be sure you stick to the mineral water,' he said. 'Sit here for a bit and catch your breath.' He led me to a chair before walking away.
I'd seen that smile somewhere before and the eyes. I shook my head to clear away the cobwebs. I must be hallucinating because I could swear that doctor had the same eyes, the same smile... I needed to check just to be sure. I could swear he was the image of my dead husband.
I interrupted one of the guests close by, 'Excuse me, did you see which way the doctor went?'
'Sorry, no,' she replied.
I looked around the room to spot him among the throng. He'd vanished into thin air.
'Ah, there you are. How are you feeling?' Rota asked. I could hear that worried tone in her voice again.
'I'll be fine, trust me. I intend to grab something to eat and stick to mineral water for the rest of the evening,' I said.
'Leave that to me,' she replied. She signaled one of the waiters.
'Do you know who that doctor was?' I asked.
'Doctor? I don't think that we have a doctor,' she said. 'Did you need us to call one?' she asked. She grabbed my hand and looked at my face.
'No, I'm fine, honest! I just thought that he looked familiar,' I said.
'You sit there and don't you move. I'll be back shortly with something for you to eat.' She stepped away and then stopped to give me a sideways glance, as if I'd just taken a long draw on a green cigar.
The music was provided by a small orchestra. It resonated around the room as couples mingled or chatted with one another. It looked and felt like an embassy ball and some of those present would, I'm sure, feel right at home given their current surroundings.
'Hi, I'm Ted Delano,' a voice said. He was a huge gorilla of a man with a square cut jaw, masculine chest and, dare I say, bone crushing thighs. Of course, there was no guarantee that any of it was actually real.
'Hi right back at you, Ted, I'm Louise Deveraux,' I said as I held out my hand. He helped me to my feet. 'Judging by the looks of you I'd say you were an athlete, a football player?' I asked as I looked up at this huge hunk of testosterone.
'Got it in one. Kind of hard to hide, I guess,' he said. His seven foot high frame towered over my five foot five form.
'Which team do you play for?' I asked. I knew absolutely nothing about football, or any other sport for that matter.
'Yeah, no... I just got the quarter-back position with the Giants,' he said. He smiled broadly, obviously pleased with his new contract.
'Well, you're definitely a giant, that's for sure.'
'Are you here with your husband or did you come alone?' he asked.
'I buried my beloved husband a few months ago and no, I didn't come alone. I came with a girlfriend, an acquaintance, to be more precise,' I replied. I sensed this guy was about to hit on me, or at least try.
'Ah, right, well, good for you,' he said. He stared at the floor. He was uneasy as he shifted from one foot to the other. The entire range of his conversational skills with women hinged on well practiced pick-up lines.
'I'm sure that there are plenty of single girls here, though,' I remarked. I looked around the room in the hope that I might spot someone suitable.
'Well, anyway, I'm sorry for your loss, but it was nice meeting you.' He pointed a finger and I looked to see that he had spied a group of young women who might better enjoy his foreplay.
'Okay, I've managed to put a few nibbles together for you,' Rota said. She beamed a smile my way as she placed a plate of mini sandwiches in my hand. 'Now, you sit there for just a moment. I just need to have a quick word with Carl. I'll be two minutes.' She waited until I sat down again and began to eat before she started to walk away.
'That's fine, I'll still be here when you get back,' I replied. I watched Rota as she tried to sidestep a host of people who felt obliged to introduce her to a variety of socialites.
'Excuse me, but are you not Louise Deveraux, the author?' a gentlem
an asked. I looked up to see a couple approach.
'Yes, the very same,' I replied. I put the plate of sandwiches on the seat beside me and dusted my hands free of crumbs.
'I'm sorry, my wife is reputed to be one of your biggest fans,' he said. He urged his wife forward.
'Please, take a seat,' I lifted the plate so that she could sit beside me. 'So, which book in particular sparked your enthusiasm?' I asked.
'Oh, I so enjoyed your first, Calliope. I do so enjoy a good murder mystery, but then you were so naughty by adding a double twist at the end.' She gesticulated a swirling motion with her hand before it finally came to rest on my wrist.
'Jenny was so convinced that she knew who the murderer was, but then...' His explanation was cut short by his wife who was determined to keep my attention captivated.
'I do so love a good Agatha Christie,' she said. 'She is such a minx. Have you read any of her books?' she asked.
'Actually, no. Most of my stories come from dreams.'
'My dear,' she said with a gasp, 'you could be psychic!' Her hand closed gently around my wrist. 'The things you write about might have actually happened.'
'I'm sure they did,' I replied.
'Oh, you poor child.' She sighed heavily and added a tut-tut to emphasize her feelings, 'to think that you actually suffer for your art.' She removed her hand from my wrist to pat my hand. She had such a comforting presence.
'Well, I'm thinking of retiring from writing.' My suggestion had a sudden and unexpected impact, as if I'd just slapped her face.
'Oh my dear, but you just can't stop. That would be like a death in the family,' she said. 'Oh, please excuse me, I didn't mean...' She stopped and clasped a hand to her mouth.
'That's okay, I understand.'
'Your books may not be up there,' she replied, 'but I'm sure you give so much pleasure to millions of others. Those so called critics can be so fickle, pompous even. In any case, what do they know?' Her face changed yet again as she smiled and winked at me.
'I'll give it some thought, maybe rethink the future,' I said.
'You dream about it my dear, dream about the story that will change your life forever,' she said. She patted my hand once again and looked up at her husband.
To be quite honest I was lost in her words dreaming up a new novel, when I noticed Rota. She beckoned me to join her.
'Will you excuse me?' I asked. I motioned to Rota and then stood to my feet.
'You're far too important, to us all,' her husband said.
I must admit, I hadn't considered the many who read my books. She was right, though. I needed to carefully consider the future, I thought, as I made my way across the room. I felt a little Déjàvu travel through me. I could have sworn that gentleman was the doctor who attended to me earlier who looked like...
'You look serious my dear, is everything alright?' Rota asked.
'What? No, I mean yes, I just had an interesting conversation with...' I said. The couple had now melted into the crowd. 'Anyway, I'm here, somewhere.'
'There's someone special, someone who has asked to meet you,' she replied. She took me by the hand as if to reassure me that all was well and led me down a corridor. She stopped and knocked on an ornate and rather heavy oak door.
Carlos
This was it. The door was opened by a big, burly man. He was dressed in a tuxedo and he stood to attention when he saw Rota.
'Ms. Deveraux, for Mr. Carbinicci,' she said. She put a hand in the small of my back and nudged me to movement.
My heart pounded in my chest as I walked through the large doorway. My mouth went dry and then filled with saliva, while my stomach went through the spin cycle. Now was not the time, nor the place, to throw up on the carpet.
The sound of the door closing behind me sent a shiver racing up my spine. I was overawed by the hallway in which I found myself if, indeed, you could call it a hallway. It was more like an avenue with pillars along its length on either side and beautiful paintings, mostly portraits, in the recesses between the pillars. Of course, not too many avenues come complete with statuesque muscle men standing in front of them. These, however, were real and they carried weapons. I could tell by the bulges under their tuxedo jackets. They were stoic and resolute and put me on edge.
The glass canopy set into the roof allowed huge palm trees to thrive and gave light enough to cast shadows making the whole promenade seem rather eerie. With each step on the deep, plush, claret carpet, my nerves jangled and wrapped themselves around and up my spine before sounding loud, piercing warning tones in my head. I stopped breathing as blackness enveloped me.
I woke with a headache and realized I had passed out. I could only surmise it was the adrenaline counteracting the champagne as I neared the doorway to Carbinicci's inner sanctum.
My eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the dim light of the room. A single desk lamp with its tinted green shade was lit and muted the ambience of the room. A small fire was burning in the fireplace. I could just about make out the window, along with the long heavy drapes before I spotted the outline of a man. He had his back towards me and gazed out of the window.
I sat up. I was woozy and held my head in my hands to regain my senses.
'Ah, Louise,'a man's voice said. His voice was like an earthquake, deep and resonant. I looked through my fingers to witness his approach. 'You have had quite an evening. I am glad to see that you are recovered. Please eat some food and regain yourself and I will pour tea.'
He gestured to a platter on the table beside me. Cucumber sandwiches and an assortment of fresh fruit adorned the platter and a waiter materialized from somewhere and placed a napkin on my lap. He then poured tea and promptly left. I looked around the room to see what I was missing.
'Relax, Louise,'he said. 'You are safe. I promise.' He took a sip of tea and sat back. 'Let me put you at ease. My name is Carlos Carbinicci, Carl to my close friends. I am aware that you have suffered terribly in the past few weeks. Losing your husband in that crash and then witnessing a murder within hours of arriving in New York City. I know how distressed you must be.'
'Then why did you kill that man?' I asked. I couldn't help myself. It all came tumbling out of my mouth, between crumbs of bread, and I needed to have it explained.
'Me? Really, me?' he asked. 'I can only surmise that you are confused and unclear with what you witnessed. I was at a brunch function with fifty other guests, I can assure you. I had nothing to do with that man's demise.'
'But I saw you there.' I said. 'You didn't hit him to knock him out... no. The gorilla you were with did. You didn't push his body over the side of the building... no. But, the gorilla you were with took your instruction and did. I know what I saw.' I was livid and quite sick to my stomach. I could feel bile rising and had to swallow back the urge to vomit. I took a sip of tea.
'Louise, Louise... you are getting yourself worked up for nothing, really,' he said. 'I know who the man was and he was not honorable. He was a common thief. But, once again, I assure you I was nowhere near where he was killed.' He leaned toward me and patted my knee. 'Things like this that happen in this city are sometimes the only way that justice is served. It is nothing for you to trouble yourself over. Sometimes, odd and unfortunate accidents happen.'
'But...'
'No buts. Now, let me tell you what I know about you, and please correct me if I'm wrong,' he said. He captured my gaze and began. 'A modest, yet somewhat successful writer, recently widowed, to which I again offer my condolences, two adorable children and two charming grandchildren. I also know how you would wish to see your next project flourish. That is why I have asked you here, simply that and nothing more,' he replied.
He reminded me of the Cheshire Cat. He spoke in riddles and innuendo, smiled that smile of deceptive assurance and slipped in and out of focus with the timbre of his voice and the facade that shifted from concern and safe overtones to deep and dangerous undertones in seconds. I felt cornered and out of my depth.
'How do you
know about my next project? I haven't mentioned it to anyone. I haven't even made up my mind about that project yet.' I said.
'Oh, but you will, and we do so want to ensure that your children and grandchildren remain safe within the family,' he said. He smiled another Cheshire Cat smile. 'It is a brutal world, out there, where all sorts of interesting mishaps can happen.'
His choice of words made it quite clear to me the meaning behind them. He knew I understood. I could see it in his eyes. They were fixed upon me and their steely gaze made my spine turn to ice. I shivered.
'I already have all the family I need,' I said.
'Let me be clear, dear Louise.'
I sat back with a jolt as the reality of the situation became clear. The devil danced before my eyes in the form of Carlos Carbinicci. I would have to be very careful.
'I have offended you, have I not?' he asked. 'I am truly sorry. I use the word 'family' loosely. You must understand that. I am a businessman, a successful one. I come from a modest background and, since I have no siblings of my own, I tend to gather people around me as if they are my family.' He lowered his gaze and sighed.
I had seen this game before. My grandchildren used it on me a few times in an attempt to plead their innocence and vulnerability. I would not be drawn in by this man.
'We know that you want to be part of a Well Health Foundation, to provide a variety of services to people to help them feel good about themselves. We merely want to ensure that you profit in all that you do. With my help, and that of the family, I can help you in ways that you would otherwise struggle to achieve,' he said. 'If you tried to open such a business here in New York, you would fail before you even began without the generous help of the family.'
'I think what you are really saying is that you are prepared to buy my silence for not going to the authorities and reporting a murder,' I replied.
'Silence?' he asked. He cocked his head back and laughed aloud. 'No my dear, silence of one sort or another can be afforded in so many other ways, although I have never personally had to kill a woman to obtain her complete and utter silence,' he said. His tone altered slightly as if he were offering a veiled threat to substantiate his authority on the subject. 'I am not a barbaric man.'
Witness to a Murder Page 2
