A Perfect Manhattan Murder

by Tracy Kiely

  Nigel winked at her again. “No, the stories about Skippy are all true. It’s the ones about the pony you need to ignore.”

  seventeen

  After Deborah left, I turned to Marcy. “What do you think?”

  She shook her head. “Nic, you know I can’t get into this with you right now.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess. Speaking of which, did you notice the wineglasses by the sink? They’ve been rinsed, but not very well. Looks like there’s some lipstick on one of them.”

  Marcy glanced over toward the sink. “Brian?” she said. “You want to bag those glasses for me?”

  Brian nodded and went in search of an evidence bag. Once he’d bagged the glasses, he went outside to give them to the Forensics team.

  “Any chance I can take a look at the bedroom?” I asked. “I won’t touch a thing. I promise.”

  Marcy sighed. “Fine. But be quick. Brian is going to give me hell for you being here as it is.”

  I nodded my thanks and headed for the bedroom. Nigel trailed behind me. Marcy stood in the doorway and watched us, her arms crossed against her chest. There was a queen bed in the center of the far wall flanked by twin nightstands. The sheets were rumpled and the black comforter hung off to one side. A medium-size chest of drawers was pushed up against the right wall. Pushed against the left wall was a desk, a laptop computer, and small filing cabinet. To the left of the manuscript sat a glass decanter. Nigel walked over to it and eyed the amber fluid curiously. “Can I open this?” he asked Marcy after a minute.

  “Nigel, I get that you enjoy your scotch and all, but really?” Marcy replied, her nose wrinkling in annoyance.

  Nigel rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to drink it, Marcy. I just want to smell it.” He glanced back at the decanter.

  “Why, what’s wrong with it?” I asked.

  Nigel tilted his head. “I don’t know. The color is off or something. It doesn’t look right.”

  “Well, you would certainly know,” I said to Nigel as I shot Marcy a questioning look.

  Marcy uncrossed her arms and crossed over to the desk. Slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves, she gingerly lifted up the glass topper. Nigel moved his head down toward the now open decanter but Marcy held up a hand to stop him. “Ladies first, if you don’t mind, Nigel. Or rather, detectives first,” she said. Bringing her nose up close to the opening, Marcy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. After a moment she inhaled again. She opened her eyes and peered at the liquid and then glanced up at Nigel. “I don’t smell anything odd,” she admitted, “but then, I don’t drink the stuff.”

  She stood up and moved away from the desk, waving Nigel in to her vacated spot as she did. Leaning over the decanter, Nigel briefly inhaled. His nose twitched in distaste and stood up quickly.

  “Well?” Marcy asked.

  “It’s not right,” Nigel said, staring down at the liquid.

  Marcy raised an eyebrow. “And you can tell that just by sniffing it?”

  Nigel tilted his head and shot her a level look. “Is that a serious question?” he asked.

  “Right,” she acknowledged with a small sigh. “Of course you can.”

  “Marcy? Are you in here?” Brian suddenly called out from the other room. A second later his dark head popped into view from around the doorjamb. His eyebrows drew together in obvious irritation at the sight of Nigel and me in the bedroom. “What the hell are they doing in here, Marcy?” he barked at her. “Jesus. The Captain will have our asses if he finds out about this.”

  “He won’t if it helps us solve this case faster,” Marcy said. “I can’t imagine that he’s going to enjoy the press’s reaction to the probable murder of a well-known theater critic. The sooner we solve this, the better it will be for everyone.”

  “Meaning what exactly?” Brian asked.

  “Meaning that I want this decanter taken in for testing,” Marcy answered. “I have it on good authority that there’s something off with the scotch.”

  Brian looked from Marcy to Nigel. Nigel winked. “Make that very good authority,” he said.

  eighteen

  Once Marcy and Brian finished their interview with Harper, Nigel and I insisted on seeing her home. We were all quiet on the ride back to her apartment, mainly because it’s hard to chat while a one-hundred-plus-pound bullmastiff is stretched across your lap. We had just stepped into the large foyer when a male voice from the other room called out, “Harpo? Is that you?”

  I looked over at Harper in surprise just as a man I guessed to be in his mid-twenties came around the corner. He was about six feet tall with broad shoulders and an athletic build. The dark brown hair on his head was thick and wavy; on his chiseled jawline was fine stubble. The only aspect of his appearance that didn’t suggest an ad in a men’s fitness magazine was the sleepy baby cradled in his arms. With her tuft of flaxen hair and large green eyes, it was clear that Gracie took after her mother.

  The man pulled up short when he saw us, his face pinched with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said to Harper. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  Harper waved away his apology. “It’s fine, Devin,” she said. “These are my friends I was telling you about, Nic and Nigel Martini. And, of course, their dog, Skippy.” Turning back to us, she added, “This is Devin Fitzgerald. He’s Gracie’s nanny.”

  Adroitly shifting Gracie to his left arm, Devin smiled and politely shook our hands. Refusing to be left out of the introductions, Skippy held out his paw as well. Devin gamely shook it too without comment.

  “I was just about to put Gracie down for her nap,” Devin said to Harper. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to stay, so I prepped all her bottles for later.”

  Harper smiled gratefully at him. Walking over to him, she scooped Gracie from his arms and snuggled her close. Gracie mewed and nestled her head into Harper’s neck. After a moment Harper said to Devin, “Would you mind terribly staying? I don’t know what more the police are going to want from me, and I would feel much better knowing she was with you.”

  Devin nodded immediately. “Of course I’ll stay. I’m happy to help. And again, I’m so sorry for … everything,” he said his eyes trained on her face. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Do the police have any idea what happened?”

  Harper shook her head and buried her face into Gracie’s little body. “No, not yet,” came her muffled reply.

  Devin started to respond when Gracie let out a tired cry. “I know that cry,” he said. “I probably should put her down for her nap.” Harper kissed Gracie’s cheek and handed her to Devin. He snuggled the little girl close, murmuring, “Come on, princess. Time for bed.”

  After blowing Gracie one last kiss, Harper led us into the living room. It was a comfortable room decorated in shades of cream and fawn, with overstuffed club chairs and a sectional couch. Books spilled haphazardly from a floor-to-ceiling bookcase; several more were stacked on a nearby mahogany writing desk. The walls were adorned with framed theater posters, many of which were signed by the cast.

  As soon as Nigel and I were seated on the suede couch, I shot Harper a look. “So Harpo, anything you want to share about your nanny?” I asked.

  Harper flushed but pretended not to understand my question. “Devin? He’s been a godsend. He’s so good with Gracie. He absolutely adores her.”

  “I don’t think she’s the only one he adores, Harper,” I said. “And I don’t think I’m going to be the only one who picks up on that.”

  Harper flushed even more. “Don’t be silly, Nic. Devin and I are close, yes, but that’s only because he’s been helping me with Gracie. For God’s sake, he seems fonder of her than her own father was.”

  “Yes, I caught that,” I said.

  Harper furrowed her eyebrows and leaned forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I took a deep breath
and blew it out. “Harper, I’m on your side here, okay? But I know how the police are going to look at this—at least initially. The spouse is always a suspect in a homicide. It’s just how it is.”

  Harper’s eyes opened wide and she leaned back. “Homicide? You think Dan was … murdered? On purpose?”

  “That’s usually how it’s done,” Nigel said not unkindly.

  “But … but why do you think it was murder?” she asked.

  “Call it a hunch. Dan was young and in good health, right?” I asked. Harper gave a cautious nod. “Well, in my experience, men his age don’t usually drop dead from natural causes.”

  “But why would someone kill Dan?” Harper asked. “I mean, he could be difficult, but murder? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. He did piss off some people with his review last night.”

  Harper shook her head. “But he does that practically every night—I mean, with his reviews,” she added quickly.

  I nodded. “I don’t doubt that. Maybe someone read one bad review too many and snapped. Or maybe it had nothing to do with his reviews.”

  Harper’s mouth pulled down into a frown. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that it might have something to do with why Dan’s apartment was stocked with tea,” I said gently.

  Harper sat very still for a moment and stared at the flower arrangement on the marble coffee table. “You think he was cheating on me?” she asked in a small voice after a moment.

  “I don’t know, honey,” I said honestly. “What do you think?”

  Harper stared at her hands and then said, “I think he was a complete and utter bastard.”

  “That is a sentiment that I completely agree with,” said Nigel as he leaned over and gently squeezed her hand, “but one that I think would be best left unshared with the police.”

  “Speaking of potential conversations with the police,” I said, “I image they’re going to want to know your whereabouts last night.”

  Harper’s head swung towards me, her mouth open in surprise. “I was here with Gracie.”

  “Just Gracie?” I asked.

  Harper opened her mouth and then shut it, her lips pressed together tightly. After a second, she nodded and said stiffly, “Yes, of course, just with Gracie.” When I didn’t respond right away, she asked, “Why? Is that a problem?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I wish someone else could testify that you were here all night.”

  “What are you suggesting, Nic?” Harper asked. “That I lugged my six-month-old daughter out in the middle of the night so I could murder my husband? That’s insane!”

  I stared at Harper a beat. “No, Harper,” I said. “It never occurred to me that you would do such a thing, and if I were you, I would also add that to the list of items you shouldn’t share with the police.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t leave her alone!” Harper continued a bit hysterically.

  I leaned forward a bit in my chair and took Harper’s hand. “Harper, I don’t believe anyone is going to think you left Gracie here alone. But I am afraid that the police might wonder if you left her with someone else.” I glanced meaningfully down the hallway where Devin had just disappeared.

  Harper sucked in her breath. “I don’t think I like where you’re going with this, Nic.”

  I sat back against the couch and spread out my hands. “Look, Harper. I know you. I know you didn’t kill Dan, but I’m not with the department anymore, okay? And I can tell you that if I didn’t know you, you’d be a strong suspect. You were unhappy in your marriage. You wanted a divorce but were worried about the lack of a prenup. Your husband was—apparently—entertaining someone at his apartment on a regular basis. And then there’s the little matter of the fact that your nanny seems to be smitten with you. A nanny, I might add, who looks like he’s stepped off the cover of GQ. Hell, if all nannies looked like him, there’d be a population explosion in this country.”

  Nigel crossed his leg and smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on his pants. “That’s all right,” he said, “just pretend I’m not here.”

  Harper and I did.

  “My point is,” I continued, “that you are going to be a suspect, and you have no alibi.”

  “But that’s not my fault,” Harper protested. “How was I to know that Dan was going to die? He stayed at that damn ‘work apartment’ more nights than not. Nothing ever happened before!”

  “I know, but last night it did,” I said. “And, like it or not, that might be a problem for you.”

  Devin suddenly appeared in the doorway. He glanced nervously at Harper and then to me. “I couldn’t help overhear what you were saying,” he said quietly. “It won’t be a problem.”

  “What won’t be a problem, Devin?” I asked, not knowing if I really wanted to hear the answer.

  “About Harpo—I mean Mrs. Trados—needing an alibi.” Devin stole another glance at Harper. She was looking up at him with wide eyes and silently shaking her head. “I was here last night,” Devin continued. He paused and then added, “All night. And Mrs. Trados never left the apartment.”

  “What?” Harper and I asked at the same time.

  Devin walked over to Harper. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a meaningful squeeze. “I know you didn’t want to involve me,” he said to her slowly as if he was cueing her for her next line, “but we have to tell the truth.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “And the truth is that you spent the night here?” I asked not trying to hide my doubt.

  Devin turned to me and met my gaze. “Yes,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Gracie is teething,” he answered smoothly. “It’s been hard on Har … Mrs. Trados, and I offered to stay so she could get some sleep.”

  “I see. Well, you certainly are dedicated to your job,” I said.

  Devin ducked his head. “Nothing … untoward happened. I just wanted to help. Mr. Trados wasn’t a very … a very hands-on father, and I could see that Mrs. Trados needed a break. Teething is a hard stage.”

  “Okay, first of all, no one says untoward anymore,” I said. “You might want to keep that in mind when you give your statement to the police. You sound like you just stepped out of a BBC period piece.” I looked at Harper. She wouldn’t meet my eye; instead she stared up at Devin. “Well, Harper?” I asked. “Is this true?”

  Harper said nothing for a beat as she and Devin shared some wordless exchange. Finally, she swallowed and turned back to me. “Yes, it’s true. Devin offered to stay last night, and I was so tired that I took him up on his offer. We were both here. All night.”

  She didn’t meet my eye as she said this and I wondered which I wanted to believe more—that Devin had spent the night or that he hadn’t.

  nineteen

  Soon after Devin’s announcement, Harper claimed the onset of a sudden headache. After excusing herself to go lie down, Nigel and I said our goodbyes to Devin and left as well. Standing on the sidewalk outside of Harper’s apartment and blinking up at the bright afternoon sun, I shook my head in frustration.

  “You look like I could use a drink,” Nigel said.

  “I get that a lot,” I replied.

  “Let’s go to that place on Fifth,” he suggested. “The one that Skippy likes.”

  “And which one is that again?” I asked.

  “I forget the name, but they serve those really good Bloody Marys.”

  “Oh, yes. I know the one you’re talking about,” I said. “However, I didn’t realize Skippy had developed such a discerning pallet for specialty drinks, especially as most days he prefers to drink out of the toilet.”

  Nigel shrugged. “I’ve been trying to broaden his horizons. Right now, he just likes to eat the olives, but I have every confidence that he’ll graduate to celery soon.”

 
“You’re a regular Henry Higgins.”

  Nigel winked. “Hey, look at what I did with you.”

  My phone began to ring just then, sparing Nigel a well-deserved smack to the back of his head. I glanced down at the screen; it was Peggy. I showed the readout to Nigel. “Why don’t you take the call over there,” Nigel said, pointing to a nearby bench. “I’ll see if I can’t find us some coffee.”

  I nodded and sat down before answering the phone. “Hey, Peggy,” I said.

  “Nic,” Peggy began in her typical breathless fashion. “Jesus, what a day it’s been! The matinee just got out, and I think everything went fine, but it was touch-and-go there for a moment. Guess, what happened?”

  “Actually, I …”

  “Oh, never mind. You’ll never guess, so I’ll just tell you. Nina never showed up this morning! Can you believe it? Just did not show up! I mean, her understudy was happy to step in, and Molly’s great and all, but I couldn’t believe it. I finally got ahold of Nina and do you know what she said?”

  “Peg, I need to …”

  “She was all apologies, saying how she’d been throwing up all night with some stomach bug, but if you ask me she didn’t show because she was still upset about Dan’s review. Not that I blame her, of course. What he said was pretty rotten, but still!”

  I tried again. “Peg, about Dan—”

  “Oh, I know,” said Peggy. “I shouldn’t have called him a jerk in front of Harper. I actually wanted to call him far worse than that, but I doubt that will count in my favor as an apology. But I was just so mad. I swear, sometimes I want to kill him.”

  “Yeah, you really shouldn’t say that,” I began, but Peggy kept going.

  “I know, I know,” she said with a huff. “You don’t need to say it. Evan already gave me the lecture. Don’t worry. I plan on apologizing to her right away. I just hope Dan didn’t hear me. That man can hold a grudge”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” I said.

  “What about Harper?” Peggy asked. “I’ve been trying to call her all morning, but she’s not answering her phone. I guess she’s pretty mad at me, huh?”