4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly

by Lois Winston

  I scooped up Ralph and deposited him in his cage in the den. Then I returned to the kitchen, hoisted Mephisto into my arms and shut him in the den with Ralph. After taking another deep breath but not bothering with pasting on a smile this time, I marched into the dining room.

  Seated around the table, I found Alex, Nick, and Ira continuing to discuss batting averages and pitching stats. Mama and Lawrence gazed starry-eyed at each other while sharing a slice of cherry pie a la mode. Lucille, head down, rapidly shoveled enormous forkfuls of the dessert into her mouth. A set of twin girls sat texting while a younger boy played a handheld video game. A half-empty container of Turkey Hill vanilla ice cream sat melting in the middle of the table.

  No one seemed to notice me. I cleared my throat. “Good evening.”

  “Nice to see you finally made it home,” said Mama, tearing her gaze from Lawrence. “These are Ira’s children, dear.” She waved in the direction of the boy and girls as she rattled off their names, “Melody, Harmony, and Isaac. Children, this is your Aunt Anastasia.”

  I didn’t receive so much as a nod of recognition from any of them. Their attention continued fixated on their mini-screens while their fingers flew across keyboards and controls, each stroke punctuated by those bleeps, dings, and swooshes.

  “Children, say hello to your aunt,” said Mama.

  I glanced at my sons. Alex mouthed, “I told you so,” while Nick rolled his eyes. They previously had the misfortune of spending a day with Ira’s kids, and that in itself had been reason enough for me to keep postponing this get-together.

  Taking matters into my own hands, I walked up behind Ira’s three kids and whipped the phones and video game out of their hands before they realized what was happening.

  “Hey!” yelled the girls in unison.

  “Give that back,” shouted the boy.

  “Phones and video games are not allowed at the dinner table,” I said.

  “Dad! Make her give my phone back,” demanded one of the girls.

  “She has no right,” said the other.

  The boy jumped out of his chair, knocking it over behind him, as he grabbed for his Game Boy. “Give it back, bitch!”

  Mama gasped.

  “Isaac, apologize at once!” said Lawrence.

  “You’re not my real grandfather. I don’t have to do what you tell me.”

  Lucille stopped shoveling food into her mouth and speared Ira with a narrow-eyed glare. “My Isidore would never have such insolent grandchildren. You can’t possibly be his son.”

  Ira glanced first at his kids, then at the rest of us, seemingly unable to speak. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. Granted, the man was overwhelmed raising three young kids, but he desperately needed to grow a backbone.

  Silence descended on the room. “Jump in any time, Ira.” I finally said.

  He cleared his throat. “Anastasia is right. You shouldn’t be texting or playing games during dinner,” he told his children.

  “Since when?” asked one of the girls, Harmony or Melody. I didn’t have a clue which was which.

  “We do it at home,” said the other.

  “She’s not my mother,” said the boy. “I don’t have to listen to her.”

  “My house, my rules,” I said.

  “Fuck you!” He made one more futile attempt at grabbing his Game Boy from my hands. When that failed, he ran from the dining room, through the living room, and out the front door, slamming it so hard the dishes on the table rattled. A moment later, his sisters followed him out in the same manner, but both first tossed me a third finger salute.

  “Ira, you’ve got to do something about those children,” said Lawrence. “They’re totally out of control.”

  “They’re only acting out because they’ve lost their mother,” said Ira.

  “Two years ago. Stop using that as an excuse. You’ve got to set rules and make them abide by them. Trust me, you’ll regret it later if you don’t do something now.”

  I wondered if Lawrence spoke from personal experience, given the way Cynthia turned out.

  “Well, that went well,” said Mama. “Don’t you think you were a bit harsh, dear?”

  This was my fault? “I’m just getting started, Mama. Since you went behind my back and organized this dinner party, you can clean up. I’m leaving. When I return, I expect to find my kitchen in the state I left it this morning.” With that, I headed back through the kitchen, out the back door, and up the garage steps.

  Zack opened the door before I knocked. “I’ve had a really bad day,” I said, collapsing into his arms. “How about you?”

  He drew me into the apartment and closed the door. “Want to talk about it?”

  All of it? Did I? I knew what Zack would say about my newest side job. He’d lecture me and try to talk me out of investigating Philomena’s death. I sighed. “Not all of it, but you’ll probably wheedle it out of me anyway, so we might as well get it over with now.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Trust me. You’ll like it even less once you know more about it.”

  He grabbed a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the refrigerator and poured two glasses, carrying them to the sofa. “Out with it,” he said.

  I placed the Game Boy and the phones on the coffee table. Zack raised both eyebrows in question. “Hardly worth the effort of an explanation,” I said.

  I curled up into a corner of the sofa, and accepted one of the glasses of wine. After a sip, I decided to take the coward’s way out and work backwards. “I’m surprised Mama didn’t invite you to her little shindig this evening.”

  Zack sat down next to me. “She did. I told her I had work to do.”

  “Smart man.” I took another sip, then gave him the thirty second recap of the state of my kitchen and Ira’s obnoxious kids. “Maybe I shouldn’t have acted the way I did, but after the day I’ve had—”

  “Which you haven’t gotten to yet.”

  “I’m working up to it. Drink your wine.”

  Zack drained his glass. “No more excuses. Out with it.”

  “Promise you won’t yell at me?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’m not promising anything until I know what’s going on.”

  “Have another glass of wine first.”

  “That won’t change anything. Out with it.”

  So I told him.

  He jumped up from the sofa and lit into me. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Probably, but what choice do I have?”

  “You could have said no.”

  “And risk being responsible for the entire staff of American Woman losing their jobs?”

  “He was bluffing.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Zack strode over to the kitchen, retrieved the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and refilled our glasses. “You can’t keep sticking your nose into murder investigations. Three times now you’ve nearly gotten yourself killed.”

  I didn’t need him to remind me of that. I’d made the same argument to Gruenwald. “But I’m certain no one at Trimedia killed Philomena. So I’m not placing myself in jeopardy.”

  “Really? No one at Trimedia is a suspect?”

  “What would be the motive? More likely someone from her gangsta past is involved.”

  “Then explain to me, Sherlock, how her body wound up in the Trimedia boiler room?”

  “Oh.” A lead balloon settled into the pit of my stomach. Why hadn’t I realized that? Obviously, Gruenwald had. “What a clueless idiot I am!”

  Before Zack could respond, someone knocked at his door. “Who is it?” he yelled.

  “Ira. Is Anastasia with you?”

  I shook my head, not wanting to deal with Ira at the moment. Zack ignored me and opened the door.

  Ira stepped inside and turned to me. “I wanted to apologize for what my kids said to you.”

  “Your kids should be the ones doing the apologizing,” I said. “Lawrence
is right. They walk all over you, Ira.”

  “I know.” He sat down without being invited. “You have to understand, though. They’ve had to deal with so much the last few years. First Kristin’s illness. Then her death. Then bringing Cynthia into their lives, which in hindsight was probably the biggest mistake of my life.”

  I thought about mentioning that my kids also lost a parent and much more recently, but they hadn’t turned into juvenile delinquents as a result. However, given Ira’s hangdog appearance at the moment, that seemed too much like kicking a puppy.

  “I also didn’t know Flora hadn’t cleared tonight’s dinner with you,” he continued.

  “Speaking of manipulators. Did she also stick you with the dinner bill?”

  Ira shrugged. “I don’t care about the money.”

  “But I do. Mama is using you to get what she wants, just like your kids use you.”

  “Flora doesn’t want anything from me.”

  “Didn’t you just buy her and Lawrence an apartment?”

  “Yes, but they needed a place to live.”

  “My point.” Mama always knows when to bring out her inner Blanche DuBois and take advantage of the generosity of men. Too bad I didn’t inherit that trait from her instead of her stubby legs. “She’s even manipulating you in ways you aren’t aware of,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She loves having you in my home because she knows how much your presence annoys Lucille.”

  “But I want to get to know Lucille better.”

  “Trust me, Ira. She doesn’t want to get to know you better. You’re a reminder of everything she sacrificed to her unyielding political agenda. Not to mention the lie she talked herself into believing for half a century.”

  “Does this mean you don’t want me in your lives?”

  “Of course not, but I need you to understand that this friendship you’re trying to cultivate with Lucille isn’t going to happen.”

  “Maybe in time.”

  “I doubt it.” Was he really that dense? Forget about Lucille. No woman would want a constant reminder of her lover’s child by another woman.

  Ira heaved a huge sigh, then stood. “I should go. My kids are waiting in the van. I also came to retrieve their phones and the Game Boy.”

  “Which they shouldn’t get back until they apologize to Anastasia,” said Zack, joining the conversation for the first time.

  Ira’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at his shoes. “I know,” he mumbled. And yet he scooped the phones and Game Boy off the coffee table.

  “Ira, before you go—”

  He raised his head; his face lit up. “Yes?”

  “I need a favor.” Now who was doing the manipulating, but what choice did I have? Ira wouldn’t take advantage of my lack of car knowledge the way the Hyundai dealer had.

  “Anything,” he said.

  “My car died at the office yesterday. I need to know what it will cost to repair, assuming it’s worth repairing.”

  “Which it probably isn’t,” said Zack.

  “In that case, I have ten thousand dollars for a replacement. Not a penny more.” Actually, I had five thousand dollars, the same five thousand Gruenwald gave me, but I knew I’d never find reliable transportation for such a small sum.

  Had I paid off enough of Karl’s debt that Ira would be able to finagle me a car loan for the balance? He must have some pull with the banks, given the number of dealerships he owned, but what would I do if every bank turned me down? I decided to pull a Scarlet O’Hara and not think about it for now, hoping the Hyundai only required a relatively minor repair.

  “I’ll send my guys over to your office tomorrow to pick the car up.”

  “Thanks, Ira. You’ll find a spare set of keys hanging on a hook in the mud room. I’ll email you the office address later tonight.”

  “Anything for you, Anastasia.” He gave me a sloppy peck on my cheek, then left.

  “That’s one seriously needy guy,” said Zack after we heard Ira descend the steps. “I feel sorry for him.”

  “I do, too, but my life is too complicated to get dragged into the drama of his life.” Yet by asking a favor of Ira, I’d opened myself up for all sorts of future Ira drama.

  “Which is why you dodged Flora’s dinner, too?”

  “I had dinner with Cloris. I was hoping Ira and his kids would be gone by the time I got home. No such luck.”

  “Is Ira at all like Karl?”

  I laughed. “Had Karl been anything like Ira, he never would have bamboozled me into poverty. Ira is as transparent as Karl was deceptive.”

  “Speaking of deceptive, that brings us back to an earlier topic. What are your plans, and how do you intend to keep yourself out of a killer’s crosshairs?”

  Damned if I knew.

  TEN

  The next day Tino was waiting for me when I pulled into the parking lot. Before last night, I would have told him he needn’t take his responsibility toward me so literally. This morning I was glad to see his protective ex-Marine bulk surveying the parking lot as I stepped from the Jeep.

  I’d slept little last night, tossing and turning as I worried about once again placing myself in harm’s way. I had no training as a sleuth and none of the tools available to the county detectives. All I could do was hope Batswin and Robbins made a swift arrest in this case. I wanted nothing to do with the investigation into Philomena’s murder. Yet here I was, blackmailed smack into the middle of it.

  As we headed into the building, I said, “You spent a good deal of time chauffeuring Philomena around. Do you have any ideas who might have wanted her dead? Mr. Gruenwald thinks the police suspect him.”

  “Mr. G. didn’t kill her.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know Mr. G.”

  “He also thinks the police might suspect Mrs. Gruenwald.”

  Tino narrowed his eyes and stared at me for a full ten seconds before bursting out in raucous laughter.

  “Not on her own, of course, but she may have hired someone.”

  “Makes no sense. Why would she kill Philomena when she was suing her?”

  “To divert suspicion away from herself?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Not really. What about Norma Gene?”

  Tino laughed even harder this time. “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “That big baby passes out from paper cuts.”

  Why didn’t that surprise me?

  “I heard Philomena was beaten to a pulp,” Tino continued. “Norma Gene and all that blood? Never gonna happen. Besides, she worshipped Philomena. She’d sooner take a bullet for her than harm her.”

  “So who do you think killed Philomena?

  “My money’s on some of those shady dudes she hung out with in Philly.”

  “Why?”

  “They wanted a cut of the action. Got it, too, for a few years from what I hear. But once she went mainstream, she turned her back on them.”

  “Bad for her new image?”

  “Exactly.”

  The gravy train drying up certainly sounded like motive for murder to me. “But if that’s the case, how did her body wind up here? Why not just make her disappear? Dump her in the Hudson or bury her up in the Catskills.”

  Tino shrugged his wide receiver shoulders. “To frame someone else?”

  “Possibly. But how did the killer get into the building? There were no indications of forced entry, and whoever he is, he knew about the surveillance cameras by the loading dock.”

  Tino pondered that for a minute as we waited for the elevator. “Maybe some of her homies work at Bling!”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Sue insinuated all the Bling! staff had magazine experience. Where would gangstas get magazine experience? Only one way to find out. “Tino, can you get me the personnel files of all the Bling! staff?”

  “Don’t see why not. Mr. Gruenwald said to make sure you had whatever you need.”

  �
�Good.” The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside. Tino pushed the button for the second floor. “I need those files. Bring them to me at my American Woman office, please.” I pushed the button for the third floor.

  “You’re not going up to Bling!?”

  “Not yet.” Not until I read through all those files and figured out who knew Philomena from her days in the ‘hood.

  When the elevator stopped at the second floor, Tino stayed inside. “You don’t need to accompany me to the American Woman offices.”

  “I’ll make sure you arrive safely, then head down to Human Resources for those files.”

  The doors closed, and the elevator proceeded to the third floor. I stepped into the hallway, and Tino headed back downstairs.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here today,” said Cloris when I stopped into the break room for coffee. She held an open box of cupcakes and offered me one. “Pineapple mango. Compliments of a new vegan bakery in Hoboken.”

  I hesitated. “Vegan cupcakes?” I broke off a piece from one and popped it into my mouth. Beggars can’t be choosers when breakfast had consisted of an overripe banana and half a glass of orange juice. “Carlo’s doesn’t have to worry about competition,” I said after forcing myself to swallow. “I hope the vegans didn’t sign a long lease.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. Anyway, I thought I’d check in with Daphne first to see how she’s handling the extra workload.”

  Cloris took another cupcake from the box and sampled a piece. “Ugh! You’re right.” She tossed the remainder, along with the ten still in the box, into the trash, then guzzled down half her coffee. “There should be a law against baking with soy and tofu instead of butter and eggs. “So what’s it like downstairs? Are you making enemies?”

  “Not at all. The editorial director and I came to a quick and amiable understanding. I don’t tell her what to do, and she doesn’t carve me up with her switchblade.”

  “What!”

  “Only kidding. Everyone is totally sane and extremely professional. The blaring rap music might render me deaf, though.”

  “So no suspects?”

  “Shh!” I ducked out into the hall to make sure no one had overhead her, then stepped back into the room and closed the door.

  “Why so paranoid?”