The Design Is Murder (Murders By Design)

by Jean Harrington

  “This is Charlotte. I’m sorry, but I’m dog sitting and—”

  “Oh, I love doggies. Bring her right in.”

  “It’s paws on the floor, Charlotte,” I said, putting her down. “So be a good girl.”

  Happy to sniff out a new place, she scampered ahead of me as I followed Dorothy through a mind-blowing great room in Madagascar red. New Guinea artifacts, mostly ebony nudes and spears, stood alongside oil paintings of Venice canals. A brass étagère held a riotous collection of Chihuly glass and...that’s when I screamed. A gorilla the size of King Kong loomed straight ahead. Even Charlotte skidded to a stop.

  “Oh, don’t let old Maxwell scare you,” Dorothy said. “He’s stuffed. A souvenir from our safari in Kenya. Ever been there?”

  “Not till today.”

  Dorothy laughed. “I like you.” She gave Charlotte’s topknot a pat. “I like you too, sweetie. Here it is, girls, the family room. Tada!” She flung open double doors and gave us a sweeping view—of chaos.

  Painted charcoal gray with a chrome-yellow stripe up near the ceiling, the family room was crammed with objects: a universal, a stationary bike, a treadmill, a rack of weights in various sizes and a sixty-inch flat-screen TV. Opposite the TV was a chrome-yellow sofa and a pair of fifties lava lamps that immediately fascinated Charlotte.

  Woof!

  I was beginning to question her taste in lamps when she abandoned them to play with a beach ball.

  As I glanced around, Dorothy looked at me with expectation in her eyes.

  I took a deep breath and sank onto the sofa. “Someone obviously took great pains to coordinate the colors in here. The yellow and charcoal carpeting goes well with the sofa,” I said, wondering how to press on from there.

  A dimple appeared in Dorothy’s cheek. She nodded, pleased. “I put it all together, colors and everything. The problem is my husband hates this room.” The dimple disappeared. “Says he can’t relax in here, and our great room is too formal.”

  Formal?

  She raised her arms and waved them around. “So I need to do something. But what?” She plopped down next to me and lowered her voice. “Just between the two of us, I don’t really like charcoal all that much. It’s kind of blah, you know, but I thought George would find it restful.” A deep sigh. “He’s done nothing but complain.”

  “Then our priority is to make George happy.”

  The dimple made a cameo appearance. “You understand.”

  “Of course I do. As my Nana Kennedy used to say, ‘If the husband is happy, the wife is happy too.’”

  Dorothy leaned forward to give my hand a squeeze. “It’s so nice dealing with a married woman. I don’t need to explain what a husband can be like. You already know what I’m up against, Mrs. Dunne.”

  “Deva, please,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask me any questions about my husband. To this very day, I found talking about Jack difficult...but she didn’t.

  “So what would you suggest we do?” she asked.

  We, a good sign for Deva Dunne Interiors. Time for a little show biz, a little psychology. I studied the room as if contemplating a difficult problem, although the answer was painfully obvious.

  “Well, Mrs. Kindall...”

  “Dorothy.”

  “Yes, thank you. Well, Dorothy, the truth is, exercise equipment makes some people feel guilty. Instead of watching TV, they think they should be pounding away on the treadmill. Maybe that’s how George feels. When he comes home at the end of a long day, he’s tired and needs to sit down and well...relax. Not be faced with exercise equipment.”

  She sighed. “That’s exactly what he told me.”

  “Can you move the equipment somewhere else?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “The master bedroom maybe. It’s large enough.”

  I shook my head. “You’ll turn George into an insomniac.”

  “We do have three guest bedrooms.”

  “Is any not needed, or seldom used?”

  “Let me see...there’s the Caribbean Room, the African Room and the Aztec Room... George has never been too crazy about the Aztec Room. That might do, though everything would have to be moved out first. What a shame. I have the most gorgeous Ecuadorian textiles in there...but for the sake of my marriage, I guess I don’t have much choice.”

  “Sight unseen, the Aztec Room sounds perfect. As for this room, my instinct tells me that for George’s sake, we need to act fast.”

  “The sooner the better. He was pretty cranky last night...didn’t even want to watch TV in here.”

  “Then we need to have a renovation that’s simple and quick.”

  Perching on the edge of the couch, Dorothy gave me her rapt attention.

  “First we’ll hire a moving crew and have them switch out the exercise equipment. Next we’ll lighten the color of the walls but stay within the same palette. Soften it from charcoal to, let’s say, Whisper Gray. One coat should do it, and I can recommend an excellent painting contractor.” I pointed toward the ceiling. “We’ll keep the chrome stripe. It ties the decor together, and besides it’s out of eye range. I doubt George will find it a problem.

  “So to sum up, we retain the sofa, the TV, your wonderful stainless steel bar...and to make George supremely happy, how about adding a lounger? One of those big ones in black leather.”

  “The kind that looks like an ocean liner?” Dorothy asked.

  “That’s exactly what I mean. Men love them. The Clive-Daniel showroom has a huge collection. I’m sure we can find one there and a roomy table to stand alongside it. One large enough to hold George’s remote, and a glass and maybe a snack.”

  “Oh, I have a darling monkey table we can use.”

  “A what?” I asked, my heart sinking a little, for I feared I knew what she meant.

  “One of those small tables with a monkey dressed in a tuxedo holding up a tray.”

  “I’ve seen them,” I said, smiling as if agreeing with her suggestion. “They’re very colorful and interesting.” I wasn’t lying, I told myself. They were colorful and interesting. And god-awful. “But rather too small for George’s needs, don’t you think?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “And let’s change out the lava lamps too.”

  “Are you sure?” I was beginning to think the dimple was gone for good.

  “I really am. The way the oil in those see-through bases moves up and down probably makes George nervous.”

  “I see.” She really didn’t, but she was being a good sport as her creation was verbally torn apart.

  “The lamps would be perfect in your exercise room,” I said, offering her a consolation prize, wanting to see her smile. “You know, for energy.”

  She grinned across at me. “Perfect. I can watch the oil move around in the bases while I’m on the treadmill. It’ll keep me going.”

  Not knowing what else to do, I nodded. “A good choice for lamps in here would be—”

  “This is so exciting I’ve forgotten my manners. Before we go on, may I offer you a cold drink? An iced tea, or a soda or something?”

  “None for me, thanks, but Charlotte might enjoy a little water.”

  “Oh certainly.” Dorothy jumped up and went over to the stainless steel sink nestled in the well-stocked bar. She filled a small bowl with water and placed it on the floor. As we looked on, Charlotte noisily lapped up her drink, splashing it around on the carpet in the process.

  “She’s adorable,” Dorothy said.

  “Yes, she is. She belongs to one of my clients. Unfortunately he had a heart attack this morning and in the confusion I’m afraid Charlotte was overlooked. I couldn’t leave her alone for the day, so here she is.”

  “How thoughtful of you. You must be close to this client.”

  “You
could say that. When you design someone’s living space, sometimes you become almost like family.”

  “That’s nice, so warm and caring. Families are the most important thing in life. That’s why I worry about George...and not just about him either. There’s my mother too.”

  “Oh? Does she live here as well?”

  “No, but I wish she did. We have a mother-in-law apartment all ready and waiting for her. That’s one of the reasons we bought this house, but she refuses to step foot in it.”

  “Why?”

  “Says it sets her teeth on edge.” Dorothy put a hand on each generous hip. “And to think I decorated that apartment just for her. When we finish in here, do you want to take a look at it?”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Rossi,” I said, hurrying to the door the instant he got home. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Probably not.” Planning on viewing some rentals today, he’d worn a shirt and tie and a pair of chinos. He loosened the tie as soon as he walked in and ripped it off. After catching me in a distracted bear hug, he sank onto a club chair, looking as tired and frustrated as I’d ever seen him.

  “Tough day?”

  “You could say that.” He held out his arms. “How about coming over here and letting me give you some TLC?” He patted his knees. “Come on. Come on.”

  “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

  “For you, always.” He grinned, only briefly, but still a good sign. I sat on his lap and laid my head on his chest.

  “Aah,” he said. “This is what makes life worth living.”

  “What happened today? You seem discouraged.”

  “No, I’m not discouraged. Once in a while the negatives get to me is all.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Well for openers, the chief agrees Kay Hawkins was murdered.” He heaved a sigh. “As luck would have it, the man we want to interview underwent heart surgery and can’t be questioned. Nor can his wife. The Stahlman woman’s disappeared again.”

  I lifted my head from his chest. “Marilyn?”

  “The same. No forwarding address. No active telephone number. Gone.”

  “So now what?”

  “We hope Stahlman will recover and shed some light on her whereabouts and on a few other issues as well. Until he does, we wait...and we search for his wife. Chances are she’s floating around somewhere with the boat guy she calls her fiancé. The Coast Guard’s working on it, but that’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. Especially if he’s tied up in some remote cove with the radio shut down.” He stroked my arm. “Do you know you have the softest skin in the world?”

  “Thanks but you’re changing the subject...so are James and Marilyn your two prime suspects?”

  He ran his fingers along my other arm. “Um, so nice...”

  “Rossi.”

  “At the present time, they’re persons of interest. So is everyone who was present the day Kay Hawkins died.”

  I stared into his eyes. “Me too?”

  “Technically. You found the victim, so you’re implicated. The same for the workmen and the other two women, the housekeeper Eileen and the one across the street—” a faint smile played with his lips, “—Teresa of the tight red pants.”

  “You noticed.”

  “I’m in love, I’m not dead.” His smile disappeared. “Judging from the bruises on the victim’s neck, I doubt a woman strangled her. That takes a lot of strength.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, anger can lend strength to someone who doesn’t ordinarily have it. Make that passionate anger and who knows?”

  As if trying to put the pieces together in his mind, he stared past me at the opposite wall—at nothing, really. “Practically speaking though, our culprit is mostly likely a man. What I’m hoping is that one of the women might know something that would help us.” His glance refocused on me. “That includes you. So if you can think of anything you haven’t mentioned yet, now is the time. The chlorine and the water washed off any forensic evidence that might have been left on the remains. All we have to go on are the bruises and the lack of water in the lungs.”

  He shifted me from one knee to the other.

  “Am I getting heavy?”

  “No not at all. I love having you just where you are.”

  I sat up straight. “There is one other thing.”

  He had leaned his head on the chair back and closed his eyes. “Go on.”

  He was actually seeking my advice. I couldn’t believe it. “What about the written statements? The ones you collected from everybody the day Kay died?”

  An eye, just one, slit open.

  “Have you sent them to a graphologist yet? It’s sad that we’ve lost Naomi, but there must be other handwriting analysts out there you can call on.”

  Both eyes opened and stared into mine. “Copies of the original samples have been faxed to Miami. We’re awaiting the outcome.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. Graphology’s an inexact science. I’m not even sure the word science applies. But at the moment, we have little else to go on, so we’re giving it a shot. Tomorrow I’ll question the witnesses in depth. Think I’ll start with Teresa. Get another look at those red pants.” He wiggled his brows up and down, Groucho Marx style.

  Red pants. “Sorry, you’re out of luck. Marilyn’s not the only person of interest who left town. Teresa’s on a trip too.”

  “I know. Puerto Rico. She’s due back tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, rats. You set me up for that one, Rossi. Not nice. Not nice at all. Besides, your knees are getting bony.” I went to get off his lap, but he was too fast. His arms encircled me, trapping me right where I really wanted to be.

  “Just so you’ll know, among other things today, I searched for a rental. Didn’t find a thing I liked. At least not in our price range. So yeah, I guess you could say it’s been quite a day all told.” His arms tightened around me. “But any day that ends with you in it is wonderful. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?”

  I raised my face for a kiss as a spurt of guilt snaked through me for not returning his lovely compliment. Rossi was and always would be the best thing in my life. But truth be told, he wasn’t the first man I’d ever loved, or the first best thing that ever happened to me. That had been Jack. How could I tell the truth without wounding my now and forever love? Better not to say a word, so I didn’t even try. Instead I dropped some good news on him. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “That right? Did I ever tell you detectives don’t like surprises?”

  “You’re going to love this one.”

  “Uh-oh. One of those.”

  “You ready for this?”

  “No, but go ahead anyway. The suspense is killing me.”

  “I found us an apartment.”

  His jaw dropped open. “You did?”

  “Yes. It’s perfect in every way except that it’s horrible, but—”

  “Wait, wait, wait. That’s an oxymoron.”

  “I know. What I mean is it’s completely furnished—hi-def TV, large sofa, kitchen appliances and every utensil we could possibly use, plus a king-sized bed. With a feather duvet. Best of all, Rossi, I got it for us by bartering.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Since I’m feeling mentally challenged tonight, would you please explain in simple terms?”

  “I redo the décor free of charge and in return it’s ours free for a year.”

  “There has to be a hitch. What’s the horrible part?”

  “The colors.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s a hitch?”

  “You haven’t seen them. Purple, lime green and orange. Everywhere. On everything. So while we’re living there, I’ll have to make so
me changes, but Tom Kruse’s men will be minimally invasive. You’ll see.”

  “Where is this perfect, horrible place?”

  “Pelican Marsh. It’s a mother-in-law apartment.”

  “Interesting. Very interesting. Actually fantastic.”

  “You’re impressed, I can tell.”

  “Good sleuthing, Deva. Can you also tell I’m chagrined.”

  I stood up from his lap and stared down at him, all of him—tieless shirt, five o’clock shadow...frown. “No...why?”

  “You expect me to live free of charge in a place that you’ll pay for with your labor?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, it isn’t like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that. Remember how you wanted to pay for our Hawaiian trip with money from the sale of Jack’s antiques?”

  “Ye-e-e-s.”

  “Then you may recall that was a no. How could I have gone on a vacation your late husband paid for? Much the same principle applies now. I can’t live there.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Three more days and we have to be out of here. Then what? Are you going to let your male pride stand in the way?”

  “Without my pride—” he grinned, “—yeah it’s male all right—you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. No lioness wants a wimpy lion roaming around the lair. Isn’t that right?”

  Refusing to be baited, and a little hurt that my wonderful solution was being scorned, I folded my arms and waited in silence for him to go on.

  “Our imminent housing problem is not lost on me, and I very much appreciate your clever solution.”

  “Well, then...”

  He waggled a finger. “There’s more. So I propose an alternate solution.”

  “There is none.”

  “One that will make us both happy.”

  “Which is?”

  “The money I’d spend on renting temporary digs, I give to you instead.”

  “You don’t need to do—”

  The finger waggled again. “Not so fast. There’s a string attached. I want you to take the money and buy yourself a new car, another Audi if you wish, brand new with all the bells and whistles.”