Definitely Dead (An Empty Nest Mystery) (20 page)

“You’re both off the hook,” said Blake. “Now that you’re in college, I can get away with buying only two tickets.”

In the past Blake had been pressured to purchase four tickets for each show. Reinhold insisted that teenagers these days weren’t exposed to nearly enough culture. Not wanting to get stuck with a killer teaching schedule any given semester, my husband never told the man his acting was the antithesis of culture. Neither did the rest of the department faculty and staff—or their spouses. Four times a year we all suffered together in silence for two to three hours.

~*~

Follies
, a tale of aging showgirls who come together one last time for a cast reunion, features a large company of older performers. Given past Reinhold productions, we were in for a long evening of amateurs butchering Sondheim.

We settled into our seats and made small talk with Greg Jordan, one of Blake’s colleagues, and his wife Shelly. As soon as the lights began to dim and the small orchestra struck the first notes of the overture, Blake leaned back, closed his eyes, and said, “Wake me when it’s over.”

“Don’t snore,” I warned him.

As the overture ended and the curtain rose, an overweight older man in an ill-fitting tuxedo lumbered across the stage and began singing a slightly off-key rendition of “Beautiful Girls.” While he belted out the lyrics, the showgirls entered from either side of the wings and took their places at the front of the stage. I was about to close my own eyes when one of the women caught my attention. Then another. And another. And finally a fourth. I nudged Blake with my elbow and whispered into his ear, “Open your eyes!”

He whispered back, “Not until it’s over. Listening is bad enough.”

“Really, Blake, you have to see this.”

“See what?”
 

“Any of those actresses look familiar to you?”

Blake squinted at the stage. “The woman in the pink sequins. Isn’t that—?”

“Maureen Boland. Keep looking. That’s Mary Louise Franklin two women to her left, Leila Raffelino on her right, and Suzette Stephanovich standing next to Leila.”

“Highly coincidental,” said Blake.

“If you believe in coincidence.” Although coincidences do happen, what were the odds of four of Not-Sid’s dates knowing each other?

Blake and I definitely needed to duck out of the theater before the cast members joined the attendees at the opening night reception. I couldn’t run the risk of Maureen Boland accosting me about her missing stock certificates, not with my husband’s colleagues within earshot.

“I feel a migraine coming on,” I whispered to Blake.

“A perfect excuse for leaving,” he said. “Try to look green.”

At intermission I accessed what limited acting skills I possessed—which certainly weren’t any worse than those showcased onstage. Greg and Shelley saw right through me. “Wish I’d thought of that,” said Greg.

“No, really. I’m in terrible pain.”

“Aren’t we all,” said Shelly. She patted my arm and winked at me. “I’m sure you’ll feel much better once you’re home.”

They promised to offer our congratulations to Tom Reinhold and regrets that we couldn’t stay for the party. “But only if I get dibs on the migraine for the next production,” said Shelly.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“So what do you think?” I asked Blake as we drove home.

“About your migraine? You need to work on your queasy look.”

“About Maureen, Mary Louise, Leila, and Suzette knowing each other. Maybe one of them had something to do with Not-Sid’s death.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but do you really think any one of those women is capable of sneaking up behind Sidney and bashing his skull?”

“Maureen is big enough.”

“Maureen is all flab, no muscle. Sidney could bench press her. Besides, with all that jangling bling, he’d hear her coming a mile away. She’d never get the drop on him.”

“Maybe she wasn’t wearing any jewelry that night. Besides, dead men can’t bench press.”

Blake gave me
The Look
. “When he was alive, Gracie.”

I knew that.

I also knew that Not-Sid had scammed Maureen Boland but he’d treated Mary Louise Franklin like—in her words—an empress, sparing no expense in the wining-and-dining department. How had his dates with Leila Raffelino and Suzette Stephanovich gone? Leila had refused to speak with us and Suzette wasn’t home when we showed up at her townhouse. Were either of them scammed? Dropped after one date? Or as with Mary Louise, had their wealth caused Not-Sid to look beyond a short scam? Was he stringing each woman along until he had a handle on the size of their portfolios before popping the question to one of them?

“We need to speak with Leila and Suzette,” I said.

Blake speared me with
The Look
. “
We
are doing no such thing. You promised to leave the investigating to the professionals, remember?”

“I know but—”

“But nothing. You can call Detective Menendez to tell her what we saw this evening. Nothing more.”

“I’ll call her Monday.”

“What’s wrong with tomorrow? Or even right now?”

“What’s the rush? Let Menendez enjoy her weekend. None of those women saw us. It’s not like they’re all going to flee the country this evening.”

~*~

Detective Menendez didn’t answer her phone when I called her first thing Monday morning. I left a message, asking her to call me back. Shortly after hanging up, I was surprised to receive a phone call from Leila Raffelino.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to see you the other day,” she said. “Can I assume you want to speak with me about poor, dear Sidney?”

Poor, dear Sidney
? Leila didn’t sound like the victim of a Not-Sid scam attempt. Given where she lived, I mentally moved her into the same column as Mary Louise. “Yes, I do.”

“I have appointments later today. Why don’t you come over now?”

Blake was teaching this morning, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to meet with Leila. “I’m on my way.”

Fifteen minutes later I stood in the lobby of Leila’s complex and gave my name to the guard. After a brief phone call to Leila, he directed me toward the elevator. “Apartment 4G,” he said.

Leila was waiting for me at her open door. “Do come in, dear. I’ve made coffee.”

Leila Raffelino had the requisite casabas, plus the booty to match. She showcased both with a Spandex wardrobe far more fitting for someone a quarter of her age. Her jet black hair came out of a bottle, and she applied makeup with a trowel over a face that had already gone under the knife at least one too many times. She obviously wasn’t going gently into that good night of old age. I’m certain she thought she looked gorgeous; I thought she looked freakish.

She led me into an immaculate living room tiled in marble and decorated in high-end Rococo furnishings, extremely ornate and covered in gold leaf. A plush oriental carpet covered most of the living room floor. I took a seat on a red damask couch. Leila sat across from me on a matching chair, a marble and gilt coffee table between us. “Cream and sugar?” she asked, pouring from a silver coffee urn into a delicate porcelain floral teacup rimmed in gold.

“Just cream, please.”

She added a splash of cream and passed me the cup. “I was so sorry to hear about Sidney,” she said. “And to go in such a horrible way! I hope he didn’t suffer long.”

Chances were, Not-Sid never knew what hit him, then stabbed him in the heart. But I didn’t voice my thoughts. Instead, I took a sip of my coffee before asking, “How did you find out about his murder?”

“A detective came to question me. So what can I do for you Mrs. Elliott?”

“I’m distraught over Sidney’s murder. My husband and I were with him when it happened.”

Leila’s thin, penciled eyebrows shot up. “You saw the killer?”

“No, Sidney had stepped outside for a cigar. When he didn’t return within a reasonable amount of time, we went in search of him. He was already dead when we found him.”

“How shocking!”

“Frightening, actually. We had no idea if the killer was still nearby.” I took another sip of coffee. “Anyway, I know the police can be intimidating. I thought if I spoke with you, you might remember something Sidney may have said at some point that could help find his killer.”

“Like what?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps someone or something he mentioned in passing that may not have seemed important at the time?”

Leila stared at me; an odd expression settled over her face. Make that
faces
. Two Leila’s sat in front of me, then four, all spinning around the room, along with the furniture, to the rhythm of my teacup clattering against the saucer.

SEVENTEEN

I couldn’t move, not even my mouth. My head pounded. I struggled to open my eyes and found myself still in Leila Raffelino’s living room. Only instead of being seated on her couch, I was tied to one of her Rococo dining room chairs, my arms bound behind me, my legs secured to each of the chair’s front legs. A gag was wrapped tightly around my mouth.

Leila was nowhere in sight, but I heard voices coming from another part of the apartment, voices I recognized.

“What do we do with her?” asked Mary Louise Franklin.

“We have to get rid of her,” said Leila.

“Permanently?”

“Absolutely,” said Maureen Boland. “She’s snooping around too much. We can’t risk her figuring out what happened.”

“What happened never should have happened.” I couldn’t pinpoint that voice, but it had to belong to Suzette Stephanovich. “You screwed up, Leila, and now we’re all in trouble.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“How is it not your fault?” asked Mary Louise. “You’re the one with the family connections. You hired the guy.”

Family connections?
As in family or
family
? Were they talking Mafia?

“No, I hired the guy who hired the guy.”

“Why didn’t your guy do it himself?” asked Maureen.

“Because you didn’t want to pay what he charges. If you all want to blame someone, blame Maureen for being so cheap.”

“That still doesn’t explain why he killed Sidney,” said Mary Louise. “You must have said something to lead him to believe you wanted Sidney dead.”

“Absolutely,” said Suzette. “Otherwise he’d still be alive, and we wouldn’t be in this pickle.”

“I didn’t.”

“What did you say?” asked Maureen. “Exactly.”

“I don’t remember. Something about how he tried to con us, and we wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“So you didn’t tell him
not
to kill Sidney?” asked Suzette.

“I didn’t tell him we wanted Sidney dead, but you can’t expect me to remember the conversation verbatim!”

“Why not?” asked Mary Louise. “You remember your lines on stage, don’t you?”

“That’s different. I study my lines for a play. I don’t memorize conversations I have with people.”

“This wasn’t just any conversation,” said Maureen.

“Maybe Sidney recognized him, and they struggled,” said Leila.

“You’re grasping at straws,” said Mary Louise. “It’s clear now how this happened. It’s all your fault, Leila.”

“And now you’ve made matters that much worse,” said Suzette. “Why is that woman even here? I thought you refused to see her the other day.”

“I did, but then I got to thinking, what if she knows more than she’s letting on? We couldn’t take that chance.”

“You should have consulted us first,” said Mary Louise.

“Especially since you did more than just talk to her,” said Maureen. “Why did you drug her? That wasn’t in the script.”

“I decided it was best to tie up loose ends. So I improvised.”

“No one asked you to improvise!” said Maureen. “You shouldn’t have called her in the first place. But since you were so concerned about what she knew, you should have just answered her questions and let her leave. No one suspected us. Not the police, not her.”

“You don’t know that,” said Leila. “She could have been playing us just like Sidney did. Only instead of trying to scam us, she was trying to pin a murder on us.”

“There was no indication of that,” said Suzette. “We all played our parts. Everything was working out fine until you
improvised
. Now look what you’ve done!”

“You never were any good at improvisation,” said Maureen. “Then again, you never were very good at acting, either.”

“How dare you!”

“Enough!” said Suzette. “We’re now going to have two dead bodies on our hands, and we can’t have hers tied to us in any way. Not unless you all want to live out the rest of your lives behind bars.”

“Killing her will look awfully coincidental,” said Maureen. “The police are bound to get suspicious.”

“Not if her death looks like an accident,” said Leila.

“How are we going to do that?” asked Mary Louise. “And what about getting her out of the apartment? The guard saw her come in. Not to mention the security cameras all over this place.”