Designed for Death (3 page)

“Yes.”

He held the stub of a pencil over his notebook. “Spell your first name.” He wrote it down before glancing across at me. “Unusual.”

“My father wanted a son but got me instead. He named me for his political hero, Eamon DeValera. President of the Irish Republic. Champion of justice. When I was growing up, Dad loved to—”

Lieutenant Rossi shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stared at the ceiling, so I stopped.

“How long did you know the victim?”

I broke into a sweat. “About six weeks.”

He looked up from his notes. “That’s all?”

“I’ve only been in Naples a few months.”

“Where you from?” His tone changed to casual. He must’ve seen my discomfort. I kept trying to snap the duvet thread off, but the stitches continued to unravel. “So you’re from…?”

“Boston.”

“Live alone?”

“I beg your pardon.” Heat rushed up to my face. “Why does that matter?”

He lowered the notebook like it weighed a ton. “No offense, lady, but there’s a dead body next door. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you go home. So. You live alone?”

“Yes.” I hated living alone. “I’m a widow.” Tears pricked at my eyelids. It happened every time I used the
W
word.

He scribbled some more and, without looking at me, asked, “How did your husband die?”

“I don’t have to—”

“No, you don’t,” he said, his voice low, “but I’m asking anyway.”

I drew in a deep breath.
Just give him the facts. You don’t have to relive it, you only have to retell it.
“My husband, Jack Dunne, was killed last December fifteenth. His car went out of control on Route 128. Skidded on black ice.” My voice shook. “He hit a utility pole and died instantly. The Boston police have it on record.”

As if he wouldn’t know that. What was the matter with me, anyway?

Lieutenant Rossi’s features softened. “Sorry. I won’t keep you much longer. But I have to know why you were in the victim’s condo and what you found there.”

A spurt of red-hot anger shot through my veins and mingled with the grief. I’d had enough. I’d come to Florida to escape the cold that killed the love of my life and, most of all, to escape the memories that tormented me. Whether I would ever find peace again, or a little corner of happiness, I didn’t know. I only knew Jack was dead. And now Treasure was gone too. And this lieutenant with his notebook and pencil wanted to know all about their deaths.

I swiped at my damp forehead, drew in a lungful of air and slowly exhaled. The lieutenant was only doing his job. How could he know his probing scraped nerves that were still raw?

“I realize this isn’t easy, Mrs. Dunne,” he said.

Warmth encircled me. I loved being called Mrs. Dunne. My tension lessened a bit. “I’m an interior designer. Dick Parker, the owner of the building, asked me to help him remodel the units. He’s turning them from rental apartments into condos. Treasure liked my place and asked me to redo hers, 301, next door to this one.”

“So you worked for her?”

“You could say that. I didn’t charge her much. I’m just getting established in Naples.”

“When did you last see her alive?”

“Yesterday, around two o’clock. I went into her condo to accept a furniture delivery. She was hanging clothes in a closet.” I could still see her big Hollywood grin.

“Today, when you went there, you let yourself in? You have a key?”

I nodded.

“You had free access to and from the condo? Day and night?”

What was he getting at? “I was doing my job, that’s all.”

“Why were you in there today?”

The tension between my shoulder blades tightened. “Giving the condo a final check. Making sure everything was in order. I do that for every design client. It’s part of the service, but when I saw…when I saw Treasure in the tub…I didn’t notice much else.” I yanked at that damned orange thread. It wasn’t budging.

“Any men in her life?”

“She said there were. I never met any of them.”

“Remember names?”

I glanced up. “No. I never took her stories seriously.”

He lowered the notebook again. “Why not?”

“I wasn’t interested, I guess.” Why tell him somehow I always had the feeling Treasure enjoyed inventing phantom lovers? When it came to her love life, I didn’t believe half of what she told me.

“She have a date last night?”

“I have no idea.”

“Besides you, who were her other women friends?”

“She only mentioned one. Her former roommate, a Faye LaBelle. We’ve never met, though.”

Lieutenant Rossi asked a few more questions and wrote down a few more answers. At last, he flipped his notebook shut. “That’s it for now, Mrs. Dunne. You’re free to go.” He dropped the pencil into his shirt pocket, extracted a card with two fingers and handed it to me. “If you think of anything else, call me. If you plan to leave town in the next few days, notify my office.”

I tucked the card into my shorts pocket. As I stood, his eyes lingered on my legs. A spurt of pleased surprise darted through me. But the satisfaction his glance gave me soon turned to guilt that clung like a coat of latex paint. How could I take pleasure in anything at a time like this? Obviously, I was all screwed up, but that was nothing new. I had been since December fifteenth.

I was halfway out the door when he said, “One more thing, Mrs. Dunne. I need that key.”

“It’s yours, Lieutenant.” I removed it from my shorts pocket and surrendered it to him without mentioning what I’d learned in Design 101—always make an extra copy of a client’s key. Strictly for emergencies, of course, in case you lose the original.

Convinced I’d done enough talking for one afternoon, I ducked out of the condo without saying goodbye to anyone, even Simon. Taking care around the yellow crime tape, I headed for home.

Once inside, I checked the door locks, peered in all the closets and under the bed. Unable to sit still, I wandered from room to room. Why Treasure? Fun loving, smiling, friendly as a puppy, she’d radiated warmth. Working with her had been as entertaining as a floor show.

And now she was dead. I dropped into a living room club chair. Like a wide-awake nightmare, the death scene tormented me, and I kept playing it over and over in my mind… It was like watching a horror film. Evil and senseless, it haunted me, but something about it didn’t add up.

I had followed the bloodstains all through the condo straight into the bathroom. The trail had pointed like a finger directly at…a bloodless corpse. That was it. The missing link that had been nagging at me.

I leaped out of the chair. Of course—those had been bloodstains on the carpet. But just on the carpet. There had been no blood on Treasure’s body.

Chapter Four

Burning with unanswered questions, too restless to sit still, I wandered through the kitchen out onto the lanai.

Whose blood
had
I seen? The murderer’s? A chilling thought but too logical to dismiss, it hung in the quiet air.

Quiet? Not for long.

“Tell me how it happened, and I’ll drop it.”

I sighed. Oh God, not AudreyAnn and Chip again.

“You’re not my husband. I don’t owe you a thing.”

“You owe me plenty. And what am I getting for it? Nothing. I eat alone. I sleep alone. I might as well live alone.”

“Well, you’re no saint, Chip. Where were you last night?”

“Out. End of story.”

A muffled reply. Their lanai slider banged shut so hard, the glass in mine rattled. Who was doing the slamming, AudreyAnn or Chip? Either one could have. A Pilates instructor somewhere in her late forties, AudreyAnn had the muscled body of a twenty-something gymnast. Chip, a retired chef, had the girth to slam any door standing in his way. But he’d never hurt his live-in love. Or would he? Their fights had been getting louder lately.

Da da da DA.

My front doorbell with the first notes of Beethoven’s Fifth. The chimes had been Jack’s, and I couldn’t bear to leave them behind when I moved. The Fifth had been his favorite symphony.

Da da da DA.

I stiffened. I knew very few people in Naples.

Da da da DA. Da da da DA.

The caller had no intention of going away. I padded into the living room. AudreyAnn, after all? A squint out the peephole revealed Simon Yaeger standing on the walkway.

“What do you want?” I asked through the closed door.

“Look out the window.”

I peeked between the slats of the plantation shutters. He held up his hands, waggling a bottle in one and two stemmed glasses in the other.

“I’ve had enough to drink. And the police warned me to be careful who I let in.”

“That doesn’t include me,” Simon said through the door. “We’re in this together. Besides, I never met the woman. I got home just before you started screaming.”

There
had
been an overnight bag and a briefcase on his foyer floor. While I stood there, hands on hips, trying to decide what to do, I heard him speak to someone. Someone with a deep, baritone voice.
Lieutenant Rossi.

I yanked open the door.

Rossi gave me a hooded eye check.

“Tell the lady I’m okay, Lieutenant.” Simon smiled at me despite the day’s grim circumstances.

Rossi frowned.

“Go on, tell her, Lieutenant.”

Rossi cleared his throat. “So far, Mr. Yaeger’s story checks out. He arrived from Tallahassee just before your…ah…encounter. Of course, anyone who knew the victim remains a person of interest.” Rossi raised two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute, spun on his heel and headed for his car.

Simon watched the lieutenant for a moment then turned and arched an eyebrow at me. “You look great in green.”

“I’m supposed to. I’m a redhead.”

His smile broadened, and he hoisted the bottle. “I thought you could use some company tonight. Pinot Grigio? Chilled?”

Actually, a cold glass of wine would be heaven, and Detective Rossi had upheld Simon’s alibi. “You pushed the right button.” I opened the door wider.

He followed me to the kitchen and put the glasses and bottle next to the sink. For the first time, I took a good, hard look at him. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had the exaggerated cheekbones and craggy chin that make a face memorable. I took a corkscrew out of my utility drawer and handed it to him. He unfolded it and plunged the sharp point into the cork. Then he grabbed the bottle by the neck. My lips began to tremble.

He glanced up and caught my expression. “You afraid?”

“No.” I told myself to calm down.

“Well, I am.” He slid out the cork, filled a glass and handed it to me. “There’s a maniac on the loose. Until he’s caught, we’re all in jeopardy.”

“Just what I need to hear.”

Simon shrugged. “Don’t listen to me. I’m a tax attorney. What do I know about murder?”

A loud crash from next door. Simon’s hand slipped midpour, sloshing wine over the rim of his glass. “Good lord, what was that?”

“That,” I replied, “was AudreyAnn and Chip.”

“Who?”

“The couple next door. They’ve been fighting all week.”

Simon grabbed a towel and swabbed the counter.

Smash.
A shattering of glass. Then something heavy thudded to the floor.

“It’s been like this all week?” A crease furrowed Simon’s brow. If he wondered what kind of a condo building he’d moved into, who could blame him? I wondered the same thing.

“It hasn’t been this bad,” I said. “Only shouts until now.”

Smash.

“That had to be a lamp,” I said. “Too light for a chair. Too loud for a vase.”

At my flip crack, Simon stared at me, disapproval in his eyes.

At least that was how I read it. I do have a habit of masking problems with humor, though actually I was worried big-time, especially about AudreyAnn. Pilates instructor or no Pilates instructor, she was dealing with a Shrek-sized guy over there. So was Chip a genial giant or not? I really had to know.

I saw Simon eying the phone. Before he could get to it, I picked up the receiver and punched in a number.

“911?” he asked.

“No. AudreyAnn.”

A parade of cop cars had clogged the driveway all day. Two cruisers and a forensics rolling lab were still parked on the tarmac. Surfside Condominiums needed peace not war…so
pick up, pick up, pick up.

Finally, AudreyAnn snatched the receiver off the hook and shouted into the mouthpiece. “Who’s calling?”

To my relief, she sounded mad enough to be totally fine.

“It’s me, Deva. I, ah, wonder if you’d like a chocolate cake? In a moment of weakness, I bought one at Publix yesterday. If I start in on it, I’m doomed. I thought maybe Chip might like it. It looks yummy,” I tempted.

“Chip,” she yelled. “You want a chocolate cake?”

A moment later, a sullen “Yeah, he does” came over the line. “You got him where he lives.”

“Oh, good. We’ll be right over with it.” I hung up before she could protest.

“Come on,” I said to Simon, “we’re paying a social call.”

We trudged across the lawn to their lanai. Looking very athletic in shorts, a bare midriff top and a pair of men’s white socks, AudreyAnn lay sprawled on a lounge chair. She waved us in.

“Hi,” she said. End of conversation.

The broken crockery had been swept up, but I spotted a shard of blue glaze lying in a corner. It was from a lamp, all right, one I’d helped them select.

Chip met us at the slider doors, dabbing a wet cloth on a cut above his cheek. “A little accident,” he explained, eyeing the cake box.

“A little cake for a little quiet?” I asked, handing him the box.

“Sorry for the noise, Deva. A small difference of opinion.”

AudreyAnn stared out at the pool, her face a piece of concrete.

I turned to Simon. “Our new neighbor, Simon Yaeger. He’s thrilled to be here at Surfside. Right, Simon?”

“Thrilled’s the word,” he replied, forcing a smile.

“You want to sit down or anything?” Chip shot an imploring glance at AudreyAnn. She ignored him. What was her problem, anyway?

“No, thanks.” I stepped back out onto the lawn. “Enjoy the cake. And keep the peace, okay?”