Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design) (5 page)

Well, I shrugged, no point in remaining alone in the dark no matter how velvet the night. I’d go in and text Rossi my big news.

In the living room, the sofa lights and the TV were blazing away. The minute I stepped into the foyer, Lee leaped up, humming with excitement.

“If y’all hadn’t come in soon, I’d surely have broken into bits,” she said, whirling me around the living room.

Out of breath and dizzy, we collapsed on the sofa together.

“So tell me!”

“Paulo texted me an hour ago.”

“And?”

“And—” her eyes sparkled with blue fire, “—he has a commission, his first big break. I’m so thrilled! Some important man wants a portrait of his wife. A few more commissions like this one, and Paulo will have saved enough to send for me.” A little crease appeared on her forehead. “He likes Paris. Nobody there notices that he’s Jamaican. What he’s really saying is nobody cares if he’s black.” Her blue eyes flared wide. “Why should they? He’s so handsome. So kind. So gifted.” The little crease on her forehead deepened. “I’ll think of that and not about whether the woman he’s painting is beautiful...but she probably is. Why else would her husband want her portrait?”

“Why?” Insecurity, that bugaboo of lovers had obviously sunk its teeth into Lee. No wonder. She had set the man she adored free in Paris of all places. But mentioning that wouldn’t comfort her now, so I said, “Because he loves her with every fiber of his being. Because no other woman on earth exists for him. Because he wants her image on his wall, close to him, where he can gaze at her every day...even when she’s far away.”

I let my words shimmer around us until Lee smiled and said, “You’re what my gran used to call a wise woman. And I’ve been acting like a foolish one. My momma wouldn’t be proud. I’m so glad y’all got home before I fell asleep. I was just dying to share Paulo’s news.” She covered a yawn with a hand. “How was the party? Have a good time?”

“No, we didn’t. One of the men collapsed.”

Halfway through another yawn, she dropped her hand from her mouth. “Collapsed?”

“Died.”

“Oh no. Who was he?”

“Someone I hardly knew. Someone too young to die.”

My voice trailed off. In my heart of hearts I didn’t think Donny had expired from natural causes. Neither, I felt sure, did Rossi. He was probably at the forensic lab already, demanding the shrimp dish be examined immediately.

Lee stood and stretched. “I think I’ll turn in, Deva. The excitement about Paulo has me all tuckered out.”

I lay back on the sofa. “Good night, Lee. I’ll sit up for a while. I need to send Rossi a message. Then I’ll try to relax before going to bed. The whole night’s been...a nightmare. I couldn’t sleep right now.”

Lee turned off most of the condo lamps, and I lay slumped on the couch in the half glow, enjoying, as always, the soft sheen of my Irish furniture. Almost everything in the room had belonged to Jack’s Dublin family—the mahogany hunt board, the four-drawer chests, the brass candlesticks, the Sheffield silver, the drop leaf table and, anchoring everything, the inspiration for my peach and taupe color scheme, the Tabriz rug in those muted shades that take generations of wear to achieve. I loved every piece. Each one reminded me of the Jack I had lost. Each one not nearly as valuable as Francesco’s stunners, but still valuable enough.

Of
course
! I bolted upright on the couch. Something else I hadn’t thought of had hit me. I’d sell a piece of Jack’s furniture. Maybe two pieces. That would yield more than enough money to send Lee to Paris. Drawing in a deep breath, I fell back against the cushions. What a good idea. I could do this. Yes, I could.

But what could I bear to sell? I studied each piece with an eye to parting with it. One of the four-drawer chests maybe? No. Not a good idea to break up a pair. Both then? I heaved a sigh. Instead, how about the Tabriz? Or the rose medallion collection? Yes, definitely the porcelains. And also...well, I’d decide exactly what in the morning. Letting a few pieces go would solve at least one problem if not all the others. Especially not the Donny problem. For that I’d have to wait until Rossi contacted me.

*

“It was cyanide,” Rossi said when he rang the shop the next morning. “At least on the shrimp dish. The coroner’s exam will take more time, but I think there’s little doubt of the outcome.”

“What happens next?”

“We wait for the autopsy results. Until then, should anyone ask, Donny died from a sudden heart attack. Understood?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” he said, sounding relieved.

“Did you get my message?” I asked.

“Yes. Thanks. It’s an interesting tidbit. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Not a very satisfying response to my big revelation about Francesco and Norm, but he had warned me that when it came to his work not to expect much sharing. I didn’t like that but could live with it. I gave a mental shrug—as long as I was involved with Rossi I’d have to.

After we hung up, I mulled over what he’d told me. If the coroner pronounced Donny’s death a murder, wouldn’t the chef be the first suspect? The chef and the salad girl? The salad girl who’d wept over the body of
her
Donny, hugging him to her breasts, distraught and grief-stricken.

An act?

I flung down my pen, all interest in the Grandese presentation boards vanishing. AudreyAnn had left Chip for six long, mysterious months and then made a dramatic return to his ever-loving arms. Had she been living with Donny and been dumped? From her behavior at his death, they were far from strangers. Could she be a scornee still in love with the scorner?

If so, how did that implicate Chip? Had he killed Donny in a fit of jealous rage? Lovable, bumbling, Shrek-like Chip?

Hard to believe.

And what of helpful, sweet Bonita? A widow with sad eyes still grieving for her dead husband. Had she accepted Francesco’s help because she needed it, or because she wanted revenge? Moving in and out of the kitchen all evening, she’d had ample opportunity, and Donny would be her logical target. Though the Ferrari had belonged to Francesco, Donny had actually caused the spark that exploded and killed Tomas.

I shook my head at my own stupidity and picked up the pen again...Francesco was the intended victim, not Donny. So there went my revenge theory.

I stared up at the shop ceiling. Maybe I should change the white to a flattering pink wash.
Hmm
. Suppose someone slipped cyanide into the shrimp dish
after
it had been removed to the kitchen? Then Donny was the intended victim after all, and I was back to the Chip-AudreyAnn-Bonita theory of murder one.

I heaved a sigh so loud Lee looked up, startled, from the carton of Steuben bowls she was unpacking. Until the police received the coroner’s report, speculating was a waste of time. Though no doubt Rossi’s mind was already racing with possibilities. He’d probably even drawn up a list of suspects and motives. That the list would include me, I dwelt on briefly. That a list drawn up by someone else in Homicide would include both Rossi and me, I dwelt on far longer. My fault.

Rossi’s warning echoed in my brain. If I’d listened to him and refused to take on the Grandese project, neither of us would be in this mess today. To Rossi’s credit, he hadn’t mentioned that inescapable detail. But the guilt weighed on me nonetheless. Without question, we were both potential suspects, a fact he must have recognized the instant he suspected poison.

Rossi
. I couldn’t help him with any concerns the chief might have, but his worry that Jack had a lock on my heart I could try to put to rest. One way was to go ahead and see my gynecologist. Find out whether I could have a child. Prove to Rossi that I wasn’t holding on to the past, using it as an excuse to cling to old memories.

I wasn’t, was I?

No. I dug the cell phone out of my purse and punched in my GYN’s number.

Dr. Elizabeth Enright couldn’t see me for two months. In case of emergency, her assistant would give me a referral. Was this an emergency? No. The truth had waited this long, it could wait a few weeks longer. Besides, now that Jack was gone, I had no plans for having a child in the near future—not with Rossi—not with anyone. I had a business to establish, a busy life, a full life. All I wanted from my doctor was the truth.

Actually I had talked myself into feeling a bit better when another call came in on the shop phone and blew my good mood south of the equator.

“For you, Deva. A Mrs. Cookie Chandler Harkness.” Lee covered the receiver with a hand. “She sounds mighty fancy.”

I wrinkled my nose and took the receiver, wondering what on earth she wanted. “Good morning, Cookie.”

“Miss Dunne.”

“Mrs., actually. But do call me Deva.”

“Oh. Of course. Terrible business last night. Terrible. But you already know what happened, and that’s not the reason I’m calling.”

“No? Then how may I help you?” I used my Back Bay Boston voice, which I enjoyed hauling out once in a while when the occasion warranted. Like now.

“Well you can’t help
me
, but I know a young man...his mother and I were roommates at Miss Porter’s ages ago...anyway, that’s neither here nor there. His name is Nikhil Jamison, and he needs help decorating his apartment. He doesn’t have much to spend so I told him about you. I know your services are cheap.”

Cheap? God, the woman set my teeth on edge.

“If you mean inexpensive, Cookie, what gave you that idea?”

“Well, you’re hardly Carlton Varney.” She laughed, a tinkling, glass-shattering laugh.

I wanted to kill her. “I’m sorry, Cookie, but I’m too busy to take on another client. Do express my regrets to your young man.”

“But that’s not—”

“I really must go. I’m late for an appointment.
Ciao
.”
The
nerve
of
that
broad
.
I’ll
give
her
cheap
.

I hung up and forced my attention back onto the Rum Row project. Family tragedy or not, I suspected Francesco would want to see my concept ASAP.

For major projects like this one, I did floor plans to scale showing all major furniture placements. As soon as I completed Francesco’s project and was paid in full, I planned to purchase a new computer and use CAD—computer aided drafting—for big jobs. No more hand-rendered floor plans after this one.

Francesco had given me snapshots of his antiques, including the dimensions of each piece. I spread the photos out on my drafting table and began the selection.

I didn’t get too far. Usually I could ignore the foot traffic and distractions of the shop to concentrate on planning projects, but not today. As Lee greeted two customers searching for drapery fabric, I swiveled away from my project to stare unseeing at the opposite wall.

Say Donny’s death had been an accident and Francesco was the intended victim. Who at the party wanted him dead?

Norm Harkness would be my first pick. He had a powerful motive. Francesco had threatened him with exposure if he didn’t pay back the money he owed him, but from what I overheard, Norm wasn’t able to settle the debt.

What about Cookie? Would she actually kill an offensive neighbor when she could simply cut him dead? Or to be serious, what if she knew about Norm’s debt? If she did, would she commit murder for her man? Divorce was so much easier. I gave a mental shrug. Who knew?

Then there was Jewels. Caring for one baby, pregnant with another, surely she didn’t want her husband dead. Except, of course, that as his widow she’d inherit everything. An evil thought crept into my mind. Though she appeared to love little Frannie, was she harboring a bitter resentment against Francesco for having taken another lover?

As for sweet, grieving Bonita, no way would she murder anyone. She simply didn’t have the
gravitas
for such a violent deed...still, why was she eavesdropping on Francesco’s argument with Norm?

Phew
.

I swiveled around to the desk, but the questions wouldn’t leave me alone. Chances were remote that Simon Yaeger’s search would turn up a long-lost owner for all those Grover Clevelands. So with Francesco out of the way, the half million plus would soon be Chip’s free and clear. Murders had been committed for a lot less. That left AudreyAnn. If she didn’t love Chip, her motive for staying with him was security, so her reason for wanting Francesco dead echoed Chip’s.

No
. I paced around the display tables, searching for solutions, but I was fishing without a pole. Somehow, for either Chip or his squeeze to kill Donny in a fit of jealous rage made more sense than for them to kill Francesco for money he might not even attempt to claim.

That left only Rossi and me on my suspect list. Why would I want to kill a man who had given me
carte
blanche
to work on a house I loved? As for Rossi, what possible motive would he have? Ridiculous to even consider him for the suspect list.