Little Black Book of Murder (22 page)

After a long moment, he said, “All right.”

I put my hand up to him, and he pulled me to my feet. I stepped into his arms and touched the bristle of his cheek. I knew how much he wanted us to be married. But I was afraid. Afraid the Blackbird curse would strike as soon as we exchanged vows. And with Zephyr in the house, I was doubly concerned about his mortality. I gave Michael a kiss on the mouth. Lingering there, I murmured, “Please don't get yourself killed, okay? On top of everything else that's going on right now, I really couldn't handle that.”

I
n the morning, though, Zephyr tried to bash in Michael's skull.

First, Lucy woke us far too early by climbing into the bed and asking for cake for breakfast. A little bleary, I took her into the bathroom, and we brushed our teeth. By the time we were dressed and ready, Michael had crawled out of bed and changed Max's diaper. I switched places with Michael and buttoned Max into his clothes while Lucy used our bed as a trampoline.

We tiptoed past Zephyr's closed bedroom door and went downstairs while breaking the news to Lucy that there would be no cake for breakfast. While I made oatmeal and sliced bananas, Michael brewed a pot of coffee and strolled it down to the security detail to check in for the day.

While the kids ate, Libby telephoned, in tears.

I said, “Is there any word from Rawlins?”

“He's still with the police,” she said with a sniffle. “They're keeping him a little longer. For more questions. But those lawyers of That Man of Yours—­they were very solemn with me, Nora.”

“I'm so sorry, Lib.”

She gave a woeful wail. “The police won't tell me anything.”

“What about bail?”

“He has to be charged with a crime first. And depending on the severity of the crime, the bail could be just a few thousand dollars or—­or it could be something beyond my reach. Nora, I can't let Rawlins sit in jail! He's so young! So impressionable! What if some horrible person tries to hurt him? I can't stand it!”

“It's okay, Lib. We'll manage somehow.” I had no idea how, though.

Sounding more composed, she said, “I'm going there in a few minutes. Can I leave Max with you for a few hours?”

“Sure. What about Lucy?”

“I'm sending someone to pick her up and take her to school.”

“Someone? Who?”

“Oops, hang on, I just dropped an earring.” She fumbled the phone, and I heard a muffled noise.

“Libby—?”

“If you must know,” she said when she came back on the line, “I'm sending Perry.”

“Perry? The bug man? Does Lucy even know him?”

“Yes, she knows him perfectly well. She follows him all over the house when he comes to spray. The only way he'll go into the twins' room is if she goes first.”

Smart man, Perry. But I said, “Are you sure he's okay? Safe, I mean?”

“I'm giving him the opportunity to earn my trust,” Libby said loftily.

Something sounded suspicious, but I couldn't figure out what. “I'm sure one of Michael's people could drive Lucy to school.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I knew Libby would be appalled by the thought of her daughter being chauffeured to the local elementary school by a New Jersey wiseguy.

“Perry will do just fine, won't you, Perry?”

“He's there with you?” I demanded. “For heaven's sake, Libby, did the bug man spend the night?”

“I'll talk with you later,” she said frostily, “as soon as I've seen Rawlins.”

She hung up, leaving me to wonder if she'd had a fling with her exterminator.

Michael came back, and he had Zephyr with him. Both of them had smiles on their faces.

“Zephyr went running up to Starr's Landing,” he told me as he ushered her into the kitchen. “My guys told her about the fire, so she went to look. I met her in the driveway.”

“I hope you don't mind,” she said to me, looking impossibly beautiful and as long-­legged as a gazelle. She held out one foot. “I borrowed your sneakers.”

Although I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn my sneakers, I suddenly minded very much. The fact that she seemed totally unfazed by the fire made me surprisingly angry. If Blackbird Farm had burned, I'd have been devastated. She seemed more concerned about her exercise program. And watching Michael go through the motions of making her toast and coffee, I started to feel more and more steamed for reasons beyond understanding. When I went running, I turned red and sweated through my shirt and sometimes threw up afterward. Which explained both why I rarely went running and why I couldn't fit into my clothes anymore. In fact, just looking at Zephyr was making me nauseated.

“I borrowed the rest of these clothes, too. I found them hanging on the hook in the bathroom. I should probably wash it all.” She was wearing one of Emma's T-shirts and a pair of shorts I wore when I gardened in the summer months. It all looked a little limp.

“I'll show you where the laundry is,” Michael volunteered. “It's back this way.”

He led, and she followed him down the hallway past the scullery.

To Max, I said, “Beauty isn't everything.”

Max gave me a big smile with banana leaking out of his mouth.

The next moment, we heard a resounding
thunk
, and Michael made a noise I had never heard before.

I called, “Everything okay?”

Michael returned, rubbing the back of his head. “An iron fell off the shelf in the laundry room.”

Zephyr came back, looking innocent as she picked up her cup of coffee.

I gave Michael a bag of frozen peas and a stern look.

Zephyr continued to seem unaffected by the destruction of her property. “The farm is an awful mess. The fire marshal said the barn was a total loss. But everything else is pretty good. The house is fine. Maybe I'll go over later and get some clothes.”

“Uh, how long are you planning to stay here?” I asked.

“I'm not sure.”

“Stay as long as you like,” Michael said, making me think of ker-­blamming him with an iron all over again.

We heard a rumble in the driveway. I peeked out the window. Perry Delbert had arrived in his large van with the exterminator logo printed on the side. Above his name, a giant spider lay dead, all eight legs pointed skyward. On top of the cab, the model of a very large mosquito perched as if ready to spring into blood-­sucking action. I took Lucy outside, and she bounded happily into the van's front seat.

While Perry buckled her in, I said, “You're so kind to help my sister in her time of need, Mr. Delbert.”

He was a big, soft-­spoken man with a tendency ­toward shy smiles. This morning he looked a little shaken, however. His nose was sweaty, causing his glasses to slide downward. “She's in need a lot, isn't she?”

“Libby's life is complicated,” I said diplomatically.

“She sure is pretty, though.” He spoke on a wistful sigh.

I waved good-­bye to Lucy as they trundled down the driveway in the bugmobile. I told myself I was going to have a stern discussion with Libby as soon as the worst of our troubles blew over. She had no business toying with Perry Delbert's tender heart.

I checked my watch and dashed upstairs to change into work-­suitable clothes. I flipped through my wardrobe very carefully. Not only did I have a tough fashion crowd to face today, but I wanted to be sure my clothes fit properly. And it wouldn't hurt to show Zephyr she wasn't the only woman in the house who could clean up nicely.

Finally dressed, combed and ready to face the day, I ran down the stairs. I heard the shower running in the guest bathroom, so Zephyr was safely off the radar screen. Michael was alive and doing business on the floor of the library with Max using him as a jungle gym. Michael had the phone to his ear and one eye on the futures market on his laptop computer, while Max crawled all over him. Dolph sat on the window seat, chin in one hand, his face mashed against the glass, sound asleep.

Michael ended his call within a minute. Without moving from the floor he said to me, “You look good today. Really good.”

“Thank your countrymen, Dolce and Gabbana.” I executed a little spin to show off the black suit—­a narrow skirt with a slightly forgiving elastic waist and a hint of lace at the hem, topped by a ladylike jacket with a leather-­trimmed shawl collar cut low enough to reveal a corset-­style underlayer that suggested I wasn't perfectly well-­mannered all the time. A professional look, I thought, with a hint of sex appeal. To offset the winter suit, I wore spring shoes—­a pair of buff suede kitten heels with little black bows on the toes. I had listened to the weather forecast and heard no rain, so the shoes would be safe. The suit showed off my legs and gave me a nice bustline, while being forgiving about everything in between.

The look in Michael's eye boosted my confidence. He was a man, I told myself. He'd probably stop looking at other women when he was dead. But his expression also told me if I lingered very long, I'd be undressed all over again. Although he might look at others, I was the woman he really wanted—­of that, I was sure.

I had to spoil the mood, though. “I may be dressed in a garment that cost thousands, but I don't have train fare to get to work. Have any spare change in your pocket?”

He dug into his jeans and came up with four dollars and a quarter. “Is that enough?”

“I might have a quarter or two in the bottom of my handbag.”

He shook his head. “We can't keep going like this. Not if we have to feed other people. It's time to hit the pawnshop. I'll see what I can get for the laptop.”

“Then you won't be able to do your business. Don't worry. I'll go through my coat pockets. Maybe there's some change from my trip to the grocery last week. How's your head?”

He gave the back of his skull a tentative rub. “Sore. I'm still not sure what happened.”

I gave him a raised eyebrow.

“It was an accident,” he assured me. “No girl is going to bump me off that easily.”

“Are you okay with taking care of Maximus for a few more hours?”

Max tried to climb over Michael's shoulder, but he slipped and nearly hit the floor. Michael caught him easily and hung him upside down by his ankles, which sent Max into a fit of gurgling laughter. Michael said, “We're good. Is Libby going to come here after checking on Rawlins?”

I tucked the money into my handbag. “Unless she scheduled a nooner with the bug man, yes.”

Michael dropped Max into his lap and sat up with interest. “That's a new development.”

“But not unexpected. Rawlins, though—”

“He's a smart kid. He won't say anything that will get him deeper into trouble.”

While dressing, I had started worrying about Rawlins all over again. About how he was being treated. Whether he could keep calm in the face of intense questioning. And whether or not the police might decide he had a connection to the fire at Starr's Landing. But Rawlins didn't have the benefit of Michael's experience for getting through such an ordeal.

Michael guessed where my thoughts were and took my hand. “Try not to worry.”

“Okay,” I said. “I can't get back home until after dinner. I have to go to the office, and then I have a couple of events.” And I wanted to learn more about Swain Starr's life. After Zephyr's revelations about him, I had some ideas about whom I could ask for information.

I leaned down and grabbed a handful of Michael's shirt. I pulled him until we were nose to nose, smiling. “If I come home and find you smelling like Zephyr's perfume or dead by her hand, I'm going to be annoyed, got it?”

“Me, too,” he said with a grin. “Especially the dead part.” He kissed me good-­bye. “We'll be careful.”

Put Michael in the middle of a swamp full of starving alligators, and I'd bet on his getting out alive. But Zephyr might have already murdered three men, and I had a right to be concerned about the nearest target in her range.

Dolph woke when Michael told him to, and he got up to drive me to the train station. On the back porch, I stopped, and he nearly collided with me.

“Have you seen Ralphie lately?”

“Huh? You mean the pig?”

“He's usually here on the porch. Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing him last night, either.”

Dolph shrugged. “Maybe he went looking for a lady pig.”

Dolph drove me the short distance to the train station. As I looked at him sitting behind the car's steering wheel, I realized how short-­legged he was. He had to scrunch the seat forward until his chest almost touched the wheel. I wondered if Zephyr had noticed him.

I did not engage Michael's bodyguard in conversation. He seemed to appreciate the silence. I missed Reed, my usual driver. But Reed had decided to go to community college full-­time this semester, and I knew he was better off studying hard to transfer into a four-­year program. I wondered how Michael was going to continue paying his tuition.

I rode the train into the city while making a few notes about my schedule for the day. Then someone left a newspaper on a seat near mine, and I picked it up. It wasn't the
Intelligencer
, but a paper with a more dignified editorial policy. The fire at Starr's Landing hadn't made the front page yet, but the investigation into Swain Starr's death made a quiet below-­the-­fold headline. I didn't read anything I didn't already know. The good news was that Rawlins wasn't mentioned by name, only as “a juvenile from the neighborhood held for questioning.”