The Monet Murders (19 page)

In the stifling air behind that heavy fabric, my clothes stuck to my back as I strained to listen. A muffled slap floated through the draperies.

“I’ve told you no touch my
derriere
like that,” Ilona said, then the click of her stiletto heels on the marble stairs.

I waited, hardly daring to breathe, for what seemed like an eternity before creeping out from behind the draperies and inching toward the foyer. I’d disarm the security code and reset it, motion sensors and all. In the next instant, I’d be outside waving to the guard. Then I’d disappear down the driveway and out of sight before Trevor got his pants back on.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The instant I slid behind the wheel of the Audi, I groped for the cell and, heart hammering, phoned Rossi. For once, I had something important to tell him, something he couldn’t dismiss for lack of evidence.

He picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?”

“On my way home. Will you meet me there? Fifteen minutes?”

“I’m already there,” he growled. “In your parking lot.”

“You’re waiting for me? How sweet.” I heaved out a sigh of relief. I could always count on Rossi. “Why don’t you jimmy my door open and wait inside?”

“There’s a name for that. Breaking and entering. It’s against the law.”

“Be home as soon as I can,” I said, disconnecting the call and tossing the cell on the passenger seat. As I eased out of the parking space and onto Thirteenth Avenue, my heartbeat slowed to normal. A purist about the law, Rossi might not be as pleased with my news as I’d first thought.

Okay, so technically, I’d entered the Alexander mansion under false pretences. But I meant no harm. If, in fact, I had found the stolen painting, I’d done some good, hadn’t I? An irreplaceable treasure, the Monet belonged out in the world, not fenced into hiding by some sneak thief. Surely Rossi would agree to that.

Anxious to get to him and spill what I knew, I pressed on the gas pedal. With light traffic all the way home, I made it in ten minutes flat and zoomed into the Surfside carport, screeching to a halt next to Rossi’s Mustang.

He greeted me with a poker face and a slight nod of his head. What a romantic.

Nightfall had cooled the salt-laden air a bit, but not by much, and we strolled into my air-conditioned living room with a sigh of relief. But the air didn’t feel cool for long. He reached for me, and together we soon upped the temperature to a sweaty, humid, tropical haze.

Before my body could turn to flame, I eased out of his embrace. “I have to tell you something.”

“It’ll wait.” He stroked my hair.

I took a step back. “No, I have to tell you or bust.”

“Your timing is terrific.” He frowned but let me take his hand and draw him onto the sofa. While I told him what I’d found, he listened without interrupting. But the more I talked, the more the scowl lines in his forehead deepened into grooves.

“That it?” he asked when I stopped, his voice dripping with ice. Or maybe with fire.

I nodded and sat hugging my knees in a corner of the sofa while he paced around my living room waving his arms. I’d never seen him so incensed.

“Breaking and entering is a felony. The Alexanders would be within their rights to press charges.”

The anger in his voice sent my own temper soaring. “Why would they do that? The guard let me in. I’m on Ilona’s good-guy list.”

Rossi glared at me, his hooded eyes smoldering, but not with the passion I’d hoped for. I couldn’t blame him for being furious. Now that I was safely back home, the chance I had taken swept over me, catching me up in a delayed reaction. If I dared get off the couch, I was sure my knees would buckle.

Rossi stopped pacing to stand over me, glowering. “A killer’s on the loose.”

“I know,” I said.

“He struck twice in that house you just broke into.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t interrupt. You could have been his next victim. You should have thought of that.”

Seeing him so upset, with worry lines creasing his forehead and veins sticking out in his neck, I just nodded, all protest exhausted. But Rossi had more to say.

“Suppose he found you examining the painting? Maria was killed because she caught someone cutting it out of the frame.”

“You’re raving, Rossi.”

“And Jesus was killed because he caught someone—”

“Hiding the stolen Monet behind the other one,” I finished. “And the most likely candidate to have done so is George Farragut.”

Rossi shut up and sank onto the sofa next to me. He held out his arms. “Come here.”

I didn’t need a second invitation to snuggle next to him. Warm and hard, his arms pulled me in close. I laid my head on his chest and listened to his heart. All that ranting had it pounding like crazy.

“There’s something else you should know,” I said after a moment.

He groaned and loosened his grip a little. “What now?”

“When I was in Mesnik’s frame shop today I saw something.”

“Yeah?”

“A painting of Ilona Alexander. Paulo is the artist.”

Rossi frowned. “Why is that significant information?”

“No one has been told about it. I don’t think even Lee knows.”

“So?”

“There has to be a reason for the secrecy. I thought you should know.”

“All right. It’s probably not relevant to the case, but I’ll follow up on it.” He dropped a kiss on my hair. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

He knows the thief’s identity. He trusts me enough to confide in me
. I leaned back in his arms so I could look into his face.

“I care for you,” he said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Understand?” He held me at arm’s length so he could judge my response to his words “I can’t stand it when you place yourself in jeopardy,” he continued. “Like you did tonight. Like you have in the past.”

“But—”

“No buts. Throw your arms around me and tell me something I want to hear.”

“I care for you, too, Rossi.” Before the words left my lips, I knew them to be true. I did care for him, Hawaiian shirts, gravelly voice and all. So Jack, God bless him, had known the truth all along. When life takes something wonderful away, it sends something wonderful in its place. “As my Irish grandmother used to say, ‘That’s no word of a lie, Rossi.’”

Rossi beamed out one of his signature grins. “Yeah, I figured you did.”

“What!” I opened my mouth to tell him off, but he stopped me with his sassy, educated lips.

Soft and warm at first, his mouth hardened and opened. His tongue darted out seeking mine, seeking that small lovers’ mating dance. But the growl, where was the growl? Finally, a feral groan escaped from between his lips, a wild creature that couldn’t be contained. I loved causing that reaction in him and all the fight went out of me. When the kiss ended, I gasped for air.

“I liked that.” I admitted. He looked so smug I bristled and tugged free of his arms. “How come you were sure I would?”

Something suspiciously like amusement caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners. “You really want an answer?”

I nodded and folded my arms over my chest in classic defense mode. I had a sneaky feeling I wouldn’t like what he was about to reveal.

“Remember the day you came to my house?”

“I remember.”

“You didn’t want to go into the bedroom with me.”

“So?”

“So I figured there was no way you were afraid of me. You were afraid of yourself. There could only be one reason why. You were nuts about me.” He cocked an eyebrow as if waiting for my retort.

I didn’t let him down. “Rossi, that is so egotistical. It’s over the top, even for you.”

“Granted. But answer me this. Am I right?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been nuts about you since day one. I think your Hawaiian shirts appealed to me first. Then your charm. Your elegant manners. And the fact that when we stand side by side, we’re at eyeball level with each other.”

“You sayin’ I’m short?”

“’Course not. I’m saying you’re just about perfect—your height, your taste, your impeccable style.” I unfolded my arms and wound them around his neck.

“See, what did I tell you?”

“Okay, you win.” I kissed him again. If it weren’t for the Monets, I could have sat there and kept right on kissing him, but what I’d seen in that elegant dining room was coming between us. “Rossi,” I said, in his ear, “Suppose I’m right too? Suppose that is the missing Monet I saw? Then what?”

He sighed, topping it with a frown. “You want me to believe you’re on to something even the FBI missed?”

“The FBI? They’re in on it? So the insurance company got its way.”

He nodded. “They’ve brought in their international art investigator, Robert K. Wittman. You ever heard of him?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“The chief’s nose is a little out of joint, but the insurers wanted every possible resource on the case.”

“Then tell them there’s a painting hidden underneath the top one, because there is.” To beef up my argument, I asked, “You ever read Poe’s ‘The Purloined Letter’?”

“This an English test?”

“No. I’m going to give you the answer. The criminal hid the missing letter on his mantelpiece alongside his other mail. Brilliant, huh? The same here. First, the cops search the house. Second, art experts examine the remaining Monet. Third, they return it to the Alexanders. What better place to hide the missing canvas? In the same room where it was stolen. Right under everybody’s nose.”

He eased his grip on me and heaved another sigh. “A better place might be with a fence. But, okay, stranger things have happened. I’ll go to the chief with what you’ve told me. If you’re right…still a big
if,
Deva…you’ve found a huge piece of the puzzle, and I’ll see that you get recognition for helping crack the case. If you’re wrong, well, I can always start my own P.I. firm.”

My eyes must have lit up or something because Rossi’s fingers tightened his hold, frowning so deeply his eyebrows meshed together. “Listen to me.” He turned me so I faced him directly. “There’s an aspect to this case you know nothing about. So even if you have found the missing painting, the feds are going to tread lightly.”

“What aspect?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You know better than to ask. Also don’t expect to know or hear anything about this in the immediate future.” He gave my shoulders a little shake. “Got that?”

I nodded. He was serious.

“Above all, don’t tell anyone else what you’ve just told me. If you’re correct and word leaks out, you could be killed. Finally, and this is important, you have no proof, none at all, that George Farragut is involved.”

“But—”

“What you have is a hunch. Agreed?”

I nodded, reluctantly. “You could be correct.”

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”

“Yes.”

He pinned me with those hooded eyes. “You will tell no one else what you’ve just told me.”

“I swear I won’t tell another soul.”

“Now kiss me. I have to leave. I’ve got to call a federal agent.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The next day, life almost spun back to the time before my big break-in. Almost, but not quite. Rossi cared. That alone would keep me going, but not Deva Dunne Interiors. For two days, since the news about Jesus’s murder had hit the papers, no one had come into the shop. If this continued much longer, I’d soon be out of business.

The shine in Lee’s eyes dimmed with each passing hour, and her shoulders drooped as she stood by the counter.

“Paulo won’t marry me till his name’s free and clear.”

For no other reason?
She still hadn’t mentioned Ilona’s portrait. In the midst of arranging a Valentine’s display of cupids and crystal hearts, I paused to glance over at her. “I’m sorry,”

“I know,” she continued. “But we won’t get married till after they find the murderer and the missing painting. No telling how long that’ll take.”

“Is he under suspicion again?”

Her face tense and drawn, she nodded. “He’s been questioned twice. Didn’t have much to say, though. He hardly knew that Jesus man.”

I longed to tell her the FBI might be on to the painting’s whereabouts but couldn’t. The best thing I could do for both of us was to keep the doors open to Deva Dunne Interiors. I hoped that would continue to be possible. In the meantime, I had to keep busy with the clients I did have.

“I’ve got to get over to Bears’ Plumbing and order fixtures for that powder room project,” I said. “Think you can handle the crowd alone?”

She nodded and gave me a wobbly smile.

I got as far as the Audi when I remembered my measuring tape and notebook were back in the shop. I tossed my handbag in the trunk and, dodging traffic, jaywalked across Fifth Avenue and hurried down the alley.

“It’s just me,” I said over the cheery jangle of the sleigh bells. I hurried into the shop then careened to a dead stop at the sight of him. Merle Skimp. To my annoyance, a flash of fear shot through me. “I thought you were in Alabama.”

“You thought wrong.” The Devil Rays cap shaded his eyes but didn’t conceal the anger seething in them. At least his hands were empty. No hunk of concrete today.

“What are you doing here?” I hung my hands on my hips, shrew fashion, daring him to cause a problem.

Behind him, Lee, in her little black dress, her curtain of yellow hair flowing to her shoulders, sent a glance darting from her father to me and then about the shop as if she were searching for an escape route and couldn’t find one.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

From the look of her trembling hands, “No ma’am” would have been more accurate.

Easing past the two of them, I rounded one of the display tables and aimed for the phone on the sales desk.

“No need for making calls, missy,” Merle said.

“This is my store. I go where I want.”

“Don’t reach for that phone and we’ll be just fine,” he said. “Alls I’m after is a few answers from my gal here.”

“Lee?”

“It’s all right, Deva. I’ll answer Daddy’s questions. It’s time.”

I had to smile. She was ready for him, no matter what.

“Yesterday, I got halfway to Birmingham,” Merle said to her. “Then I turned around so’s I could ask you a question. When I came by with that check, did you lie to me?”

She shook her head. “No, Daddy, I didn’t.”

“Sins of omission I’m talkin’ about. Omission, like the Bible says.”

I took a step closer to the phone.

Merle’s peripheral vision must have been damned good. “Step away from the phone.”

“Daddy.” Merle swiveled his attention back to Lee. Her chin came up. “I’m getting married. I’d like for you to give me away.”

Merle spread his legs and plunged his hands into his pants pockets. “Who to?”

I edged closer to the phone.

“To Paulo St. James.”

“No, you ain’t. You’re comin’ home with me. Back to Alabama where you belong. Away from that—”

“I’m not going anywhere. This is my home. I
am
going to marry Paulo. Just as soon as he’ll have me.”

“I figured that’s what you had in mind.” Merle’s hand emerged from his pants holding a snub-nosed revolver. “You’re comin’ with me, gal.”

“No, I am not,” she said.

Never had I heard a voice so soft and yet so determined. Its strength put steel in my own spine.

I grabbed a crystal heart from the counter. As I slung it at him, I yelled “Hey, Merle!”

He spun away from Lee. Before he could take aim at me, the crystal heart, heavy as a good-sized stone, smacked him in the head, knocking him to the shop floor. The gun dropped from his grasp and went spinning across the room. A little poetic justice, I thought, pouncing on the gun before Merle could gather his wits.

He lay moaning next to a skirted table loaded with Valentine figurines. At least he hadn’t smashed anything when he fell. A few moments later, he struggled to a sitting position and fingered his head.

“Watch your moves,” I told him. “Or I’ll shoot.”

“You’re bluffin’. You won’t shoot. You ain’t got the guts.”

“Want to put me to the test?”

No answer.

“Well?”

Merle sat up and hung his hands between his knees. “She’s better off dead than married to that—”

“You God now?” I asked. “Lee, call Lieutenant Rossi. His number is 555—”

“No, Deva. Please. I don’t want to call him. Let Daddy go.”

I glanced over at her. “
Go?
You’ve got to be kidding. This was attempted murder.”

She shook her head, sending tears flying off her cheeks. “If he wanted to kill me, he would have. Daddy’s a crack shot.”

With a groan, Merle got to his knees then pulled himself to his feet and stood wavering. A thin thread of blood trickled from his forehead. “I meant you no harm, gal,” he said to Lee, “but I can’t abide your choice. Not now, not ever.”

“Then go, Daddy, and don’t come back.”

Merle held out a hand to me. “Not without my property.”

“You mean this gun? You actually mean this gun?” With my free hand, I beckoned him forward. “Come and get it. But before you try, let me tell you about
my
daddy. He was a Boston cop. He taught me how to shoot. Toss a coin in the air, and I can hit it dead center.” I leveled the gun at his gut. “You want a demonstration?”

“I hate boastful women.”

“That so? Get the hell out before I change my mind. If you ever show your face around here again, I’ll sue you for assault. And attempted murder.”

Merle shrugged and sauntered to the door. “It makes no never mind. I won’t be back.” He upped his unshaven chin at Lee. “I only tried to do what your momma would want.” He yanked the door open and stomped out, giving the door such a vicious slam the bells flew into a frenzy.

Lee collapsed on the chair behind her desk. “I’m so sorry, Deva, but I know him. He won’t be back. He’s through with me. I’ll never see him again. And you know something, I really don’t care.”

With that, she laid her head on the desktop and sat weeping her heart out.

I patted her heaving shoulders, trying to be a comfort, but Paulo was the one she needed.

“Shall I call Paulo, Lee? He’ll help you to—”

“No!” She bolted upright in her seat, raising a tear-stained face. “I don’t want him to know what Daddy said. That’s why I asked y’all not to call the lieutenant. Paulo is so worried about our…difference…I’m afraid he won’t marry me. Especially since Daddy’s so dead set against it. And if he doesn’t, Deva, I will die, just like Daddy wants.”

“Nothing in the world will keep Paulo from you,” I assured her. Though my better judgment told me to turn Merle in, Lee looked so sad I didn’t have the heart to go against her wishes. “Okay, no police, but I sure hope you know your father as well as you say you do.”

I spun the barrel and slid open the cylinder, holding out a palm to catch the bullets. Nothing fell out. I peeked inside the chamber. Empty. “I guess you do know Daddy well. The gun wasn’t loaded. He never intended to shoot, just to scare you into leaving with him.”

Sorrow flickering in her eyes, Lee said, “Daddy wouldn’t hurt a flea, Deva. His bark’s worse than his bite.”

She could be right, but my prior experiences with Merle Skimp didn’t have me convinced. Without burdening her with the knowledge, I intended to turn in the gun to Rossi. I doubted it was the one that had killed Maria and Jesus. Surely Merle wouldn’t be stupid enough to wave it around if it were, but it wouldn’t hurt to be sure.

“Besides, if we reported Daddy, the newspapers might find out,” Lee said. “We don’t want them printing any more bad stories about the shop, do we?”

“No.” I had to laugh, gallows humor no doubt. “Aren’t we lucky business is so bad? Nobody came in during our Wild West Show.”

She rewarded me with the hint of a smile and answered the phone—our first call of the day—then held out the receiver.

“It’s Mrs. Alexander.”

I stiffened. Another call from Ilona? What now? Whatever she had to say, it wouldn’t be good.

“Deva, you are my friend,” she began. “We must speak.”

“I’m listening.”

“Not like this. In person. Can you come?”

I shrugged at Lee and said, “Well, I did have a call to make, but I suppose it can wait. What needs redecorating?”

“My life. My whole life.”

Uh-oh. This had the ring of another client-to-designer tell-all. But this time, I’d welcome the revelation, whatever it might be.

“I’ll be right there.”

“Wait, Deva. Do not hang up. I’m at Ritz Hotel. On floor twelve. Ask for Ilona Szent-Gyorgyi.”

“Your maiden name, why?” But only the silence of a dead phone answered my question.