Armoires and Arsenic (7 page)

Tuesday was a vision in black and white. Stripes, polka dots, zebras, plaids and a 1968 hallucinogenic geometric nightmare adorned her blouse, sweater, skirt, petticoat, scarves, shawls and Paris-themed apron. Each floaty and fighting for attention.

“Apron?” Olivia said when she ran down the walk to jump on her friend. “Who wears aprons anymore? Even to cook?”

Tuesday howled. “You know me. I love Paris,” she sang, twirling like a whirling dervish as she showed off her outfit.

It wasn’t until after the marathon hug and many cheek and air kisses that Olivia noticed the pink hair. But that wasn’t a surprise. Tuesday rainbowed her locks regularly. It had been a purple Mohawk when they’d kissed goodbye.

“Come in, come in,” Olivia said, grabbing some of Tuesday’s luggage, enough for a six-month getaway to Europe.

Tuesday made the appropriate cooing noises about the beautiful space and extravagant pieces for sale. Her first act was to head to the kitchen with a carryon and line up a new age pharmacy worth of herbs, teas, plus various remedies and cleanses. She said what Olivia already knew, “I can’t go anywhere without my stash.”

Later, on the white couch that Tuesday claimed because it was the perfect backdrop for her two-toned look, she drained her first glass of champs, held it out to Olivia for a refill and said, “So? Details please?”

Olivia obliged her with the Veuve Cliquot and said, “Tues, if I knew the answer to your questions, I’d take over Detective Richards’ job. I don’t know, I don’t know, and, let’s see. There’s one more thing. Oh, yes. I don’t know.”

That took care of Tuesday’s bugging her about who killed Mr. Blackman, why and what on earth was he doing in your armoire, girl child?

Olivia leaned back in her leather club chair and shrugged her shoulders. “Can I make you some tea so you‘ll tell me?”

“I’m off duty, Devil Diva, at least for today.” Olivia grinned and cut a diva-ish pose. She loved the affectionate names Tuesday called her. Once she accused her, “You call me sweet buns and babykins because you can’t remember my name.”

Right now, Tuesday had her attention no matter what she called her.

“You don’t have to be clairvoyant to know you had better do some sleuthing of your own to find out why this detective dude is after your hide. And what does he have on Cody? An argument six months ago? What’s that about? Does he think Cody is carrying a grudge? And what do the Blackman’s have against you?”

Olivia put up her hand to stop the rush of Tuesday’s questions. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d give you an exclusive?”

Tuesday frowned, her pink Afro dipping over her forehead. “What I don’t understand is why poison the guy? I mean, if they were trying to cover it up to make it look like a death from natural causes? I mean, why else would you use poison? And like, with forensics these days? Don’t they like watch CSI? Who even does poison anymore? So why stuff him in the armoire and tie it up so it is obviously a murder? I mean, what’s up with that, Ollie Mollie?”

Olivia gave her a wide-eyed are you kidding me look. “You’re asking me to get into the mind of a killer? I don’t even step on ants.”

Tuesday gave her a two thumbs up. “And that’s why you’re my girl.”

Olivia bowed her head in thanks, then continued. “And another thing. Strychnine? Isn’t that easily detectable? I know arsenic is cumulative. You have to give many doses over time, right Tues?”

Tuesday guffawed. “Like I should know? Do I look like Lucretia Borgia? Hmm, come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind glamming it up with some jewels and velvet. But later for that. Seriously, why are you under suspicion? I don’t get it.”

Olivia threw up her hands in frustration. “Tuesday, come on. That’s why I need you. Can’t you give me a hint? Can’t you feel some vibrations or what ever it is you feel? Seriously. I’ll make some tea. We have to figure this out and get Cody out of jail and . . . .”

Olivia leaned over and picked up the tray of triple crème cheeses and seed crackers to tempt her friend. With a mouthful of St. Andre, Tuesday said, “Wait a minute. I thought he was just being questioned.”

She leaned over to let the cracker crumbs fall from her mouth to her plate before continuing. “That’s not the same thing as being in jail.” She wiped her mouth with an ivory cocktail napkin that had DVD&A in a circle around Olivia’s logo, an ornate Greek plinth.

Olivia still couldn’t eat, though Tuesday’s arrival both calmed her anxieties and lifted her spirits. She hadn’t mentioned Brooks yet. But a hole had opened up in her center that wouldn’t close and wouldn’t accept food. In this abyss, all the unknowns of life yawned before her. Life, death, the misery of uncertainty and insecurity. What had happened to the sense of adventure and freedom, of limitless possibility that had swept her from LA to Darling Valley? It wasn’t just to get away from Brooks. She’d also been  exhilarated at the prospect of a new life, new challenges. Now it all seemed like a huge mistake. She punched the pillows on her couch and fussed with them until they looked camera ready. The futzing calmed her a bit, as it always did. She was born to make spaces beautiful. Her grandmother said so. The bit of pillow primping helped her climb back into herself, up from that ugly pit of despair. She answered Tuesday.

“Jail. Questioning. Whatever. He’s still in the hands of the police department and I’ve got to get my life back on track. If I don’t sell enough pieces over the weekend, I’m in serious trouble with the bank or whoever really owns this place. I can’t afford to have crime tape on my front lawn and suspicions floating around that I am involved in a murder. I’m so rattled, I can’t think. Help me out, here.”

Olivia got up and turned on the gas fireplace to take the chill off the evening wind whipping around the windows and seeping into the room. In an instant, blue and purple flames threw warmth across the room. Olivia emptied the last of the champagne into their glasses. As was their habit, the hostess kissed the bottle goodbye. Olivia upended it into the ice bucket and said, “I have a buttery Chardonnay for dinner.” Then she hinted, “But I can always make tea.”

Tuesday put her glass down on the coffee table. “Sweetie, if you want to know if your man is cheating on you, well I’m your fortune teller . . . and don’t forget, I told you not to go to that dinner party.”

“Tuesday! It was a week after the breakup! How did I know he’d be there with a new girlfriend? After a friggin WEEK?”

She slumped back. This always happened with Tuesday. The pain she had worked so hard to deaden with a new business and new life came flooding back as soon as she hinted at his name. “After what happened?” she said into her hands.

Tuesday waved her arms. “Back on topic.  Back on topic. This is about me, remember?”

Olivia lifted her head and Tuesday said, “I don’t do crime. It gives me the willies. I don’t even want to know the answers. What we do know is that you didn’t do anything wrong and this town has what, twelve people tops? How hard can it be to figure out who did this?

She unwrapped a zebra print scarf from her waist and tied it around her hair. Up on her haunches, she checked herself in the gilt mirror over the mantel. She looked at Olivia. “The world is watching. African princess with a bad hair day?”

Olivia gave her the once over and laughed, ready for some comic relief. “Hmm. Could be early Diana Ross. Nah, you’ve nailed it.”

Tuesday sank back down on the cushy sofa and grinned, “Exactly the look I was after,” then turned serious. “Give me a list of the suspects.”

“Suspects? How would I know? Well, of course, as far as Richards is concerned, there’s me. And Cody.”

Tuesday stretched out and put her feet up on the coffee table. “No, seriously. Who do you know connected to Blackman’s business and why would they want to kill him? Let’s look at Cody. I know you think he’s a sweetie, but what do you really know about him? You’ve told me yourself that he can be unreliable and now we know he lies. He never told you about the police call.”

Olivia came to his defense. “That wasn’t a lie. He just didn’t reveal some personal information.”

“I’ll say. Nor that he was into Blackman’s daughter.”

“Well, he’s private. In a funny way.”

She and Cody had a lot in common.
They both had a past that was still very present. Cody had never come straight out and admitted it, but whenever he referred to his friend, Jessica – were all females born in the 1990’s named Jessica—she recognized the signs of a torch carried too long, the singeing around the eyes that usually shone like the sun, the faint sigh and quick turn away to finish a chore, or take a swig of coffee to avoid explaining what happened to them.  After one or two tries to get him to open up, she let the subject of Jessica go until Cody brought it up, which he probably did more than he realized.

She looked over at Tuesday. “
You can’t get real serious with Cody. He makes a joke out of everything. Wait till you meet him. You’ll know in a minute he couldn’t have done this.”

Tuesday was hesitant with her next question. But after a pause, asked, “So why was he an hour late?”

“Tues, he’s twenty, twenty-one soon. You remember what that age is like. Your mission in life is to sleep as late in the morning as possible.”

Olivia telegraphed her discomfort with Tuesday’s grilling. She kept her arms in a death grip across her chest, and that tight line for a mouth was back. But none of it stopped Tuesday. “A tendency to violence is no joke, hon. An hour is plenty of time to send someone to the great beyond and tie him up in a chest.”

This made Olivia so uncomfortable she had to stand up and walk around the room. “I don’t believe he did it. I swear, Cody is pumped up with muscles, but it’s amazing how well he can stand without a backbone. If there was an altercation, my money is on Blackman starting it.”

Tuesday took over. “I’ve never met the guy, but how well can you know him in four months? I’d sure love to see that police report. Is that in the public record?”

“I don’t need to read a police report. I just know when somebody is being straight with me. And I don’t need tea leaves to tell me.” Olivia took the last sip of her champagne. It wasn’t having its usual calming effect.

“Oh. Like with Brooks? You had his number all right, didn’t you?”

“Tuesday, that’s cruel.”

The conversation was becoming a drag on her heart, pulling her back to the past, to all the things she was trying to forget, her partnership in a prestigious firm, her open-ended bank account, her engagement to Brooks, all the things that once said the world was her oyster.

Tuesday sat forward and put her hand on Olivia’s knee. “I’m just sayin, sweetie. Love is blind. Even the platonic kind. And I know how hard this has to be on you. You feel things deeply. After all, you’re a Cancer.” She threw out her arms. “That explains the decorating, the domesticity. You need home. It’s why Brooks is so hard for you.”

Olivia signaled stop. “Please. Don’t go there.”

Tuesday backed down. “Okay, okay.”

There was a pause while they both took a breath, then Tuesday said, “Um, I know it isn’t my business, but it is platonic, isn’t it? I mean if you two have a situation going, more power to you, but if you do the down and dirty . . . .”

Olivia did an exaggerated cringe. “With Cody? Ugh. We don’t. He’s like my little brother. Even the thought of it gives me the creeps.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t want to give Richards anything that smells like a conspiracy. Cougar covering up for her boy toy. Or, could you be in it together? Revenge for Blackman killing the relationship with his daughter and you coming to his defense?”

Olivia pulled herself back from Tuesday’s comforting touch. “Tuesday! Whose side are you on? You’re reading too many crime novels.”

“I know honey. Humor me. It makes for a good story line. Maybe I could pitch it to this new studio guy I just met. Seriously, you’ve been getting some funny stories today. Mrs. Dimwiddy downstairs having a clandestine dinner with the deceased’s about-to-be divorced minor daughter who once hooked up with one of the suspects.”

“We don’t know she’s a minor.”

“Humor me. Who else could be in on it? Sounds like the wife is genuinely snockered with grief, so we can eliminate her. There’s the business partner. From what you’ve told me she’s the creative and he’s the deal guy. But if Blackman is, er was, her meal ticket, hmm, maybe there was business insurance or something. You know, like sometimes partners insure one another’s lives kind of thing?”

Tuesday put her speculating on pause to smear some more St. Andre’s on a cracker and sprinkle it with caviar. She wiped her mouth on a cocktail napkin, looked thoughtfully at Olivia and said, “Well, I’m fresh out of suspects. How about you?”

Just then, they heard Cody’s brother’s Harley roar into the driveway.

Tuesday said, “Speak of the devil.”

Olivia gathered up the glasses and stuck them on the kitchen counter. Tuesday followed with the cheese plates just as the doorbell rang.

Olivia turned to Tuesday and said, "Do you mind if I speak to Cody on my own? He might not open up to a stranger.”

So after the introductions, Tuesday claimed she needed to do some Internet research. “I wonder if someone slipped some oleander into his scotch.”

Cody said, “How do you know he drank scotch?”

“Cody,” she said, displaying abundant annoyance. “It’s just an expression. Oleander is a poisonous plant.” Then she disappeared into the guest bedroom in a cloud of black and white second hand chiffon.

Olivia called out, “Dinner in an hour,” while Cody helped himself to a beer in Olivia’s refrigerator and carried it back to the living room. He was too antsy to sit on the camelback sofa, so he stood at the mantle with his back to the fire.

Olivia noted his beard was a three day now, signaling that he had not showered or shaved yet today. She waited for him to take a few swigs, then said “So tell me, Cody, why did they keep you so long? I’ve been tearing my hair out.”

He shook his head in disgust. “That Johnson had it in for me. I had a little run in with Blackman last year. It was nothing. A simple disagreement and he calls the cops.”

Olivia played dumb. “What was it about?”

She unbuckled her boots, slipped them off, and tucked her feet under her legs.

Cody’s voice rose, beseeching her to believe him. “Nothing. Nothing serious. I wasn’t threatening him or anything. He’s a very touchy guy. Was a touchy guy. And not very well liked around here.”

“Why would that be?”

In just a few minutes Cody had drained his beer. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could stop himself, he belched. His cheeks bloomed with embarrassment. For all the kidding he did with Olivia, he was never crude. But she had turned mellow from the wine and laughed, surprising Cody and embarrassing him even more.

His unease showed when he continued. “His um, whaddyacallit, um, reputation preceded him. Word was, he was involved in a business deal that went very sour before he moved here. Somewhere down in Silicon Valley. That was about three years ago. You know how it is with the rumor mill. It goes viral before you know it. Mrs. Blackman made it her business to get connected socially, but they were only included on the fringes. You know, fundraisers where they had to pay a hefty price for tickets. But they never like, got invited to Mrs. Gotrocks’ private dinner parties.”

He looked at his beer bottle as if it would tell him whether to have another. He placed it on the mantle and continued. “Then someone asked him to appraise a very expensive pair of lamps. He took them to his shop and the owners claimed that he returned reproductions.”

Olivia let out a moan. “Oh no. Cody, why didn’t you tell me this before I did business with him?”

“You didn’t ask me, O. And nothing was ever proved. It just became some buzz around town. And my friend Carrie, you know, from A Salted Caramel? The pastry shop?”

Olivia nodded. “Of course I know Carrie. Go on.”

“Well she moonlights for a caterer and hears things while she’s passing hors d’oeuvres. The Blackmans were looked down on.”

A light bulb went on for Olivia. “That explains why Mrs. Harmon trashed him this morning. But listen, weren’t you afraid you had a conflict of interest?”

“What do you mean?”

Suddenly, Olivia felt motherly towards Cody. Not exactly a nurturing mother, but a calling you to task for your own good mother. “Cody, Detective Richards told me about the altercation and about Jessica. Shouldn’t you have told me?”

Cody rolled his eyes and put his head down on the mantle.

“Tell me about Jessica.”

He raised his head and pleaded to the ceiling. “There’s nothing to tell. There is no Jessica. Not in the sense you mean.”

“Why did Blackman refuse to let you see her? Was she underage?”

“No. Not by then. We met senior year in high school, right after they moved here. By the time things got serious she was already nineteen. Her old man didn’t want her hanging with somebody from the wrong side of the tracks. My family was here before there was a wrong side of the tracks. Before Darling Valley was on the map. Just a little town like Marin City.  Working class.  Hard to get to from Highway 101 so it was cheap.  My family fit in back then, been here for generations working in the quarry. My dad was an extra in the Dirty Harry movie.  You know the one where Clint Eastwood is standing in the quarry, near the Larkspur trestle, but I can’t remember if that is in the movie, and he says, ‘Do you feel lucky?’ That’s our claim to fame. By the time the money found Darling Valley, we were being pushed out. Probably will be soon. That’s what the Blackmans had against me, I guess. There was nothing else I could put my finger on, other than he had plans for her. Or, Mrs. Blackman did. And they didn’t include me.”

Olivia didn’t know how to ask the burning question. They both were quiet for a moment, lost in the complexities of the
day. Then she just came out with it. “Did Jessica have a big wedding?”

Cody stared at her in shock. “What? What wedding? Jessica’s married?”

“Well, not for long. I assumed you’d know about this. She’s getting a divorce.” Olivia could have kicked herself for delivering this heartbreaking news.

“You’re kidding me. Who did she marry? I never heard about that. I haven’t seen her since that night with her father, but I’m sure somebody would have told me. People knew we had a thing.”

Cody’s face crumbled. Olivia thought she detected a tremble in his voice and hoped she hadn’t brought him to tears. How could he not have known?

“Mrs. Harmon had dinner with her last night. I ran into Mrs. Blackman’s assistant at Paymoor and she told me. I was surprised because, you know, I told you, Mrs. Harmon was supposed to be with her nephew, who apparently doesn’t exist, and then she told me that dinner was cancelled and turned out she hangs out with Jessica pretty regularly.”

Cody looked truly puzzled. “Jessica can’t stand Mrs. Harmon.”

“Well, according to Marcia, she is a mother figure to her now, especially during this divorce. She saw them together. She told me.”

Cody became quiet, and Olivia’s heart ached for him as she saw him locked in shock and hurt. An image of Brooks at that hideous dinner party crossed her mind. She knew what it was like to be reminded of the lost love.

“I’m sorry, Cody. I just assumed you knew. After all, this is such a small town and all.”

Cody pulled himself together. “I gotta go, Olivia. I’m beat and I need some dinner. This is all too much. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before she could stop him or ask him about his interview with Richards, he was down the stairs and out the back door.