Decorated to Death (11 page)

Keeping my opinion and suspicions about Vincent Salerno to myself, and seeing how upset the girl was, I approached the subject with caution.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” I suggested, “and tell me about it. Maybe if you talk it out, we can shed some light on the situation.”

“Remember when we were in Milano’s yesterday in the late afternoon and you were asking me questions about Vinny?” said Ellie with a catch in her voice.

Since I wasn’t sure where Ellie was going with her question, I tried to keep my answer as innocuous as possible. “Yes, I believe I asked if he’d been recently employed by your mother, or something like that.”

“Yes, and I told you that my mother hired him after Auntie’s death. Please, Mrs. Hastings, don’t think I’m making much to do about nothing, which is what my father says, but right from the get-go, I suspected that there was more to it than my mother would admit.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie, but I don’t quite follow what you’re saying. Can you run that by me again?”

I was dying for a cigarette but with my luck, the girl would turn out to be highly allergic to smoke and end up being rushed to the hospital. I reminded myself that if I didn’t solve Dona Deville’s murder soon, a certain young doctor wouldn’t be available to marry Ellie, much less save her life. The cigarette would have to wait.

“What I’m saying, Mrs. Hastings, is that my mother was convinced Auntie’s death wasn’t an accident but happened because of my mother’s drug abuse. Nobody, not even my father or Goody, paid attention to anything she had to say about it. Like everyone else who knew her, I thought she was losing it. And in a lot of ways, she was, but that doesn’t make her death any easier to take. In spite of everything, I loved my mother and she loved me.”

Eager to keep the conversation on track, I asked Ellie where Vincent Salerno fit into the picture. I didn’t want to be too critical but I hinted strongly that in my opinion he didn’t seemed to be much of a bodyguard.

Ellie’s face brightened. “You know, Vinny told me that you were very perceptive. In fact, he said you’d make one heck of a private investigator because you have a sharp mind and a big nose. I hope that part about the nose doesn’t offend you. That’s just the way Vinny talks.”

I could tell by the way the conversation was going, I probably would be late for my visit with Charlie.

“As you were saying, your mother thought her aunt’s accident was no accident, so she bought a gun for protection and hired a bodyguard who was like a big brother and had bad work habits, like disappearing for hours, right? Maybe this time, the guy pulled a Judge Crater.”

“Excuse me?” said the puzzled Ellie. “Who’s Judge Crater?”

“A politically connected New York City judge who cleaned out his bank account, hopped in a taxi, and disappeared off the face of the earth. I believe it happened in the summer of 1930.”

“Wow, that’s like way, way, way before my time,” said Ellie, scrutinizing every laugh line on my face.

“In case you’re wondering, it’s way, way before my time, too,” I said, purposely using the word “way” only twice.

Ellie responded with her megawatt smile before returning to the subject of the missing bodyguard. “If he were going to be gone a really long time, he would have told me. The last person to see him was the bartender at Milano’s. He said that Vinny was in the bar yesterday, late Sunday afternoon, when we were in the dining room. Vinny ordered a ginger ale, made a cell phone call, and the next thing the bartender knew, Vinny was gone. He didn’t even finish his drink.”

“It’s only been about twenty-four hours since, as you say, he went missing,” I said. “I really don’t think that it’s time to panic.” Taking another peek at the clock on the wall, I resigned myself to the fact that unless Ellie wrapped things up pretty soon, my visit with Charlie would be a short one.

“I suppose you’re right, but I keep thinking of something Vinny said to me about my mother’s murder.”

“And what was that?” I asked, hoping that what he’d said to Ellie made more sense than his alibi did for the time when Dona was murdered.

“He said that if my mother was right about Auntie’s accident being no accident, then whoever murdered my mother probably murdered Auntie. And maybe they won’t stop there.”

Thanks to Hilly Murrow’s reporting in print and on the air, everyone knew that Dona Deville’s death made Ellie Halsted one very, very wealthy girl.

“Ellie, are you worried that you might be the murderer’s next victim?”

“No, what I’m really worried about is that people might think I’m the one doing the killing,” she answered. “Worse yet, they may even think that Peter is marrying me for my money.”

I didn’t see any value in bringing the obvious to Ellie’s attention; she’d just provided herself and Peter Parker with one of the strongest motives for murder—monetary gain. After doing my best to assure Ellie that the missing Vinny would most likely turn up safe and sound, I walked her to the door, but not before promising her that I would attend her mother’s funeral on Wednesday.

Then, without any time to review the conversation, freshen my makeup, or even change my clothes, I jumped in the van, lit a cigarette, and drove straight over to the hospital and my evening visit with Charlie.

I could have stayed at home for all the good it did me or my husband. Charlie was out like a light. The head nurse explained that during his physical therapy session with Martha, he overdid it and was in pain. Dr. Parker ordered that Charlie be given something for the pain, which effectively knocked him out for the night. Since no one seemed the least bit concerned that my husband was dead to the world, I gave up and sat down in the bedside chair. Clutching Charlie’s limp hand in mine, I dozed off. With our mouths shut, eyes closed, and intellects on hold, Charlie and I were alone together at long last.

We might have remained that way if it hadn’t been for the panicky report made by a passerby claiming that he saw a couple of stiffs in room 321, Charlie’s room. When my husband slept through the ensuing onslaught of invading hospital personnel, which included two janitors, a candy striper, a host of nurses, and the chaplain, I knew it was time for me to go home. And I did, but not before leaving my husband a note that read:
Here’s looking at you, kid.
I didn’t bother to sign it. He would know it was from me and that I’d been up to see him.

Upon arriving home, I took a hot shower, poured myself a large glass of Weber’s Bay Chardonnay, and collapsed with Pesty and the running shoe on the plaid camelback sofa in the dated but cozy den. I clicked on the TV in hopes of catching the last half hour of the
Antiques Roadshow
on PBS. I was in luck. I’d tuned in just as a retired schoolteacher was about to receive some exciting news from the appraiser. Much to the teacher’s surprise, the grungy folk-art painting she’d inherited from an aunt was worth a pretty penny.

“See,” I said to the little Kees, “you should never judge a book by its cover, especially one that’s been inherited.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I all but fell off the sofa. Dona Deville had inherited something from an aunt—the old cottage. Had I overlooked the obvious? Was the cottage, like the folk-art painting, worth a pretty penny? Was the cottage part of the property dispute between Dona Deville and her ex-husband that Vincent Salerno alluded to when I asked him why Ruffy insisted on driving Ellie to Seville the night before Don was murdered?

It was too late to contact Amanda Little, Seville’s top real estate agent, regarding the property, but I added it to my Tuesday to-do list, along with stopping by Peter Parker’s office. I wanted to hear his stethoscope explanation, that is, if he hadn’t already been arrested for Dona’s murder. But since Hilly Murrow hadn’t trumpeted the news, nor had I heard anything from Martha Stevens or Ellie Halsted on the subject, I was pretty sure that for the time being, Peter Parker was still a free man.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” I said to Pesty, who appeared to be more interested in her master’s running shoe than in what I had to say. Later, when I climbed into bed, I found the shoe tucked under the pillow on my side of the four-poster brass bed. For her thoughtfulness, the little ball of fur was rewarded with an invitation to spend the night on Charlie’s side of the bed, which she immediately accepted.

The next morning, Tuesday, I was awakened from a sound sleep by one hungry and pesty Kees. Scrambling into the only available clean outfit on my side of the bedroom closet, I vowed that if I accomplished nothing else, I would do a load of wash before the sun set. Maybe I was getting used to the thing but after checking myself out in the full-length mirror in the downstairs hallway, I thought I looked pretty good in the green chenille jumpsuit.

“Ho, ho, ho,” I said when JR answered the phone. “Guess who’s calling.”

“Don’t tell me, I think I know. Since you sound too long in the tooth to be Little Sprout, you must be the Jolly Green Giant. What’s on that fertile, or should I say furtive, mind of yours this morning, Mother? And make it quick. Matt’s in the bedroom getting ready to leave and I’m supposed to be fixing him breakfast.”

“Are you telling me that you can’t cook and talk at the same time? Where did I fail?” I shot back as I overfilled the coffeemaker, flooding the countertop with water.

“Come on, Mother, get to the point, I really don’t have much time,” said JR.

“Okay, I just thought I’d give you a call so that you know what I’m up to today. I’ll be going over to see Peter Parker at his office. Actually it’s Doc’s office, but you know what I mean. And before you ask, there’s nothing wrong with me. I want to ask him about the stethoscope.”

“Do me a favor, promise me you won’t go there alone. Either get Aunt Mary to go with you or wait for me. Kelly’s got baseball practice at ten and it’s my turn to drive. Oh, and I have to bring the cat to the vet clinic for some kind of shots. Get a load of this—they think she’s allergic to fish.”

“Don’t forget about me, Mama,” cried a small but insistent voice that I correctly guessed was Kerry’s. “You promised to take me to the Springvale mall for my ballet outfit. I’m the only girl in the class who doesn’t have a tutu.”

“Listen, Kerry,” I overheard JR speaking to my granddaughter despite an attempt to muffle the conversation, “Grandma needs me to run an errand with her today, so maybe we’ll go to the mall tomorrow.”

“But that’s what you said yesterday,” wailed Kerry. “My lesson is tomorrow and Mrs. Duckworth expects me to have a tutu. I’ve got to have a tutu.”

“What the heck is a tutu?” asked Matt in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. I could have used him the night before when I was visiting Charlie at the hospital.

“Hey, JR,” I hollered into the phone, “I’ll let you go and I promise I’ll take Aunt Mary with me. Love ya.”

“Love ya, too, Mom. Maybe next time. And like I said before, if I think of anything that might be of some help, I promise I’ll call you on your cell no matter what, when, or where.”

There are times when I miss not having kids around but this was not one of those days. I doubted if JR remembered the trip I’d made years ago to Indianapolis in the middle of a severe thunderstorm warning. Like Matt, Charlie also demanded to know “what the heck is a tutu?”

Whatever it was that I did to the coffeemaker, the thing wasn’t working. I put the kettle on, deciding instant coffee would have to do, dropped two pieces of sourdough bread into the toaster, and dumped a measured cup of Dandy Diet dog food into Pesty’s food dish.

Once breakfast was out of the way, I put in a call to Mary. After listening to my plans for the day, she enthusiastically volunteered to tag along.

“Denny’s taking a day off from golf to work down at the store,” Mary said. “That surpised me almost as much as Herbie showing up today. In view of what happened to him last night, I felt sure that he would ask for the day off.”

“What’s his problem? Did the little green men keep Herbie up past his bedtime again?” My inquiry was loaded with much sarcasm and little sympathy.

The furniture store salesman’s claims of being abducted by aliens and transported to their spaceships, where he’s prodded and probed, had become old hat. If Herbie is to be believed, he’s logged more time in outer space than the Russian cosmonauts who manned the Mir station.

“No, not at all,” replied Mary, deliberately ignoring my snide reference to Herbie’s nocturnal activities. “His car was broken into last night along with three other cars on Sixth Street. He’s really upset about the whole thing. Not only did the theives take almost everything that wasn’t nailed down in the car, they also made off with his brand-new bowling shirt. It had his name on it and everything.”

“Jeez, that really is too bad. You know, when you think about it, Seville has had more than its fair share of this kind of thing. Most of it seems to be happening in and around the college and the downtown area.”

“You’re right about that, Gin. Are you going to mention it to Matt?”

“No, I don’t think so. I have a feeling that Matt is very much aware of the situation. As my mother was fond of saying, unless you’re the boss, don’t tell the workers how to do their jobs.”

“Really? Funny, I don’t remember your mother ever saying anything like that,” Mary said, sounding skeptical.

“Well, she did,” I fibbed, anxious to move on. I advised Mary to wear something cool and comfortable in keeping with the weather forecast of another hot and humid day. “I’ll pick you up in about fifteen minutes. Bye-bye.”

Before leaving Kettle Cottage, I made sure that the air conditioner was set low enough to suit Pesty. I also filled her bowl with cold water and a handful of ice cubes. When the pampered pooch spotted the keys to the van in my hand, she dashed to the back door. Charlie’s running shoe dangled from her mouth by a soggy shoestring.

“Sorry, girl, I can’t take you with today. It’s too hot,” I said to the disappointed pooch, who began to whine in protest.

Taking the shoe from Pesty, I filled it up with a selection of diet dog biscuits. With the pampered pooch close on my heels, I set the shoe down under the kitchen table. The combination of shoe and biscuits did the trick. When I reminded Pesty to behave and that I would be back soon, she was up to her short snoot in treats. Thus occupied, the little Kees ignored my departure.

On the drive to Mary’s, I thought about the rash of car break-ins and the growing number of home burglaries. So far, no one had gotten hurt since none of the home owners were present when the thieves hit. I also thought about Dona Deville’s murder and the death of her aunt. Were all these events somehow connected? I honestly didn’t know, but my mind kept replaying the old nursery rhyme that began “This is the house that Jack built…”

The simple but clever rhyme begins with that one line and ends with it as well, forming a circle. Was it possible that, like the nursery rhyme, my investigation would end up in a circle? I could only hope that the circle wouldn’t form a noose around some innocent person’s neck. Where, I wondered, was my Irish intuition when I needed it?