Decorated to Death (9 page)

“I don’t deny it. I was really angry with Dona Deville and blamed her for encouraging young women like Karen, my former fiancée, to be stick thin. She said terrible things in that stupid book of hers,
Be Thin and Win
, like overweight people are life’s losers, and therefore in order to succeed in life, you must be thin…”

“And the thinner the better,” said Ellie Halsted, finishing the young doctor’s sentence. “In my mother’s opinion, I was a failure, just like my father, and she never let me forget it.”

Anxious to hear how Peter expressed his anger, I asked if he’d planned to confront the diet diva at the Book Nook’s signing gig.

“No, not at all,” he said in answer to my question. “That’s what I’d planned to do the day I stormed into Dona’s office several years ago. I’d just come from Karen’s funeral service. I got about three words in before she had Todd Masters toss me out the front door. That’s when I met Ellie. I was going out the door as she was going in. I can truly say that I knocked her off her feet, right, honey?”

“Right,” Ellie said, smiling at the memory. “Of course, he had no idea that I was Dona’s daughter and I had no idea why my mother had had him forcibly removed from the premises. But we sorted it all out over coffee later that month.”

“Ellie listened while I dumped all the blame for Karen’s death on Dona until I got around to realizing that I was really angry with Karen for being so foolish and with myself for not being able to save her.”

“And we both knew that our first meeting wouldn’t be our last. Your timing with the wine, Mrs. Hastings, was perfect. It arrived right after Peter popped the question,” Ellie added, flashing her megawatt smile.

“Tell them what your answer was,” said a beaming Peter Parker.

“I’ll do better than that,” replied Ellie, extending her left hand to show us the diamond engagement ring that she’d accepted from Peter along with his proposal of marriage.

The engagement news ended any discussion of Dona’s murder, or so I thought until Mary, in her own flaky way, brought the matter to the forefront of discussion again.

“Oh my stars,” gushed Mary. “I’m so happy for the two of you. Will the wedding take place here or in Indianapolis?” Not waiting for an answer, Mary plowed on, “It’s a shame that Designer Jeans never had the chance to redo that old cottage. It would’ve been the perfect honeymoon hideaway or a fantastic starter house for a young couple such as yourselves.”

“Aunt Mary,” scolded JR, “are you forgetting what happened out on Old Railway Road last Saturday? I imagine Ellie would just like to forget everything and everybody connected with the cottage.”

“No, as callous as it may sound, my mother’s death wasn’t exactly a big surprise, at least not to me.” said Ellie. “The surprise was that she died the way she did. I thought for sure the end would come as a result of an overdose. She was really hooked on prescription drugs. My father and I tried to get her into rehab but she just blew us off, saying things like we were losers and that we were the ones who needed help.”

Pausing for a moment to collect herself, Ellie then continued. She told of living with a mother whose physical appearance supposedly was the result of using the products and following the programs promoted by Dona’s Den and the Dona Deville self-help books. But the diet diva never followed any of her own programs or used any of her own products. Instead, Dona turned to surgery and drugs to attain her goal of staying forever young and thin.

“People say that I don’t look like my mother. Believe me, eventually even my mother didn’t look like herself. You name the procedure and she’d had it done. The last straw, as far as my father was concerned, was when she had her stomach stapled at a time when she was already underweight.”

“In other words, Ellie,” said JR, “although your mother talked the talk, she didn’t walk the walk.”

“Exactly, but she had no compunction taking money from those who did. Don’t get me wrong. My father and I loved my mother but we were saddened by what she’d become.”

“And what was that?” Mary asked in a gentle voice and looking close to tears.

“A manipulative, power-hungry woman who cared more about herself and her wealth than the health of her followers,” replied Ellie, her voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper. “But she still was my mother and she never stopped worrying about me.”

“Is that why she hired the mad joker to be your shadow? Incidentally, shouldn’t he be lurking behind the drapes or the potted palms?” I was trying to play it light. I didn’t want the girl to feel as though she was being interrogated.

“You mean Vincent? He’s more like a big brother than a bodyguard,” declared Ellie. “Mother hired him after Auntie died. She was convinced the death wasn’t an accident. At one point, she started carrying a gun for protection. When I refused to do the same, she hired Vincent to watch over me even though she knew I was seeing Peter. Eventually, I got Vincent to back off a bit on the bodyguard stuff. I don’t know where he is at the moment, do you, Peter?”

“Most likely, he’s sitting in the bar watching TV,” said the young doctor. “That’s what he usually does when Ellie and I are out on a date. Do you want me to see if I can find him?” Ellie and I answered in unison with a resounding no.

With Frank Sinatra’s rendition of “My Way” floating through the restaurant, courtesy of the jukebox, I silently vowed that with the help of JR and Mary, I would do everything to keep my part of the bargain I’d made with Martha Stevens. I kept my fingers crossed that Saint Jude was listening when Martha was praying. Using all the tact I could muster, I pressed Peter for his alibi. He claimed that he was alone in his uncle’s medical center office. He said he was catching up on paperwork. He saw no one nor did he make or receive any phone calls. My Irish intuition told me that Peter was innocent. It also told me that if Peter had committed the murder, he certainly wouldn’t have been stupid enough to use his own stethoscope as the murder weapon. The murderer had probably deliberately used Peter’s stethoscope in an effort to place the blame on the young doctor. All I had to figure out was who, when, why, and how did the murderer get his or her hands on the murder weapon.

“My money’s on that Goody woman,” JR announced in a positive voice as she helped herself to a glass of milk and a toasted English muffin.

The milk and muffin were part of the modest breakfast I’d set out on the black granite countertop minutes before Mary and JR turned up at the back door of Kettle Cottage at nine o’clock Monday morning as promised. Mary had already filled her plate with a plump croissant, cream cheese, and blueberry jam and was waiting for JR to join us at the kitchen table.

“Let’s not talk murder until after we’ve finished breakfast. By the way, Gin, is that all you’re having? A cup of coffee? Don’t tell me you’re on a diet. You’re not, are you?”

“Nope. If you must know, Pesty and I had scrambled eggs and sourdough toast an hour ago. When it comes to eating, Keeshonds are like the time and tide—they wait for no man.”

Before taking her seat at the table, JR poured a cup of coffee for Mary and topped off my cup. “There, now we’re all set. Eat fast, Aunt Mary. I want to get to Mom’s investigation stuff before I have to pick up the twins at the park’s summer camp center. When I dropped them off, the bus driver said he’d bring the kids back by eleven.”

“Back from where?” I asked, waiting for my coffee to cool and wishing I could have a cigarette. In view of JR’s pregnancy, and the fact that there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze coming through the open top half of the Dutch door, I put a lid on my wish for the time being.

“From a field trip,” JR answered. “He’s driving the camp kids out to the old railroad station. Can you believe it? The summer camp hasn’t changed its curriculum in twenty-five years. I can still remember when I went out there as a summer camp kid. Mother was the bus monitor. Do you remember that day, Mom?”

“How could I forget it?” I replied, “I spent the hottest day of the year trapped on a non-air-conditioned bus with a certain fatheaded furniture salesman that we all know and love.”

“Poor Mom,” JR said, snatching a dollop of blueberry jam from Mary’s plate and spreading it over what little remained of the English muffin. “She missed the whole tour of the place. The railroad station turned out to be a heck of a lot more interesting than most of the kids thought it would be. Sally Birdwell, I should say Sally Overbeck since she wasn’t married then, gave the tour. Sally was about twenty at the time and all the young boys went gaga over her. I don’t think they learned anything but we girls did. She told us about how important the station was before, during, and after the Civil War. There was even a picture of Lincoln standing on the station’s platform when he was campaigning for the presidency.”

“Overbeck, hmm. Isn’t that the name of the Cambridge City sisters who made those whimsical figurines you’ve got in your bathroom, JR?” inquired Mary. Her cupid’s bow lips were outlined in deep blue, courtesy of the jam that Mary had slathered over, in, and under the croissant.

“Same name but no relation. But Sally did tell us about the Overbeck kiln,” said JR, handing Mary an extra napkin. “I can’t remember what it was, but there was some kind of connection between the sisters, the railroad station, and the Civil War, Thanks to the tour and Sally, I developed an interest in Overbeck pottery. My collection of figurines is small but growing, kind of like me.”

While JR and Mary laughed at JR’s joke, I got up from my chair and retrieved the canister of towelettes that was sitting on the counter. If I had any hope of having a serious, in-depth discussion of my investigation and a review of my suspect list, Mary was going to have to ditch the blueberry lip liner.

“Here, try one of these,” I said to Mary as I pulled a towelette through the asterisk-shaped opening on the canister’s top, “before you draw blood with that paper napkin.”

One swipe with the damp tissue and the stain was gone. With Mary once again looking like a beautiful, mature woman and not the bride of Frankenstein’s monster, it was time to get down to business.

Taking a pad of yellow lined paper from my Designer Jeans briefcase, along with a couple of pencils and my list of suspects, I placed the writing materials and the list in the middle of the table. I then instructed JR and Mary to study my list before making a decision as to whom, in their opinion, was the most likely person to be the murderer. I suggested that they write down the suspect’s name, motive, and means, and be ready to defend their decision. Thanks to my running off at the mouth when we were at Milano’s the day before, Mary and JR were familiar with the members of Dona’s entourage.

It didn’t take either one of them very long. Mary was the first to finish. Holding up the sheet of paper and using the pencil as a pointer, she declared that in her opinion, Ruffy Halsted had murdered Dona.

“I feel that he had the motive and the means. I think he slipped out of his room, drove to the cottage, killed Dona, and then slipped back into his room with no one the wiser. His motive involved the real estate deal that someone, I think it was the bodyguard, had mentioned.”

I could tell from the look on her face Mary was pleased with her decision and her reasoning.

“Sorry, Aunt Mary, I disagree. No way would he take such a chance. Someone could have checked his room, found him missing and then what? No alibi. Besides, how would he know where Dona was going when she stormed out of the house? He wasn’t in the dining room at the time.”

“If you take that one step further, JR,” I interjected, “maybe nobody in the dining room knew where Dona was going or made any effort to follow her.”

“Good point, Mom. That’s why I ended up choosing Peter Parker and not Marsha Gooding or anyone else in the entourage. We only have his word that he no longer blamed Dona for Karen’s death. Peter had the means—access to a stethoscope and his own car. He also doesn’t have an alibi; at least not one that can be substantiated. I hate to say it but I think he’s the one.”

“My stars, I forgot all about the stethoscope,” said Mary. “Maybe Ruffy Halsted used a stethoscope purposely to put the blame on poor Peter. That’s a possibility to consider. Besides, how could Peter know that Dona would be at the cottage?”

“He probably contacted Dona the day before and set up an appointment to meet her there Saturday morning. What was it she said when she stormed out of the Birdwell house that morning?” asked JR, turning to me. “I’ve forgotten.”

“Hold on while I check my notes,” I replied. The two waited patiently while I dug further into my briefcase.

“Okay, I’ve got them. According to Sally Birdwell,” I said, reading aloud from my notes, “Dona said something about having one more thing to take care of before going to the book signing gig at the Book Nook. To me, it sounds more like Dona was planning on doing the confronting rather than other way around. If Dona did have an appointment to meet someone at the cottage, I’m inclined to think that she was the one who set it up.”

Pleased that JR and Mary agreed with my theory, I then moved on to the subject of Vincent Salerno and his puzzling alibi. The lengthy, unproductive discussion that followed only reinforced my desire to contact Horatio Bordeaux. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the bodyguard and his alibi were key elements in the case. And the sooner the better or Ellie Halsted was in for a long engagement—like fifty years to life.

“Wow! Look at the time. I better get a move on if I’m going to pick up the twins. If I think of anything that might be of some help to you, even if it’s trivial, I promise I’ll call you on your cell, Mom, no matter what.” That said, JR gave the lounging Pesty a final pat, her favorite aunt a hug, me a kiss, and headed out the Dutch door.

“My stars, this sleuthing business is a lot harder than I imagined,” Mary remarked, helping herself to the last of the croissants. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”

Mary had to settle for the hospital cafeteria. Unlike most people that I know who don’t find institutional food all that great, Mary loves it. Pushing our trays along the stainless-steel counter that ran in front of a sea of unidentified entrees, vegetables, and the like, Mary made more stops than an overloaded school bus. By the time we’d reached the cashier, Mary’s tray had become a burgeoning banquet of food while my tray looked rather forlorn.

“My stars, Gin. Are you sure you’re not on a diet? What you’ve selected wouldn’t satisfy a three-year-old much less a grown woman. At least go back and get yourself a dessert. Trust me, the bread pudding is to die for.”

I thought about defending my choice of the cream of chicken soup, a small tossed salad, and an apple, but I didn’t feel like it. Instead, I grabbed a dish of the mushy-looking pudding and stuck it on my tray, figuring that Mary would most likely end up eating the stuff. And why not, since she was picking up the tab for lunch. When the cashier rang up the bill for the two lunches, Mary paid while I went in search of a clean table for two. I was about to give up when I heard someone call my name. It was Dr. Sue Lin Loo and she was sitting alone at a table for four. Reading her hand signals, I then motioned to Mary that we would be sitting with the petite medical examiner.

After both the doctor and Mary had polished off their king-sized meals and were sipping diet soda, the conversation turned to the Deville matter.

“The body is being released Wednesday,” Loo said between sips of soda. “From what I understand, Twall and Sons Mortuary will be handling the funeral.”

“You sound surprised,” I said, handing Mary the dish of bread pudding.

“To tell you the truth, I am. I thought for sure that her send-off would be held in Indianapolis. She certainly spent more time there than in Seville, but I guess her ex-husband and daughter want to bury her here, next to her aunt. By the way,” said Loo, who had gotten up to leave, “it was Peter Parker’s stethoscope that was found at the crime scene. I’m only telling you because for some reason, Rollie Stevens is handling the investigation and not Lieutenant Cusak. Don’t get me wrong, I really like the chief, but when it comes to sorting out a complicated case, your record is better than Rollie’s. It would be a shame if a certain young doctor’s reputation ends up in shreds because of a bungled investigation.”

“You got that right,” I said, thinking of my own efforts, which so far had produced diddly-squat. I watched as Loo quickly walked out of the cafeteria without a backward glance. “Come on, Mar, we got things to do and people to see,” I said, collecting the dishes and trash from the table.

Mary’s reaction was both predictable and immediate. “My stars, Gin. Now this is more like it.”

“What’s more like what? And for chrissake, stop calling me that idiotic name.”

“More like real sleuthing,” replied Mary, ignoring the admonishment. “What’s the first thing on the list of things to do and who are we going to see?”

Mary’s inner glow dimmed slightly when I informed her that while I was off to see Horatio, she would cover for me and visit Charlie.

“What am I suppose to tell him when he asks why I’m there and you’re not? You know I’m not good at telling lies like you are, Gin.”

“Jeez, thanks for the left-handed compliment, Mar. I don’t know. Tell him anything you want. Just don’t tell him that I’ve gone to see Horatio. That would tip him off that I’ve got my nose stuck where it doesn’t belong, at least in his and Matt’s opinion. Now listen, Mary. This is really, really important. Find out how much Charlie knows about this whole Deville mess and my involvement in it.”

Mary’s face brightened considerably when I asked her to meet me at Kettle Cottage after her visit with Charlie. “If you’re not too tired and if there’s time, we’ll drop in on Abner Wilson. If I’m not mistaken, his place is right off Fourth Street near the Sev-Vale college campus. And, Mary, there’s one more thing I’d like to say before you go your way and I go mine.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, looking so vulnerable that I felt even more guilty than I usually do after being short with her.

“I want to apologize for being so snippy. I guess my nerves are a bit frayed from everything that’s happened. It doesn’t help that my smoking has been cut down to the point that if I didn’t know better, I’d think that old demon nicotine and I had parted ways.” I was trying my damnedest to make amends to dear, sweet Mary. But like her twin brother, Charlie, Mary doesn’t know when to quit.

“Oh, Gin, and here I thought you were crabby from dieting. Why didn’t you tell me that you were trying to stop smoking? If you’re not wearing a patch, you should be. You probably wouldn’t be nearly so, you know, like edgy.”

“Mary, do me a favor. I’m going to close my eyes and when I open them, you are going to be gone. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I do and I forgive you. I guess your being hard is all part of being a good sleuth. I’ll see you back at Kettle Cottage, Gin. Ta, ta.”

When I opened my eyes, Mary was gone. I made a beeline for the parking lot, my van, and a cigarette.