Murder Plays House (32 page)

I leaned forward and placed what I hoped was a comforting hand on his knee. “Perhaps. Not because of anything about Alicia, but rather because Duane was a grieving father.” But of course it was because of the kind of woman Alicia was. Any defense lawyer worth his or her salt would make sure the jury knew exactly what she had done, the damage she had wrought.

Felix sighed heavily. “So if there’s no trial, then what? How long will he go to jail?”

I let the detective handle that.

“We’ll be pushing for murder two,” he said. “The defense will probably ask for voluntary manslaughter. We’ll see how it pans out. I promise you, Felix, I’ll be calling the DA, putting pressure on for the maximum.”

Felix nodded at the other man. I glanced over at Farzad who was chewing on his lower lip. Perhaps he felt, as I did, that there was not much to be gained, in the larger scheme of things, by putting Duane Kromm in jail for decades. I knew, however, that neither of us would ever say as much to Felix.

“Do you think you’ll be moving to Palm Springs, now?” I asked.

Farzad smiled and cast a sly eye in my direction. “Juliet wants to know if we’ll keep up our side of the bargain.”

“What bargain?” Felix asked.

I looked down at my hands resting on my belly. At that
moment, the baby kicked me, hard, right in the ribs, and I grunted. “Sorry,” I said. “Baby’s kicking.”

“What bargain?” Felix asked again.

“You know Juliet wants to buy the house. That’s why she was here in the first place. I told her that if she found out who killed Alicia, we’d give her first shot at making an offer.”

“You did not!” Felix said.

“I did indeed,” he said.

Felix glared at me. “And is that why you helped us?”

Shame kept me from looking into his eyes. “I helped you because I wanted to find out what happened to your sister. And because you hired me. And, well, yes it’s true, because I wanted the house. But of course you’re under no obligation. Obviously.”

Goodenough interrupted us. “Without Ms. Applebaum’s assistance, we may never have found the killer. It certainly would have taken us significantly longer. And who knows if we would have been able to obtain a full confession.”

I looked at him, gratefully.

Felix jerked to his feet. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . this is all so hard to deal with . . .” He stumbled out of the room. I leaned my head in my hands, embarrassed at the hash I’d made of the conversation.

“Juliet,” Farzad said gently. I raised my eyes to his. “Give him time. He’s angry now, but not at you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’ll call Nahid.”

“No, really. I mean, let’s just leave that alone for now, okay?”

He nodded. “And your bill?”

I smiled thinly. “That I have,” I said reaching into my bag.

“Y
OU
have got to get rid of this wallpaper,” Stacy said, her head cocked to one side, and her hands on her hips.

It really was awful. Flocked gold roses on a background of red velvet. It wasn’t however, as disturbing as the mirrored ceiling in the master bedroom. “We can’t. It’s original. Ramon Navarro apparently designed it himself. Or at least that’s what Nahid said. Still, even with the wallpaper, it’s a pretty great house, don’t you think?”

At that moment, Kat walked through the French doors into the living room. “I don’t know what that inspector was talking about. That’s no fifty thousand dollars in dry rot damage.”

“Thank God!” I exclaimed. What with covering over the fish pond in the kitchen and repairing the railings in all the various balconies overlooking the first floor from the second, there wasn’t going to be much money left for structural repairs.

“That’s going to cost you at least one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Definitely. They’ve eaten through the foundation, for heaven’s sake! I’ve never seen that before.” Kat continued.

I groaned.

“Is Peter really going to use the dungeon as his office?” Stacy asked. “It’s so gloomy and depressing down there.”

“Uh, Stacy? Peter? Gloomy and depressing?”

“Right. Right. It’s perfect for him. Is it true that it has iron handcuff holders pounded into the walls?”

“That’s nothing,” Kat said. “There’s an old wooden sawhorse down there. I can’t even imagine what Ramon was getting up to on that.”

“If he really did own the house,” I said.

“Oh, he owned it,” Kat said. “Not even Nahid would lie about that. I’m just not sure he ever lived here. He might have rented it to some other weird silent movie star friend of his.”

“Or else kept it for one of his mistresses,” Stacy said.

I looked down to the crook of my arm where Sadie rested, quiet for once. Moving with a newborn is not something I recommend to anyone. Between nursing and napping, I wasn’t spending much time unpacking. The bulk of the work was falling to Peter and the kids. That meant that we were still living out of boxes two weeks after moving in, and probably would be for the next couple of months. Every time one of the children needed a clean pair of jeans or wanted to locate a missing toy they would upend a box and leave the contents scattered on the floor. So far I still wasn’t able to bend over and pick anything up, but I was hoping to feel better any day.

Felix hadn’t, in the end, sold us his house. Nahid Lahidji had put it on the open market and had started a bidding
war the likes of which the LA real estate market hadn’t seen in months. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person not put off by the home’s grisly history. Truth be told, by the time Duane Kromm was arrested for Alicia Felix’s murder, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted any more to do with that beautiful house. There were a few images I knew I’d never get out of my mind. One was Alicia in the bathtub, her skeletal body torn and stiff. The other was one I hadn’t seen but only imagined—that same woman, hunched over a computer, weaving her malignant web to ensnare those wretched girls.

Felix had done me a more important favor, however. He had called Harvey Brodsky. I’m not sure what he told him, but it was enough to convince the man to offer us a contract. From now on, Al and I would be providing investigative services to Brodsky’s high-profile clients. The man had advanced us enough money to hire an exterminator, put Julio on salary as a part-time receptionist (with strict instructions to stay away from the computers . . . at least until we could convince his probation officer otherwise), and even, wonder of wonders, pay ourselves a little.

Kat had also come through in the end. The house she found for us was nowhere near as impeccably done as Felix’s house; in fact it was pretty much a crumbling pile, but it was certainly fabulous. It hadn’t been touched since 1926, when Ramon Navarro had it built, which meant it had its original tile bathrooms, moldings and built-ins, and Maxwell Parish–style murals sprinkled throughout the house. It also had its original electricity, plumbing, and roof, but someday we’d have the money to fix all that. The fixtures were all a kind of Hollywood Gothic wrought iron and ornate, with the occasional ghoul’s head popping out of nowhere on a chandelier or sconce.

Peter had fallen in love with the house at first sight. The
dungeon was definitely his favorite room, but the ballroom on the first floor was a close second. He was already full of plans to redo the cracked black and white parquet floor himself. I wasn’t planning on holding my breath. The room was vast enough for the kids to ride their bikes in on rainy days. The whole house was huge, in fact. There were bedrooms galore, although many of them were oddly shaped and tucked under the eaves, or accessible only through a bathroom, or a closet. It was a strange house, which, as Ruby pointed out, was entirely appropriate, given that her family was pretty strange, as least when compared to those of the other kids in school. I took issue with that, vociferously. Peter’s an odd bird, sure, but I consider myself absolutely and completely normal. More or less.

I could tell that the house was going to suck up every spare cent we ever earned, but somehow that didn’t bother me much. Perhaps because I had no time to be worried. Miss Sadie had made her surprise appearance a good two weeks before my scheduled c-section date. We’d planned on being moved in in plenty of time to welcome her home. Instead, the movers had loaded dozens of newborn diapers into their boxes, and I’d limped my way up the jacaranda- and jasmine-flanked front path with the baby in my arms. It didn’t really matter that I didn’t have the nursery set up for her; Sadie refused to sleep in her brother’s old crib. The only place she’d close her eyes was our bed. That wasn’t that unusual; both the other kids had spent a few weeks sleeping with us. The problem was that Ruby and Isaac had decided that what was good enough for the baby was good enough for them, and we had yet to spend a night without three extra sets of toes digging into our sides, and pushing us to the far ends of the bed. I was grateful that Mr. Navarro’s old bedstead was still in the master bedroom. I wasn’t sure
where I was going so find a new mattress to replace the musty, sagging one—they don’t make them in that size anymore, if they ever did. He’d probably had to special order the king and a half we were currently inhabiting with varying levels of comfort from a special company that catered especially to silent movie Lotharios. I hoped they were still in business.

“How are you feeling?” Stacy asked Kat.

Kat smiled. “Okay. Ready to give birth.”

“When are you due?”

“In a couple of weeks. Although I don’t think I can last that long. It’s going to be castor oil for me in a few days.”

I smiled at Kat. For all her desperation to be done with the pregnancy, she looked better than she had in weeks. She had started seeing a new therapist, and was working on coming to peace with the various elements in her life that had conspired to reinvigorate her bulimia. She had decided not to go back to work for Nahid after her maternity leave, but to spend at least a few years home with her kids. Reza, to my surprise, had not only supported her decision, but had defended it to his mother. Kat had finally come clean with him about her problem, and they were working on it together. I wasn’t naïve enough to think all was solved for Kat, and that now she would be fine forever. Alicia Felix’s case had taught me just how tenacious and persistent a foe an eating disorder is. But Kat had a good chance of being all right, especially if we all made sure to be there for her. And I wasn’t going anywhere.

The baby woke in my arms and began to cry. I sat down on a wooden crate that contained the pieces of the Appalachian rocking chair Lilly had sent to me as a baby present. Peter had sworn he would assemble the thing before the baby was weaned, but in the meantime the box made for an adequate nursing chair. I lifted my shirt, and Sadie flung
herself at my breast, grunting and snuffling like a miniature water buffalo. I sighed as I felt the tingling of my milk letting down and stroked her velvet cheek with my finger. I knew that one day this little girl, like her sister, would start to think about how she looked and what she ate. Right now, though, I was filling up her body, plumping up her flesh, building her bones and brain. Life is a meager business, sometimes. There are lean times, shortages, tough winters, barren patches. It was my job, my duty and pleasure, to see that she started out suitably, and blessed to be, fat.

Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!