Decorated to Death Page 11

  “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.

  Chapter

  twenty-three

  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?

  Chapter

  twenty-four

  “Yes, Chief Stevens told me my stethoscope was found at the murder scene and Dr. Loo indentified it as being the murder weapon. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the chief. I didn’t even know the darn thing was missing. I thought I’d mislaid it and without giving it a second thought, I used my uncle’s spare,” said Peter Parker, gesturing at the mountain of assorted junk, which included boxes of old files, charts, and outdated medical paraphernalia. The stuff looked as though it was ready to take over any available space, starting with Peter’s desk. Think Little Shop of Horrors with a medical twist.

  “My stars,” Mary exclaimed to Peter, “how on earth can you find anything in this…”

  “I believe the word you’re searching for is mess, or maybe disaster,” said Helen McCordle, Doc Parker’s longtime nurse and receptionist, as she stood in the middle of the tiny office with her hands on her hips.

  Everything about the fiftysomething woman, from the top of her nurse’s cap down to the tip of her white shoes, was as neat as a pin. Even her hazel eyes matched her blond, brown, and gray hair. She was neither short nor tall and I didn’t detect any unnecessary poundage on her trim body. I also felt for sure that Helen McCordle’s underwear was neat, starched, and ironed. Why in the world, I thought to myself, with someone like Helen at the helm, was Peter’s office in such disarray? I was about to find out.

  “I told him to use Doc’s office, you know, the one he sees his patients in and keeps all nice and tidy,” said Helen. “But did he listen? Oh no. Instead, Dr. Peter plunks himself down in this closet. Doc only uses the area for storage and the occasional poker session with the boys. The room hasn’t had a proper cleaning in maybe ten or even twenty years. Personally, I don’t think it’s very healthy in here,” sniffed Helen. “But then I’m only the nurse, not the doctor.”

  With her aquiline nose pointed toward the ceiling in a show of disapproval, Helen McCordle returned to her own domain, the neat-as-a-pin cubicle that was separated from the waiting area by a sparkling-clean sliding-glass partition.

  Apparently feeling the need to explain why he chose the storage-cum-poker-room over Doc’s tidy and organized office, Peter launched into what sounded to me like a well-rehearsed speech.

  “I thought if I could show my uncle how well two doctors could function in relatively close quarters while still maintaining the needed privacy, then perhaps he wouldn’t mind my being around on a permanent basis. It’s something that would be beneficial to both our lives. Now all I have to do is to get the place cleaned out and shipshape before Aunt Lucy and Uncle Doc return from Hawaii. Come back in a week or so and I guarantee you won’t recognize the place.”

  Thanking the young doctor for his time and his explanation regarding the stethoscope, I signaled to Mary that it was time for us to leave. We stepped out of the small, air-conditioned medical building and into the heat. We were almost to where I’d parked the van when I thought of something I’d forgotten to check out with the nurse/receptionist. Since neither Peter nor Helen had reported a break-in at the medical center, I wondered if someone might have swiped the stethoscope on Friday during office hours. With Helen McCordle manning the reception desk, more than likely she would have insisted that everyone wanting to see the doctor put their signature on the sign-in sheet. Maybe I could find a name that had a connection to my investigation. As Mary continued walking to the van, I sprinted back to the medical building and Helen’s neat-as-a-pin cubicle.

  “He’s on the phone,” said Helen barely glancing up from the stack of paperwork on her desk. “Can I help you?”

  “I sure hope so,” I said, “but I can see that this isn’t the best time to bother you.” Maybe my mother didn’t say it, but I knew all about catching flies with honey.

  “Hey, I’m always busy, but that doesn’t
mean that I can’t take time out to help someone. Now what can I do for you?” Less than five minutes later, I returned to the van with a copy of Friday’s sign-in sheet tucked in my purse.

  Ten minutes later, Mary and I were sitting in Amanda Little’s chichi family room/real estate office. “I’ll be with you ladies in a minute,” Amanda crooned, placing her manicured fingers over the mouthpiece of the white and gold French-style telephone. Everything, from the carpeting on the floor to the cove ceiling, was gold and white, including Amanda Little.

  Dressed from head to toe in a white sundress with gold trim, white shoes, and gold jewelry, and with her white, flawless skin and shining gold hair, Amanda Little looked absolutely beautiful. The darling of our town’s chamber of commerce, the highly repected Realtor had, not once but three times, been named Seville’s Business Person of the Year.

  “If there’s such a thing as reincarnation,” Mary whispered to me, “I want to come back as her.”

  “Really? Not me,” I whispered to Mary, “I want to come back as her interior designer. Whoever it was must have laughed all the way to the bank. Throw in a couple of gold-painted cupids and some rose petals and you’ve got yourself a Vegas wedding chapel.”

  In less time than it took to convince the dynamic Amanda Little that I wasn’t interested in buying, selling, leasing, flipping, trading, or any other options she claimed were tailor-made for people in my age group, I learned that no one, not even squatters, were interested in the old cottage or in the land itself. I had come to another dead end. Or so I thought, until Amanda revealed the latest gossip that was making the rounds in the real estate world. I believe the aggressive Amanda mentioned it on the chance that I might have picked up some additional information from the Deville people. She let it be known that the Hershfield Corporation, one of the largest hotel chains in the Midwest, was interested in acquiring Dona’s Den. The health spa was situated on what Amanda described as a hot piece of prime real estate in the heart of downtown Indy.