Decorated to Death Read online

  I put the alibi matter on hold and turned my thoughts to which member of the entourage had the best motive and, as Marsha Gooding so aptly put it, was stupid enought to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs.

  “What Maxine said about killing out of fear or love, and what Goody said about killing out of hate, certainly gives me some food for thought,” I said aloud, forgetting that Pesty was on the alert for certain trigger words such as eat, treat, and food. Upon hearing the word “food” the spoiled pooch positioned herself in front of me and began stamping her paws, something I’ve learned to recognize as her “chow now” dance. I’ve also learned to ignore it, but since a Pesty with a full tummy would, most likely, settle down for a nap, I gave in.

  While Pesty dozed under the kitchen table, I composed a list of suspects along with possible motives for the murder:

  NAME

  HYPOTHETICAL MOTIVE

  Rufus (Ruffy) Halsted

  contentious property dispute

  Ellie Halsted

  hidden hostility

  Marsha (Goody) Gooding

  pent-up resentment

  Todd Masters

  unhappy with boy-toy role

  Maxine Roberts

  jealous of Dona/Todd twosome

  Vincent Salerno

  Since I’d drawn a blank with Salerno’s possible motive for the murder, I thought again about contacting Horatio Bordeaux to make arrangements for a complete background check on the bodyguard but decided to wait until Monday. The most important thing I wanted to do at that moment was to visit Charlie.

  I had the keys to the van in my hand and was headed for the kitchen’s Dutch door when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Charlie calling, I dropped everything and ran for the phone. Being that it was Sunday, I didn’t bother with the usual Designer Jeans greeting, something which apparently flustered the caller.

  “Is this Designer Jeans?” demanded the female voice with a barely perceptible Spanish accent. “Is that you, Jean?”

  “Yes, Martha, it’s me. Don’t tell me that Charlie has been giving you a hard time already,” I said, remembering his R-rated description of the breakfast tray’s contents. As a rule, my husband is the most charming of fellows, that is unless he’s hungry, tired, or incapacitated in any way, shape, or form.

  “I didn’t realize that his therapy would be starting so soon. There’s nothing wrong, is there? I mean with Charlie?”

  “No, no, no. I was in to see him after breakfast this morning and we hit it off like two old amigos. I know he appreciated the back rub and sponge bath I gave him. He called me an angel sent from heaven. He is so charming. You are a lucky woman to have such a man.”

  Relieved that my husband was doing fine, I sank down into the nearest chair and shakily lit a cigarette. “Yes, I am and he’s a prince all right. But surely you didn’t call me just to chat about Charlie’s charm. If you’re worried about my part of our bargain, I can honestly say that I’ve been working on it almost the entire morning.”

  I was about to fill her in on “Breakfast with the Suspects” when Martha hit me with the news that the medical examiner, Dr. Loo, confirmed the police chief’s belief that Dona Deville had been strangled to death sometime between seven thirty and nine thirty Saturday morning. While Loo’s confirmation didn’t surprise me, what Martha had to say next most certainly did.

  “Dr. Loo told Rollie the marks on the victim’s throat were made by the stethoscope found at the crime scene,” said Martha. “I pray you will solve this murder before my Rollie does something foolish. I fear he’s going to arrest the wrong person.” The anxiety in Martha Stevens’s voice was palpable.

  Without mentioning the name, we both suspected that the wrong person in this case was Dr. Peter Parker. But you could never be sure about these things. It would take more investigating.

  “I must go now, Jean, or I will be late for church. When mass is over, I will light a candle and ask the Virgin Mary to help you with your investigation.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then added, “and would you do the same with Saint Jude? That way, we’ll cover all the bases. Besides, I need all the help I can get.” It was nice not having to explain my request further. Martha, a devout Catholic, was well aware that Saint Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes.

  Before leaving for my visit with Charlie, and with a truly heavy heart, I added the young doctor’s name to my list of suspects along with the possible motive of revenge for the death of his anorexic fiancée. Considering Dr. Loo’s findings, I probably should have told Martha to light every candle in the church and then some.

  Chapter

  sixteen

  Charlie was lucky in that he didn’t have to share his hospital room with another patient. The empty bed provided the extra seating needed for a small contingent of my husband’s golf cronies. The foursome, along with Denny England, were supposedly visiting their good buddy, Charlie. Personally, I don’t consider watching a televised rerun of last year’s Masters Tournament (in virtual silence, mind you) visiting, but then I’m not a “real golfer.”

  “Mind if I play through?” I joked as I made my way over to Charlie’s bedside. My attempt at humor was met by a string of shushing sounds. Not wanting to start off on a sour note, I smiled through gritted teeth, patted the top of Charlie’s head, and dutifully sat down in the chair vacated by the gentlemanly Denny England.

  After sitting through what seemed like a jillion shots of a jillion golfers at the tee, in the fairway, and on the green, I was resigned to the fact that Charlie and I were not going to have an in-depth conversation. While I had been prepared to give my husband an abridged version of Dona’s murder that minimized my involvement in the aftermath, I wasn’t prepared to do so in front of an audience of golf devotees. When a temporary halt in the action (an oxymoron in my opinion) was called, I bid adieu to Charlie and the golf gang and headed for the nearest exit, a cigarette, and some needed female company.

  A couple of hours and phone calls later, I was sitting in Milano’s sharing an extra-large, thin-crust Italian sausage pizza and a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade with JR and Mary. For the time being, I put all thoughts of murder and mayhem out of my mind. Instead, I made a conscious effort to enjoy the meal, my companions, and the sunny side of the street.

  “Matt finally took some time off. He and the twins went to Indianapolis to see a movie,” JR said between bites of the delicious pizza. “Afterward, they’re going to Pufferbelly’s in the Circle Centre Mall. Ever since the twins ate there last fall, it’s become their favorite downtown Indy restaurant. I’d love to see the look on Matt’s face when his dinner arrives on a toy train.”

  “My stars, I swear no matter how old they are, all men are little boys at heart,” Mary remarked as she poured herself a second glass of lemonade. “Watch, one visit to Pufferbelly’s and he’ll probably want a set of trains for his birthday.”

  “Oh great, that’s just what I don’t need—a fourth child.” As soon as the words had popped out of her mouth, JR blushed and began to sputter before falling silent. For a moment or two even Mary was speechless.

  Reaching across the table, I gave my daughter’s hand an understanding pat. “I was wondering when you were going to say something about it. How far? About three months?”

  JR smiled. “You got it. Why do I have this feeling that you’re not exactly surprised? What tipped you off?”

  “Let’s just say that you can fool all the people some of the time but you can never fool your mother.” I didn’t see any reason to bring up my medicine cabinet discovery.

  “Well, this isn’t exactly how I planned on breaking the news. Matt and I haven’t even told the twins yet. Until we do, I’m afraid that mum’s the word.”

  “Whoa, wait just a minute,” cried Mary, waving her hands in the air, “am I right in thinking that you two are talking about what I think you’re talking about? Or am I talking about something entirely different than what you two are talking about?”

/>   “Hey, Aunt Mary, if it’s a girl, I’ll name her after you, that is if you can repeat verbatim what you just said.” JR’s infectious giggle spread over the three of us like sauce on a pizza pie.

  We were trying to compose ourselves when Angela, the restaurant’s hostess, swept past our table as she led a young couple to a secluded corner where a table had been set for two. Although it was late in the afternoon, there was plenty of sunshine everywhere except in Milano’s dining room.

  The room’s decor was basic 1970s Mediterranean with cherubic wall murals, rich velvety fabrics, heavily carved dark wood furniture, and overly ornate light fixtures with thick, colored-glass panels. The fixtures bathed the room and its occupants in a soft, romantic, candle-like glow. In spite of the dimness, I recognized the young Dr. Peter Parker and his date, Ellie Halsted.

  Mary and JR also recognized the young doctor but were at a loss when it came to Ellie Halsted. They listened while I explained who she was and how I’d come to meet her and the rest of the Deville party.

  I should have left it at that, but my ego got in the way of my good sense. I continued to babble on until Mary and JR knew as much about my investigation as I did. The only thing I left out was Martha Stevens’s name and the details of our bargain. JR was the first to react.

  “Thank God Matt has other fish to fry,” she said, alluding to his involvement in an unrelated investigation, “otherwise I hate to think what he would do. At the very least, Mom, he’d put your name on his persona non grata list.”

  “My stars, is that legal? After all, your mother is a citizen of the United States,” cried Mary, her voice crackling with concern.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mar. If I solve the case, I’m sure Matt will forgive me like he has in the past.” I didn’t bother to explain to Mary that I wasn’t in danger of being bounced out of the country. In a way, Mary’s interpretation of the phrase was pretty much on the money. I’m sure when the alleged Mafia big shot Lucky Luciano was deported by the feds, he felt like an outcast even though he ended up in the land of his birth.

  “Okay, now comes the big question,” I said, trying to look and sound more confident than needy. “Anybody here interested in helping a certain designing woman with an investigation that is in dire need of a makeover? If the answer is yes, the said designer will spring for dessert. Rumor has it that today they have Mama Milano’s homemade baklava.”

  Faster than you can say Sam Spade, private investigator, Mary and JR were devouring huge portions of the melt-in-your-mouth nut-and-honey Mediterranean pastry. Meanwhile, Peter Parker and Ellie Halsted were enjoying the bottle of Chianti that Papa Milano delivered to their table with my compliments. My little wine investment paid off just as I’d hoped it would.

  By the time the late-afternoon sun began to make way for the evening stars, we were sharing a large carafe of Milano’s special-blend coffee and our table with Peter Parker and Ellie Halsted.

  Chapter

  seventeen

  “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 mo
ment, 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.

  Chapter

  eighteen

  “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.