I followed behind, and as Denise unloaded the bagels onto a cake plate on the counter, I put a teakettle on the stove for hot water.
“Tea?” I sensed Denise had come for a reading.
“Not today. Cesar’s taking me for a late lunch. He has something important he wants to talk with you about, so I told him I’d meet him here. We’re trying out a new restaurant.”
Denise gave the kitchen a quick once-over, repositioned one of the copper pots above the stove, then walked back to the dining room and swept the table with the tips of her fingers. Brushing her hands together, as though she had just completed a white-glove inspection, she moved on to the living room and stopped in front of the couch.
“Is that my brother’s?” Denise pointed to Jared’s tux that I had laid out so neatly.
“Wilson’s? No,” I said. “It belonged to a friend.”
“Belonged?” she asked. “Or belongs?”
I could see Denise’s mind working through a long list of possibilities.
“Just a friend,” I said.
Denise fingered the silk lapel. “Expensive. I’ll bet he’s handsome. Are you doing a reading?”
“You know I wouldn’t tell you if I were,” I said.
“Humph.” Denise’s eyes moved from the couch to the coffee table where Wilson had left Jared’s cologne. “And what about this?” Denise picked up the bottle. “Is it your friend’s as well?”
“No comment.” I pressed my lips together, mimicked turning a key to lock them shut, and smiled.
“I’ll bet it belongs to your friend.” Then holding up the bottle so that she could see the label, she read, “Naked Nectar. Not exactly cheap stuff, Misty.” Like her brother, Denise was unable to resist the urge to sample the cologne and spritzed it behind her ears and wrists. “Umm, such a masculine scent, don’t you think? I wonder if Cesar would like it?”
Denise held out her wrist for me to smell. Instead, I grabbed the bottle and tucked it into the pocket of my skirt.
“I’m sorry, Denise. You can’t be doing that. And this,” I pointed to Jared’s tux. “is not something I can talk about.”
“Why? Has it something to do with the case you and Cesar are working on?”
“We’re not working a case, Denise.”
“Well, you’re doing something, or Cesar wouldn’t be coming by to see you in person. And I’ll bet I can guess who it is. It’s got something to do with that cologne.” Denise stared back at the suit, and then, as though she had suddenly put two and two together, snapped her fingers, whirled around, and pointed directly at me. “Ah, ha! I know who it is. It’s Jared Conroy. His death is all over the papers. Am I right?”
“I’m sorry, Denise. I’m not talking about it.” I picked the tux up and was about to hang it up in the front closet when I was interrupted by a knock on my front door.
Romero stood on the front porch, freshly shaved and showered, the hair around his collar still damp.
“Denise told me you’d be stopping by.” I opened the front screen, and Romero stepped inside. His eyes, like a lost puppy, went immediately to Denise, then back to me.
“I wanted to talk with you in person, Misty. After you called yesterday, I met with the detectives who interviewed your client and her fiancé’s father. I also talked briefly with the coroner. I’m afraid it doesn’t look like there’s much of a case there.”
Denise stepped between us and shook her finger at me. “I knew it. This explains the cologne and the tux. You two don’t have to use code around me. I read the papers. You’re talking about Amy Hendersen and her fiancé, Jared Conroy. It’s everywhere in the news. Don’t deny it. He’s the case you’re working on. Am I right?”
My secret was out. I folded my arms across Jared’s suit and took a step back.
Romero closed the door behind him and pointed to the suit in my arms. “Tell me that doesn’t belong to Jared Conroy.”
“I probably should have called you back yesterday, Detective, but after I hung up, I realized I had to get inside that house.”
“By yourself? You didn’t trust I’d get back to you?”
“I didn’t feel I could wait around. And for the very reason you’re telling me now: The police don’t think there’s a case. I suspected you’d come back to me with as much. And quite frankly, I don’t agree.”
“You don’t?” Romero smirked.
I didn’t appreciate his authoritative tone. Despite my sterling reputation with LAPD and my previous experience with Romero, the man remained on the fence as to my abilities.
“No, I don’t,” I said. “Call it a psychic-hunch or whatever you like, but after visiting the Conroy estate, I agree with the doctor. I don’t think his son’s death was accidental. Not at all. I think he was murdered.”
I couldn’t put my finger on how or why Jared had died, but my sense of whatever had happened to Jared had begun inside that guest house. Like a drop of black ink in clear water, the die was cast. I could feel it in my bones. Something evil had taken root there, and my mind began to swirl with the possibilities. After talking to Lupe and learning about Jared’s rat pack, and their pre-party, I had at least three probable suspects. Two from Jared’s so-called rat pack, Raul and Billy, and the third, Jared’s not-so-distant cousin, Matthew. All of whom might have been jealous of Jared, benefited in some personal way by his death, and who I wanted to know more about.
“How about you and I have a little talk.” Romero nodded to the couch, then asked Denise if she’d bring me a glass of water.
Romero waited until Denise disappeared into the kitchen.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me how you managed to get into the Conroy mansion? Or how it is you happen to have Jared’s suit?”
“Not particularly.” I focused my attention on Jared’s tux in my lap and gently whisked a piece of non-existent lint from the lapel. “I consider that a trade secret. But if you would like to tell me what the coroner had to say, I might consider sharing it with you.”
Romero grimaced. “It’s nothing you won’t hear on the news tonight or read in the obits tomorrow morning.”
“So then, tell me, Detective, what does the coroner think?”
“The report shows Jared died from anaphylactic shock, a reaction to something he either ate or was exposed to. Ultimately, whatever it was caused his heart to stop. The coroner’s running more tests now to determine the exact cause, but for the time being, Jared’s death is considered to be accidental.”
“Could it have been as simple as a bee sting?”
“Don’t know yet. The coroner told me there are all kinds of allergic reactions. Jared could have just as easily eaten something as been exposed to something topically. Whatever it is, the doctor’s understandably upset, and not particularly rational. He’s lashing out at anybody close to Jared. He’s convinced someone wanted Jared dead, and he’s demanded a thorough investigation. And the doctor, being who he is, we’re looking into it.”
“I assume someone from your department has talked to Jared’s friends at the party?”
“Detective Williams was on call that night. He got the call from the police commissioner right after Jared died. He was at the Conroy estate all night. Interviewed both Amy and the doctor. Amy provided him with a guest list.”
“And?” I didn’t feel it necessary to share with Romero how upset Amy had been about that interview.
“And this morning, Williams and another detective interviewed several of Jared’s friends, including his best man, Raul Santos. He was there when Jared started having trouble breathing and called 911.”
“What about the EpiPen?” I asked. “Amy said Jared always had one on him.”
“According to Williams, Raul said he saw Jared shoot himself with it, but it didn’t seem to help. In fact, he thought Jared got worse. By the time the paramedics arrived, Jared was u
nconscious.”
“That fast?”
“That’s why Dr. Conroy’s so upset. That and the fact that the paramedics appear to have lost the EpiPen. They don’t recall seeing the pen. But then again, they were so busy doing CPR and getting Jared on the gurney they wouldn’t have been looking for it. Between the missing EpiPen and waiting for toxicology to get back to the coroner’s office with their reports, and the doctor’s insistence, we can’t close the case out. Not just yet, anyway. It’s my thinking the coroner’s initial report finding Jared died from an allergic reaction makes this a pretty open-and-shut case.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“No?”
Not many people ever disagreed with the detective. “I agree with the coroner that Jared may have been exposed to something he was allergic to, peanut dust from the bar maybe. But I don’t believe it was accidental. In fact, I feel as though it was a deliberate act. I don’t know how Jared was murdered, but I will.”
“If you’re trying to tell me Jared died because someone deliberately exposed him to peanut dust, I’m going to need more than a psychic’s feeling to prove murder.”
“And I believe I’ll find that, Detective. You remember the case in the paper last year, where the young woman died after kissing her boyfriend?”
“The one where he had just eaten a peanut butter sandwich?”
“Yes, and like Jared, she was highly allergic to peanuts. The poor girl had no idea when she kissed him it would be her last kiss. And while the young man had no intention of murdering her, there is a history of such. The transference of poisons is not unusual. Have you ever heard of India’s mysterious death maidens? The venomous visha kanyas?”
“The venomous what?” Denise put a glass of water on the coffee table in front of me, then took a seat on the chair opposite Detective Romero.
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Misty, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” Romero smiled at Denise and reached across the arm of his chair to take her hand.
“Legend has it that in ancient India, there was a king who stole female babies from beautiful young women. The king’s purpose was to create a generation of assassins who he would later gift to his enemies. From the time the girls were very little, he exposed them to deadly poisons—the bite of a cobra or a deadly black widow spider—until they built up a resistance. Those that lived, grew to be beyond beautiful. One look into the eyes of a death maiden and a man might be struck dead. One touch of her smooth velvet skin and his body would begin to sweat and writhe uncontrollably. And one kiss and his heart would explode within his chest. There are those who believe Alexander the Great was gifted with one such maiden and died after attempting to make love to her. Whether it’s folklore or not, the theory that poison might be transferred from one to another by the mere touch of another’s hand exists. And makes for a perfect murder weapon.”
Romero laughed. “That’s a good story, Misty, but hard to prove.”
“No harder than it was for me to get inside the Conroy estate without making a scene,” I said.
“Which you agreed to share with us.” Denise put her hand on Romero’s arm.
“I will. Just not now. However, there is one thing the two of you could do for me.”
Romero glanced over at Denise then back at me. “Which is?”
“I need someone to take Jared’s tux to the mortuary. They’ll need it for viewing, and I don’t believe that someone should be me.”
“You want us to do it?” Denise asked.
“Why not? You’re on your way out to lunch anyway. How hard could it be?”
Romero stood up. “Hold on, Misty. It’s not that simple. I can’t be seen showing up at a mortuary with the victim’s suit.”
“But you don’t think he is a victim,” I said, “And it’s really not your case. You’re just checking it out for me.”
“Nice try, but even so, I haven’t a clue which mortuary the Conroy’s are using.”
“Please, Detective. It’s your job to find these things out. As for walking it in and leaving it with some receptionist, you can have Denise do it for you. I’m sure she’d love to.”
I stood up and handed the tux to Denise.
Denise put her arm through Romero’s and drew him close to her side. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Besides, I’m getting hungry for that lunch you promised me.”
Chapter 8
The following morning, I meditated in the living room. With my back to the window, I let the midday sun warm my head and shoulders as I revisited the facts in my mind. Jared was dead. Amy had been a pawn, a plant by Carlene and Jared to secure his inheritance. Dr. Conroy was beyond consolation and had insisted upon an investigation. The police were biding their time, waiting for an official coroner’s report to write off the entire case as nothing more than an accidental death. And I was uncomfortable, convinced the doctor was right—Jared had been murdered. But by whom?
I had three possible suspects: Raul, Billy, and Matthew, but no evidence. Furthermore, why the luminaries? Why were the doctor’s late wife and his former lover still in the house? What was their mission? I doubted they had anything to do with Jared’s murder. Luminaries, like ghosts, don’t kill. They solicit others to do their bidding. I found it difficult to think a parent, particularly a mother, would seek to murder her own child.
My mind was swirling with possibilities when my cell phone rang. I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know it would be Amy. I had sensed an anxious energy around her all morning, and while I felt she was troubled, I didn’t feel she was in any danger.
“Hello?”
“Misty, it’s Amy. I wanted to remind you about Jared’s memorial tomorrow. I need you there. Please, tell me you’ll come.”
Amy’s voice was fragile and thin. I pictured her alone inside that big Conroy mansion, in a room the doctor had prepared for her, still fighting back the tears.
“You really want me there? It sounds more like a family affair. I’m not sure I belong.” I didn’t want to disappoint Amy, but convincing me to come was easy. Just not for the reason she thought.
“It’s just—” I heard a catch in Amy’s voice, the tears weren’t far behind. “I don’t have that many friends in town. After we talked, I felt like you understood me. Jared and I were so busy. I never had time to make friends of my own. Only Carlene and Billy.”
“Billy?” Amy hadn’t said anything about a Billy? “Who’s Billy?”
“An old friend. It’s a long story. I’ll explain later, but I really need you at the memorial. Please? Ten o’clock. The Methodist church on Wilshire in Beverly Hills. Promise me you’ll be there.”
I promised and as I hung up the phone, closed my eyes. Amy was hiding something, maybe something of which she wasn’t even conscious. The feeling, like a blanket over my head, hung heavy about me.
Wilson sat opposite me, in the wingback chair with the paper in his lap.
“Still no word from the other side on Jared?” I asked.
I had hoped that among the spirit world news of Jared’s sudden passing might have sparked some chatter. Some clue I might use to prove to Detective Romero that Jared’s death hadn’t been accidental, but the result of something much more sinister.
“You mean other than the poor boy’s officially dead? No.” Wilson folded the paper and placed it back on the coffee table. “In fact, things are oddly quiet on this side of the veil.”
I closed my eyes. Usually, spirits, or newly departed spirits anyway, return for a short spell after passing. Sometimes they’ll even leave some kind of signal to those they’ve left behind to reassure them. I have seen it dozens of times. My own mother flicked the lights off and on in the room where she died when I returned to pay my final respects. It was her way of reassuring me she was still with me. The perfect signal, since she was forever yelling at me to turn o
ff the lights. Thinking about it still brings a smile to my face.
“I find it odd that there’s been no signal,” I said. “Don’t you?”
“Unless there’s no one left behind who Jared felt needed reassuring.”
“There is Amy.”
“Who’s to say Jared hasn’t tried? Perhaps in her grief, Amy’s blocking him.”
“Or maybe it’s more than grief,” I said. “It might be she’s relieved she doesn’t have to marry him after all, and she’s feeling guilty.” I never felt Amy was truly in love. Jared had done everything he could to convince the girl he was in love with her. Travel. Gifts. But was she really in love with him? I had my doubts. “Could be she doesn’t want to hear from him, or she’s afraid to.”
“If there’s no one left for a spirit to reassure, there’s no need to return. I was hardly inclined to do so for my sister.”
There was a knock at the door, a familiar rap, rap, rap, followed by my name.
“Speaking of whom,” I said.
“Again?”
I smiled.
Wilson returned to the study and slammed the door behind him.
“Oh good, you’re here.” Denise barged through the door with a bunch of large purple flowering chrysanthemums in her hands. She pressed past me and went directly to the dining room and placed the flowers on the table. “I thought I’d bring these by. A client sent them over. I’ve been sneezing all morning. Look at this, will you?”
Denise held her arms out for me to see. She had red scratchy bumps everywhere. “I’ve got them on my arms. My neck. My chest. I’m either coming down with something, or I’m allergic to these beauties.”
I adjusted the flowers in a vase on the table and centered them so the light hit them just right.
“I made an appointment with an allergist. I have to do something. Whatever this is, it’s ruining what I planned to wear tomorrow for Jared’s memorial.”
THE HOUSE THAT VANITY BUILT Page 6