“Melinda?”
“You caught me.”
I knew it! I knew she was hiding something. “Doing…?”
“You have to understand, there’s a lot of red tape in the foster care system. Someone else needed medical attention, but there was a problem getting her Medicaid benefits transferred from her previous foster home. So I used Terri’s card. I didn’t have a choice. She needed medical attention, and I was struggling to keep food on the table with the stipends I got from the state. Can I ask how you found out about that?”
“I’m still trying to identify the skeleton in my house.”
“And you think it was Jill?”
“Jill Burkett?”
“Yes. Troubled girl. And unfortunately, trouble often attracts trouble. She had a boyfriend who liked to beat on her. He was the one who kept breaking her arm.”
Same injuries. Right time frame. Jill Burkett had to be the skeleton in the closet. “What happened to her?”
“She wasn’t one of my success stories, I’m afraid. Kept running off with that horrible boyfriend. She’d come back, usually after a bad beating. Until the last time.”
“When was that?”
“Wow,” Melinda said on a breath, “let me think. She came in 1990, so it had to be sometime in ’96 or ’97. I don’t know anyone she kept in touch with after she left.”
“I think that’s because she’s the skeleton I found at the Chilian Avenue house.”
“That’s not possible,” Melinda said vehemently. “I lived in that house for years after she left. Space was an issue. Believe me, someone would have noticed a body in a closet. I would have noticed. Why, the smell alone would have…well, you know what I mean.”
I did. “You don’t happen to remember the boyfriend’s name?”
“Heavens no,” she said. “Jill wouldn’t tell me. If she had, I would have called the cops and pressed charges for the assaults. So, what happens now?”
“With what?”
“If you make the identification public, I could be charged with Medicaid fraud.”
I sensed genuine fear in her tone. “I don’t want to get you into trouble,” I said. “I’ll find some other way. Did she have any siblings? Someone who might be able to provide a DNA comparison or something?”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to just let this go. Assuming it is Jill, she’s been dead for more than a decade. Nothing good normally comes from dredging up the past. I’d be more than happy to cover burial expenses or anything you think might be appropriate to put this unfortunate situation to rest.”
“I’d like to know what happened to her,” I said, more for my own edification. “Someone murdered her.”
“Probably that boyfriend.”
“Why would a boyfriend keep the body all these years?”
“I shudder to think.”
Glancing at the clock, I realized it was two minutes after five. “Listen, I’ve got an appointment, so I need to go.”
Rudely, I all but hung up on Melinda. It couldn’t be helped. I had to go to my mother’s house to drop off the Mercedes and meet the Enterprise guy. Grabbing up my skeleton research and my purse, I dashed for the elevator.
AT 5:35 P.M., I was transferring those same items from the Mercedes to a utilitarian, nondescript white four-door coupe.
Driving in hideously slow, Friday-night traffic, I crawled along I-95 to Palm Beach Gardens. It took me close to thirty minutes to go eight miles, but I finally reached the little French bistro in the newest addition of trendy shops and eateries known as Downtown across from the Gardens Mall.
After selecting a nice Brie and some crusty artisanal bread, I walked two stores down and bought some wine, a corkscrew, and a pair of glasses. I only needed one, but that wasn’t an option.
Armed with dinner, I made one final stop before heading to Palm Beach. Using Military Trail as an alternative to the overly congested interstate, I detoured into one of the Walgreens that seemed to inhabit every other corner and bought a cheap sand chair.
The change at the house was nothing short of miraculous. Still, I groaned when I saw the Mustang already parked in the driveway. I was mentally exhausted and not in the mood to play head games with Liam. I wanted to be left alone. I needed to sort through the bits and pieces of the skeleton mystery that didn’t quite seem to fit.
The whir of a power saw buzz traveled on the breeze coming off the beach. I entered the house and stopped short. Liam, gloriously shirtless, was hunched over the sawhorses, operating the power tool. A fine dust swirled all around him, and some of the shavings stuck to the sheen of perspiration coating his naked torso.
“Hi,” Harold greeted me as he came down the hall.
Only then did Liam look up and find me standing on the threshold.
“Hi.” I walked across the plywood subflooring and placed my bags on the counter so I could remove the chair I’d hooked in the bend of my elbow. I fixed my attention on Harold. “I’m here for my tour.”
He offered a single-toothed smile. “Right this way.”
Like a kid showing off birthday presents, Harold took me through the house, explaining as he went.
“This will be the powder room,” he said, pointing to some tubes and a round thing. White PVC pipe zigged and zagged through holes drilled in the two-by-fours.
“Very nice,” I fibbed. With nothing but boards nailed up every twelve inches or so, I couldn’t tell where one room ended and the next one started. Maybe I’d do better when the drywall went up.
“Mr. Sam had me add this,” he said, patting a boxy-looking thing under what I thought was my bedroom window.
“It’s great.”
“She has no idea what it is,” Liam said. I turned to find him standing in what I thought might be the doorway, his arms raised, wrists resting against the framing.
Waving his arms in an inverted arc above the box shape, Harold said, “It’s a window seat. Mr. Sam said you’d be able to watch the sunset from here.”
Leaning over, I peered out and checked the view. The sun wasn’t due to set for another couple of hours, but I got the gist. I could almost see myself seated on a padded surface, fluffy pillows at my back and my computer cradled in my lap. It looked like a very cozy place to hunt for Rolex parts, Lilly fashions, and unloved Betsey Johnson dresses.
“It’s going to be fabulous,” I said, making Harold beam. “It’s almost seven. You should call it a day.”
“I don’t mind long hours,” he said proudly.
“She’s giving us the boot, Harold,” Liam said.
God, it was like he could read my mind.
“Oh, right. Sorry, Miss Finley, I didn’t mean to be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother.” Liam, on the other hand, was a big bother.
Harold insisted on carrying my chair out to the beach, while I uncorked my wine and generously filled one of the two glasses. They should have been washed first, but there was no running water, so the alcohol would have to serve as a sanitizer. Taking my bag and my glass, I headed out the new sliding glass doors, which, unlike their predecessors, opened and closed with a whisper. A large floral arrangement of two dozen pale pink roses and a few fragrant Stargazer lilies, with a few sprigs of greenery, sat off to one side.
Slipping the handle of the bag up on my wrist, I bent to pull the envelope from the plastic tine. I nearly spilled my wine trying to get the card out, and when I did, I was sorry I’d expended the effort.
Congratulations on the new house. Love, Patrick.
“He’s persistent.”
The unexpected sound of Liam’s voice so close to my ear startled me. This time I did spill my wine. A big red stain made a burgundy stripe right down the center of my pale blue belted dress. In a final insult, two drops splashed off a paver and stained the bow on my left shoe.
“Thanks a lot,” I grumbled. “Do you have any idea what these shoes cost?”
“Probably more than my first car. I am sorry,” he said with absolutely no remorse. “
I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
“You did, and you ruined my dress and my shoes.”
“I’ll pay for the cleaning.”
“You bet you will,” I said as I kicked off my shoes and headed toward the beach.
Liam caught up to me. “What’s wrong?”
I quickened my pace. “You just ruined a dress I’ve worn exactly once and a killer pair of Coach shoes.”
“Hey,” he said, moving to my right and gently but firmly grabbing my uninjured arm. He stepped in front of me, effectively blocking my way.
I stared straight ahead, at the dark hair covering his chest then tapering into a V as it disappeared into the waistband of his button fly jeans.
Crooking a finger beneath my chin, he tilted my head up. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve had a long day. I just want to sit on my little strip of beach, have a glass of wine, and relax.”
He shook his head. “Is it the flowers from the pilot?”
Glancing around him, I called, “Harold, take those flowers home to your wife.”
“I can’t take those,” he said. “They’re yours.”
“I don’t want them. If you don’t take them, they’ll end up in that Dumpster.”
“Well…um.”
“She means it,” Liam said without taking his eyes off my face.
“Okay, then. Thank you, Miss Finley.”
Harold shuffled off.
“If it isn’t the pilot—”
“It isn’t. I’m just tired and I want to be left alone.” I shrugged out of his hold.
Liam lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Just tell me why you’re treating me like the enemy.”
“Because right now, at this moment, you are.”
I SPENT AN HOUR on the beach enjoying my wine and solitude, then I dragged the chair back up to the patio. I left it there, not really caring if someone stole the nine-dollar item.
Neither the wine nor the solitude had resulted in answering the question that was at the forefront of my mind: How did Jill Burkett’s skeleton end up in my house?
I recorked the wine, laid the glasses on the floor of the backseat, and got behind the wheel. I headed south, to the Italian Renaissance–style hotel that dominated one hundred and forty acres of primo beachfront. It wasn’t just a hotel. It was The Breakers. Built by Standard Oil tycoon Henry Flagler, it has hand-painted ceilings and stunning medieval tapestries hanging on the walls. Originally the private retreat of the American elite, it hadn’t lost any of its charm or flavor in its one hundred plus years. The newest additions were a third golf course and programs for the spoiled children of the rich and famous. My favorite thing about The Breakers? The food, especially Sunday brunch, which ran seventy-five dollars. Running a close second was the spa. Best in south Florida, and even better if you opted for the outdoor, oceanfront hot stone massage.
I turned into the hedged driveway of The Breakers, self-parked—a rarity for me—then grabbed a file folder to hide as much of the stain as possible. I went to find Liv. I didn’t want a crab puff as much as I wanted some club soda to try to salvage my dress. I might be in a contemplative funk, but that didn’t mean I was going to sacrifice a dress I’d watched like a hawk, then swooped in on at the last moment and outbid my arch eBay rival, ClothesHorse2.
The Breakers was opulent and buzzing with conversation that was carried on the soft music from a three-piece band. I peered out into the courtyard. Liv’s party was in full swing. I smiled for the first time in a while, happy to see the event so successful.
A waiter carrying an empty tray as if it held the crown jewels opened one side of the beveled glass doors. I stopped him and asked if he would get me a bottle of club soda. I knew he would. The Breakers’ staff is renowned for their attention to their guests.
Technically, I wasn’t a guest, but he didn’t need to know that. I waited by the door until I caught Liv’s gaze. She had a wireless headset on and a clipboard in her hand and somehow made that work while dressed in a sleek silk gown and matching drop pearl earrings.
Discreetly, she made her way around the fountain to where I waited. “I’m glad you came. Want me to have Jean-Claude make you a plate? We have free-flowing Cristal as well.”
I pulled the folder away from my chest as if it was hinged. “I’m not fit to mingle with hoity-toities.”
“Miss your mouth?”
“Liam did it.”
Her exotic eyes grew wide. “He threw wine on you?”
“He startled me. It was an accident.”
“I’m sure he apologized.”
“He did, and I bit his head off.”
Liv shook her head like a disappointed teacher. “So now it’s your turn to apologize.”
“I know. I will, just not tonight.”
“Something wrong?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure what.”
Liv reached out and touched the back of my hand. “Carlos was the guy, right?”
I nodded, and the waiter appeared with my club soda. I thanked him, then gave Liv a smile. “Go enjoy the fruits of your labor. I’m going to slip into the ladies’ room and blot this stain.”
She gave me an air kiss. “Call me in the morning. Maybe we can all get together for dinner or drinks or something.”
“I will. The courtyard looks beautiful. You did a great job. Love what you did with the candles.”
“Thanks.”
I walked across the lobby to the ladies’ room. The attendant gave me a white washcloth and offered to help me, but I was just as content to work on the stain myself. The room smelled of lavender with an undertone of night jasmine. Not a heavy perfume, just enough to continue the feel of luxury contained in every square foot of the Palm Beach landmark.
I heard the flush of a toilet, then one of the stall doors opened. I glanced up from my blotting and found myself staring at the reflection of Terri Semple in the mirror.
The people who put on the most style are
the same people who put off the most creditors.
eighteen
TERRI WAS VERY ATTRACTIVE, tall, and slender, with dark blond hair twisted into a messy updo. She was tanned and moved like a goddess in an off-the-shoulder white gown with gold trim and embellishments.
When she went to wash her hands, I saw it. Her engagement ring included a five-carat pink diamond, courtesy of Harry Winston, that was set in platinum. I was surprised her arm didn’t drag the ground under the weight of that sucker.
We did that little wordless, awkward, eyes-met-so-you-have-to-acknowledge-each-other thing.
“Good evening,” she said with just a hint of Midwest accent in her diction.
“Hi,” I said, trying desperately to think of some way I could strike up a conversation, and then ease into grilling her like the catch of the day.
She had the home court advantage. If I said the wrong thing, Martin Gilmore’s fiancée could have me banned from the property faster than I could say boo.
As she shut off the water, she smiled again, this time revealing seriously bleached teeth. They were so bright that they matched her dress. Teardrop diamonds dangled from her earlobes. Another giant diamond teardrop hung from a thick gold choker.
The jewelry she was wearing was worth more than the treasuries of several emerging nations. She could probably hock a couple of pieces and end world hunger.
“Have a nice evening,” she said as she accepted the cloth offered by the trained-to-be-invisible attendant.
Opening a small evening bag constructed of gold links, she removed a tube of lipstick and did a touch-up to the color on her dark red, chemically plumped lips. Just out of curiosity, I glanced in her purse and almost laughed when I saw a Tiffany compact sharing space with three shoestring ropes of licorice the same shade as her lipstick.
“Hang on,” I said.
Her response to my request was a tight, impatient smile. “Yes?”
This was wrong in so many ways. My confidence was as soggy as the front of
my dress, but I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. “You’re Terri Semple, right? We have a mutual aquain-friend. Melinda Redmond.” So friend was a stretch.
She eyed me up and down, and even though she didn’t say a word or change a thing about her expression, I knew I’d come out on the short end of the inspection. “Melinda’s a wonderful person,” Terri said.
She began to pivot on the balls of her Gucci Sevigny sandals with the darling ankle cuff and four-inch heels that left her just shy of six feet tall. “I’m Finley Tanner.”
Bye-bye pivot. “You’re the one who bought Melinda’s old house, right?”
“Actually, it belonged to my father,” I said. Babbled, really. I waved my hands in a pointless attempt to erase the inane detail. “We have something in common,” I began again. “I’m assuming the police spoke to you about Carlos Lopez and his, um, photos?”
“Yes.”
“Had he been in contact with you?”
She stepped a little closer, and I found myself backing up. If I didn’t stop soon, I’d topple into the big basket of soiled washrags.
“I haven’t spoken to Carlos in years. He’s part of my past. A past that was painful and difficult to overcome. Unlike you, I didn’t have a doting mother or Jonathan Tanner in my life.”
Doting mother? Obviously, she’d never met my mother. And how had she remembered Jonathan’s name so quickly? Maybe she was one of those people who remembered names. Maybe I was getting paranoid. “I was blessed,” I replied. “I don’t mean to dredge up unpleasant memories; I’m just trying to get some information on Jill Burkett. The two of you were in…lived with Melinda at about the same time?”
“I don’t remember her at all.”
“Really?” I asked, tilting my head to the side to try to get a better read on the woman. Not possible; she’d already shown her hand when she’d said my stepfather’s name. She was as cool and controlled as a statue. “Abby Andrews had some very vivid and, well, unkind things to say about her. She specifically recalled Jill being very cruel to you.”
Terri’s smile slipped into a sneer just for a fraction of a second. “That’s quite possible. I simply don’t remember, nor do I want to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want my fiancé to become concerned.”
3 Fat Chance Page 23