The Decorator Who Knew Too Much

by Diane Vallere

  The door to the office opened and Peter walked in. “I see we’re going for a role reversal today. Do you want to be the doctor and I’ll be the patient? I’d be more than happy to play you for a session. Maybe if you heard your issues coming from my mouth, you’d be more willing to talk about them.”

  Tex tapped the end of his pen against the notepad in front of him. “My issue is Madison Night. She’s mixed up in some trouble in Palm Springs and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Peter leaned back and tented his fingers. “Palm Springs has a police department and I’m sure they’re as capable of helping her as you are. Is that really what’s bothering you?”

  After a few seconds, Tex threw the pen onto the desk and looked up at the doc. “No, it’s not. You want to know the truth? I think I’m in love with her, but she’s with somebody else. How long is it going to take to tackle that one?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I went with the bagels. Loaded down with a dozen assorted, a gallon of cream cheese, and two large iced coffees, I returned to the car. I nestled the coffees in the cup holder and set the food on the passenger-side seat.

  Before leaving the lot, I called the hospital. I was transferred three times before finally getting a chance to correct “James Hudson” to “Hudson James.” The curses of having two first names. Again, I was given only the most perfunctory of information: he’d been a patient, he’d been moved, he’d been released. Aside from the inconvenience of it all, I was mildly impressed with their dedication to maintaining patient confidentiality. By the time we cleared up the confusion, I was told he had checked himself out.

  I called his cell. “Hey, Lady,” he said.

  “I heard you were given a clean bill of health.”

  “Not quite clean, but not serious enough to tie up a bed for another night. Where are you at?”

  “Parking lot. I went out for breakfast. Emma and Heather are sleeping in.”

  “Exactly how big is this room?”

  “Let’s put it this way. Three girls and two animals was a little tight.”

  “I talked to Jimmy after I was released. He said he’s expecting to leave later today. I’m pretty sure that motel room is going to be a whole lot more empty tonight.”

  “Not too empty, I hope.”

  “I’d say it’s going to feel just about right.”

  “Do you want to meet us there now? I have enough bagels for one more,” I said.

  “Jimmy asked me to follow up on a couple of building permits for him. Not sure how long my energy level’s going to hang in there, but between him and me, he’s the one who should be lying in a bed. Probably going to keep me busy for the better part of the day. How about I meet you there tonight? Around five?”

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Hudson was avoiding me. But we were there to do a job, and he was right: collapsed lung and broken ribs trumped mild concussion—only barely. I made him promise to meet me earlier than he’d said, my way of making sure he didn’t overdo things.

  I headed back to the motel. Emma and Heather were both up, showered, and dressed. Heather sat on the bed, running her hand over Mortiboy’s head and back. Mortiboy looked a notch above tolerant.

  As soon as Rocky entered the room, all hell broke loose. Mortiboy jumped down from the bed and tried to scramble underneath it. The bed was on a platform, so Mortiboy’s escape route was thwarted. Rocky, delighted his friend had chosen to play, yipped and bounced around him while he dropped his head low to the ground and looked for someplace else to hide. It was like watching the pet version of the Super Bowl with a particularly pesky defensive end holding the line. Mortiboy hissed at Rocky, who backed away, giving Mortiboy a clear path to the bathroom. Heather clapped like it had been a performance orchestrated all for her.

  “Have you heard from Jimmy?” I asked Emma.

  “They’re completing his paperwork right now. I didn’t know you’d be gone so long. I want to pick him up at the hospital.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, holding the keys out toward her. “I had a hard time deciding between bagels and donuts.”

  “There’s donuts?” Heather asked. “I can eat ten donuts if I’m hungry.”

  Emma and I exchanged a look. “I got bagels.”

  “Oh,” the little girl said. “I can only eat two of them.” I held out the bag and she rooted through it, looking for one of her choosing.

  Emma put her hand on top of the bag. “There’s no time for that. We’re going to go pick up Daddy.”

  “I’m sure Jimmy is just as hungry as Heather. Let me have one and you take the rest with you.”

  “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  I shook my head. “Leave me your bike. You three deserve your own time. I’m going to pretend this really is a vacation for Hudson and me. Call me later. Maybe we can go shopping tomorrow.” I pulled out a rye bagel, tore it open, and added a blob of cream cheese. I set the whole thing on a napkin and handed the bag to Emma.

  There was something comforting about being alone in the motel room in the middle of the day, and it wasn’t just the air conditioning. Once Emma and Heather had left, the animals settled in on separate beds, and I set up shop on the small desk in the corner. I opened the thick curtains all the way but left the glass doors shut to block out the heat. A couple of years running a business in Dallas and I could have written a book: How To Enjoy The Summer Even When The Temps Are Over 100. It would probably need a better title.

  Tex had told me to go about life as usual. I suspected it wasn’t just him telling me to mind my own business. If I did the things I’d normally do, I wouldn’t look suspicious. If someone was keeping an eye on me, they’d think I took their advice. Anybody not in the business of decorating would quickly tire of outdoor flea markets and estate sales.

  I cleaned Mortiboy’s makeshift litter box and put out a bowl of fresh water. He seemed slightly more accepting of me than he had in the past, and I wondered if the compare/contrast of me vs. Heather from a cat’s perspective had somehow boosted my stock in trade.

  Five hours, three yard sales, and a half of a canister of sunscreen later, I rode Emma’s bike back to the motel. I passed up three hand-carved Tikis, a Taylorware “Cathay” casserole dish, and a large Witco wall hanging both gorgeous and too cumbersome to carry.

  I locked Emma’s bike in the rack inside the motel gates and lowered Rocky to the ground. He stretched the length of his leash and peed on a shrub. We scaled the stairs to the second floor while I rooted around in my small handbag for the motel room key. When I opened the door, I gasped.

  The floor and the bed were littered with pink rose petals. Hudson stood next to the balcony, dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and skinny tie. His hair was parted on the side and slicked back, and his sideburns had been trimmed. While it was safe to assume he’d gone scruffy in the hospital, tonight he was clean shaven.

  I closed the door behind me and dropped Rocky’s leash. Rocky ran forward and hopped up on his hind legs, front paws on Hudson’s knees. Hudson never took his eyes off me. “Hey, Lady,” he said quietly.

  “Hey, yourself,” I said back. I glanced down at my pink and white gingham outfit. “Suddenly I feel wildly underdressed.”

  He reached behind him and pulled a bottle of champagne out of a silver ice bucket. “I had a feeling you’d feel that way,” he said. “I left your outfit in the bathroom.” At my shocked expression, he added, “It’s the only other room here.”

  I took a step toward him and he pointed the opposite direction. “I’ll still be here when you get back,” he said.

  In the bathroom was a white dress with tiny lilac flowers embroidered on it. The neckline was cut straight across but had thick straps on either side, and a lilac grosgrain ribbon was draped through loops on either side of the waist. I slipped off my top and trousers and stepped into the dress and zipped up the back.
I tied the ribbon into a bow behind me and whirled around to see my reflection.

  Even with liberal sunscreen applications, I’d gotten some sun. Freckles had appeared across my nose, and I dusted loose powder over them. I touched up my mascara, perked up my hair with my fingers, and then went back out front. “Where—how—” I stammered.

  “There’s a thrift store attached to the hospital. Lots of the rich ladies of Palm Springs donate their clothes to raise money. That dress had Madison Night written all over it.”

  “And your suit?”

  He slid his thumbs under the narrow lapels and tipped his head down, and then raised his deep brown eyes and smiled at me. “I might have picked this up in Dallas,” he said. “For a special occasion.” He handed me a flute of champagne.

  Music from the pool floated up to our room. It was a pop ballad, not a big band classic like I would have selected or the Ramones like Hudson would have played in his garage workshop, but it was perfect. After everything that had happened since we arrived, I’d never have predicted that a night like this was in my future. I reached my hand up and ran my fingertips over the cut by his eyebrow.

  “Seems like a special occasion to me.” I clinked his glass with mine and took a sip. He slid an arm around my waist and I felt his face next to my hair.

  “Does this hurt?” I asked softly, concerned about his recent hospital stay.

  “Not with you.”

  I closed my eyes and rested my head gently against his shoulder. If ever there was a time to open up to Hudson, this was it. But Hudson’s injuries and weakened state dictated otherwise. Our first romantic night in the motel room ended with painkillers (his), sleeping pills (mine), and a half-full bottle of bubbly growing warm in the champagne bucket on the balcony.

  The next morning, I woke to sunlight streaming into the room. Hudson turned to me. “Morning swim?” he asked.

  “Not today.” I didn’t want to worry him by acknowledging the note in the towel, but I also didn’t want to encourage a repeat correspondence. “How about we spend the day doing Palm Springs stuff? I know Rocky’s expecting a rain check on Elvis’s house. We can get the map at the visitor’s center and make a day of seeking out houses of the rich and famous.”

  “In other words, be tourists?”

  “Yes. Let’s be tourists.”

  Hudson laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

  I pulled a green and white striped top and a white skort trimmed in green (Simplicity #7499) from my bag, along with a fresh set of underwear, and headed to the shower. My look was low-maintenance on the best of days, and the Palm Springs temperature made it even lower. I was ready for a day of leisurely tourist activities fifteen minutes after we’d made the plan. Unfortunately, even the best laid plans are often overturned.

  When I opened the bathroom door, I heard the TV. A reporter’s voice confirmed the fact I’d suspected for days. “The body pulled out of Whitewater River earlier this week has been identified as that of local resident, Dr. Albert Hall. High levels of painkillers in his system originally indicated suicide, but based on evidence found at the scene, the police are not ruling out foul play.”

  I watched the screen from outside the bathroom. The reporter went on to say the police had several suspects and they were trying to establish a timeline for the murder. I stepped out from where I’d been standing and looked at Hudson. “I have to call them,” I said.

  “You’ve already done enough. You told them everything you know.”

  “No, Hudson, I haven’t. The SUV that almost ran us off the road the day we arrived? It was him.”

  “It was who?”

  “Dr. Albert Hall. Him.” I pointed at the screen. “The body I saw in the river.”

  “How do you know?”

  I closed my eyes, silently begged Emma to forgive me, and then opened my eyes. “Your sister told me. She asked me not to tell you, but I think things have gotten out of control.”

  “I don’t get it. What does Emma have to do with any of this? What did she ask you not to tell?”

  “She and the doctor were having an affair and now she thinks his death is her fault.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Where’d you hear that?” Hudson asked.

  “I told you, she confided in me.”

  He stood up and pulled a clean black T-shirt from his luggage. “I don’t believe it.” He winced as he pulled the shirt over his bandaged ribs.

  “You think I’m lying?” I asked.

  “No—not you. I don’t believe she’d be dumb enough to do something like this.” He shook his head from side to side.

  I rushed forward and put my hands on his forearms. “She and Jimmy have been having trouble. When she came to visit you in Dallas, it was supposed to be a trial separation.”

  “She told you that too?”

  I nodded. “She didn’t want you to know because she didn’t know if they’d get back together or not. She was afraid you’d treat him differently. She knows you two are friends.”

  “But she’s my sister. If I’m going to take a side, it’s going to be hers.”

  “Are you?”

  “What?”

  “Going to take a side?”

  “She went back to him. There’s no side to take.”

  “Hudson, she had an affair. The man is dead. Maybe she’s been able to keep it a secret up to now, but there’s a good chance as the police dig into Dr. Hall’s background, they’re going to discover her connection to him. I don’t know if Jimmy knows or not, but no matter which way this goes, she’s going to need your support.”

  We stood like that for a couple of seconds, my hands on Hudson’s forearms, him staring at me, searching my face for answers I couldn’t provide.

  “Do you know anything else about Dr. Hall?” he asked.

  I moved my hands down his arms and laced my fingers through his. I looked down at the carpet and turned away from Hudson and led him to the unmade bed. After I sat down, I gently tugged on his hand. He sat next to me. I looked back at his face.

  “Boy, do I ever.”

  It took over an hour to catch Hudson up on the romantic life and times of Dr. Albert Hall. Having run through the facts one time already with Tex, I was less jumbled this time.

  “I think the men who attacked you and Jimmy in Salton were the same ones who approached me at the quarry.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Something Omar told me. He’s the orderly who took care of my tetanus shot. I ran into him in the ER the day you went to the hospital and he told me what he overheard you tell the police.”

  Hudson nodded and looked down at his hands. “When Jimmy and I were first going over this job, he told me where we’d be working in Salton. Your sketchpad was nearby and I wrote the details down in it. Where we’d be working, where the quarry was, who was on the team.”

  “So Benji knew about the job site in Salton from me—because I left my sketchpad behind. If I hadn’t left it, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

  “Madison, those guys jumped us because they wanted something and we didn’t have it. I don’t know what it was, but the fight wasn’t a random attack. The only reason we’re in such bad shape is because it was four against two.”

  “Did you report it?”

  He looked at me. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m the one who threw the first punch.” He took a breath and coughed a couple of times. I put my hand on his chest, as if I could somehow take the pain away with my touch. “I have no doubts there would have been a fight, but I’m the one who started it. Benji asked us if we brought it, if we were his new contact. Jimmy played it cool, said we didn’t want any trouble. We were about to leave when Benji said something about you.”

  “Me?”

  “He said to tell the pretty lady at the quarr
y next time he wouldn’t be so nice.” He moved my hand from his chest. “Even if I hadn’t seen one of your sketches sticking out of his back pocket, I would have known he meant you. I slugged him. Jimmy jumped in. You know the rest.”

  We finished sharing what we knew. I expected him to say exactly what Tex had said, but Hudson was more concerned with Emma and her involvement in Dr. Hall’s life. He recognized I could take care of myself, but there was a chance his sister wasn’t as strong as I was. If anybody needed his protection, it was her.

  As I spoke, Hudson drew a stick figure on a blank postcard left in the room and labeled it “Dr. Hall.” He connected lines around it like a George Nelson ball clock, and wrote in every person who had a connection to him. On a separate page, he made a list of suspects: Jo Conway, Benji Nalder, Officer Buchanan, Jimmy McKenna. He labeled each one—ex-wife, thug, cop, as if making a cast of characters for a program in the theater district. He left the space after Jimmy’s name blank.

  “You have to write Emma’s name on there too,” I said gently. Before he got the wrong idea, I put my hand on his. “I’m not saying she’s responsible, but she is involved. Somehow. If we ignore that, we put her at risk.”

  He wrote her name down on the side of the paper, but used a dotted line to connect her back to Dr. Hall. “What do we do now?” he asked.