“Did the culprit confess?”
She shook her head and set the knife down carefully. “Mood I was in I’d have carved off his gonads and served them to him flambéed.”
Luke took an involuntary half step back. “When did you discover the knife was in the dishwasher?”
Her forehead creased. She glanced at the knife and then at the two of them, comprehension dawning. “Oh, my God. You think that woman was killed with my knife?”
“We don’t know anything yet, Lucy. We’re making inquiries. When did you find the knife in the dishwasher?”
“Monday morning when I came on shift. Around eleven.”
“I’m going to have to take your knife.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She looked at the thing as though she no longer wanted it anywhere near her. “I keep them sharp enough to…”
He got a fresh paper bag from the kitchen and bagged the knife.
Toni stayed with him as he left the kitchen. “Do you think that’s the—”
“We don’t know anything until it’s tested.”
She glanced at the bag then at him. “Was the murdered woman registered with the mystery conference? I heard she was.”
“Your mother was right. You are nosy.”
She sighed. “I know I am. I just…it seems so wrong for that young woman to be…”
“I know.”
They stood for a moment, and he thought that behind the façade of cosmetics and the pushy personality, there was a woman of real character peeking out at him.
She gestured behind him. “Your partner’s looking for you.”
“Gotta go.” Time to interview the husband.
Gregory Neuman was a sloppy drunk.
He answered the pounding on his hotel room door bleary eyed and stinking. His nose was running, his fly was open and he had to hang on to the doorframe to remain upright. They should drag him around to AA meetings as an exhibit, Luke thought. He’d do a lot to turn drinkers off alcohol.
The guy pointed with a shaking finger to the Do Not Disturb sign lurching against the doorknob at the same approximate angle as the room’s occupant.
“Mr. Neuman?”
He belched and belatedly stuck a polite hand in front of his mouth. “Sorry about the noise last night. It was only a chair. I’ll pay for it.” His eyes started to water. “My wife left me. Can you give me a break? Can you do that?”
Marciano and Henderson exchanged a glance. In his condition, nothing he said would be admissible in court. “May we come in?”
He was already staggering back to the bed leaving the door wide open so they followed.
The place stank. Neuman stank.
He, or some one, had slept in both queen sized beds and it was obvious housekeeping hadn’t been in for a couple of days.
“Looks like you’ve been having quite the pity party,” Henderson said, indicating the empties. Crumpled beer cans littered the floor along with a couple of empty wine bottles. An empty 26er of bourbon and another, half empty 26er sat on the vanity, a water glass about a third filled with booze beside it.
A chair that had obviously once matched the desk under the window lay on its side, one of the legs snapped. A navy Gortex jacket sprawled on the floor – a garment more suited to Seattle rain than Texas heat – along with a pair of socks and a pair of sneakers. There was no suitcase in view. It seemed as though Neuman had followed his wife on impulse, not even taking time to pack. He looked and smelled like he’d been wearing and sleeping in the same clothes for a few days.
“Lost my wife,” he mumbled, slumping on the bed and rubbing his hands over his face. His wedding ring shone in the light from the bedside lamp. No daylight entered the room since the drapes were drawn tight.
The ring was a typical man’s gold wedding band. No way they’d have gone with this for him and a silver Celtic ring for the bride. Looked like she’d moved on and he hadn’t.
“What do you mean, you lost your wife?”
“I told you. She’s leaving me.” He sniffed, rose from the bed and walked into the bathroom, Henderson closing in behind him, but his purpose was merely to grab a wad of toilet paper and wipe his nose and eyes. The tissue boxes were all empty.
He weaved his way back to the bed and collapsed. “Sorry about the mess.” He scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Why the fresh grief? She filed for divorce a month ago.”
“Thought she changed her mind.” He sniffled.
“What are you doing in Dallas Mr. Neuman?”
“Came to see Amy. Tell her she was making a mistake.” He eyed the water glass of bourbon. “Can I have a drink?”
Marciano crossed to the bathroom, rinsed out one of the used glasses he found in there and filled it with water.
He came out and handed it to Gregory Neuman, who struggled to sitting then gulped water.
“What were you doing Sunday night?” Henderson asked.
“Sunday?” He rubbed his left temple as though trying to stimulate his brain. “I flew down to see my wife. She’s here on a conference.” He drank some water. “Got in around four. I called her but she didn’t pick up. I left a couple messages.”
He’d left four messages.
“I found out he was going to be here –”
“Who was going to be here?”
He turned to look from one of them to the other. “Why are you asking me all this? All I did was break a chair.”
“Please, Mr. Neuman. If you could answer the question.”
“Joseph Mandeville.” He spat out the name.
He gulped more water. “She made him out to be some big deal but he was a two bit user. Oh, and he likes the ladies. I was in Denver on business anyway so I decided to fly down here and beg her to come home with me.” He shook his head. “But she didn’t pick up.”
“Then what happened?”
“She called me.”
Henderson stopped scribbling and raised his head. “There’s no record of that call on her cell phone log.”
“Her battery was low. She called from the lobby phone of her hotel, I think.”
“What time was that?”
“Maybe 10:30? Somethin’ like that.”
“What did she say?”
“She was coming over.”
“Here? To this hotel?”
“Yeah. But she never showed up. I waited. For hours. Sat up all night.” He shook his head. “I’m still waiting. She must have gone to him after all.” He rubbed his wedding ring absently.
“When was the last time you saw your wife?”
“In Seattle. I don’t know. Couple of weeks ago. Why?”
Luke took out the photograph. “Is this a picture of your wife?”
Neuman squinted at the photo. “What happened to her?”
“Is this Amy Neuman?”
“Yeah. That’s my wife.” His voice rose. “What the hell happened to her?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Neuman. We’ve got bad news. Your wife’s dead.”
“Dead? She’s thirty-five years old. She can’t be dead.”
“She was murdered.”
“Oh, my God. No.” And he burst into tears. “But she called me. I heard her voice.”
“We’re very sorry.”
“No. You’re wrong.” He got off the bed, put the water down on the bedside table. “I’m gonna find her.”
Suddenly he put his hands to his head and bent over.
“Why the hell did I drink so much? I can’t think straight.”
They didn’t interrupt, merely let him talk.
“When? When did it happen?”
“Sunday night.” Luke said.
“What were you doing Sunday night, Mr. Neuman?” Henderson asked.
He blinked as though the words hurt to hear. “You don’t think I killed her. Why would I kill my own wife?” His voice went raspy. “I loved her.”
“She was here to meet another man. She was leaving you.”
“T
hat bastard. Stringing her along. Never had any serious inten… intent … Never had any serious plan. And now she’s dead.”
Tears spilled once more and, abandoning the wad of toilet paper, he grabbed a towel off the bed to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. “I should have walked over to meet her. Maybe if I had she’d still be alive.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“She said she’d come here. She wanted to get out of the hotel. She didn’t want to see him. She told me she was sorry.”
He shook his head. “Why didn’t I start walking? The marriage counselor told us to meet each other half way.”
The clock radio suddenly belted out a country and western tune, startling all of them. Neuman stared at it for a moment. Then he reached over and pushed the snooze button with an unsteady finger. “I’m supposed to catch a flight.” He slumped back against the headboard, obviously realizing he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
“So your wife said she was coming over to meet you here and she never showed up?” Henderson asked.
“Right. By yesterday I figured she’d changed her mind. I started drinking. And I got pretty mad and broke a chair. I figured Mandeville got hold of her and sweet talked her back into his bed.” He stared from one to the other of the detectives. “But he didn’t. He killed her. You arrested him yet?”
“We have to ask you to identify the body.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay. Let me shave first.”
“Not now. Sober up. We’ll come back for you in the morning. We’ll take you in to identify your wife, and then we’ll interview you again at the station. We need you sober, Mr. Neuman. Lay off the booze.”
As Luke turned to leave, the last image he had of Gregory Neuman was of the man curled up in a ball, hugging one of the hotel pillows. He looked like a lost little kid hanging onto a stuffed animal.
“What do you think?” Henderson asked as they drove away.
“The sloppy drunk or the playboy author?” He shook his head. “I think Amy Neuman had bad taste in men. And that we should have another visit with our friend Mandeville.”
Chapter Twelve
Men in general judge more from appearances than from reality. All men have eyes, but few have the gift of penetration.
--Niccolo Machiavelli
Toni had picked an early hour for her breakfast meeting, Wednesday morning, but even so there was a line up at the hotel’s all-day restaurant. Tables were jammed together and those tables were packed with customers -- most of them Lady Bianca reps snatching an early bite before the sessions or, like her, using this time during conference to network with sales reps. Today she’d booked a breakfast meeting with Charlene Throckmorton, one of her newer reps.
Toni arrived first and the harried waitress plonked a stainless carafe of coffee on her table and a couple of menus, then rushed off.
It was soon apparent that Toni’s appointment was running late, which left her alone with her coffee at a table for two. Once upon a time, she’d have fidgeted and kept checking her watch, cursing the waste of time. Now she simply pulled her phone out of her bag and used the extra time to text message a reminder to all her reps. Tonight was the cutoff for orders that would qualify for the sales prizes.
“Check your stock, check with your customers. Plan some makeover parties and get your orders in today. Let’s win some bling!”
By the time she was done she had a cramp in her thumbs, but it was wonderful what attitude and clear goals could do for a person. If everyone in her division worked the phones and replenished their stock, they could still beat Nicole’s group to some very nice diamonds. Still no sign of Charlene, so she pulled out the sales information on the new diamond hard eyebrow pencils and sent a second message to her reps reminding them of the revolutionary new product: “Let’s be original. How about an eyebrow party?! I’ll take orders up until 11 p.m. Go girls!”
She sipped her coffee and let the buzz of female chatter flow around her.
She knew an amazing number of the women currently eating breakfast, with the odd man dotted around. Orin Shellenbach was holding court with a few of the senior officers of the company, and in quiet corner she noted Thomas Feckler, enjoying a cozy breakfast with his wife. Normally, Melody and Nicole were inseparable so Toni was happy to see Melody had her husband around for balance.
The bustle of a couple leaving and another being seated at the table behind her barely ruffled her concentration until she heard the voice she’d know anywhere as Nicole Freedman’s cut through her concentration like a buzz saw. Of all the tables in all the coffee shops…
Still, tiny annoyances are like raindrops, she reminded herself, imagining a large lilac umbrella shielding her. She carried on for another couple of minutes doing her best to ignore Nicole and Stacy Krump, whose voice she also recognized.
Stacy had been with Lady Bianca less than a year and, as they all knew, the first year was critical. Within her first twelve months a woman either proved she had what it took to become a Lady Bianca star or it became clear there was no helium in her balloon. Toni liked to think she allowed her stars to rise naturally. Nicole was more of the push-them-until-they-break-out-or-give-up school of management.
“How’s it going this month?” Nicole asked in her fake honey voice.
“Fine. Things are fantastic. I’m so happy to have this opportunity. Thank you for all your help.”
“Well, I love you. I knew the second I saw you that you were someone special, the kind of woman who was born to greatness.”
Oh, gag me.
“Thanks.”
“How are you doing with your friendly fishing this month?” Friendly was the optimum attitude, but of course they were fishing for details about the woman so they’d know what bait might hook her in for an initial free facial and beauty consultation. Then they tried to recruit that woman as a customer, then a hostess to bring all her friends and family on board and then, if she seemed the right type, the consultant would try and talk the new hostess into becoming a Lady Bianca rep in her own right.
It was a brilliant strategy and had worked well enough that there were close to a million Lady Bianca reps in the world.
She could hear paper shuffling behind her and knew that Stacy had opened her progress binder. “I set myself a goal of approaching seventy-five strangers last month like we talked about. I went to every grocery store within thirty miles of my home, and hung around two schools around quitting time. I thought that would be a good place to meet women with a few minutes to talk.”
“That’s fantastic. Shows great initiative,” was the enthusiastic response.
“I only ended up talking to fifty-three women. And only forty-two of them would take my card.”
“Okay, that’s wonderful. You are really pushing beyond your comfort zone. I feel how exciting that is for you, even if it makes you a little nervous at first. And tell me you’ve booked consultations or parties with all forty-two of those women.”
A soft giggle. “Hardly. I only got four phone numbers. Everybody else took my card and said they’d call me.”
“You’ve got to get those phone numbers, honey. Women are so busy, they need for you to help them out by staying in touch and booking those appointments.”
“I don’t know how to make someone give me their number if they don’t want to.”
“I can help you with that. I’ve got some sales training material I can give you. I can even come with you next time and demonstrate. I am so proud of you.” There was some rustling followed by smacking, smoochie noises, so Toni knew Nicole was in hug and kiss mode.
“Now, let’s talk about this month’s order. We need to get everything in before midnight tonight if we’re going to win the division prize. I can really see a nice diamond ring on your finger. Right there.” The top sales director in their division, which came down to either Nicole or Toni, stood to win the two-carat ring, but every one on their team would also win a modest diamond.
Toni could all but
see Nicole reaching forward to playfully tap Stacy on her ring finger.
“I already put –”
Nicole interrupted. “How much new product do you need? I personally over-ordered the new diamond hard eyebrow pencils. I’m sure we won’t be able to keep them in stock. And with all those faces you’re going to do next month, and the parties you’ll hold, you’re going to need to be ready. Remember, success rewards the prepared.”
There was a pause. Even unable to see them, Toni could feel the weight of that silence. She’d stopped even the pretense of catching up on paperwork. She was eavesdropping with every cell of her body.
“The thing is, Larry is giving me a hard time about my credit card bills. He says I should be bringing in some money by now and not spending so much more than I’m making.”
“Larry.” It was said in the same tone one might mention Bubonic Plague.
“My husband?”
“Oh, I know who Larry is. And he’s not the first husband who ever became jealous of his wife’s success. Honey, would you open a jewelry store with one pair of earrings?”
“No.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. And you can’t run a cosmetics business with no makeup. Inventory is essential to your success.” Her voice dropped and Toni could imagine Nicole’s body language, leaning forward and cozying up to her prey. “You are on the road to success and riches beyond your wildest dreams. You’ve got the commitment, the drive, the talent, the team. All you have to do is keep believing in yourself and your future.”
The clicking of crockery suggested that Stacy had taken refuge in her coffee mug. “But I still have to live with Larry. I can’t handle another fight about money.”
“It’s really hard when you find out your partner isn’t the supportive man you thought he was.” There was a tiny pause. “I know. My former husband Bill never, ever supported me. But I got the last laugh. I live in a five thousand square foot chateau-style home with a swimming pool now. Bill lives with his mother.”
“Are you suggesting I should divorce my husband?”
Frosted Shadow, a Toni Diamond Mystery: Toni Diamond Mysteries Page 9