A Secondhand Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “How did she act toward you that day?”

  “As she usually did. Like I was lowlier than the help she hired to clean her toilets, but a necessary evil.” I glanced at my watch. I’d been here for over a half hour. Madeleine would be frantic if I wasn’t back soon.

  Frida and Timble exchanged looks and nodded at each other.

  “Okay. You can go, but we may have additional questions.”

  “Well, I have one of my own. Who told you Valerie and I had a run-in?”

  “Madeleine. This morning on the phone. I asked her if she knew of anybody who didn’t like Valerie. She volunteered your name.”

  I could feel the blood rush to my face. That little rat! Here I’d been trying to protect her by lying about my whereabouts this afternoon. Once I got back to the store, I intended to up her stress level. Her wrinkles be damned! But before I did that, I needed to find out what she’d overheard between Valerie and me.

  Had she heard the real reason for Valerie’s attack? If so, had she told Frida? If Frida knew I hadn’t been honest about the reason for our confrontation, she’d be examining my background, which wouldn’t stand up to that kind of scrutiny and could lead to too much interest in Jerry’s dealings with the Sanders family. Oh yeah, as usual, Jerry had lied to me. I knew him well enough to detect the dissembling in his voice when we talked. He was up to his armpits in the Sanders’ investments. Not that he could be involved in the murder. No way. Nuh-uh.

  I kept my mouth shut about the fact that Madeleine had been shooting off hers to Frida until we were already headed for the coast.

  “They’ve been burning the sugar cane fields south of here all day,” I said. “You can still smell that acrid scent in the air.” It was not an odor I savored. I rolled up the window and turned on the air conditioner.

  Madeleine said, “Should we go to Cory’s first, since it’s all the way on the other side of West Palm?” She lowered the vanity mirror on the visor and examined her face.

  That did it. “I told you this morning,” I said. “There’s no wrinkle. I lied to you. Your forehead is as smooth as the inside of a cream puff.”

  “Why are you yelling at me? You’ve been acting funny ever since you picked me up at the store. If you’re going to treat me like that, let me out here.”

  I almost did just that, but we were driving the 714 East after the commuter rush hour had already passed, and I doubted anyone would be on the road. She’d get eaten by an alligator crossing to hunt overnight in the swamp on the other side. She’d surely blame me for that. I could just see her shaking her tiny freckled fist at me as a gator swallowed her whole.

  I slammed my fist on the steering wheel. “Why the hell did you rat on me?” I said. “I thought we were best friends and then you blab to the cops.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You told Frida that Valerie and I had a fight.”

  “You did.”

  “It was private.”

  “Half the county heard you.”

  “Did you tell Frida why we fought?”

  “The shop’s take, right?”

  I looked over at her face, but in the dim light I couldn’t tell if she knew more than she was saying. “Whatever. You owe me one.”

  “Do not.”

  “Do so. And here’s how you can make it up to me.” I told her about my concern for our business, and that I was worried the shop would suffer if Mrs. Sanders’ murderer wasn’t identified sooner rather than later. I told her my brilliant plan. She must have felt some guilt about talking to Frida because, to my surprise, she agreed to help me out.

  It wasn’t much of a plot. Mostly just the old good-cop-bad-cop routine put to good use by the good-consignment-shop-owner and the bad. I don’t have to tell you what part I was playing, do I?

  Getting Cory Burnside to confess to us what she and Valerie had been scheming about on the day of the fight would only be possible if her husband wasn’t home tonight. Rumor had it that Randolph Burnside spent as little time at home as possible. He was too involved in making money, something he seemed to do very well. I figured he needed all the cash he could get just to pay for the extensive “procedures” his wife underwent. Cory lived by that old dictum, you can’t be too rich or too thin, and its addendum—too wrinkle- or sag-free. Her face had undergone surgery so often that it was painful to look at her. She appeared to be in a state of perpetual surprise. One more lift and her eyebrows would join her hairline.

  We pulled up in front of Cory’s large house just as the sun was going down. The stucco dwelling sat back from the road, sheltered amid a variety of palms and oaks. A manicured lawn seemed to invite visitors to take off their shoes and walk across the green carpet, but a sign indicating the property was protected by a security system suggested the grassy invitation was not serious. I rang the bell and expected a servant to answer. Cory showed up instead.

  She kept us waiting at the door while she grabbed a load of garments from a hallway chair and loaded them into my arms. “Could we come in for a moment?” I asked.

  She looked surprised at my request. That reaction wasn’t what piqued my curiosity. It was the alarm I saw in her eyes.

  “It’s about poor, dear Valerie.” Madeleine looked appropriately sad.

  “This really isn’t such a good time.” She tried to close us out, but I’d already placed one of my size-ten feet in the door and I now stood in the foyer, looming over her. Madeleine ducked past me and went to stand next to her.

  “Well, fine,” she said, “if you don’t stay long. I’m expecting someone.”

  “We’ll stay for a quick drink. That’s all.” I walked straight ahead, across the marble entryway and into a dimly lit room beyond. The space was overcrowded with potted plants, heavy teak furniture and lots of leather—couches, chairs, even the lampshades were made of animal skins. That East Indian look that is so popular in south Florida.

  The back of the room was fashioned out of glass, and through it we could see a beautifully landscaped garden filled with royal palms, bougainvillea and a plethora of tropical flowers. Standing guard over the garden was a huge oak that dwarfed even the largest of royals. In the center of all of this beauty stood a pool into which a waterfall cascaded. I dropped the clothes on a leather sofa and walked through the open doorway into the warm night.

  “Too bad we didn’t bring suits,” I said. “A dip after the day I’ve had would feel great.”

  Cory muttered with irritation, Madeleine apologized for my manners, and I threw myself onto a chaise lounge.

  Cory stood at my side looking down at me as if she wanted to drown me in the clear, blue water but was worried the pool service would never be able to clean up the mess.

  I reached up and took her bony hand. “Madeleine’s right. Please forgive my manners, but this had been quite a day. Here we are, all of us, so … so, well … so aggrieved at Valerie’s death. Horrified, too. Then to have the cops act as if I was at fault! Have they been to see you, dear?”

  The triple whammy of my apology, the news about my run-in with the cops and my inquiry into her own dealings with the law seemed to have the desired effect. I had intended to confuse her and, although her face appeared as startled as ever, her eyes, the true barometer of her emotional state, jumped around in their sockets, signaling fear or concern. Or was it terror?

  I pressed my advantage. “Oh, they’ll be here soon enough. Or they’ll summon you to headquarters. Let me tell you, that place is a dump.”

  She plopped down on the end of the lounge. “You mean they might insist that I drive there and be interrogated in some backwater police station? If my friends find out about this, I’ll just die.” She put her head in her hands and began to sob.

  “What did you expect? You were close to Valerie. Of course they’ll want to talk to you.” I reached out. Madeleine rummaged in her purse, found a tissue and handed it to me. Cory held out her hand for it. I blew my nose and tossed the wad back to Madeleine. “You’d better have a good s
tory for them when they arrive.”

  “Story? Why do I need a story? Besides, Valerie and I weren’t even that close. Once she and her husband lost all their money, well, we weren’t running in the same circles anymore.” She sounded angry, not scared.

  “What about your recent, uh, troubles?” There was sympathy in Madeleine’s voice. Madeleine gave me a sly look, indicating she was taking a shot in the dark.

  For a moment, I thought Cory might deny the fact that she and Randolph were having “troubles,” but she chuckled instead. “Isn’t that the funniest thing? Valerie recently mentioned a project she and her husband had gotten involved in. She promised a good return on our investment, but I told her Randolph wasn’t interested. Randolph does his own investing, doesn’t follow his friends’ lead. That’s what gets so many people in trouble, you know, following along. I didn’t even ask her for details”

  “She and her husband had enough money to invest?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure you don’t know what kind of project?” Usually I can tell when someone is lying—I have had plenty of practice being married to Jerry—but Cory’s face gave away nothing.

  “Don’t be coy,” she said. “I assume the investment involved you and your estranged husband, as usual.” Her tone was clipped and accusing.

  A figure emerged from behind one of the silver palms. “Now that’s something I didn’t know. I’ll bet the cops don’t either.” Lean, casual, hands in his pockets—my investigator playing eavesdropper in the garden.

  Dumbfounded, I turned to Cory. “Is this the person you were expecting?” I couldn’t have been more surprised and less amused. Alex and Cory, a new take on The Odd Couple? “Since when do you let PIs wander around in your azaleas?”

  “I told him to come in through the back. I didn’t want to explain the presence of a strange man at my door to any neighbors who might be watching.”

  “Isn’t this cozy?” Alex wandered over to the bar cart. At first I thought he was going to reach out and make himself a drink. Instead, he twisted one of the bottles around and read the label. “Johnnie Walker Green. Rich stuff.” He looked at Cory with a question in his eyes.

  “So? My son likes Green label. He brought it over.” Cory sounded defensive.

  Alex was dancing around something. What? Why not simply ask? So I did.

  “Excuse me, but I’m missing something here. Is Cory the person who hired you to track down information on Valerie?”

  Alex didn’t reply, only flashed an infuriatingly enigmatic smile.

  I turned my attention to Cory. “Why would you need a PI to investigate your friend?”

  Cory jumped to her feet and pointed an accusing finger. “Get out of here, you two. I don’t want you in my house ever again.”

  Madeleine grabbed my hand and pulled me off the lounge.

  “Fine, fine. We’ll leave.” We walked out of the pool area and entered the house, grabbing the consignment clothes off the couch on our way through the library, or great room, or whatever the current lingo is in ostentatious living.

  I didn’t make it far. “Leave those right there. I’ve changed my mind about consigning with you.” Cory followed us to the door and slammed it behind us.

  “Nice work,” Madeleine said. “We found out nothing, and we no longer have her clothes to sell. Did you see that suit and those pants?” She continued muttering indistinctly as she headed toward the van.

  “If I’d known she had Johnnie Green, I would have insisted on that drink. I love Green,” I said, turning left at the end of the sidewalk and strolling up the bluestone pathway toward the back of the house.

  Madeleine was still heading toward our vehicle. When she realized I was no longer behind her, she turned around and ran after me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I want to hear what they’re saying. You go back to the van and drive off. That way they’ll think we left. I’ll meet you at the corner as soon as I get what I need.”

  “What do you need?”

  “To find out who Alex is working for and how my husband is involved in all of this.”

  “You’re going to spy on them?”

  “Get going or they’ll know we’re still here.” I made a dismissive gesture and proceeded up the walkway. In front of me was the gate to the garden area. The lighting on the grounds was just bright enough to give the plantings a romantic ambience, but dim enough to allow me some cover. I reached out and pushed open the gate.

  Once inside the garden, I was able to hear the voices ahead of me, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I’d have to get closer. Sneaking from behind one tree to another near the pool, I was able to hide myself in the shadows and plants.

  “The investment project?” she was saying.

  Valerie’s project? I had to know what was involved and how Jerry figured in all this. Alex lowered his voice, making it impossible for me to discern what he was saying. I spied a bougainvillea whose branches and flowers spread over the lawn and flowed toward the deep end of the pool. Beneath its shadowy cover loomed low-growing lantana, and unless I tried to crawl on my stomach across that area, I’d be out in the open. I needed cover.

  If Jerry was involved in Valerie’s scheme to get rich again, he might be implicated in her death. I didn’t love the jerk any longer, but I still had a soft spot for him. Slinking around like this was typical of the things I’d had to do to rescue Jerry from himself. The story of our relationship: he got into trouble. I got him out.

  I sighed in resignation, got down on my stomach and made like Rambo, crawling along the ground, using my elbows to pull me forward. Hard work. The lantana was woody, but if I tried to avoid the sharp branches by getting up on my knees, the thorns from the bougainvillea would grab my shirt. I had gone only a few feet when a voice from overhead asked, “May I help you?”

  Chapter 6

  I looked up into a chiseled face—a jaw like Dudley Do Right and a head of sweeping hair like Donald Trump. He was dressed in white trousers and a blue blazer, an apricot ascot tied at his neck. I could hardly believe my eyes. He was a snapshot taken at the races, and I don’t mean the Indy 500.

  I twisted myself around to face him and offered my hand. “You must be Randolph Burnside. I’m Eve Appel, one of your wife’s, er … friends.”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. On my stomach, I hadn’t been able to gauge his height. Once standing, however, I saw that I towered over him. The man had never seen five feet. I could have stomped on him like a pesky cockroach, but this was his property, and I was a trespasser, so I had to make nice.

  He seemed unworried about the differences in our heights and unmoved by the presence of a giant woman crawling through his lawn. If anything, he appeared amused and curious.

  “Cory usually has better manners than this. I’m surprised she left a friend to crawl around in the hibiscus and creeping myrtle. Please, come on in for a drink.”

  He started up the path toward the pool and beckoned me to follow. When I didn’t, he turned and smiled. “I wouldn’t want to believe that you’re actually a burglar or a stalker.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t quite as oblivious to my creeping around as I had first assumed. What the hell. I had little choice. I worked on my excuse as we entered the pool area.

  To my relief, Cory and Alex were gone. Perhaps they’d moved inside to continue their talk elsewhere, but the poolside room was also empty. Their meeting had to be business. Although I wasn’t certain that I liked Alex as much as I originally wanted to, I also didn’t want to believe that he and Cory were having a more intimate liaison. He didn’t seem like the type who was into processed women.

  Randolph gestured toward the lounge I’d sat in before. I slid back into it.

  “Your pleasure?” He gestured at the bar cart.

  “Hmm?” I had been thinking of my PI, not listening.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “Johnnie Green, double, rocks.”

  He
stopped abruptly, spun on his heel and walked back toward me.

  Oops, I’d goofed. Green wasn’t something many people stocked in their bars. So how could I have been so certain that he had it?

  “Now I know you. You were my son’s date at our luau last spring.”

  At this moment, Cory appeared at the library door, the expression on her face hard, unpleasant. “I don’t think so, dear. You’re confusing Eve with Serena. They’re both tall and willowy.”

  Gosh. I’d never been called “willowy” before. “Thin,” “angular,” maybe, but the tree reference hadn’t been used to describe me. If I had to use a plant descriptor, saguaro cactus sprang to mind.

  “I found your friend in the garden.” Randolph took her hand and placed a kiss on one of her smooth cheeks. I was surprised his lips didn’t slide off the Botoxed surface.

  “Well, you see, I’m from the Northeast originally, and I was admiring your landscaping. I’m not familiar with all these plants.” I swept my hand outward to indicate the area.

  “She was on her hands and knees.” Randolph’s eyes danced, perhaps an indication that he found that position preferable to my standing over him.

  “I fell. I think I tripped over the roots of that big tree. What is that, anyway?”

  “A banyan,” said Cory.

  “From the Northeast, you say? We used to have a place there. Where do you live now?”

  “West of here.” I made it sound like it was blocks, maybe a few miles, not several counties away.

  “She has a small place near Sabal Bay.” Cory might just as well have said “the city dump.”

  “Never been that far west,” Randolph said. “Just to the polo matches in Port Mayaca. Ever been there? It’s about as far west as I like to go. Saw some gators on the lake there that must have reached over fifteen feet.” He filled a heavy crystal glass with liquor, dropped in an ice cube and handed me the tumbler.

  The doorbell sounded. Randolph gave Cory a confused look. “Is Marcia here?”