A Novel Way to Die

by Ali Brandon

  “It’s awful enough that Curt is dead,” she said, “but if it turns out that it wasn’t an accident, then that could mean no one in the neighborhood is safe.”

  “Well, that’s one thing I wanted to talk to you about. You see, there was something I didn’t tell the police this morning.”

  Darla could almost feel her ears flick forward in sudden interest, just as Hamlet’s did when he heard the sound of kibble pouring into his bowl. No doubt Reese’s ears were doing the same trick. Trying not to appear too anxious, she said, “If it’s important, you should say something. Can you at least tell me?”

  “It’s about Tera.”

  Barry hesitated, shifting the DVD case from hand to hand as he seemed to consider whether or not, in Reese’s words, to blab.

  “It probably doesn’t mean anything, but yesterday while we were doing some work at the brownstone, I overheard Curt on the phone with her. I don’t want to repeat some of the things he said, but they weren’t exactly nice. I’ve met that girl before, and I know she has a temper. She might have tracked him down there last night to finish the fight . . . and, you know, ended up finishing it for good.”

  Before Darla could respond to this unsettling revelation, the sound of a flushing toilet interrupted them. The powder room door swung open, and Reese came strolling out, coat over his arm.

  “Thanks for letting me borrow the facilities, Darla,” he told her. “It’s a long way back to the precinct.” Then, to Barry, he added, “I thought I heard voices. How ya doing, Mr. Eisen? Darla didn’t tell me you were stopping by.”

  “She didn’t tell me you were here, either,” the other man said with a sidelong look at her.

  Darla managed an innocent smile. “Oh, I thought I mentioned it when you came in. But Detective Reese was just leaving, weren’t you?” she added with a pointed look at the cop.

  Reese, however, was giving an exaggerated sniff. “Hey, Darla, is that coffee I smell? I might stick around for a cup, if you don’t mind. The stuff you brew is a hell of a lot better than what I can get downtown. How about you, Mr. Eisen? You going to join us?”

  “Actually, I need to head back home.” He set down the DVD case and rose. “Darla, I apologize for not calling beforehand. I promise I will next time.”

  He headed for the door, pausing to grab his jacket off the hook. “Detective, you’ll let me know as soon as I can go back into the brownstone, won’t you?”

  “Should be tomorrow, probably when we know the cause of Mr. Benedetto’s death.”

  “I trust you’ll let me know on that, too. Curt was . . . a good friend.”

  So saying, he gave Darla a small wave and slipped out the door. She could hear the faint sounds of footsteps going down the stairs, and she went to the window to watch as he exited the front entry and started down the street.

  Darla let the curtain drop again and turned back to glare at Reese, who had his notebook out and was scribbling again. “Thanks for making me look like an idiot a couple of times over. I’ll be lucky if Barry ever talks to me again.”

  “You did fine,” he said in an absent voice as he flipped the page. “Oh, and I wasn’t kidding about the coffee. I could go for a cup . . . no sugar, just cream.”

  Darla ran through a mental list of several rude retorts but in the end gritted her teeth and went to pour him his drink. “Why didn’t you let Barry keep talking?” she called from the kitchen as she pulled down a Twilight mug that she’d bought as a joke from a street vendor and poured Reese’s coffee into it. “I thought you wanted to see if he was on the level.”

  “Yeah, well, I was getting bored. All you had in there to read were a bunch of decorating and reorganizing magazines.”

  “Sorry, next time I’ll throw in a couple of Sports Illustrated copies just for you.” Still rolling her eyes, she returned to the living room to find Reese staring intently at his phone. “Anything interesting?” she asked as she handed over his cup.

  She was disappointed not to get a reaction to the sparkly rendition of a brooding teen vampire on the mug she’d deliberately chosen to goad him. All he did was take an absent sip and nod.

  “Yeah, I just got a text from my friend at the ME’s office. Apparently they had a slow day for a change and got to Mr. Benedetto already.”

  Something in Reese’s expression made her certain she already knew the answer, even before she cautiously asked, “Did they decide on a cause of death?”

  He glanced up from the phone and thrust it toward her. “Turns out Hamlet is in the clear. Here, read for yourself.”

  Squinting, she made out the phrases, Estimated TOD between 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. . . . Blunt force trauma to head . . . DNA material found on possible weapon collected . . . Being sent to outside lab to confirm tissue match. Handing back the phone, she asked in as small voice, “I guess this means . . .”

  He nodded. “Your boyfriend had it pegged right. To put it in layman’s terms, someone bashed Curt Benedetto over the head with that crowbar.”

  ELEVEN

  “NOTHING TO REPORT FROM LAST NIGHT,” ROBERT ASSURED Darla come Friday morning as he switched the computer screen of the security software from review mode to the multipicture live view. “Not unless, you know, you count all those guys I saw going up to your place.”

  “Guys? There weren’t any . . . oh, wait.”

  Snatching the mouse from him, Darla pulled up a full-screen view courtesy of the front exterior camera. Sure enough, not only did that camera capture the store’s front door, but now her private stoop as well as the Plinskis’ stoop next door was also visible.

  Darla gave the teen a stern look. “Last I saw, the camera covered just the store’s front door and window. Any idea who changed the angle?”

  “Sorry,” he replied, ducking his head. “It’s just that the owner of the barbershop down the street came by a couple of days ago when you were at lunch. He said the scrap thieves hit his shop and stole his fancy mailbox. And Professor James was like, all worried about you, so he had me get out the step ladder and move the camera so it recorded your door, too.”

  “And no one was going to tell me about this?”

  “I guess we figured you’d notice sooner or later.” He pointed to the screen. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious. And with what happened to Mr. Eisen’s friend—”

  Robert broke off dramatically with a gesture of hitting his head with an invisible crowbar, and Darla suppressed a sigh.

  “Oh, and boss, about the guys . . . that’s all good,” he added, giving her a grin and an exaggerated thumbs-up.

  Darla felt herself blush as bright a pink as the sweater set she was wearing over her brown woolen slacks, even as she firmly informed him, “Sorry to break it to you, Robert, but the guys you saw were Detective Reese and Mr. Eisen. We were all just talking about what happened to Mr. Benedetto.”

  Reese had left soon after Barry, staying only long enough to gulp down his coffee before heading back out into the night. His parting comments had been to warn her that Curt’s death was now a full-fledged murder investigation.

  “I particularly want to talk to Tera Aguilar,” Reese had told her, “so do me a favor and don’t give her any early warnings if you see her before I do. That little hint your boyfriend dropped about a fight between her and Benedetto might turn into a motive.”

  “Maybe Jake can help you track her down,” Darla had suggested, nobly eschewing offense that he’d assume she’d make the same mistake twice. “Hilda might be more open to talking about Tera to her than to you.”

  “You’re reading my mind, Red. That’s where I’m headed next.”

  Continuing her virtuous streak, Darla had bit back another reflexive Don’t call me Red, and also resisted the temptation to keep a surreptitious watch out the window until Reese left Jake’s place so that she could run down and pump her friend for details. Not that she wouldn’t see if she could pry a little bit of gossip out of Jake today, though she suspected that the ex-cop would likely be as closemouthed as Re
ese on the subject.

  For the moment, though, there was an even more important issue that needed to be addressed.

  “What about Hamlet? Did you catch him on surveillance?” she asked.

  Hamlet looked up from where he was sunbathing on the faded Oriental throw rug in front of the main door and returned Darla’s annoyed look with an innocent green blink. Not that she was taken in by his whole I’d-never-dream-of-sneaking-out act. She knew better.

  Darla was pretty sure that he’d gotten out again last night. She had walked through her whole apartment after Reese had left, looking again for possible Hamlet escape tunnels. She hadn’t discovered any likely exits, and Hamlet was once more snoozing atop the horsehair sofa. Feeling confident that the ornery cat was safely contained for the night, she had finished watching her video and then reluctantly tuned in to the local news channel. To her relief, Curt’s murder wasn’t mentioned, and so she’d headed off to bed.

  But she woke a few hours later from a ghastly dream of stumbling over Barry dead in his basement to discover Hamlet nowhere to be found in the apartment. Anger had battled with worry. The overnight forecast was for temperatures in the high thirties—not low enough to freeze an AWOL cat, but cold enough that he’d be pretty frosty despite his warm black fur coat.

  “You’ll be sorry,” she’d declared as she headed back to her own warm bed. Hamlet was a grown-up cat, she had reassured herself as she pulled up the covers. If he wanted to freeze his fuzzy butt off partying on the streets overnight, then let him. But despite repeating that mantra several times, worry had clung to her even as she drifted off to sleep again.

  When she’d awakened again at the usual time, she had made a beeline for the kitchen, where she’d been relieved to find Hamlet waiting for his breakfast. Rather than haranguing her with his usual demanding meow, however, he had sat patiently next to his dish, head tilted and green eyes wide as if to say, Look at the good kitty . . . I’ve been inside the whole time.

  “Yeah, like I believe that,” she had groused. Not only was his fur still cold to the touch, but a few spots of dirt clung to him. The sly little beast had definitely been out on the town.

  Now, Robert shook his head. “If he snuck out, it wasn’t any place that the cameras could see. But if you want, I can poke around outside later and see if I find any Hamlet-sized escape holes.”

  “That would be great. Bad enough the neighborhood is being taken over by murderers and thieves. We don’t need Hamlet on the loose to boot!” Then, glancing at the clock, she added, “Oops, opening time. Robert, go ahead and unlock the front door.”

  While the teen complied, Darla powered up the register and wondered again if Reese had learned anything from Jake about Tera Aguilar. Maybe she should see if Jake could join her for lunch today. Even if her friend claimed client confidentiality, they’d be walking past Great Scentsations on their way to the deli. She could peek in and see if Tera was working, and at least satisfy herself that the girl hadn’t turned fugitive. As far as Barry . . .

  She shook her head. No doubt Reese’s little stunt last night hadn’t earned her any points with the man, though she suspected he was too polite to admit any aggravation. And since she still hadn’t gotten around to getting his phone number—the whole finding-Curt’s-lifeless-body thing had caused that detail to slip her mind—she would have to wait for him to call or stop by again before she could learn where she stood. The realization left her feeling oddly regretful. Though he wasn’t her boyfriend—despite what Reese said—and they hadn’t even technically gone out on a date yet, Darla could see developing a more personal friendship with him. Besides, under the circumstances, she suspected he could use a friendly shoulder to lean on.

  “Hey, Ms. Pettistone, look who’s here!”

  Robert’s enthusiastic tone and the sound of the front door chiming roused her from her reverie. She looked up to see a smiling Mary Ann making her way around Hamlet, who as usual was refusing to relinquish his official sunning spot to any incoming customers. Mary Ann’s long, navy blue corduroy shirtdress brushed him, and he put out a sheathed paw in an obligatory “back off” gesture, but Darla knew he wasn’t serious. The old woman was on his permanent BFF list.

  “Hello, Darla . . . and Hamlet. And good morning, Robert,” Mary Ann greeted the teen, who surprised Darla by giving the septuagenarian a gentle if enthusiastic hug. “I must say, I do like this new look of yours, all dressed up like a successful businessman.”

  Darla suppressed a smile. Robert wasn’t exactly Brooks Brothers material, wearing his usual black shirt and jeans topped with another James-inspired vest—this one, in shades of red, blue, and yellow in a distinctly southwestern pattern—but he looked neat and professional.

  “Thanks again for, you know, lending me the statue, Ms. Plinski,” he told her. “Ms. Pettistone really liked my window display.”

  “I just saw it, and I think you did a marvelous job! It’s—how do you young people call it?—really rad. In fact, I may come back later to buy both books.”

  “We sold half a dozen copies yesterday afternoon alone,” Darla told her, noting in amusement Robert’s expression of teenaged horror over an adult using sadly dated slang. “That’s as many as we sold in two weeks, and all thanks to Robert’s creative work. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if we sell most of the remaining stock this weekend.”

  “I’m so glad. And, I must confess, Robert is the reason I’m stopping by,” she explained, joining Darla at the register. “You see, Brother hurt his arm yesterday. Oh, he’ll be all right,” she added as Darla made a sound of concern, “but we received a delivery this morning, and I can’t carry the boxes by myself. I was hoping to borrow Robert for a few minutes.”

  “Sure, no problem,” the teen exclaimed, and then gave Darla an apologetic look. “Uh, that is, if it’s okay with Ms. Pettistone.”

  “Certainly,” Darla agreed. “Now’s the perfect time, before the customers start coming in.”

  “I knew I could count on you both,” Mary Ann said cheerily. “And I made some lovely pumpkin and cranberry bread last night. Why don’t I send him back with a few slices for you and him and James?”

  “Yum,” Robert replied.

  “It’s a deal,” Darla agreed with a smile that promptly faded as she recalled that the old woman probably had not heard about Curt Benedetto’s murder yet. “Mary Ann, before you go, there’s something I’d better tell you so you can let Mr. Plinski know, too.”

  Darla filled her in, and when she had finished, the old woman clasped her age-blotched hands together and gave a despairing look. “Oh my gracious, Darla, what is this world coming to? Brother will be so distressed when I tell him. Do the police have any idea who killed the poor man?”

  “Not yet. Detective Reese is the one handling the case, though, and I know he’s busy questioning people.”

  “Oh, yes, Detective Reese. Such a nice man,” she added in a confidential aside to Robert, “even though he did almost arrest me that one time for breaking and entering.”

  While the teen stared at her in surprise at that comment, she returned her attention to Darla. “Well, we’ll just have to trust him to solve the case. But I do wish there was something we could do to take back our neighborhood from these miscreants.”

  “I’m with you on that, Mary Ann. Maybe we should talk to Reese about setting up a neighborhood watch.”

  “You mean, one of those things where they, you know, wear red beanies and patrol with walkie-talkies and baseball bats?” Robert interjected in an eager voice. “That would be, like, totally cool. I’m in.”

  “Oh, my gracious,” Mary Ann replied with a small smile. “Though, come to think of it, I do have a baseball bat that I keep by my bed. If Brother didn’t object, perhaps Robert and I could patrol together. Do you suppose I could wear a red ski cap instead of a beanie?”

  “Sure, ski caps are way better,” he agreed. “And you know how Ms. Pettistone sometimes wears those fancy chopstick things in her hair? Thos
e would make, like, really sick weapons, just like in the movies. Hi-yaah!” he finished, mimicking whipping out a pair of hair sticks from an updo and wielding them like twin foils.

  “Wait!” Darla gave the pair of would-be crime fighters a look of mild alarm. She’d been thinking more along the lines of handing out fliers to the local homes and businesses, maybe coordinating a lookout post on each block. These two, on the other hand, were prepared to launch their own mini D-Day assault.

  “Robert, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but if you want to organize a group like that, your job would be to call the police if there’s trouble and then get the heck out of there. No vigilante heroics where someone—maybe the wrong person—winds up getting hurt. It’s happened before, and I don’t want to be bailing you out on a murder charge one day.”

  “Don’t worry, boss, I get it. I read the news online,” he soberly agreed, dropping the imaginary weapons and sticking his hands back in his vest pockets. Mary Ann, meanwhile, shook her head in agreement. “Darla is right. Patrolling a neighborhood is a serious responsibility. Maybe that nice Detective Reese can give us some pointers. But we really should get the lead out and organize this before anyone else in the neighborhood is murdered.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll ask Reese to talk to you two about it as soon as I see him again. Now, why don’t you take Robert and get those boxes moved?”

  The two of them headed out, sidestepping a snoozing Hamlet, who appeared to have no interest in joining any sort of citizens’ brigade. His green eyes remained tightly shut, even when two customers almost tripped over him a few minutes later. He still hadn’t stirred even after Robert, bearing the promised cranberry and pumpkin bread, returned from helping Mary Ann.

  “Mary Ann’s a better crime fighter than you,” Darla commented in the cat’s direction while heading for the foreign language section to answer a phone customer’s question.

  That accomplished, she tried ringing Jake’s cell, but her call went straight to voice mail. She left a quick message—Hey, how about lunch at the deli later?—and then got to work paying invoices and going through the latest publishers’ catalogues in between assisting customers. Robert kept equally busy stocking shelves and jumping in to help ring up sales. Every time the bells on the front door jangled, Darla looked up to see if perhaps Barry had decided to stop by, only to be vaguely disappointed each time that it was not him.