by Lois Winston
“We need to speak with Leila and Suzette,” I said.
Blake speared me with The Look. “We are doing no such thing. You promised to leave the investigating to the professionals, remember?”
“I know but—”
“But nothing. You can call Detective Menendez to tell her what we saw this evening. Nothing more.”
“I’ll call her Monday.”
“What’s wrong with tomorrow? Or even right now?”
“What’s the rush? Let Menendez enjoy her weekend. None of those women saw us. It’s not like they’re all going to flee the country this evening.”
*
Detective Menendez didn’t answer her phone when I called her first thing Monday morning. I left a message, asking her to call me back. Shortly after hanging up, I was surprised to receive a phone call from Leila Raffelino.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to see you the other day,” she said. “Can I assume you want to speak with me about poor, dear Sidney?”
Poor, dear Sidney? Leila didn’t sound like the victim of a Not-Sid scam attempt. Given where she lived, I mentally moved her into the same column as Mary Louise. “Yes, I do.”
“I have appointments later today. Why don’t you come over now?”
Blake was teaching this morning, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to meet with Leila. “I’m on my way.”
Fifteen minutes later I stood in the lobby of Leila’s complex and gave my name to the guard. After a brief phone call to Leila, he directed me toward the elevator. “Apartment 4G,” he said.
Leila was waiting for me at her open door. “Do come in, dear. I’ve made coffee.”
Leila Raffelino had the requisite casabas, plus the booty to match. She showcased both with a Spandex wardrobe far more fitting for someone a quarter of her age. Her jet black hair came out of a bottle, and she applied makeup with a trowel over a face that had already gone under the knife at least one too many times. She obviously wasn’t going gently into that good night of old age. I’m certain she thought she looked gorgeous; I thought she looked freakish.
She led me into an immaculate living room tiled in marble and decorated in high-end Rococo furnishings, extremely ornate and covered in gold leaf. A plush oriental carpet covered most of the living room floor. I took a seat on a red damask couch. Leila sat across from me on a matching chair, a marble and gilt coffee table between us. “Cream and sugar?” she asked, pouring from a silver coffee urn into a delicate porcelain floral teacup rimmed in gold.
“Just cream, please.”
She added a splash of cream and passed me the cup. “I was so sorry to hear about Sidney,” she said. “And to go in such a horrible way! I hope he didn’t suffer long.”
Chances were, Not-Sid never knew what hit him, then stabbed him in the heart. But I didn’t voice my thoughts. Instead, I took a sip of my coffee before asking, “How did you find out about his murder?”
“A detective came to question me. So what can I do for you Mrs. Elliott?”
“I’m distraught over Sidney’s murder. My husband and I were with him when it happened.”
Leila’s thin, penciled eyebrows shot up. “You saw the killer?”
“No, Sidney had stepped outside for a cigar. When he didn’t return within a reasonable amount of time, we went in search of him. He was already dead when we found him.”
“How shocking!”
“Frightening, actually. We had no idea if the killer was still nearby.” I took another sip of coffee. “Anyway, I know the police can be intimidating. I thought if I spoke with you, you might remember something Sidney may have said at some point that could help find his killer.”
“Like what?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps someone or something he mentioned in passing that may not have seemed important at the time?”
Leila stared at me; an odd expression settled over her face. Make that faces. Two Leila’s sat in front of me, then four, all spinning around the room, along with the furniture, to the rhythm of my teacup clattering against the saucer.
SEVENTEEN
I couldn’t move, not even my mouth. My head pounded. I struggled to open my eyes and found myself still in Leila Raffelino’s living room. Only instead of being seated on her couch, I was tied to one of her Rococo dining room chairs, my arms bound behind me, my legs secured to each of the chair’s front legs. A gag was wrapped tightly around my mouth.
Leila was nowhere in sight, but I heard voices coming from another part of the apartment, voices I recognized.
“What do we do with her?” asked Mary Louise Franklin.
“We have to get rid of her,” said Leila.
“Permanently?”
“Absolutely,” said Maureen Boland. “She’s snooping around too much. We can’t risk her figuring out what happened.”
“What happened never should have happened.” I couldn’t pinpoint that voice, but it had to belong to Suzette Stephanovich. “You screwed up, Leila, and now we’re all in trouble.”
“It’s not my fault!”
“How is it not your fault?” asked Mary Louise. “You’re the one with the family connections. You hired the guy.”
Family connections? As in family or family? Were they talking Mafia?
“No, I hired the guy who hired the guy.”
“Why didn’t your guy do it himself?” asked Maureen.
“Because you didn’t want to pay what he charges. If you all want to blame someone, blame Maureen for being so cheap.”
“That still doesn’t explain why he killed Sidney,” said Mary Louise. “You must have said something to lead him to believe you wanted Sidney dead.”
“Absolutely,” said Suzette. “Otherwise he’d still be alive, and we wouldn’t be in this pickle.”
“I didn’t.”
“What did you say?” asked Maureen. “Exactly.”
“I don’t remember. Something about how he tried to con us, and we wanted to teach him a lesson.”
“So you didn’t tell him not to kill Sidney?” asked Suzette.
“I didn’t tell him we wanted Sidney dead, but you can’t expect me to remember the conversation verbatim!”
“Why not?” asked Mary Louise. “You remember your lines on stage, don’t you?”
“That’s different. I study my lines for a play. I don’t memorize conversations I have with people.”
“This wasn’t just any conversation,” said Maureen.
“Maybe Sidney recognized him, and they struggled,” said Leila.
“You’re grasping at straws,” said Mary Louise. “It’s clear now how this happened. It’s all your fault, Leila.”
“And now you’ve made matters that much worse,” said Suzette. “Why is that woman even here? I thought you refused to see her the other day.”
“I did, but then I got to thinking, what if she knows more than she’s letting on? We couldn’t take that chance.”
“You should have consulted us first,” said Mary Louise.
“Especially since you did more than just talk to her,” said Maureen. “Why did you drug her? That wasn’t in the script.”
“I decided it was best to tie up loose ends. So I improvised.”
“No one asked you to improvise!” said Maureen. “You shouldn’t have called her in the first place. But since you were so concerned about what she knew, you should have just answered her questions and let her leave. No one suspected us. Not the police, not her.”
“You don’t know that,” said Leila. “She could have been playing us just like Sidney did. Only instead of trying to scam us, she was trying to pin a murder on us.”
“There was no indication of that,” said Suzette. “We all played our parts. Everything was working out fine until you improvised. Now look what you’ve done!”
“You never were any good at improvisation,” said Maureen. “Then again, you never were very good at acting, either.”
“How dare you!”
“Eno
ugh!” said Suzette. “We’re now going to have two dead bodies on our hands, and we can’t have hers tied to us in any way. Not unless you all want to live out the rest of your lives behind bars.”
“Killing her will look awfully coincidental,” said Maureen. “The police are bound to get suspicious.”
“Not if her death looks like an accident,” said Leila.
“How are we going to do that?” asked Mary Louise. “And what about getting her out of the apartment? The guard saw her come in. Not to mention the security cameras all over this place.”
“I’ll make a call,” said Leila.
“Like you did last time?” asked Suzette. “That worked out so well.”
“I’ll make sure he does it himself this time. He can do anything for a price.”
“We’ve already paid twenty grand,” said Maureen. “How much more is this going to cost us?”
“I don’t know,” said Leila. “I’m not his accountant.”
“I don’t think we have any other choice,” said Suzette. “Not after what’s happened today. Make the call.”
I listened as Leila explained the situation to someone on the other end of the phone. When she hung up, she told the others, “He said he can do it, but he wants forty.”
“Forty!” shrieked Maureen. “Are you kidding me?”
“You get what you pay for,” said Leila.
“You should pay for this yourself,” said Maureen. “Your improvising is costing us all another ten grand.”
“Fine,” said Leila. “And while I’m at it, I’ll pay to have him get rid of you.”
“Stop it!” said Suzette. “We’re all in this together.”
“One more thing,” said Leila. “He won’t be able to arrive for at least an hour. Maybe two. He’s in the middle of something.”
“Will she stay unconscious that long?” asked Suzette.
“She should be out for hours,” said Leila. “I gave her a double dose.”
I had no idea what she’d drugged me with, but it was probably a good thing I’d only had a few sips of the coffee. The clock on her mantle told me I’d been out for less than an hour, and with each passing minute the pain receded, and I felt more clearheaded.
“What do we do until he gets here?” asked Mary Louise.
“We can watch television,” said Leila. “My favorite soap is on in a few minutes.”
I heard the television turn on. The women continued talking, but their conversation competed with the noise of the television, and I could no longer make out what they said. I’d heard enough, anyway. Somehow I had to get out of that apartment before a hired killer came to drag me away.
I began squirming, trying to loosen my restraints without making any noise that might raise the suspicions of the women in the other room. They’d bound me with what felt like yarn. I couldn’t see to be sure. I suppose Leila didn’t have any rope or duct tape, and for that I sent up a thank-you to the heavens. If I continued to rub the yarn against the edge of the wood on the back of the chair, it should eventually fray enough to break easily.
As I worked, I thought about what I’d heard. At some point the four women must have realized they were all dating the same man. Once they began comparing notes, they figured out his con game and decided to teach him a lesson. But something had gone terribly wrong, and Not-Sid wound up dead. They then concocted intricate stories to cover their butts.
I felt the yarn start to give way and tugged, but just as I was about to free myself, I heard the distinctive clickity-clack of stilettos on a marble floor. I closed my eyes and slumped my head onto my chest.
“She’s still out cold,” Leila yelled. A moment later I heard the sound of dishes rattling around in the kitchen. I waited until she returned to the room with the television, then slipped my wrists from the yarn and began to untie my feet. Once free, I grabbed my purse and tiptoed out of the apartment.
The adrenaline rush that had carried me from the building to my car disappeared once I unlocked the driver’s side door, slid behind the wheel, and beeped the locks. I couldn’t even insert the key into the ignition. My limbs shook too violently. I began to hyperventilate and cry at the same time.
I don’t have time for this! I double-fisted the steering wheel, closed my eyes, and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths while I counted each inhale and exhale. At the twentieth repetition I’d calmed down enough to place a call to Detective Menendez. Once again, I got her voice mail.
This time I left a more detailed message. Stay calm, I told myself, hoping my voice remained steady enough for my message to make sense. “Detective, this is Grace Elliott. I know who killed Sidney Mandelbaum.” I proceeded to tell her about my visit to Leila Raffelino, how she’d drugged me, and how I overheard her and the other three women planning my murder. “As soon as that soap opera is over, they’re going to realize I’ve escaped. Call me!”
I disconnected the call, threw the car into DRIVE and hightailed it out of the Dakota West visitors’ parking lot.
In the story of my life, I became the TSTL—the too stupid to live heroine. Any decent writer knows not to write a TSTL. I’d never write a TSTL. Why had I acted like one? Because it never occurred to me that four little old ladies could be coldhearted killers.
I think I held my breath until I arrived home. I was never so happy to see Blake’s car parked in the driveway. I parked my car next to his, raced into the house, and ran into his arms.
“Gracie, what’s wrong?”
“Just hold me.” I started crying huge blubbering sobs as I held onto my husband for dear life.
“Gracie, you’re scaring me. What happened?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. Blake walked us both over to the sofa in the family room and sat us down. “Shh.” He rocked me in his arms, rubbing one hand up and down my back the way he used to calm Connor and Brooke when nightmares woke them. His other hand held my head against his shoulder as he whispered soothing words into my ear.
I don’t know how long we sat like that. Eventually, I ran out of both steam and tears and began hiccupping. “Can I let go to get you some water?” he asked.
I nodded. Blake released me, returning shortly with a glass of water. I sipped slowly.
“Were you in an accident?” He sat down beside me and held my free hand in both of his.
I shook my head.
“Are you hurt?”
I took a deep breath before I spoke. “It’s complicated.”
“Take your time.”
“Promise you won’t kill me.”
To his credit, Blake didn’t start yelling at me. He didn’t even give me The Look. I think I’d scared him too much. He simply nodded and said, “I promise.”
Once the hiccups subsided, I began. Slowly. Haltingly. Explaining Leila’s call. “She sounded upset about Not-Sid’s death. She invited me over.”
“And?”
I took a deep breath. I couldn’t meet my husband’s eyes. Instead, I stared at my lap and mumbled, “She drugged me.”
“What!” Blake sprang to his feet, yanking me with him. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
My eyes welled back up with tears. “Please sit down.”
“Gracie, you need to be checked out.”
“Later.”
Blake released me. I fell back onto the sofa. He perched on the edge of the cushion, his body angled toward me. “Go on.”
I related the rest of the events to him. “I don’t think Leila realized I’d only taken a few sips of coffee before I passed out. That’s why I woke up so soon.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t kill you. Did you hear her mention what she used to doctor the coffee?”
“No, just that she gave me a double dose.”
Blake stood again. “Now we’re going to the hospital, Gracie.”
I didn’t argue with him. The hospital seemed a far safer place than staying at home waiting for a killer to show up.
*
Three hours later—most
of the time spent cooling our heels, first in the emergency waiting room, then in an examining room—a doctor pronounced me healthy. Whatever Leila had used to lace my coffee hadn’t done any permanent damage.
Detective Menendez marched into the examining room as soon as the doctor left. She must have been waiting in the hall. “What part of keep your nose out of my investigation didn’t you understand, Mrs. Elliott?”
I blurted out the first lame excuse that came to mind. “She called me! Besides, you didn’t answer your phone this morning.”
“So because I was testifying in a court case, you decided to play Miss Marple again?”
“I think my wife has finally learned her lesson,” said Blake.
Menendez glared at me. “I certainly hope so.”
“I have. Cross my heart.” I emphasized my words by drawing a cross with my index finger over my hospital gown.
“And hope to die?”
Which had almost happened. I shuddered. “That, too.”
She nodded. “When you’re up to it, I’ll need you to come in to give a statement.”
“What about Leila, Mary Louise, Suzette, and Maureen?”
“Behind bars for now.”
“And the guy they hired to kill me?”
“We haven’t been able to determine who he is. Raffelino lawyered up. She’s not talking.”
EIGHTEEN
“So I’ve got some Mafia hit man after me?” I started hyperventilating.
Blake wrapped his arm around my shoulders to keep me from tumbling off the examination table. “Steady, sweetheart. Take slow, deep breaths.”
I shuddered through each one. Eventually my breathing normalized, but my anxiety level remained high. How had everything gone so terribly wrong? All I’d wanted to do was earn enough money to keep us from being forced to move to an apartment above an auto repair shop in Newark.
Well, I certainly didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Pretty soon I’d be sleeping with the fishes, and Blake could live comfortably on the proceeds from my life insurance policy. Unless the hit man targeted him, too. At that thought I began hyperventilating again.