Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design)

by Jean Harrington

  My heart leaped into my throat. What was he going to do, pistol-whip me? Whatever he had in mind, no question he meant business. In the cool air-conditioned living room, beads of sweat broke out at my hairline, and my hands clenched into fists. Right. Terrific weapons against an armed thug. I glanced across at Chip. His lips were trembling.

  As Serge approached the couch, Pinstripes pulled me against his chest. This time I didn’t twitch away. “Take it easy,” he said to his partner. “Don’t hit her in the face.”

  “Don’t lay a hand on her anywhere.” Chip huffed out a sigh so deep he had to have dredged it up from his belly. “I’ll make the call.”

  I knew he didn’t want to. From the ashen look of him, I could tell he was scared he’d lose AudreyAnn, the most precious thing in his life. But to save me from harm, he was willing to risk endangering her. An act of love—for me—that I’d remember for the rest of my life—however long it lasted. I unclenched my hands and sent him a wobbly smile.

  He returned it with one just as shaky then under Serge’s relentless stare, he removed his cell phone from his pants pocket.

  “Don’t let on you got company,” Serge told him. “Just tell her you want her home. You got a surprise waiting. That always brings the chicks running.”

  A muscle quivered in Chip’s jaw, but he carried out Serge’s order to the letter.

  While we waited for AudreyAnn to show, his buddy tried to strike up a conversation with me. But I was having none of it. I didn’t care how much he liked redheads. The creep. He had the personality of a dead weed. Or a rattlesnake.

  So I kept quiet and kept shrugging away from his roaming hand, praying all the while that we would get out of this alive. I tossed AudreyAnn’s name into the prayer, too, even though she was undoubtedly the cause of our terror.

  We waited in morbid silence for what seemed like forever. Then flip-flops slapped the stone pavers, and a second later in came AudreyAnn, her arms filled with Publix Market bags, her face filled with anticipation at the surprise Chip had in store.

  One peek around the living room and she knew. The groceries plummeted to the floor. A bottle smashed and red wine leaked out over the tiles.

  Serge pointed to the widening red circle. “Too bad.”

  “What are you doing here?” AudreyAnn whispered, terror siphoning the blood from her face.

  “You know these guys?” Chip asked in a voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

  She nodded without looking at him.

  Pinstripes eased off the couch and sauntered over to her. “You got something of ours. We want you should give it to us.”

  AudreyAnn’s chins trembled. “I don’t have anything of yours.”

  Chip hoisted himself out of his chair, ready to leap on Serge.

  The thug reached into his jacket and brandished the Glock. “Stay,” he snapped.

  Chip eased back down. “Don’t hurt her.”

  Serge cocked his head at AudreyAnn. “You hurt?”

  “No,” she said, sounding like she wasn’t sure.

  “We’re looking for a notebook. Small. Black. Lots of numbers. A few names. A few initials. You take anything like that out of Donny’s place?”

  The blue in AudreyAnn’s frightened eyes lit up. “I took Donny’s little black book to kind of...well...get back at him. I thought it was full of his old girlfriend’s numbers. I called a few, but nobody sounded like a girlfriend. A couple of guys said they never even heard of him.”

  “You still got the book?”

  She sent a glance Chip’s way, pleading for understanding. “I think so.”

  “Go get it,” Serge said. And to his thuggy partner, “Go with her.”

  “It’s in my underwear drawer.”

  “Should be fun,” Stripes said, taking her arm and marching her into the bedroom. Chip followed them with his eyes, so pale and shaky he looked like he was ready to pass out.

  “She’ll be all right,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.

  He didn’t answer just drooped back onto the lounger and closed his eyes. In the bedroom, a drawer squeaked open, and a moment later, Pinstripes strode into the living room, AudreyAnn in tow, a black notebook in his hand.

  “Got it,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Not so fast,” Serge said. “Any pages missing?”

  “Oh yeah.” Pinstripes quickly flipped through the book. “Everything’s here.”

  His hand on the front door handle, Serge turned to us. “Keep this little party to yourselves. Understand?” He shrugged. “Otherwise, who knows?”

  Hi partner tucked the notebook in his jacket pocket and winked at me. “I meant it, babe. Love that red hair. Why don’t you believe me? Would I lie?”

  I shot him a filthy look. “Why not? Better men than you have.”

  “Better at what?”

  “Before you go, I have a question for you,” I said, getting daring now that they were leaving.

  “You want a date?”

  “Franceso Grandese said to thank you for the toy truck. The baby loves it.”

  “He got it, huh? How the hell did you find out?” As something struck him, he stepped back into the living room. “Bonita tell you?”

  Serge frowned and jerked his chin at the door. “Come on. Who cares about that? Let’s go.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re out of here,” Stripes said, heading for the foyer.

  The instant the door clicked closed behind them, I raced over and rammed the deadbolt home, though truth be told, Serge’s Glock could shoot off the bolt, the lock and half the door with no trouble at all.

  Before Chip could rise out of his lounger, AudreyAnn ran to him and climbed onto his lap, sobbing. His arms reached around her...with only a little difficulty...and they snuggled together, blocking out the world and everything in it. That included me.

  I hated to intrude on AudreyAnn’s moment of comfort—I wasn’t jealous, I swear—but I had to say what was on my mind or bust. “Chip.” No response. “Chip.”

  He peered at me over his wife’s heaving shoulders.

  “You need to call Rossi. Tell him about this.”

  “No. They warned us not to say anything.”

  “So what? They’re criminals. You can’t listen to them.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t take the chance. They might hurt AudreyAnn.”

  “They might hurt all of us. You’ve got to notify the authorities. Donny was murdered, Maybe over that little black book. Who knows? This is too dangerous to ignore.”

  “No.” His voice was as firm as I’d ever heard it.

  “Be reasonable. You’re a person of interest in Donny’s death. So is your wife. Me too. I’d call Rossi in a heartbeat, but I can’t right now. You have to do it. Or AudreyAnn does. I insist.” I plopped back on the couch. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

  AudreyAnn sat up, rubbing a sleeve across her watery eyes. “Deva’s right. Those guys used to show up at Donny’s place in Miami. I think he was scared of them too. Always jumpy as a frog around them.”

  “They have something on him?” Chip asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I never heard what they talked about, but I think they were forcing information out of him. I’d peek through the blinds when they stood outside. Donny did most of the talking. They did the listening.” She wiped her eyes again. The sleeves of her T-shirt had to be soaking wet by now. “Sometimes he’d take out the book and read from it. They’d write down what he said. Numbers, I guess. Before they left, they always gave him an envelope.”

  “An envelope?”

  She nodded. “Money, I’m pretty sure. He’d take me out for a fancy dinner that same night. Every time.” She glanced warily at Chip, assessing his reaction, but he sat poker faced, listening. “Those were the only nights that happened.”

  “The police need to hear this,” I said. A delayed reaction to the danger we’d just escaped had me sweating again in the cool air. “We can’t have thugs showing up on our
doorstep. Maybe next time they’ll do more with that gun than wave it in the air. We know they drive a black Lincoln Town Car. The police can trace it. Apprehend them.”

  Chip shook his head. “Do you know how many black Lincolns there are in Florida? Thousands.”

  “I’ll bet they’re heading for Alligator Alley and the East Coast. I could chase them while you call the police. They should be easy to spot.”

  “You’ll never find them. It’s pitch black outside, and we didn’t get the plate number.”

  Clearly he had no intention of playing cops and robbers, but I wasn’t ready to give up that fast. “We can describe them. Say we think they’re from Miami.”

  “If they’re smart, they’ll switch cars before heading across the alley.”

  “Who said they’re smart? Make the call. Ask for Lieutenant Rossi. Don’t force me to do it, please. Tell him they’re the ones who sent the toy truck.”

  “The what?”

  “Just tell him what I said. Don’t you understand? They could be Donny’s killers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  With both AudreyAnn and me staring him down, Chip reluctantly made the call. Then, pocketing his cell phone, he said, “The lieutenant will be right over. I hope you’re happy now.”

  “That’s a stretch, but I am relieved.” I headed for the foyer.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  “Home. If the lieutenant needs my input, he knows where to find me.”

  “But you have to be here,” AudreyAnn sputtered. As I went out the door, Chip was already explaining why I didn’t want to see Rossi just then.

  My thoughts scattering like buckshot, I walked into my condo and careened to a stop.

  Oh, that’s right.

  No more tall case clock.

  No more hunt board.

  No more five drawer chest.

  No more inlaid mahogany table.

  Gone were the Sheffield silver, the rose medallion bowls, the brass candlesticks, the Tabriz rug.

  Gone was every vestige of John Douglas Dunne.

  Gone, too, was the grace, the loveliness, the subtle sheen and polish of Jack’s family heirlooms. A much-needed check had replaced them...though actually, nothing ever could.

  I flung my bag on the living room sofa and dropped onto the cushions. The sofa, the club chairs and the glass coffee table were all the furniture that remained. A pair of lamps stood on the floor. The Pembroke tables that had held them were gone too. The room was as barren as I was.

  In the center of the floor where the rug had sat, the tiles were duller than the rest. On one wall a dark square marked the spot where Jack’s portrait had hung. In what I admit was a childish fit, I’d hid it from sight in the back of my clothes closet. Now, after all these changes, the living room needed to be repainted and the floors polished, but that wouldn’t happen any time soon. For the foreseeable future, the effort of getting through my days—and nights—would take all my energy. The condo could remain stripped and bare forever. What did I care? It matched my mood.

  Heartsick, I stared at the dull tiles, unable to stop wondering if Rossi would ring the bell and ask a few questions about the mysterious visitors. It would be a perfect excuse to see me. I half feared, half hoped my chimes would ring, that he’d stand on my doorstep, dour, glowering, eager to see me. If that happened, I knew I’d melt. My resolve of last week was already turning into slush.

  Motionless as a stalked mouse, I sat still listening to the tomblike quiet of my empty home without the strength or the will to move. I had parted from a man I was crazy about. Yes, I’ll admit it—Rossi had gotten under my skin. But that didn’t make the loss easier to bear. Worse, lingering in the back of my mind was his crazy accusation that I was afraid of life. Wrong. For once Rossi was dead wrong. Honesty and doing the right thing were what this was about, not fear. Or were they?

  The more I stared, the more I realized the tiles had to be polished. They’d drive me crazy if I left them like that. And the walls should be repainted. Maybe I’d go for a different color scheme. Something fresh and new. Off with the old. On with the new.

  Well, if I had any fear in my heart at all, it was for Rossi, not for myself. I couldn’t bear disappointing him. As I must have disappointed Jack. I lowered my head to my knees and cried the tears I’d held in all day, soaking my skirt right down to the hem.

  In a while, deep voices exchanged a few words outside...Rossi and Chip...then a door closed, plunging me back into silence.

  I sat like that for over an hour until once again footsteps sounded on the pavement then faded into nothing. So Rossi didn’t want to talk to me. Just as well. A clean break. But I knew how diligent he was about his work. No matter what his personal reasons for avoiding me might be, if he thought I could add anything to what Chip and AudreyAnn had told him, he would have knocked on my door.

  His judgment, as usual, was correct. The night before Lee left—the last evening we were together—I’d told him everything that had transpired at Rum Row. As for the unwelcome visitors to Chip’s condo, I knew no more than Chip did. Less than AudreyAnn. Interviewing me would have been a foolish waste of Rossi’s time.

  Wouldn’t it?

  In the gathering gloom, the damn tiles merged into a single, featureless mass. Maybe I should drag out to the kitchen and fix something to eat. Except for black coffee, I’d had nothing since last night’s dinner.

  But I sat without moving, trying to put Rossi out of my mind, and also trying to unravel the skein of events I’d been entangled in since the day Tomas died. His death might have been a tragic accident, but no question about it, Donny had been murdered. Whether the victim of a fatal error or not, he was dead nevertheless—the unlucky one who had unwittingly saved Francesco’s life.

  No saint, in the past Donny had had several skirmishes with the law and obviously knew the two men who harassed us today. And they obviously knew Bonita. What could the connection be? The night Donny died, they weren’t present to slip him the cyanide. Furthermore, their weapons of choice were guns not poison.

  So what about the cyanide? I revisited the Cookie possibility. If she’d gone into her father’s factory and stolen some, when had she done so? The business had been sold several years ago. Would she have kept poison on hand for years in case she ever needed to commit a murder? No, too weird, the act of a deranged mind, and Cookie struck me as totally rational. And totally rigid. Except when in her cups.

  And then there was Norm, who liked the ponies. By loaning him money, Francesco had fed his habit, perhaps to keep Norm under his thumb. But if Norm were the murderer, killing Donny was a stupid mistake. Had he erased Francesco, he would likely have erased his debt along with him. Maybe that had been his original intent but somehow the dirty deed got botched.

  I slid farther down on the couch, kicked off my sandals and stretched out.

  It was silly to even consider Bonita a killer. In the first place, how would she get her hands on cyanide? Besides, even if she had, I couldn’t believe she was ruthless enough to use it. Nor Jewels either, pregnant with Francesco’s baby and loving little Frannie as if he were her own.

  That left my friend Chip and his brand new wife. Warm and unassuming, Chip was no murderer. Though in his overwhelming love for AudreyAnn, he’d kill in a heartbeat to protect her. Or if in despair at losing her, he’d kill himself. Something he’d already proven.

  As for AudreyAnn—the final piece of the puzzle—could she kill in either cold blood or hot? Doubtful. She’d fallen to pieces just looking at the two goons. To paraphrase a Texas saying, she was all chest and no cattle.

  I shivered, wishing I had something to toss over me. But though I felt chilly, listing so many dead ends must have numbed my brain, for I fell asleep on the couch in my damp silk skirt and top, the tawny bronze outfit Rossi liked so much.

  At dawn, while I hovered between wake and sleep, a pall of depression settled over me like a thick, black blanket. Before I could snuggle into it, my grandmo
ther’s voice echoed in my ear as loud and clear as if she were in the room. Quite a feat for someone who’d passed away fifteen years ago.

  “Devalera Agnes Dunne,” she said.

  Shocked, I bolted upright. Nana only used all three of my names when she was angry with me.

  “Get off that sofa, lass, and get hold of your life. Use what God gave you. Stop whining about what He didn’t give.”

  “I’m not whining.” I swear I spoke out loud.

  “Well, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’ve fooled all the saints in heaven and meself as well. Look at you. Sleeping in your day clothes and putting nothing in your stomach for the last thirty-six hours.”

  “I’ve had coffee.”

  “Don’t be after toying with me. You’ll lose your strength carrying on like this. Then where will you be?”

  I fell back against the cushions. “My life is a mess, Nana. I don’t think I can bear it.”

  “Pawsh, I say to drivel like that.” She threw her hands on her hips and stared at me, arms akimbo. “You weren’t named Agnes after me for nothing. I know you never liked the name, but we share it nonetheless. So don’t go shaming me, lass. Get a move on now. Up with you. Up!”

  When Nana talks, I move. I leaped off the couch and in a half hour, no more, I was showered, shampooed, made-up, dressed in green—in Nana’s honor—and ready to roll. I chugged down a power drink and rushed through my sad-looking living room without letting it get me down.

  I’d been named for a political hero and a wise woman. Nana was right. I had to put my complaints and my heartache aside, stop whining and get to work. After last night’s fruitless analysis of potential culprits, I knew once and for all that sleuthing wasn’t my strong suit. I’d leave that job to Rossi—this time I really meant it—and stick to the work I knew best. Interior design.

  And young love. I knew a little bit about that too, and this morning Nikhil Jamison needed my help.

  I went directly to the shop, spent two hours doing paperwork and straightening display tables. Lee had been gone less than a day and I missed her already, although on the upside she didn’t know Rossi and I had parted ways. She liked Rossi and would be upset about our breakup. But now happy with her love, when she heard about our split, she’d take the news in stride.