by Tracy Kiely
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Murder with a Twist © 2015 by Tracy Kiely
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dedication
This book is dedicated, with love,
to Ann Mahoney, with whom I saw The Thin Man
for the very first time. It was one of many great days
I spent with you. I love you very much!
acknowledgments
I have so many people I need to thank. My agent, Barbara Poelle, for believing in me and always making me laugh. My editor, Terri Bischoff, for taking a chance on me. For Barbara Kiely, Bridget Kiely, MaryAnn Kingsley, Terri Mullen-Sweeney, Joelle Charbonneau, Sophie Littlefield, and the Bunco Ladies for all your continued and much-needed support. And, of course, for my wonderful family—my husband, Matt, and our amazing children, Jack, Elizabeth, and Pat. Thanks so much for putting up with my crazy. I love you!
one
I was leaning against the bar in a hotel on 57th Street, waiting for Nigel to finish his Christmas shopping, when a woman got up from a table and came over. She was blonde and slim, and whether you looked at her face or at her body clad in a silky blue dress, the result was a credit to money and good genes.
“Are you Nicole Martini?” she asked.
“That’s me,” I answered.
“I’m Daphne Beasley. I’m Nigel’s cousin.”
“Oh, of course,” I said, as we leaned in to give each other the polite hugs expected between casual female acquaintances. “I didn’t recognize you at first. How have you been?”
“Good, thanks. I graduated from law school last year, and started at my dad’s firm. I know it looks like nepotism—probably because it is—but I’ve been busting my tail off to quiet the skeptics. So far, it seems to be working.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” With a subtle flick of her bejeweled wrist, she summoned the bartender. “Grey Goose and tonic, Tony,” she said to a slight man with dark hair and darker eyes, whose name I hoped rather than assumed was Tony. Turning to me, she added, “Would you like anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” I said, indicating my club soda.
Moments later Tony appeared with her drink. Placing it on a linen napkin, he slid the crystal tumbler toward her and stepped back to wait for her approval. She took a sip and nodded her thanks. I half-expected Tony to click his heels in response. Thankfully, he didn’t. “Listen, you used to be a detective, right?” she asked, focusing again on me.
“That’s right.”
“But you retired?”
“In a manner of speaking. I got shot and then put on desk duty,” I answered, glancing down at my leg that still ached from time to time. “The desk and I didn’t suit.”
“So, do you practice at all anymore?”
“Mainly, I practice not getting shot. Why do you ask?”
“I’m worried about Audrey.”
Audrey is another of Nigel’s cousins. In a few days she was turning twenty-five. We were in New York for Christmas week to celebrate both her and the baby Jesus’s birthday. This being a Martini event, Audrey’s milestone got top billing. The associated festivities were expected to be lengthy and expensive. Lengthy and expensive is one of many Martini traditions.
“What’s wrong with Audrey?”
“It isn’t so much what’s wrong with her as it’s what’s wrong with that horrible husband of hers. Have you met Leo?”
“No, but your mother described him to me once. I believe she used the term ‘dirty married bachelor.’ ”
Daphne produced a grim smile. “Mother does have a way with words, even if they aren’t hers, but that’s Leo. He looks like one of those Euro-trash models. You know the type; ridiculously slim with slicked-back hair. Wears those stupid suits that look like they shrunk in the wash.”
“Sounds charming. Other than his fashion sense, what’s the problem?”
She sighed. “The problem is that he’s disappeared.”
I took a sip of my drink and wondered where the hell Nigel was. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing, given the whole dirty married bachelor thing?”
“You’d think so, but Audrey is a mess. For whatever unknown reason, she loves him. If he doesn’t show up at her birthday party, she’ll be humiliated. She knows what the family thinks of him. Given all that she’s been through, I don’t know if she could face it.”
Audrey’s parents died in a plane crash five years ago. David and Rose Martini were extremely wealthy—even by Martini family standards—and Audrey was an only child. She inherited a king’s ransom upon their death and, under the terms of her trust fund, was due to inherit even more upon turning twenty-five. A shy and somewhat plain girl, she was forever suspicious that the men in her life were with her for the wrong reasons. Unfortunately, she was usually right.
“You want me to find Leo?” I asked, deciding to cut to the chase.
Daphne produced a grateful smile and nodded. “Well, it’s really more Mother’s idea than mine, but yes. Could you?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. After all, I’m retired and haven’t worked with the Department since Nigel and I moved out to LA. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look.”
“I might be able to help you there,” Daphne said. “I have a few leads.”
“Then why don’t you find him?”
She pulled a face and stared at her glass. Slowly rubbing her index finger along the rim, she said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Before I could ask why, a loud commotion behind me caught my attention. Glancing up at the enormous expanse of mirror behind the bar, I stared past my own reflection and saw a tall, dark, handsome man being dragged across the room by what appeared to be an enormous mastiff. Three chairs and one barstool went down in their wake. Ba
r chatter subsided as the patrons quieted to watch the unfolding spectacle. Within seconds both the dog and the man were in front of me. The dog nudged his face into my stomach; the man nudged his face into my neck.
“Hello, darling,” he said. The man; not the dog.
“Hello,” I replied in kind. “Why do you have a dog with you?”
“He followed me.”
“Nigel, he’s on a leash. If anything, you’re following him. Why do you have a dog with you?”
“The man at the pet store said you wouldn’t like the piranha.”
“The man at the pet store is wise,” I said, tentatively pushing the dog’s square head away from my stomach.
“His name is Skippy,” Nigel offered.
“I highly doubt that,” I said, eyeing the dog.
“Hello, Nigel,” Daphne now said. “It’s good to see you.”
“Daphne! I didn’t see you. You look wonderful. How are you?” Nigel replied while trying to stop Skippy from eating the complimentary bar snacks. He failed. Skippy:1; Nigel: 0.
Tony returned and produced an apologetic cough. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t allow dogs in the bar.”
Nigel nodded. “I understand, but he’s a Seeing Eye dog. However, he’s very modest about it, so please don’t say anything to him.”
Tony stared at Nigel. “He’s a Seeing Eye dog for whom?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” Nigel said. “May I have a scotch and soda, please?”
Tony appeared to debate reiterating his request that Skippy leave. After staring at Skippy’s massive fawn-colored head, which was now casually resting atop the glossy marble bar, he decided to let the matter go and went off to get Nigel’s drink.
“Same old Nigel,” Daphne said with a laugh.
“Well, I should hope so,” Nigel replied. “So, how are you?”
“Fine,” Daphne replied. “I was just trying to convince your lovely wife here to take on a case for me.”
Nigel turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “Easy, darling,” I said. “Before you get your hopes up, it’s not a case of scotch.”
two
“What kind of case?” Nigel asked Daphne, ignoring me. Skippy, however, focused his huge brown eyes on me and wagged his tail. It thumped against the bar. I stepped back a few inches to avoid having my leg further maimed.
“I want Nic to help me find Leo,” said Daphne. “He’s taken off. Again. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but Audrey will be devastated if he’s a no-show for her party.”
“What do you mean ‘again’?” I asked. “How often does he take off like this?”
“Just about every time a pretty bimbo catches his eye,” Daphne replied with a sneer. “Which is, I’m sorry to say, quite often. Normally, I’d pray that this is the time he doesn’t come skulking back. However, I want him at that party.”
“I see. And do we want the pretty bimbo there as well?” Nigel asked.
“Of course not! Don’t get me wrong. I wish Audrey had never met Leo. The man’s disgusting. He’s nothing but a wolf in cheap clothing.” Nigel winced. “I just want Leo there for her party,” Daphne continued. “It’s hard to explain, but I want him there if for no other reason than to protect Audrey’s ego on her birthday. Once the party’s over, he can crawl back into whatever hole he slithered out of. Hell, I’ll even help him pack.”
Nigel’s eye twitched. “Stop that!” he begged. “What do you have against metaphors anyway?”
Daphne glanced at Nigel in confusion. Against the general hum of conversation and tinkling glass in the bar, a faint ringtone now sounded. Daphne pulled a phone from her leather clutch, glanced at the screen, and frowned. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. You two are staying here at the hotel, right?”
Nigel and I nodded. “Good. I’ll see you later then. Bye!” She blew us what I hoped was meant to be an air kiss and then turned, jamming the phone against her ear. “What did you find out?” I heard her say as she walked away.
I pivoted toward Nigel. “You’d better have gotten me one hell of Christmas present. I have a feeling I’m going to deserve it.”
“You already deserve it,” he answered. “Do you want a drink?”
“Yes, please,” I answered. I caught Tony’s eye. In the last ten minutes, I’d acquired a new dog and a lost married bachelor case. It had been a few years since I’d been a detective, but it seemed that this weekend was going to require something stiffer than my usual club soda and lime. Oddly, I was game.
three
Back in our hotel room, Nigel was sprawled on the bed. I sat at the dressing table. Skippy was stretched out on the coffee-colored club chair and its corresponding ottoman. He appeared to be sleeping. I didn’t ask how Nigel convinced the hotel staff to let Skippy stay with us, nor did I intend to. I suspected it had something to do with one of us having epileptic seizures.
“So what do you want to do?” Nigel asked.
“I’m amenable for repeating what we just did.”
“I meant about Leo. But your wish is my command.”
I put down my hairbrush. “Do you really think I should find Leo? It sounds as if Audrey would be better off if he stayed lost.”
“Agreed. But Audrey has been through a lot, poor kid. And, of course, I only mean ‘poor’ in the figurative sense.”
“Of course,” I agreed. I pumped some lotion into the palm of my hand and rubbed it in. “I’ve never met Leo. Is he really as bad as everyone says?”
Nigel propped himself up on one elbow, affording me a most enjoyable view of his chest. “I guess so. He’s your typical good-looking, charming, gold digger who seduces the naïve rich.”
“I didn’t know there were any of those left in the world.”
“Charming gold diggers?”
“Naïve rich.”
Nigel affected a demure expression. “Well, no. I guess not,” he said, glancing at the crumpled sheets. “Especially not after this afternoon.”
four
That evening, the three of us (Nigel having declared that Skippy was now a member of the family) braved the cold and walked to Nigel’s Aunt Olive’s for dinner. When we were first married, Nigel argued that I shouldn’t refer to her as his aunt, insisting that she was as much my aunt now as his. However, I insisted just as vehemently that “for better and for worse, and in sickness and in health” did not include his Aunt Olive.
Walking wasn’t our preferred method of travel, but New York cabbies, while generally tolerant souls, apparently draw the line at transporting animals resembling small ponies. Undeterred, Skippy led us with a purposeful stride for the first four blocks until Nigel was forced to concede that perhaps Skippy’s calling in life was something other than a Seeing Eye dog. We dutifully backtracked our steps and set out on the correct route.
Nigel’s Aunt Olive lives in the Ritz Tower with her husband, Max Beasley. Most consider Max to be the perfect counterpart for Olive as he is a large, jovial man, and she is not. The Martini family initially resisted their relationship, as Max was an attorney with the firm that handled the family’s financial affairs. However, in the end, their love overcame all obstacles. Well, their love and a healthy desire by Olive to finally rid herself of her maiden name.
At the Ritz, the uniformed doorman waved us through the entrance with a respectful flourish, his professional countenance slipping only momentarily at the sight of Skippy. Inside, Nigel and I chatted politely with Frances, the residential concierge, who also pretended that two-hundred-pound monstrosities eagerly trying to climb atop her wooden desk were an everyday occurrence. I tried to imagine an instance in which similar leeway would be given to members of the less fortunate class. Then I tried to imagine Santa Claus.
After polite conversation was duly exchanged on both sides, Frances buzzed us into the elevators. The gilded doors slid quietly together, slowly compressing a
vision of her gamely waving a polite goodbye to us.
“So, why are we having dinner with your aunt and uncle again?” I asked, as I simultaneously punched the button for the thirty-fourth floor and tried to block Skippy from punching additional floor buttons with his nose. I failed on the latter. Skippy: 8; Me: 0.
“For the good company, of course.”
“Is that a new catering service?”
“No.”
“Then try again.”
The elevator eased to a stop at the first of Skippy’s requested floors (eleven through seventeen). At floor sixteen, Skippy barked happily, startling a bony, anemic woman who promptly yelped and skittered away.
“Don’t you find my family endearing?” Nigel asked. “I’m beginning to think that you married me just for my assets.”
“I find you endearing,” I offered. “But you can’t expect your assets not to play a role in our relationship.” I playfully swatted his rear. “Especially when you wear those pants.”
“Now I feel faintly dirty.”
“You’re welcome.”
We alighted at the thirty-fourth floor and made our way down the thickly carpeted hallway to Aunt Olive’s door. “Whenever your Aunt Olive calls us to her house, I always feel as if I’ve been summoned to my execution,” I said.
Nigel scoffed. “Don’t be silly. If she really wanted you dead, she’d hire a hit man. Much neater that way.”
“Thank you, dear. That’s most reassuring.”
We were at their door. Nigel leaned over and kissed me lightly on my mouth. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re perfectly safe. Besides, I’m pretty sure if she’s going to kill anyone, it’s going to be Leo.”
Nigel gave the door a sharp knock. Within seconds a large, fleshy-faced man wearing an ill-fitting black suit opened it.
Upon seeing me, his expression morphed from one of professional coolness to that of mild distress. It was an expression I’d grown accustomed to seeing on the various faces of the snobbier members of Nigel’s family in the years since we’d married. However, the reason I was seeing it now had nothing to do with my family’s undistinguished pedigree.