Murder with a Twist

by Tracy Kiely

  “Did you have a fight?” I asked.

  “No, in fact, Leo was in a particularly good mood. He’d been in one for the last few weeks actually. He was being very … um, sweet, if you know what I mean.”

  I did. From the way everyone at the table suddenly put down their forks, I gathered I wasn’t alone.

  “So, he left without saying where he was going, what he was going to do there, or when he’d be back,” I repeated. “And you’ve no idea about why he was in such a good mood?”

  Again, Audrey had no helpful answer. “He just seemed happy. We were getting along. He was looking forward to my birthday party. He’d even begun talking about starting a family.”

  I glanced at Nigel. From the way his upper lip twitched, I gathered he was thinking the same thing that I was. Leo’s recent good mood probably had more to do with Audrey’s impending inheritance upon turning twenty-five than a sudden newfound love for his wife. I had no idea what kind of prenuptial contract they had—or even if they had one. As Audrey’s trustee, Max would be the one to ask about that. But having a child with Audrey would definitely be a giant plus in Leo’s ledger.

  “Where do you think he is?” I asked.

  Audrey stared at her plate. “I … I don’t know really. In the past, there have been times when Leo hasn’t come home, but I never asked him where he’d been. I don’t know if he’d tell me anyway. But this time it’s different. I just know it. While our marriage isn’t perfect, he’s never taken off for three days in a row. And despite what you think, he wouldn’t abandon me on my birthday. I know something’s happened to him.”

  I nodded noncommittally. “Do you know any of his friends? Is there anyone you could call?”

  Audrey shook her head. “There are some guys that he plays poker with on a regular basis. I’ve never met them. There is one man I heard Leo talk to a couple of times on the phone. Frank Little. I found his number and called him, but he said that he hadn’t seen Leo in over a week.” Audrey fell silent and resumed pushing her fish around.

  The name rang a bell. If Frank Little was who I thought he was, then Leo could be in serious trouble. “And?” I prompted.

  Audrey looked up at me. “And what?”

  “What else did Frank tell you? You’re holding something back.”

  Audrey’s face flushed. “It’s nothing really. He just said something about Leo owing some people money.”

  “How much?”

  Audrey lowered her eyes to her plate, preferring eye contact with a dead fish over me. “Fifty thousand,” she said. “Maybe more.”

  “Dollars?” Olive gasped.

  Audrey ducked her head lower. Toby, who was sitting next to her, reached over and put a consoling hand on hers. “Well, I hope it’s dollars,” said Nigel after a moment. “God forbid it’s Euros or, even worse, the Pound Sterling. The exchange rate now is terrible for us.”

  “Nigel, this is serious!” said Olive.

  “I think he knows that, dear,” said Max. “I think we all know that. Berating the girl isn’t going to help any.”

  “Do you think Leo’s disappearance has something to do with the money?” I asked.

  Audrey shook her head. “No. He knows I’d pay it. I always pay it. That’s why I didn’t mention it. It can’t have anything to do with his disappearance. He knows he can always come to me.”

  As Olive began to berate Audrey on the particulars of her marriage, I sat back in my chair and stared at my fish. While Leo might know that he could always get the money from Audrey, the people he owed might not have that same confidence.

  seven

  After the fish remains were taken off for a decent burial, we retuned to the living room for coffee. Audrey barely touched hers and soon begged off with the excuse of a headache. I didn’t blame her. I was starting to get one too.

  “Thank you for agreeing to help me, Nic,” Audrey said as she put on her coat. Daphne had offered to see Audrey home, but Toby insisted on doing it. He now stood next to her, his sensible black wool coat already on, and ready to go.

  “I can’t promise anything,” I said. “But I will see what I can do. Can you get me Frank Little’s number? I’d like to talk to him. Sometimes people are more forthcoming when they’re not talking to wives.”

  Audrey nodded. “Sure, I understand. But I still think you’re wrong. I think Frank told me everything he knew. He seemed to want to find Leo too.”

  Audrey and Toby then said their good-byes with promises to call and left.

  After listening for the sound of the front door closing, Olive let out a long sigh. “I hardly recognize her anymore! She’s nothing but a walking shell of her former self ! Do you know that she’s given up all her charity work? She says she just wants to concentrate on Leo! It’s ridiculous!”

  “Well, there are some who might consider Leo a form of charity work,” said Daphne.

  Olive ignored her. “Oh, why couldn’t Audrey have married Tobias? He’s so wonderful to her,” she wailed.

  “Well, for one, I don’t believe Toby ever asked her,” said Max.

  Olive dismissed this fact with a wave of her hand. “He would have, I’m sure of it. But then Leo came along and ruined everything. Lord, I hate that man. How could Audrey have ever thought Leo was a better man than Tobias?”

  Daphne twisted her mouth. “I don’t know about that, Mother. If you ask me, Toby is no different from Leo. Just a little more mannered and better dressed.”

  “Nonsense!” said Olive. “Tobias comes from a good family. And he’s devoted to Audrey. Always has been, too.”

  “You forget, Mother,” Daphne countered, “that I’ve worked with him for the past two years. I know him better than you do.”

  Olive scoffed. “And since when are you such a expert judge of people? You were convinced that last boyfriend of yours was Mr. Wonderful until you caught him running around on you with that other woman. I told you he was no good.”

  Daphne flushed a deep red. “You’re unbelievable,” she bit out through clenched teeth.

  “Does Audrey have a pre-nup with Leo?” I asked, before the fight escalated.

  Max shot me a grateful look. “Yes. I couldn’t stop her from marrying him, but at least I made sure that he agreed to a pre-nup. If they divorce, Leo gets shown the door, and that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t see a dime.”

  “Of course, that doesn’t help us much now. He makes out like a bandit as long as he’s still married to her,” Olive said.“And it’ll only get worse once she turns twenty-five.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “According to the terms of Audrey’s trust, she has limited control over her fortune. For her to spend over the predetermined amount she must first get approval from the trustees,” said Max.

  “Which is you and Olive,” I said.

  “Correct,” said Max. “However, that all ends once she turns twenty-five. After that, she can do whatever she wants without our approval.”

  “What is the amount she can spend now without your approval?”

  He told me. I let out a whistle. Olive wrinkled her nose in disdain at the noise. “That’s still a lot,” I said.

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” Max agreed.

  I thought for a moment. “Do you think the reason Leo didn’t ask Audrey for the money this time was because he knew it was more than she could pay?”

  Max blanched. “God. I hope not.”

  “What about this Frank Little person?” Daphne asked. “Could we get in touch with him? Do you think he might know where Leo is?”

  “He might,” I said. “Especially if he’s related to Danny Little. Danny is a notorious loan shark. Or at least he used to be when I knew him. He’s a ruthless bastard. If Leo ended up on the wrong side of Danny’s temper, it could explain his sudden disappearance.”

  “You mean this man might have kil
led Leopold?” Olive gasped. “But why? You heard Audrey. She said she always paid his debts. There’d be no reason to kill him!”

  I shrugged. “I know. But Danny Little isn’t known for his rational thinking when it comes to overdue debts. Or for anything, really. And if Leo couldn’t pay his debt this time, Danny might have taken matters into his own hands.”

  Olive shuddered. “That’s horrible. Disgusting. I can’t believe the people you associate with,” she said.

  “Used to associate with,” I corrected with a smile. “Now, I associate with you.”

  Olive narrowed her eyes, belatedly remembered that I was doing her a favor, and forced a smile on her face.

  It was around that time that we all agreed it was time for us to go.

  Good-byes were said, airy kisses exchanged, and promises were made to call with news. Then Nigel and I were back in the foyer with Joe. As he helped me into my coat, I grabbed his hand. Hard. “If you want me to keep my mouth shut about what you used to do, Joe, you’re going to do me a favor,” I said. “Maybe several favors.”

  Nigel and Skippy waited patiently while Joe mulled this over. Glancing down the empty hallway, Joe said, “What do you want?”

  “Well, as I’m sure you know, we were talking about Frank Little tonight. Is he the same Frank Little that’s related to Danny Little?”

  Joe’s eyes widened, but at least he didn’t bother to deny eavesdropping. “I told you, I’m straight now. I don’t deal with them anymore.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re a parole officer’s dream, but that’s not what I asked. Is he the same Frank Little who is related to Danny?”

  Joe paused. “Yeah. Frank’s Danny’s kid brother.”

  “See? That wasn’t so difficult now, was it? Is Frank still involved in the family business?”

  “Yeah. Well, he was. A year or so ago, Danny got busted for assault or something. I heard he got three years. Since then, Frank’s been working for Fat Saul.”

  Hearing this left me with an uneasy feeling as to Leo’s fate. Fat Saul made Danny Little look like a choirboy. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll be in touch,” I said.

  Joe was pale as he ushered us out. He shut the door behind us with a resounding thud.

  I turned toward Nigel and smiled. “Can I just tell you again how much I love your family?”

  Nigel winked. “Don’t be sarcastic, Mrs. Martini. Aunt Olive says that it does horrible things to your complexion.”

  “Well, she would know, wouldn’t she?”

  eight

  The next day, Nigel and I took in a matinee of the latest Broadway hit. It told the story—in three-part harmony—of a man who is tricked into marrying a woman he doesn’t love. He refuses to sleep with her so she seduces him in the dark and then leaves. When her disappearance is noticed, the man is accused of murdering her. The woman—and their child—return in time to save him from the electric chair. The man realizes he does love his wife and is happy.

  Nigel said it was the stupidest thing he’d ever seen. I said it was based on Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well. Nigel said that if it weren’t for the fact that he was dead, Shakespeare should sue.

  Afterward, we joined my friend Marcy Garcia and her husband Arnie for dinner. I had worked with Marcy when I was a detective. Marcy was still working homicide. Arnie taught at a private school for wealthy children who’d been expelled from every other school they’d attended. Each maintained that the other’s job was easier.

  “So, how did you two meet again?” Arnie asked, as Nigel sampled the sommelier’s suggestion.

  “Rehab,” Nigel answered after taking a sip and nodding his approval.

  I laughed as I saw Arnie’s eyes grow wide. “Physical rehab,” I clarified. “I was recovering from a gunshot wound, and Nigel was recovering from a skiing accident.”

  “Tree jumped right out in front of me,” Nigel explained.

  “Which is one of the many reasons we live in L.A.,” I said.“There are fewer leaping trees.”

  “And they only attack celebrities,” said Nigel.

  Arnie laughed. “I think as a Martini, you qualify as a celebrity. From what I hear, your family could buy and sell New York.”

  “Well, thankfully they didn’t. I shudder to think how my aunt would redecorate it if she had.”

  “Toile,” I suggested.

  Nigel nodded. “And chrome. Anyway, in L.A. there is so much obscene wealth, the Martini family’s pales in comparison.”

  “So, you work in movies?” asked Arnie.

  “I work with old movies; specifically, film restoration. A lot of old movies were destroyed by fire or, worse, just left to rot out of indifference. My company works to find them and salvage what we can.”

  “How did you get into that?” asked Arnie.

  “My mom is a huge movie buff. Growing up, I watched just about every movie ever made. During college, I interned at The Film Institute and later started my own company.”

  “Nigel’s company has restored over two hundred movies so far,” I added. “Which was a perk for me on those days when my leg ached too much to move. Nigel would bring over a movie and a bottle of wine and we’d watch these great old films.”

  The waiter arrived, and Nigel and Arnie turned their attention to placing our orders. As they did, Marcy turned to me and said, “You look great, Nic. But then you always do. You were the most glamorous detective in the department.” She looked admiringly at Nigel’s profile. “I never thought you’d leave New York, but now I see why you did,” she said in a low voice. “But I still can’t picture you as a West Coaster. Are you sure you don’t miss the Department? You were one of the best.”

  I shook my head. “Not a chance. I’m done with all that. I never thought I’d like the West Coast either, especially L.A., but I really do. Besides, I have my plate full just trying to block all the starlets who throw themselves at Nigel. He seems to attract them like flies.”

  “Attracting flies doesn’t sound like a compliment,” said Nigel. “Besides, you exaggerate. One silly girl threw herself at me. And, if I remember correctly, she had buckteeth and a lazy eye. You had nothing to worry about.”

  “So, had she been attractive, I might have had something to worry about?” I teased.

  “That depends—how attractive are we talking about?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “Well, until the right one shows up and you kick me to the curb, I’m done being a detective.”

  Nigel leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I’d never kick you to the curb, dear. You know that. As a gentleman, I’d have you escorted. And besides, you aren’t done being a detective. You just took on a new case, remember?” Turning to Marcy he said, “Nic’s agreed to find my cousin’s missing husband. Though for the life of me, I can’t imagine why she’d want him found.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find him holed up with some bimbo or hiding out from Frank Little. Or both.”

  “Audrey has excellent taste in men,” said Nigel. “That is if your taste runs to gold digger losers.”

  “Wait. Frank Little?” asked Marcy. “The one related to Danny Little?”

  “Yeah, he’s Danny’s little brother,” I said. “Why?”

  “Because Danny Little was paroled this morning. Got out early for—get this—good behavior.”

  “Good behavior? That sociopath?” I said. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  Marcy shook her head in sympathy. “I know. You don’t have to tell me. But the prisons are overcrowded, and Danny Little can afford the best legal representation.”

  “Who was his lawyer?” I asked.

  “Flynn Sawyer.”

  Flynn Sawyer was a high-profile attorney. Known for his garish suits, bombastic TV ads, and sleazy tactics, he was a defendant’s dream and a prosecutor’s nightmare. The city was plastered with his billboards and a
ds that featured his grinning face and promised a “Win With Flynn.”

  “That cheap suit?” I said. “I can’t believe that man is still allowed to practice law.”

  “I know,” agreed Marcy. “The sad part is that he’s raking it in hand over fist. He just bought himself a luxury yacht. Named it Soft Tissue Damage.”

  “Very nice.” I said. “I heard that Frank is working for Fat Saul these days. Is that true?”

  Marcy nodded. “That’s what I heard. When Danny went to prison, Frank made a deal with Fat Saul.”

  “Any idea what Danny thought about that?” I asked.

  Marcy shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Under the terms of his parole, he’s not allowed to be near any gambling facilities, which, of course, is the bread and butter of his business. He convinced the parole board that he’s going to be managing the family restaurant now.”

  “That’s still in business?”

  Marcy took a sip of her wine before answering. “Apparently. Though I suspect it’s a front. I mean, would you willingly eat at a place called Little’s Vittles?”

  Next to me, Nigel laughed. “I would. Absolutely. In fact, I think I might have to insist on it.”

  “Well, we might have to if Leo doesn’t turn up soon,” I said.

  Marcy laughed. “Well, in that case, avoid the veal. I hear it’s anything but veal.”

  “Duly noted,” I said.

  nine

  The scene that met us when we returned to our hotel room was utter bedlam. Chairs were upended, cushions were ripped, and covering it all was a fine layer of potting soil. The origin for the latter—a large ficus tree—lay across our bed, its branches limp and torn.

  Our first thought—that we’d been robbed—was quickly discounted once we saw Skippy. Poised on the loveseat opposite the bed, his fur smeared with potting soil, Skippy warily eyed the ficus tree as if he feared it might attack. Seeing us, he leapt up and barked excitedly, his tail thumping against the couch cushions.

  “Um … good boy?” Nigel ventured.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I know we’re supposed to be a united front with him,” I said. “But I don’t see this as a good boy moment.”