Murder with a Twist

by Tracy Kiely

  Danny smiled, his faith restored. “Lizzy could always sniff out a scam.”

  “I take it that you know her well?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Frank, taking a sip of his drink. “We grew up in the same neighborhood. She’s a looker and always knew how to attract the guys. Problem was that she had lousy taste. Her first husband ended up in jail and so did her second, come to think of it.”

  “Well, some girls always go for the dangerous guys,” I said.

  Frank shot me a funny look. “Hell, Landis. In our neighborhood, everyone was dangerous. Lizzy just always seemed to go for the guys that didn’t have the brains not to get caught.”

  “Ah, it’s a subtle distinction, but I get it now,” I said.

  “That guy, Mickey, she went with didn’t end up in jail,” Danny pointed out.

  “Yeah, but he got himself killed,” Frank said. “Like I said, lousy taste. It’s too bad, too, because Lizzy’s got brains. She always knew how to work someone. As a kid, she’d just smile real big and be able to get whatever she wanted. She probably would have made a fortune by now, but she always let herself get screwed by some asshole.”

  “And now she’s with Leo?” I asked.

  “Yeah. From what I heard,” Frank said. “But when I called to tell her about Fat Saul, I asked her about him, and she said she hadn’t heard from Leo in awhile.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  Frank scratched his head. “Said her ex-husband was bothering her. She was thinking about changing her name or something.”

  “Who is this ex?” I asked.

  “Billy,” said Frank. “Billy Morgan.”

  Danny looked up in surprise. “Lizzy married Billy? That idiot?”

  Frank nodded. “Yeah. I know. Anyway, it’s over. He was working some insurance scam a few years back. Got sloppy and got five years. Lizzy divorced him while he was in prison.”

  Danny shook his head in disbelief. “Billy Morgan …” he left the thought hang unfinished.

  Frank nodded. “I know. Billy’s worthless. A couple of times I offered to make him disappear, but that’s not Lizzy’s style. She’s good that way, you know?”

  “She sounds like a real gem,” I agreed.

  “She should have taken me up on my offer,” Frank said. “Billy got out of prison early for good behavior. As soon as he did, he beat the crap out of her for divorcing him.”

  Next to me, Danny shook his head. “Some system we have. It’s always the rats who get out early.”

  “Cheers to that,” said Frank before draining his whiskey.

  Neither of them seemed to appreciate the irony in that statement. I decided not to enlighten them.

  thirteen

  Frank gave me Lizzy’s address, and Nigel and I said our good-byes. “You certainly know the most interesting people,” Nigel said once we were outside. “They are an absolute delight!”

  “Oh, please,” I said. “I have three words for you—your Aunt Olive.”

  Nigel tipped his head thoughtfully. “Do you suppose there’s any way that we can introduce your Frank Little and his crew to my Aunt Olive?” he asked. “I would happily exchange all my Christmas presents for the chance to watch that.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, my dear. The way this week is going, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything.”

  According to Frank, Lizzy lived in the West Village. Before we paid her a visit, I called Marcy to tell her about Fat Saul’s mysterious female caller. “So, he got a call from someone right before he went out?” Marcy asked. “Do you really think it’s connected to his death?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. But then again it might be. I just thought I’d pass along the information.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks. I’ll see if we can find anything out from the cell phone records. Any luck in finding your cousin’s husband?”

  “Again. It’s my cousin-in-law’s husband. I stand by that distinction. And no. He’s still missing.”

  “Okay. Well, keep me posted. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” I thanked her and hung up. Nigel said that he wanted to eat lunch and do some more Christmas shopping before we visited Lizzy, so we headed over to Fifth Avenue. Along the way, Nigel stopped at a pet store and bought a pair of reindeer antlers for Skippy. By the time we reached Rockefeller Center, Skippy had been patted by three policemen, made friends with two horses, goosed several ladies who turned to glare at Nigel and then ended up smiling, and been introduced to three children as one of Santa’s reindeer out doing last-minute reconnaissance work for the Big Man. We pushed our way through the noisy crowd and paused to watch the skaters skim across the ice rink where the hum of tourists’ conversations, Salvation Army bells, and Christmas music filled the air.

  “I know it’s cliché,” said Nigel, “but I do love New York at Christmastime. The buildings are lit, the windows are decorated, and the people are nice.”

  “They may be nice, but there are still too many of them,” I said, as my side was assaulted by yet another bag loaded with boxes. “I need a cup of something strong and a place to sit,” I added as I pulled my coat tight against the cold evening air.

  “Your wish is my command,” said Nigel. “Skippy, lead the way.” We headed up Fifth Avenue, passing a Salvation Army volunteer as we did. Nigel paused and shoved a handful of bills into the bucket.

  “Thank you,” said the young man as he rang his bell. Nigel nodded, “Merry Christmas,” he replied. We were a few feet away when I heard the man cry out in surprise, “Hey!”

  Nigel kept walking. I glanced up at him. “Nigel, how much did you put in the bucket?”

  “It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to be generous.”

  “Nigel. How much?”

  He shrugged. “A few hundred.”

  “A few?”

  “Okay, six.”

  “Six hundred dollars? Are you crazy? Why on earth are you walking around with that kind of money? And here of all places!”

  “You’re being a Grinch. It’s Christmas. It’s not like we can’t afford it. Just enjoy the atmosphere.”

  I sighed. “I know you think I’m a Grinch,” I said as we squeezed through the crowd, “but you didn’t grow up here. And after awhile, even Rockefeller Center overloads the senses. It’s too much of everything. The crowds, the music, the incessant ringing of bells …” I paused.

  Nigel paused as well. We looked at each other. Then we looked down at Skippy. Skippy looked up at us. In his mouth was a large Salvation Army bell.

  “Oops,” said Nigel.

  “Big oops,” I agreed.

  Nigel began to wrestle the bell out of Skippy’s mouth. “Bad dog, Skippy,” he said. “No. Give me the bell. Skippy, give me the bell!” Skippy, however, treated Nigel’s pleas as part of a grand new game. He artfully dodged and ducked our attempts to retrieve the bell, which clanged merrily all the while. After a few minutes, Nigel put his hands on his hips and stared at Skippy. Skippy stared back, his tail still wagging, and the bell still ringing. Without a word, Nigel turned around and pushed his way back into the crowd. When he emerged again, he calmly took Skippy’s leash and resumed our walk.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “I bought us a bell. Merry Christmas.”

  fourteen

  Next we headed to Lizzy’s apartment in the West Village. Nigel finally found a cab driver who would take Skippy. Initially, Skippy climbed into the front seat, but the driver quickly advised us not to press our luck, and so Nigel sat up front while Skippy and I squeezed into the backseat. After giving Lizzy’s address to the driver, we settled in for the ride. The driver, whose license identified him as Sam, kept a wary eye on Skippy from the rearview mirror. “I imagine you see a lot of strange things in your job,” Nigel said politely to Sam.

  Sam glanced at Skippy. “Some strang
er than others,” he said. “Hey, listen. Are you sure he’s a dog? ’Cause he don’t look like no dog I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, yes, quite sure,” said Nigel. “His mother was my dog growing up.”

  “Yeah?” replied Sam. “What kind of dog was she?”

  “Toy poodle.”

  Sam sputtered. “Jesus. What kind of dog was its dad?”

  “Determined,” answered Nigel.

  _____

  Sam dropped us off in front of Lizzy’s apartment. She lived in the West Village, a once-rowdy neighborhood that was trying to shake its frat-boy image. This effort enabled the realtors to charge more for the properties on the basis that it was an “up-and-coming neighborhood.” When Nigel asked me what that meant, I told him it meant there were more Starbucks than liquor stores. Nigel sighed, and said he would never understand some people’s ideas about progress.

  Outside of the building a man stood smoking a cigarette. I had a brief impression of a large frame, hooded eyes, and a beak nose before he saw Skippy. He quickly flicked his cigarette to the ground and walked away. While it was a reaction I was getting used to, I didn’t appreciate having to wrest Skippy away from eating the smoky remains.

  We entered the lobby of the building and pressed the button for the elevator. As we waited, a middle-aged woman carrying a bag of groceries joined us. Seeing the curious glance she shot at Skippy, who still wore the antlers and proudly held the Salvation Army bell in his mouth, Nigel smiled at her. “He’s a ChristmasGram,” he said indicating Skippy. “It’s a new service the mayor is providing for the city’s shut-ins.”

  The woman continued to stare at Skippy. “Seems to me you’re just ensuring that they’ll stay shut in,” she said.

  The elevator arrived and Nigel, Skippy, and I got on. The woman did not. “I’ll catch the next one,” she said.

  Lizzy’s apartment was on the tenth floor. As I pressed the button, Nigel asked, “Do you really think we’re gong to find Leo here?”

  “Doubtful,” I answered. “If Leo was hiding from Fat Saul then he certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide out at his girlfriend’s house. However, she might know something that could help us.”

  “Fine by me,” said Nigel, “But after we’re done with Ms. Marks, why don’t you come back to the hotel with me. I have some lovely etchings I’d like to show you.”

  I smiled up at him. “I’d love to. You know how I love your etchings.”

  Lizzy was home. From the speed with which she answered my knock, I suspected she was expecting someone else. Well, that and the fact that she was wearing nothing but a sheer peach-colored negligee and an expectant smile. I had a brief image of a curvy blonde with lots of tanned skin before the door slammed shut. “Who the hell are you?” she hollered at us.

  “We’re friends of Leo, Ms. Marks,” I answered. “Leo Blackwell? Please, open the door. We need to talk to you.”

  There was a brief pause. Finally, she answered. “All right. But hang on a second. Let me grab my robe.”

  Nigel cocked his eyebrow at me. “Is this what you usually encountered when you had to make house calls?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I usually encountered hysterical girlfriends with crying babies.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking back appreciatively at Lizzy’s door, “I’m beginning to see what you mean by an up-and-coming neighborhood.”

  A few minutes later, Lizzy opened the door—a little less exposed and a lot less enthusiastic. I guessed her to be in her forties—but she wasn’t going out without a fight. Her hair was long and wavy, falling well past her shoulders. She had a pretty face, one that appeared to be taut and duly preserved, but it was her body that caught attention. It was somehow both thin and curvy, soft and firm. From the brief glimpse I’d had of her negligee, it was also a body she was proud of. “Okay, now who are you?” she asked as she yanked the belt of her silk robe into a tight bow.

  “I’m Nigel and this is Nicole. We’re looking for Leo Blackwell,” Nigel said. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but is it okay if we come in for a minute?”

  Lizzy’s gaze shifted to Nigel, where it remained. Her hazel eyes radiated approval, as well as a few other baser emotions. Nigel produced his most winning smile. Her stance softened further.

  “What makes you think I know where he is?” she asked.

  “Well, according to our sources …” Nigel brook off. “I do hope we have the right apartment. We have some rather important financial information for Mr. Blackwell that I think he’ll be pleased to hear. I’d hate to think we’ve missed him again.”

  “No, you have the right apartment,” she said, her voice now an octave lower. “I know Leo. Well, come on in. Any friend of Leo’s and all that.”

  She opened the door wide. “Follow me,” she said, as she sashayed down a narrow hallway. Nigel and I entered, shutting the door behind us, and followed. The rhythmic sound of her kitten heels on the parquet floor echoed in the small foyer before being swallowed up by the living room’s thick wall-to-wall carpeting. There she indicated for us to sit on the red velvet couch, while she took a seat opposite us on a gold damask club chair. Between us was a low, black coffee table in the shape of either a diseased kidney or a wilted lima bean. Apart from the ghastly décor, the apartment was perfectly nice. There was a good-sized kitchen, with new chrome appliances and granite countertops. Off the living room was another room, the door of which was ajar. From my vantage point, I could see a large bed, a bit of a mirrored wall, and a side table. On top of it were two suitcases, partially packed, and several piles of clothes waiting to be added.

  Lizzy slowly crossed her long legs, letting her robe slip off them in the process. A tattoo of a dove adorned her left ankle. A kaleidoscope of butterflies decorated the right. I suspected more creatures were soaring in the wings. Lizzy lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled. Her eyes never left Nigel’s. “We haven’t met before, have we?” she asked after taking a drag. “I think I would have remembered meeting you.” Her eyes moved to Skippy. “Especially the dog. He’s a bull mastiff, right?”

  “That’s right,” Nigel said. “Well spotted. Not too many people are familiar with the breed.”

  Lizzy gave a throaty laugh. “Honey, you’d be surprised at the things I’m familiar with. So, how can I help you?” she prompted.

  “Well, we’re trying to find Leo Blackwell,” I said. “I understand you might know him?”

  “I know him,” she said with a slow smile.

  “Excellent! We’re on the right track. We can’t seem to get hold of him,” Nigel answered. “But then we were told to look you up,” he paused to cast an appreciative eye over her tanned legs. “They sure didn’t exaggerate about you,” he added with a wolfish grin.

  Lizzy slowly ran her tongue over her full lips and returned the smile. I produced a polite cough. “So, we were wondering if you know where Leo is?” I asked.

  Lizzy glanced over at me, almost surprised to find me on her couch. “And who are you?” she asked, her tone a shade less friendly.

  “Girlfriend,” Nigel answered.

  “I also go by Nicole.”

  Lizzy took another look at me. This one was more searching. Whatever she was looking for she didn’t find. “Doesn’t look your type,” she finally said to Nigel.

  “I get that a lot,” I answered.

  “What can I say?” Nigel admitted with a shrug. “I’m partial to sloe-eyed girls with gimpy legs.”

  Lizzy looked pointedly at Nigel’s ring finger. “Nice wedding ring,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said, with a wink. “It was a gift from my employer, if you know what I mean.”

  Lizzy threw her head back and laughed. “Oh honey, do I ever. But let’s cut the crap, shall we? You aren’t friends of Leo’s any more than I’m friends with that pathetic wife of his. You’re Nic and Nigel Martini. In town to
attend the sainted Audrey’s birthday party bash. Don’t you two read the papers? You should. You were the lead item today on page six of the Post.”

  fifteen

  Nigel sat back into the couch and crossed his legs. “I told you the Times was overrated,” he said to me. “You miss all the good stuff.”

  “Well, now that introductions are out of the way, do you have any idea where Leo is?” I asked.

  Lizzy took another drag off her cigarette before answering. “Why the hell should I tell you anything? I don’t owe the Martini family one damn thing. They’re no better than the rest of us. Bunch of hypocritical snobs.”

  “From your palpable hostility, I gather that you are acquainted with the family,” I said.

  Lizzy looked away and shrugged. “Not really, no. Just what I read in the papers. And what I hear. Who told you about me?” she asked.

  “Frank Little,” I answered. “Seems Leo owed him some money.”

  Lizzy’s eyes widened at this. “And Frank thought that I knew where Leo was? I told him I haven’t seen Leo in days. Did he really send you here?”

  I nodded. “He said he didn’t think you knew anything, but we wanted to double check.”

  She seemed to relax a little at this. “Well, he’s right. I don’t know where he is. Frank and I go way back. He knows he can trust me. But why the hell do you care where Leo is? Seems to me that Leo would be the type of guy the Martini family would like to see disappear.”

  “His wife is worried,” I answered.

  Lizzy scoffed. “His wife. Please. She’s not worried about Leo. The only thing that little bitch is worried about is her reputation. She can’t stand the idea of him not being there for her silly, little society party. The women in that family are no good. They only like their money. But as much as they have, it’s never enough. No amount is.”

  “The same might be said about Leo,” I observed. “However, far be it for me to speculate on the course of true love and all that. I just want to talk to him. Given recent events I thought he might turn up.”