Murder with a Twist

by Tracy Kiely

  Lizzy blew a textbook smoke ring before asking, “What recent events?”

  “Fat Saul’s death. He was looking for Leo. I don’t think it was a social call. With Saul gone, Leo might feel like celebrating. Maybe taking a trip.” I looked pointedly toward the suitcases visible beyond the open bedroom door.

  Annoyance flashed across her face. “Leo had nothing to do with that,” she said quickly.

  “Really?” I asked. “And how do you know this?”

  “Because I know Leo,” she answered. “He may play a bit fast and loose at times, but he’s no killer. Leo just likes a good time, is all. He talks big, but he’s a softie. I don’t know who shot Fat Saul, but it wasn’t Leo.”

  “You knew Fat Saul, too, right?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah. I knew him.”

  “Well, then you know he wasn’t the most rational of men,” I said. “Especially, where money was concerned.”

  “Look, Fat Saul is a … was a hot head,” Lizzy said correcting herself. “He always was. But Leo always paid his debts. That little wife of his was happy to bail him out every time.”

  “Except that this time she couldn’t,” I explained. “This time Leo owed more than what Audrey could withdraw on her own. She’d have to get her aunt and uncle to co-sign everything, and Leo knew that.”

  Lizzy frowned. “How much did he owe?”

  When I told her the amount, her eyes narrowed in anger. She started to say something, but stopped. She glanced at her watch. It was an expensive piece, comprised of white gold and diamonds. “Look, I’ve got to be somewhere,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I don’t know where Leo is. I haven’t seen or heard from him in days. And I don’t expect to. Like I said. We’re friends, but nothing more.” She squashed out her cigarette and stood up. “Now, as fun as this has been, I’ve got an appointment.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” I said after another glance at the bedroom. “Well, thanks for talking to us. If you happen to see Leo, please tell him we’re looking for him.”

  Lizzy was at the door. Opening it, she turned to me and said, “Like I said, I don’t expect to see him anytime soon. I’m sure you’ll see Leo long before I do.”

  “I’ll be sure to send him your best,” I said, before we stepped out into the hall. The door swung shut in our faces with an unceremonious bang. Skippy barked in protest. Turning to me, Nigel said, “Wow. She certainly didn’t like you.”

  “I’m all broke up. Interesting what she said, though, don’t you think?”

  “About my family? Very,” Nigel agreed as we made our way toward the elevator. “I wonder if she’s met Aunt Olive?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “But that’s not what I meant. She knew that Fat Saul was shot. But the police haven’t released that information to the public yet; not even Frank knew how he died.”

  Nigel came to a sudden stop and kissed me. “If we weren’t already married, Mrs. Martini, I’d ask you again. Now let’s go and get a copy of the Post. I don’t think I’ve ever been a headliner before.”

  I kissed him back. “Don’t be so modest, darling.”

  sixteen

  As Lizzy had said, we were the lead item on page six. It read:

  Nigel Martini is back in town, ladies! However, this time the former playboy of Manhattan has brought along his wife, former detective Nicole Landis. The two were spotted in the trendy bar at the Four Seasons with what some patrons described as a ‘small reindeer.’ (Bartender! We’d like what they’re drinking!) The two are in town for cousin Audrey Blackwell’s mega black-tie birthday bash this Saturday. The guest list is rumored to include the former and current mayor, as well as a few Oscar hopefuls. Although Audrey and hubby Leo appear to be happy lovebirds, there are rumors of trouble in paradise. Could Manhattan’s latest poor little rich girl be in for more heartache?

  Three small pictures ran with the story. In the first, Nigel was coming out of a nightclub. A scantily clad blonde bombshell was draped on his arm. In the second, I was being wheeled out of the hospital after the doctors dug the bullet out of my leg. Gunshot wound to the leg notwithstanding, I looked terrible. I made a mental note never to wear plaid again. The third picture was from Audrey and Leo’s wedding. Olive was right. Leo looked like a dirty married bachelor.

  “Pretty girl,” I said to Nigel when he came out of the shower. I tossed him the paper. He picked it up and glanced at the picture.

  “I’ve always thought so,” he agreed. “But you should avoid plaid at all costs.”

  “I meant the bimbo on your arm, you dingbat.”

  Nigel looked back at the paper and adjusted his towel. “Her?” He pretended to study the picture. “Oh, yes. I remember her now. Debbie McGuire. We met at the Botanical Gardens’ annual Cherry Blossom Festival. Sweet girl. Lovely cherries. Thought ‘horticulture’ was a charity program.”

  “I see. And were you able to provide her with any?”

  He smiled. “Well, you know what they say. ‘You can lead a whore to culture …’”

  “Yes, yes,” I said, knowing my cue. “But you can’t make her think.”

  He said solemnly, “The Martini family has a long tradition of public works. You know that.”

  I yanked his towel. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it these days?”

  _____

  Later, I called Marcy and told her about my meeting with Frank and Danny Little and also about Lizzy Marks.

  “I don’t know, Nic. I’ve been thinking about what Frank told you. He said it was some woman who called Fat Saul, right?” she asked. “He didn’t seem to think much of it at the time, but now that Fat Saul is dead, he suddenly tells you about Lizzy Marks.”

  “You think he’s steering us in the wrong direction?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I just find it odd that Danny Little is released from jail and then the man who is his biggest competitor and who works with his brother winds up dead.”

  “I wondered the same thing. But I got the impression that Frank really doesn’t know that Fat Saul was shot whereas Lizzy did.”

  “I admit that is interesting.”

  “I thought so. Anyway, I wanted to let you know. I’ll keep you posted if I find out more.”

  We said our good-byes and I hung up. Marcy had a point. It made perfect sense for Danny or Frank to kill Fat Saul and take over the business. But in my experience, most murder cases made very little sense.

  I sighed and sat back in the chair. I was tired, and my leg hurt. Nigel came over and pulled me out of the chair. “You walked too much today, didn’t you?” he said as he gently placed me on the bed.

  “Maybe a little,” I admitted.

  Nigel stretched out my leg. I closed my eyes as he began to expertly massage the muscle. “I know that my family asked you to find Leo,” he said, “but if that means you end up aggravating your wound, or anything else for that matter, then I’ll put us on the next plane home.”

  I opened my eyes. His face was serious. I smiled at him. “Don’t be silly, darling. It’s just a cramp. I’m fine.”

  “That you are,” he said, kissing me lightly on the mouth. “And I’m going to make sure you stay that way.”

  _____

  That evening we met Daphne at the latest trendy club to be favored by the rich and famous. It wasn’t that much different from any other New York club. Like those, it sold overpriced drinks and played too-loud music. The bathrooms were nice, with imported marble and gold faucets, but it still didn’t merit thirty dollars for a gin and tonic.

  Daphne was already there when we arrived and waved us over to her table. “Hi, Nic. Hi, Nigel,” she said. “You remember everyone, right?” she went on, gesturing to the crowded table.

  I didn’t, but didn’t really care enough to mention it. From the bar, a sultry brunette in a skimpy tank top and skinny jeans noticed
Nigel and jumped off her bar stool. “Nigel!” she squealed before running over to us. She had a round kewpie-doll face and eyelashes that resembled nesting caterpillars. When she got to Nigel, she placed her hands on either side of his face, pulled him close, and placed a wet kiss on his mouth.

  Nigel disentangled himself from the woman. “Hi, Casey,” he said, wiping the pink lipstick from his lips. “It’s … uh … nice to see you again.” Turning to me, he said, “Casey, this is my wife, Nic. Nic meet Casey.”

  “Hi, Casey,” I said as I opened my purse. Pulling out a container, I offered it to Nigel. “Here darling, have a Tic Tac.”

  Casey afforded me a giant, insincere smile. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “It’s just that Nigel and I have quite a history together.” She reached up and playfully caressed his cheek.

  “That’s nice,” I said as I reached over and removed her hand. “But sometimes you’ll find that history doesn’t repeat itself. It was lovely to meet you, Casey, but I think you’ll find that your friends are anxiously awaiting your return. I would hate for you to disappoint them on our account.” I sat down in the chair that Nigel pulled out for me and turned toward Daphne. “So, how are you?” I asked as Nigel echoed my good-byes and took a seat as well. Casey hovered uncertainly for a moment and then returned to her seat at the bar.

  Daphne raised her eyebrows in admiration. “Nicely done,” she said to me.

  “Thank you. As you might imagine, I’ve had some practice.”

  Daphne laughed. “I’ll bet you have.” Addressing Nigel, she adopted an admonishing tone, “You went out with Casey Wendell? Seriously? What were you thinking?”

  “I can tell you what he was thinking,” said a man to Daphne’s left. He had a broad face and a slightly crooked nose. He winked at Nigel.

  “That’s because you’re a twelve-year-old at heart, George,” said Daphne.

  “Yeah, but not anywhere else,” he retorted with a hearty laugh.

  “That’s what you think,” scoffed the redhead to his left whom I vaguely recognized as a guest at our wedding.

  “You hooking up with twelve-year-olds, Margo?” teased George. “That’s nasty.”

  The waiter came. He took our orders and interrupted George and Margo. I was grateful for both. Once he’d left, Daphne leaned over to me and asked in a low voice, “Any news on Leo?”

  “In a way. I haven’t found him, but I did talk to some friends of his,” I answered.

  “Who?”

  “I talked to Frank Little again, the guy Leo owed money to, and his brother Danny. Danny is the loan shark I was telling your mother about. He just got out of jail.”

  Daphne’s eyes widened. “Is he the really violent one?”

  “That’s Danny,” I confirmed. “But he’s nothing compared to Fat Saul.”

  “Well, did they say if Fat Saul had found Leo yet?” she asked.

  “No. And I don’t think he’s going to. Fat Saul was killed last night.”

  Daphne didn’t seem to understand my words at first. I couldn’t blame her. The music was impossibly loud. “What?” she asked.

  I repeated it. “Someone killed Fat Saul last night.”

  Daphne processed this while the waiter returned with our drinks. I took a sip of mine. Daphne sipped hers as well. “So, if this Fat Saul guy is dead, then why hasn’t Leo come home?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Well, Leo still owes the money. Except now he owes it to Frank. But honestly, it’s anyone’s guess why Leo is still gone. Maybe he didn’t leave because he owed money. Maybe there’s another reason. You said yourself that he has a tendency to take off when he meets someone he likes.”

  Daphne frowned. “True. But I don’t know. It just seems different this time.”

  “Why?”

  She fluttered her hands. “I don’t know. It just does.” She took another sip of her drink. So did I. “You said you talked to Leo’s ‘friends,’” she said. “Who else did you talk to?”

  “A woman named Lizzy Marks. Apparently she and Leo are close. Feel free to interpret that any way you want.”

  Daphne wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No, thanks. I gather she didn’t have any news?”

  I shook my head. “No. She claimed not to know much of anything, which I don’t believe because she grew up with Frank and Danny Little, and she seemed to have a grudge against your family.”

  Daphne raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Our family? Why? What did she say?”

  “Something along the lines of ‘the women are all money-grabbing hypocrites and that Audrey is more concerned about her image than Leo’s safety.’ Does her name ring a bell?” I asked.

  “What was is again?”

  “Lizzy Marks.”

  Daphne thought. “I don’t think I know her. I’ll ask Mother. What did she look like?”

  I described Lizzy. “In her forties. Pretty. Long blonde hair. Fake tan. She’s very fit and not shy about showing off her body. Has tattoos of butterflies on one ankle and a dove on the other.”

  “That’s quite a description,” Daphne said. “And you think Leo was having an affair with her? With a woman in her forties?”

  “She struck me as one of those women that men like. You know the type?”

  Daphne exhaled and sat back against her chair. Rolling her eyes, she said, “Oh, yes. I know the type.”

  seventeen

  Daphne’s phone rang and she went to answer it in a quieter spot. I turned to join Nigel’s conversation. He was arguing the merits of old movies to a man across the table. “How can you say that, Tom?” Nigel was indignantly demanding to know. “How can you possibly say that the actors in movies before the fifties aren’t any good?”

  Tom was thin, with olive skin and large brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. He laughed at Nigel. “Dude. Seriously? They’re old! Half of those movies are in black-and-white.”

  “That doesn’t affect the acting or the plot, you moron! Can you honestly tell me that you don’t think Humphrey Bogart wasn’t a great actor?”

  “Who?” Tom asked.

  “Humphrey Bogart! He was in The Maltese Falcon,” Nigel yelled.

  Tom shook his head. “I thought we were talking about movies, not books.” He paused. “No. Wait. Boggart? Isn’t that from Harry Potter? I do like those movies. But again, my point is made. They were made after 1950 and are in color.”

  Nigel stared at Tom aghast. “Good God, man. I don’t even know where to begin. Humphrey Bogart was an actor—the likes of which the world will never see again. Google him.You’re thinking of a boggart, which, I grant you, is from Harry Potter. But you do know that those were books first, yes? Please tell me yes, for the love of humanity, Tom, please. Tell. Me. Yes.”

  Tom smiled. “Yes, of course.”

  Nigel sighed his relief.

  “But,” Tom went on, “in my experience, the movie is always better than the book, so I rarely read.”

  Nigel began to sputter, his expression apoplectic. “What? WHAT?”

  I gently patted him on the shoulder. “Calm down, Nigel. I know that you have a special love for the classics, but don’t forget that you enjoyed the Harry Potter films, too.”

  Nigel took a large sip of his drink and said, “Yes, but not at the expense of Humphrey-freaking-Bogart.”

  _____

  While Nigel and Tom switched topics, now debating which movie earned the title of Best Christmas Movie, a woman named Nan Coswald slid into Daphne’s empty chair. Her face was thin and angular, a feature made even more so by the severe pageboy cut of her jet-black hair. Nan was a friend of Daphne’s from law school. She was nice enough, but lived and breathed what she referred to as “The Law.” It made for some tiring conversations.

  “Hello, Nic,” she said. “Where’s Daphne?”

  “She had to make a phone call,” I ans
wered. “I’m sure she’ll be right back.”

  Nan nodded. “She’s pretty busy these days now that she’s with her dad’s firm. I think she works longer than anyone else there just so people don’t think she’s getting preferential treatment.”

  Next to me Nigel was yelling at Tom. “You cannot possibly put It’s A Wonderful Life in the same category as National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation!”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Tom said. “How can you compete with Cousin Eddie?”

  “Do people think she’s getting preferential treatment?” I asked Nan.

  Nan shrugged. “Some do. People always like to talk. Of course, Max did give her some of his clients to work with. That had to have ruffled a few feathers. Especially when she started working for Meyers and Company.” She paused and looked at me meaningfully. I took a sip of my drink.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of them?” Nan asked.

  I took another sip and shook my head.

  “Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, Tom,” Nigel said. “Any more than Rocky IV was.”

  “How can you say that?” Tom countered. “Rocky fought Drago on Christmas Day!”

  Nan raised her eyebrows in amazement at my lack of knowledge. “Well, they are one of the biggest clients of the firm,” she said. “They mainly deal with commercial real estate, but recently they’ve branched out into the private sector. Of course, their focus is high-end luxury for the super rich. Some of their homes are just unbelievable. They did one last year that had three swimming pools! But Daphne is going to run herself into the ground unless she takes her foot off the gas. She’s never going to meet anyone working the hours she works.”

  “She’s out tonight,” I observed.

  “But she’s on the phone,” Nan countered.

  “Maybe it’s not work related,” I said, not really caring.

  Nan laughed. “No, it is. If Daphne were seeing anyone, she’d have told me. Besides, she says she’s off men for a while. She got pretty burned by her last one.”

  “Is that so?” I mumbled while I tried to catch Nigel’s eye.