Murder with a Twist

by Tracy Kiely

  “Yeah, they’re already dead.”

  “Perfect.” Nigel placed a Bellini in my hand. I looked at it in confusion. “This isn’t a Christmas present, Nigel, it’s breakfast.”

  “I know. Wait a second.” He pulled a small box out of the closet and placed it on my lap. I lifted the top and looked inside. “Thank you, Nigel! It’s beautiful!” I said, lifting out the double-strand pearl necklace. “Yours is under the bed.”

  “I know,” Nigel said as he jumped off the bed and peered underneath it. “I found it yesterday, but I didn’t peek.” He ripped off the wrappings, opened the box, and pulled out the watch he’d been mooning over for the past few months. Kissing me soundly on the lips, he said, “Thank you, darling. I love you. Merry Christmas.”

  “I love you, too, dear. Can we go back to sleep now?”

  “Wait, we have to give Skippy his presents.”

  “I hadn’t realized that we’d gotten Skippy presents,” I admitted.

  “I know. I signed your name to the card anyway,” he said as he grabbed a bag off the closet shelf. Skippy wagged his tail excitedly and let out a happy bark. Nigel pulled out a stuffed snowman and tossed it in the air. Skippy leapt up and caught the toy in his mouth. It let out a loud squeak.

  Nigel crawled back into bed with me. Random squeaking sounds pierced the air. I curled up next to Nigel. “You didn’t know that it made a noise, did you?” I asked.

  “There’s a distinct possibility I overlooked that fact.”

  After we removed the snowman’s squeaker, we went back to sleep. When we awoke again at a more civilized hour, we had breakfast sent up. Afterward, we opted to stay in our hotel room. We were due to meet Nigel’s entire family for six o’clock mass at St. Patrick’s, but until then we saw no reason to venture outside. There, it was cold, windy, and filled with Martinis. And not the good kind. As Nigel said, you had to pace yourself with Martinis. Our bodies were far too fragile for the demands they put upon them. Instead, we spent the majority of the day engaged in far more enjoyable pursuits.

  By four it was time to get ready. “Come on, Nigel,” I said when I stepped out of the shower. “We need to get a move on, or we’ll be late.”

  Nigel was sprawled on the couch nursing his Dirty Martini and reading the paper. “But what about Skippy?” he asked. Skippy who was lying calmly at Nigel’s feet, perked his ears up attentively at the sound of his name. “We can’t leave him alone on Christmas Eve.”

  “I don’t think he’s a practicing Christian. He’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve arranged for one of the more tolerant members of the hotel staff to look in on him.”

  Nigel was unconvinced. “Do we really have to go?” he asked glancing at the blustering sky outside.

  “Yes,” I replied. “It’s Christmas. We’re going to church.”

  “This is my church,” he said, nodding respectfully to his Dirty Martini.

  Resting my hand on his shoulder, I said, “Darling, this is one of those red flags we read about. Step away from the cocktail, and get your ass ready for church.”

  By some form of divine intervention, which came in the form of finding an available cab, we arrived at St. Patrick’s in time to find a seat near the rest of the family. Olive, with her fur coat slung over her shoulders like a poncho, smiled and gave us a half wave as if she were a queen receiving visitors.

  I slid into the pew next to Doris and Paul. “Merry almost Christmas,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Better now that Olive has taken her pills,” Doris replied, casing an irritated glance in Olive’s direction. “She was livid at the potential scandal of Leo not attending mass with the family. Threw a monster of a fit.”

  I looked over to where Audrey sat. She was one down from Olive, next to Max. She looked very pale and delicate. Her blonde hair was tucked neatly under a black velvet hat. “How is Audrey holding up?” I asked.

  “She’s trying to keep it together, but it can’t be easy with Olive wailing about it every five minutes,” she said.

  “No, I imagine not,” I said as the choir began to sing, signaling the start of mass.

  _____

  When mass was over, we filed out into the cold night and made our way to Max and Olive’s. Once inside, Max took my coat. “Joe has the night off, I take it?” I asked.

  Max smiled. “It wasn’t without a fight, I assure you.”

  “You’re kidding?” I said in surprise. “Olive really wanted Joe to work on Christmas Eve?”

  Max shook his head. “No, it was the other way around. Joe wanted to help out. Very thoughtful of him, but it’s a little too Ebenezer for my taste.”

  “I have to say that is surprising. Joe must have changed since when I knew him.”

  Max laughed and said, “Speaking of which, one of these days you’ll have to tell me about our esteemed butler’s former life. I have the distinct impression that Janet Harris had a bit of fun at our expense.”

  Before I could answer, Olive descended upon us. “Nicole! Nigel!” she cooed. “Merry Christmas! Wasn’t it a lovely service? I so enjoy St. Patrick’s. They do know how to put on a Christmas mass.”

  “You make it sound like a play, darling,” Nigel said as he leaned in to kiss her.

  “Don’t be blasphemous,” she admonished. Noticing my pearl necklace, she added, “What a lovely necklace, Nicole. Is it new?”

  “Yes,” I said as I raised my hand to touch the pearls. “Nigel gave it to me for Christmas.”

  Olive frowned. “But it’s not Christmas yet! And besides, I specifically told you to get Nicole a fur coat, Nigel. After all, she’s a Martini now. You have a societal duty.”

  “I know, dear. And I take medication for it.” With a wink, he added, “I’ll get my second wife a fur coat.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “I’d like to see you live that long.”

  Olive let out a frustrated sigh and declared Nigel “impossible.” His mission accomplished, Nigel led me to the living room to join the rest of the family.

  Daphne was standing with Audrey and Toby by the bar. Nigel busied himself making us a drink while I said hello to everyone. “What was Mother crabbing at you for this time?” Daphne asked me.

  “We’ve scandalized her by exchanging our Christmas presents a day early,” I answered.

  “What heathens you are,” she said, laughing.

  Nigel handed me my drink. “So, what are your plans for tomorrow?” Daphne asked us.

  “We are taking Nigel’s parents to Radio City to see the Rockettes’s Christmas show,” I answered.

  Daphne looked at Nigel in surprise. “Seriously? You’re going to see the Rockettes?” she asked.

  Nigel nodded. “I’ve never been. If I’m going to be in New York for Christmas, then I’m going to do every cliché thing I can. After the show, we are going skating at Rockefeller Center and then buy some hot chocolate and take a stroll up Fifth Avenue and look at the windows at Bergdorf Goodman.”

  Daphne laughed and shook her head. “You two will be a walking brochure for New York by the time you’re through.”

  “What are your plans?” I asked.

  Daphne shrugged. “Nothing nearly as fun. I’m bringing Audrey over in the morning, and we’ll exchange gifts and have dinner. I don’t expect it to be a particular jolly day. Now that I think about it, I may have to go into the office.”

  Nigel sputtered. “On Christmas? You’re kidding, right? Why would you need to go into the office on Christmas?”

  Daphne produced a grim smile. “I don’t believe that I said I ‘need’ to go into the office. I said I ‘may’ have to. And after a few hours here, you might find yourself longing for the peace and quiet of an empty office too.”

  We all looked over to where Olive stood talking to Audrey. She appeared to be lecturing her. Audrey stood meekly, her head hung low.

 
; “I stand corrected,” said Nigel. “If I were you, I might even stop off somewhere and donate blood.”

  “Nigel,” I said with a laugh, “After this week, the only thing your blood would be good for would be pickling.”

  “Well, we all need a talent,” he said.

  _____

  Nigel and I spent Christmas day as planned. We met up with Doris and Paul and spent the day playing tourist, complete with window-shopping, drinking hot cocoa, skating, and watching the Rockettes. It was nice not to concentrate on missing philanders, critical in-laws, and truculent ex-cons. Of course, it didn’t last. It never does.

  _____

  I awoke the next morning to the phone ringing. Nigel raised his head off the pillow and cast a baleful eye at it. “Every time I hear that phone, it’s ringing,” he complained before returning to sleep. I fumbled for the receiver. The nightstand clock read 7:00 a.m.

  “You’ve reached the body of Nic Martini,” I said. “Please leave a message.”

  “Nic?” said a voice. It sounded far away. “Are you there?”

  “In a metaphysical sense,” I admitted. “Who is this?”

  “Marcy. Did I wake you? Look, I’m sorry to bother you,” she went on without waiting for my answer, “but something’s come up.”

  I yawned. “Such as?”

  “That woman who was seeing Leo? Lizzy Marks? Well, she’s dead. And in case you’re wondering, it wasn’t natural causes.”

  I sighed. “No. It wouldn’t be, would it?”

  twenty-one

  According to Marcy, Lizzy had been killed sometime late Christmas night. She’d been found by a neighbor who’d become concerned when she’d noticed the apartment door wide open. “She was a door-shut kind of lady, if you know what I mean,” the neighbor had explained. Marcy said she did.

  There was no sign of forced entry, so the police were working on the assumption that she knew her killer. From what I knew about Lizzy, that didn’t exactly narrow the field. It was assumed that Lizzy had not been expecting a romantic visit based on her outfit: workout clothes. While they were spandex and left little to the imagination, Marcy said it appeared that Lizzy had recently been exercising. There was a workout video in the DVD player, and there were free weights nearby. The coroner concluded that Lizzy died from an impact to the head by a blunt object. She’d fallen—or been pushed—onto the kidney-shaped table I’d seen when I’d visited.

  “Do you think your friend Leo could have had anything to do with this?” Marcy asked me.

  I sat up in the bed and answered. “A: He’s not my friend, and B: I have no idea. It would be nice in a way if he did. It would be the simplest way to get him out of Audrey’s life. But from what I know about Leo, if he killed every woman he had an affair with, there’d be a hell of a lot more bodies piled up.”

  “You make a valid point. However, I was thinking about that call to Fat Saul before he went out and got himself shot.”

  “You think Lizzy might have made that call?” I asked.

  “At the very least, it’s a possibility. However, it could be that someone just wants us to think that she did.”

  “And by ‘someone’ do you mean Frank Little?”

  “I might.”

  “But for what reason? Why would Frank want to kill Lizzy?”

  “That I can’t answer. But you said yourself that there’s a lot of money involved here. I just feel like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle.”

  “I think that piece might be Leo.”

  “Which is why we’re looking for him. I assume that you’ll let me know if you hear of anything?” she asked.

  “Wait, now that I think of it, Frank mentioned something about Lizzy having an ex-husband who wasn’t taking the divorce very well. Thought he could beat her into changing her mind.”

  “Who says romance is dead?” she said. “Any idea what this Romeo’s name is?”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Billy something. Billy Morgan.”

  “Right. Well, thanks for the tip. I’ll let you know if I find anything and vice versa.”

  “You’ll be the first one I call,” I assured her.

  After I hung up the phone, I turned to Nigel. “That was Marcy. Lizzy Marks is dead. She was found this morning. Hit her head on the table.”

  “Dear God,” he said his eyes wide. “Did Marcy say if they know who did it?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. No sign of forced entry, but they don’t think she was expecting company. She was in her workout clothes.”

  “I think she was in those when we paid her a visit.”

  “Point taken.”

  Nigel frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you being involved with this. Finding a missing husband is one thing; murder is something very different.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said with a smile. “I’m in no danger.”

  “Maybe. But I want to keep it that way,” he said.

  I leaned over and kissed him. “I promise I’ll be safe. Anyway, Marcy would very much like to talk to Leo.”

  Nigel sat up and pushed the bed covers aside. “Wouldn’t we all? But why would Leo kill Lizzy?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Who knows? But according to Frank, Fat Saul received a phone call from a woman before he went out. Maybe Lizzy did know where Leo was and called Fat Saul. Maybe Lizzy wasn’t as loyal to Leo as she claimed.”

  “So, Leo kills Fat Saul and then figures out that Lizzy was the one who ratted him out, so he kills her too?” Nigel asked as he glanced over the room service menu. “I want coffee. And eggs. And then more coffee.” He put the menu down and sighed. “Seems a little too simple.”

  “Throw in some bacon and a bread basket.”

  “I meant about Leo. But you make a valid suggestion.”

  _____

  Marcy called me later that morning to tell me that they had picked up Lizzy’s ex-husband, Billy Morgan, for questioning. “He’s a real charmer,” Marcy said. “I think you’ll like him.”

  “Is that an invitation to come to the station?” I asked.

  “I guess so. I can think of at least ten different places I’d rather be, but we can’t all have the same idea as to how to spend an afternoon in New York.”

  “Thanks, Marcy. I’ll be right there.”

  I left Nigel and Skippy curled up on the bed watching A Christmas Story. Outside, it was cold and windy. The sky was an ominous shade of dark gray. I pulled my coat tightly against me and asked the bellman to hail me a cab. It took him several minutes to find one. I gave the doorman a generous tip for his trouble and directed the cab driver to take me to the 76th Precinct in Brooklyn. It had been a few years since I’d been there, but the building was unchanged. It was your standard government structure, made of cement and brick. The fact that it housed criminals might also be considered by some to be a standard government feature.

  Marcy met me at the front desk, signed me in, and handed me a temporary badge. I followed her down the hall to an interrogation room. Inside was a long metal table and a few chairs. At the table sat the man I’d seen smoking outside of Lizzy’s apartment. He had a muscular build and almost no neck. He glanced up when I entered but didn’t appear to recognize me.

  “Who’s she?” he asked Marcy in a gravely voice as she pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “A concerned citizen,” Marcy answered. “Now, why don’t you tell me about your relationship with your ex-wife.”

  “Well, considering that she was my ex-wife, I guess you could say that it wasn’t too good,” he sneered.

  “You’re not too clever are you, Billy?” Marcy asked. “Your ex-wife ends up dead, apparently as the result of some altercation, and you want to make jokes about how you didn’t get along?”

  Billy pushed back in his chair. “I’m not going to lie to you. I hated her. She double crossed me. When I go
t sent to jail, she divorced me and stole my money.”

  “What money was this?” Marcy asked.

  “It was from an insurance scam. I got busted and she got the money. When I got out I paid her a visit to remind her that she owed me.”

  Marcy opened a file on the table in front of her and pulled out a paper. “Oh, yes. I think I have a record of that visit. Would this be the visit during which you broke her arm?”

  Billy frowned. “You can’t prove that was me.”

  “And yet your ex-wife did just that—got a restraining order against you too. How far away were you supposed to stay?” Marcy asked.

  “Five hundred feet. And I did, too.”

  Marcy put the paper back into the folder. “And yet we have witnesses who claim that they saw you outside her apartment on several occasions.”

  “I might have been in the neighborhood,” Billy admitted. “But I never got closer than five hundred feet.”

  “Well, that remains to be seen,” said Marcy. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about her? Any idea what she was doing?”

  Billy shrugged. “Not really, but I knew she was working some kind of scam. She’d got herself a real job at some office. She was smart, I’ll give her that. She could get anyone’s confidence. Look, I didn’t kill her. I swear. I just wanted her to pay me back my money. That’s all I wanted.”

  “From the sound of it, you were outside her apartment a fair amount of time. Did you see anything suspicious?” Marcy asked.

  Billy shook his head. “No. People going in and out.”

  Marcy tapped the folder with her fingernail. “You must have started to recognize the people who lived in the building. Did you see anyone new?”

  Billy furrowed his forehead in concentration. “There were a few people. Saw a couple with a crazy big dog.”

  Marcy glanced at me. “Uh-huh. We know about them. Anyone else?”

  Billy thought some more, but was of no real help. It seems that Lizzy’s building had many visitors. He’d seen an uptight blonde, a dumpy grandmother, a maintenance man, and a thin man with slick hair. This last one might have been Leo, but it was too vague to prove anything.