Murder with a Twist

by Tracy Kiely

  Marcy shook her head in disgust. “Real classy guy, this Leo was.”

  “That he was,” I agreed.

  “So, she finds him on the floor, covered in blood. She grabs the knife—why?”

  “I have no idea. I think she was in shock. She ran out of the bathroom and into the ballroom and started screaming. I went into the bathroom and saw Leo on the floor. I made sure the hotel posted security at the bathroom’s entrance and called you. What do you think they’re going to do to Audrey?” I asked.

  Marcy looked over to where Audrey sat talking with the lead detective, Tom Cutter. Marcy didn’t look optimistic. “I don’t know, Nic,” she said. “Cutter’s a nice guy, but he’s also pretty cynical. I don’t know if he’s going to buy her story about trying to catch Leo in the act.”

  I looked at her. “Do you buy it?”

  Marcy didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know, Nic. I wish I could tell you different, but I just don’t know. But it’s not up to me. It depends on whether Tom Cutter believes her.”

  _____

  As it turned out, Tom Cutter did believe Audrey, but he made it clear that it was not a binding decision. Olive was, to say the least, outraged that Audrey could in any way be considered a suspect, and to prove her point screamed at the police. When they finally left, she turned her fury on me. It was only after Nigel and I returned to our rooms and took the phone off the hook that the yelling stopped.

  thirty

  The papers had a field day with Leo’s murder and Audrey’s discovery of the body. They all stopped short of setting themselves up for being sued for libel, but only by a hair. There were two schools of thought. One was that Audrey killed Leo in a drunken fit fueled by jealously. The second was that she deliberately killed him to rid herself of a two-timing cash hound. The only difference between the two theories, really, was a few drinks.

  Nigel and I sat in our hotel room reading the various versions of the story. “This one says Leo was stabbed in the chest,” said Nigel. “And this one,” he pointed to a different paper, “says he was stabbed in the neck.”

  “Well, he wasn’t,” I said. “Not that it matters in the end. He was stabbed, and he’s dead, and everyone thinks Audrey did it. Why the hell did she pick up the knife? Who does that?”

  “Audrey, apparently,” said Nigel.

  “This isn’t good, Nigel,” I said. “In fact, this is really bad.”

  “Yes, dear. I know. I might be new to all this, but I did gather that much. The question is, what are we going to about it?”

  A knock on our hotel door saved me from having to answer this. It was Daphne.

  “I’m sorry to bother you like this, Nic,” she said.

  “Not at all,” I said. “Come on in. Nigel and I were just reading the paper. How’s Audrey?”

  Daphne followed me into the front room where Nigel was sprawled on the couch. “She’s finally sleeping, thank God. We gave her a sedative from Mother’s private stash.” She took off her coat and laid it over the back of the desk chair. For once, she seemed a loss for words.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Nigel asked.

  “Yes, please. Do you have any vodka?”

  “I think so,” I answered.

  “Fine,” said Daphne. “Mix it with anything you’ve got, or I’ll take it straight.”

  I glanced at Nigel. As it was only 9:30 in the morning, I had been thinking more along the lines of coffee. Nigel shrugged.

  While I made her a drink, Nigel said, “What’s wrong, Daphne?”

  “Besides the fact that someone killed Leo and the police suspect Audrey?” she asked.

  “Is there a besides?”

  Daphne looked down. I finished making her drink and handed it to her. She took a long sip. “Yes,” she finally said. “There is a ‘besides.’ This is really awkward, but I need to ask Nic something about Leo.”

  I sat down next to Nigel. “Fire away.”

  Daphne took another sip. “When you found him, was there … was there any money on him?”

  “Money?” I repeated. “I don’t know. I checked his pulse, not his wallet. Why?”

  Daphne’s cheeks flushed red. “It’s just that … this is awkward, but I’d given Leo money earlier that night. A great deal of it actually.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Daphne glanced down before answering. “Blackmail. Leo saw Audrey leaving that woman’s apartment. Lizzy. You know, the one who was killed?”

  “I’m familiar with the situation, Daphne,” I said.

  “Right. Of course you are. Sorry. Anyway, Leo saw Audrey coming out of Lizzy’s apartment. Audrey didn’t see him. He went in after she left and found Lizzy dead. Leo told me that unless I paid him off, he was going to go to the police and tell them that Audrey killed Lizzy. I told him he was crazy and that no one would believe him, but then he said that if I paid him, he’d leave. Forever.”

  “Why did he come to you?” I asked. “I would have thought he would have gone to Max or your mother.”

  Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Can you imagine the scene my mother would create if Leo tried to blackmail her? Leo had gumption, but not that much gumption.”

  “Point taken. When did this happen?” I asked.

  “He called me the morning of Audrey’s party,” Daphne said. “He said that I was to give him the money at the party or he’d go to the police. He promised to stay for the party, and then he would leave Audrey for good.”

  “Just like that?” I asked.

  “Well, not exactly. He wanted me to deposit money into an account for him every month. The amount wasn’t outrageous. We could afford it.”

  “Who’s we?” I asked.

  “The family,” Daphne said, flushing a little. “I was going to talk to my dad about it and see what we could do.”

  “Did Audrey know about this?” Nigel asked.

  “Of course not! I couldn’t tell her. But I agreed to it. I didn’t want Audrey hauled up on charges of murdering that woman! Audrey didn’t kill her. I know that, but the police might not see it the same way. And here was a chance to get Leo out of her life. For good!”

  “Seems that happened anyway,” said Nigel.

  “Well, yes,” agreed Daphne. “But I didn’t know that was going to happen. I just wanted to protect Audrey.”

  I tried to piece together what Daphne was saying. “How much money did you give him?” I asked.

  When she told me the amount, I stood up and made myself a drink with vodka as well. “Better make me one, too, darling,” said Nigel.

  When I returned to the couch, I handed Nigel his drink. “Where did you get that kind of money, Daphne?” I asked, hoping I was wrong about the answer I suspected I was going to hear.

  Daphne flushed red. “Audrey’s trust fund. I took it out of the trust.”

  thirty-one

  I excused myself and left Nigel to deal with Daphne. From the bedroom I called Marcy. “Money?” she repeated after I asked her my question. “No, there wasn’t any money found on the body. Why?”

  I repeated what Daphne had told me. Well, minus the part where Leo was blackmailing Daphne about Audrey’s presence at Lizzy’s. I just left it that Daphne was paying Leo to leave. Marcy let out a low whistle. “Lord, Nic. That complicates things a bit.”

  “It might. But then again, it might help Audrey’s case. If Leo was killed for the money, then it lets Audrey off the hook.”

  “How so?”

  “Audrey didn’t have to kill Leo in the men’s room if she wanted the money. She could have just taken it out of his pocket when they got home.”

  “Or she might have found out about his plan to leave her and killed him out of anger. God knows, I’d be tempted if I were her. Who besides Daphne knew about the money?”

  “I don’t know if anyone knew.”
/>
  “Well, clearly someone knew,” said Marcy. “Because it’s gone now.”

  _____

  When I returned to the living room, I told Daphne and Nigel that no money had been found on Leo’s body. “But no one else knew about it!” Daphne said. “At least, I don’t think anyone did.”

  “Obviously, someone did, Daphne,” I answered.

  “Do you think whomever murdered Leo knew about the money, or do you think they found it … afterwards?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. But I suspect it’s an important distinction. Does your father know what you did?” I asked.

  Daphne shook her head. “I didn’t tell him. I was … I was too ashamed.”

  “He needs to know. Audrey needs to know as well.”

  Daphne finished her drink. “I know. I’ll tell them.”

  “Do you want us to come with you?” asked Nigel.

  Daphne’s face brightened a little, and she nodded. “Would you?”

  Nigel said that of course we would. I said nothing. I finished my drink and mulled over what Daphne had told us. I most certainly did not want to accompany her to tell Max and Olive the latest wrinkle in this mess. I could only imagine Olive’s wrath at discovering that not only had Daphne taken money from Audrey’s trust, but that the money was now gone. It was sure to be ugly. However, at this point, I couldn’t figure a way—polite or otherwise—to excuse myself from the scene. So, I did the only thing I could. I got up and headed for the shower.

  thirty-two

  “You did what?” Olive screamed at Daphne from the throne-like perch of her toile chair later that afternoon.

  “I took money from Audrey’s account to pay for Leo’s silence and for him to go away,” Daphne repeated for what must have been the fifth time.

  Max stared at Daphne, his expression inscrutable. “You did this?”

  Daphne glanced at him sharply. “Yes. I just told you that. I took out the money and gave it to Leo. And now it’s gone.”

  Max looked as if he was about to say something else, but Audrey spoke first. “Leo really said he’d leave me forever if you paid him?” she asked.

  Daphne looked at her, her face pinched with regret. “Yes. I’m sorry, Audrey. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it. I was just trying to protect you.”

  Audrey nodded. “I know. It’s okay. You’re not to blame. I am. For marrying someone like Leo in the first place.”

  Max leaned over and took her hand. “Audrey. Please. None of this is your fault. You aren’t the first person to make a bad marriage. He took advantage of you. Leo is to blame for all of this. And if he weren’t already dead …” Seeing Audrey blanch, he came to an abrupt stop. “Sorry.”

  Audrey ducked her head. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  Max turned to me. “But what does this mean? For Audrey? Are the police still looking for other leads? Do they really think Audrey could have done this?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “I spoke to my friend Marcy and told her about the missing money. I’m sure the police will look into that.”

  “Could Leo have owed more money to other people?” Daphne asked. “People other than Frank Little?”

  “He might have,” I said. “Anything is possible.”

  “Especially where Leo was concerned,” said Olive.

  Although I hated to admit it, she had a point.

  thirty-three

  The one person I thought could answer the question of Leo’s debts was Frank. He wasn’t at home, so we tried the family restaurant/front. Little’s Vittles was a hole in the wall located on a shabby side street on the Lower East Side. The décor was garish. The seating was a mix of red velvet and black pleather. Along the back wall behind the bar were highlights of some of the more famous scenes from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. Rather than God’s hand reaching out to provide Adam with the spark of life, a muscular version of Danny offered a reclining patron a plate of antipasto. In a nod to the nude Adam and Eve’s banishment from Paradise, two would-be patrons were chased out of Little’s by a reprimanding hostess. Based on their attire, their crime appeared to be that they were Red Sox fans.

  Not surprisingly, the restaurant was not crowded. In fact, the only occupants were Frank and Danny. Frank was wiping down the bar with a questionable-looking dishrag. Danny was sitting on a stool smoking a cigarette and reading the sports page. Neither appeared pleased to see us.

  “Landis! What the hell are you doing here?” Danny barked when he saw me.

  “I’m a gourmet at heart, Danny. But I am hurt that you can’t remember my name. It’s Martini. Like the drink.” I said.

  Danny scoffed. “More like a Shirley Temple,” he said.

  I smiled. “Why, thank you, Danny.”

  “I hate Shirley Temples,” Danny finished.

  “Do have some respect for the dead,” Nigel admonished. “That woman cheered up a nation in need.”

  “Good point. Let’s just stick with Martini,” I said as I took a seat at the bar. Nigel sat next to me. Skippy merely laid his head on the battered surface and stared at Frank. Nigel and I each picked up one of the menus and read the daily specials.

  “We’re not open right now,” said Frank.

  “Well, that is a shame,” Nigel said, laying his menu on the bar. “Because you had me with ‘The Codfather.’”

  “So, have you heard about our mutual friend Leo?” I asked.

  Frank nodded. “Yeah. We’re all broke up about it.”

  “I imagine you are. Easy marks with fat bank accounts are hard to come by,” I said.

  Frank produced a half laugh. Danny glared at him. “What do you want, Martini?” he asked as he stubbed out his cigarette into an ashtray.

  “Well, other than a desire to know what exactly is in a vittle, I wondered if Leo might have owed money to anyone besides you?”

  Frank cocked an eyebrow. “Man, if that were true then that boy would have been in deep.”

  “So, is that a no, then?” I asked.

  “Yeah. As far as I know, he only owed us. I would have heard about it otherwise. People knew I wanted my money. If there was a … competition for Leo’s attention to that matter, I would know. Why? What did you hear?”

  “I ran into Leo the night before he died. He was at The Lucky Lady.”

  Frank regarded me with wide-eyed amusement. “You were at The Lucky Lady? I would have loved to have seen that.”

  “I’ll be sure to call you next time I go. My point is that when I saw Leo there, he seemed to be in a particularly good mood.”

  “I’ll bet he did,” Danny said with a snort.

  I glanced at him. “Yes, well he seemed to be in a jolly mood for reasons other than the entertainment.” I returned my attention to Frank. “Leo told me that he’d paid off his debt to you. And yet he still had money to fling at the so-called ‘lucky ladies’ at the club.”

  Frank met my gaze. “And?” he asked.

  “And, I wondered if that was correct? Had Leo paid off his debt?”

  Frank nodded. “Yeah. We were all squared up. Why?”

  “Well, the last time we chatted, I think someone mentioned something about messing up Leo’s smug face. And I think that someone was you. But when I saw Leo that night he was bruise-free, and the next night the only bruising on his face was a result of a disagreement he had with my husband.”

  Frank and Danny looked at Nigel. Nigel shrugged. “It was a gentlemen’s disagreement. I didn’t think he was one.”

  Frank crossed his arms across his chest and frowned. “Yeah. Well, I still planned on smashing his face in, but now that he’s dead it seems …”

  “Excessive?” suggested Nigel.

  Frank nodded and grinned. “Yeah. Excessive. That works.”

  “But why didn’t you, as you so quaintly put it, ‘smash his face in�
�� when he paid you back?” I asked.

  Frank poured himself and Danny a glass of whiskey from behind the bar. He then held up the bottle to me with a questioning expression. I shook my head no. He shrugged and put the bottle back. “Leo didn’t pay me back in person,” Frank explained after taking a sip of his drink. “He sent some woman to do it for him. Typical Leo. Always hiding behind a chick.”

  I frowned. “He sent a woman to pay you? Was it his wife, Audrey?”

  “No,” said Frank, “It wasn’t her.”

  “So who was it then?”

  Frank took another sip and shook his head. “I don’t know. I never saw her before. She’s not the type of customer we usually get.”

  “Could she have been one of the dancers from The Lucky Lady?”

  Frank laughed at the suggestion. “Not unless they are completely changing their lineup to uptight blondes.”

  “But she was a friend of Leo’s?”

  Frank shook his head. “I doubt they were actually friends. She was a scared rabbit. I don’t think she was Leo’s type. Or visa versa.”

  “So what did this blonde look like?” I asked.

  Frank regarded me in confusion. “I just told you. Blonde.”

  I sighed. “Yes, but what else? Tall? Thin? Curvy? Sexy? Old? Young?”

  Understanding dawned in Frank’s eyes. “Oh. Yeah. She was young. Thin. Kind of the Grace Kelly type rather than a Marilyn Monroe, if you know what I mean.”

  I looked at Frank in surprise. “Why, Frank! I never pegged you for a movie buff.”

  He nodded. “Only the older stuff. The stuff they put out today is crap.”

  “A man after my own heart,” said Nigel. “Tell me Frank, what does Bogart mean to you?”

  Frank regarded him curiously. “What do you mean, what does Bogart mean? Like Humphrey Bogart?”

  Nigel nodded.

  “Other than being one of the best damn actors of his generation? Nothing. Why, should it?” he asked.