by Nancy Martin
At once, I said, “Somebody tried to grab my handbag, that’s all.”
“Bullshit. Abruzzo obviously knows it was more than that, or you wouldn’t have his attack dog along tonight.”
Attack dog? To me, Aldo was more of an overweight mutt that slept on furniture and smelled bad.
Bloom said, “I already talked to the cops who took your statement. Now I want the details from you.”
“Why? What possible connection could a purse snatching have to Penny Devine’s murder? It is Penny who’s dead, by the way, isn’t it? Have you made it official yet?”
Bloom sighed shortly. “No, not yet. We’re still having a problem with the morgue. We’re not the city of Philadelphia,” he added with heat, “so we have to play Mickey Mouse games. But today the brother and sister identified the wristwatch as definitely Penny’s. They’re making a fuss to have her body—what’s left of it—returned so they can bury it.”
I heard the bitter note in his voice. More than anything, Bloom wanted a job on the city’s homicide squad, but he’d been stuck in a sleepy suburb for a few years now, and the constant exasperation took its toll. Tonight Bloom seemed more agitated than usual. His modus operandi was to play a Boy Scout in search of points for his next merit badge, but this evening I could see tension vibrating in him.
I softened my tone. “Can you blame the family? The longer it takes, the more publicity there will be. It’s all very ghoulish for them.”
He snorted. “Yeah, wait till you see Entertainment Tonight. They had a camera crew all over the Main Line today, shooting footage. A cop brought his lunch in a paper bag, and the cameraman zoomed in like we were smuggling in body parts with the Quiznos sandwiches.”
“Do you have any theories about how she died?”
He surprised me by telling me the truth. “Yeah, maybe. An employee of the Devine estate who disappeared a few months ago. Kelly Huckabee, a gardener or something.”
“Kell disappeared?”
“Yeah, do you know him?”
“A little. I wondered where he was. No wonder the place looks so terrible.”
“He was lousy at his job?”
“He grew up on the estate. His parents were live-in servants of the Devines. And he married a woman who came to the estate when she was hired as the household manager. But she died. If he disappeared, this is a big development, isn’t it? Do you think he—good heavens, did he kill Penny?”
Bloom shrugged. “Nobody knows where he is. The Devines say he took off last fall and didn’t come back.”
“Could he have left around the time Penny died?”
“The autopsy will tell.”
“He killed Penny and left town?”
“That’s the idea.”
I considered Bloom’s theory. Of course, it made sense. Kell Huckabee’s bad temper made him an obvious killer in my imagination. But why a gardener would kill his employer’s famous sister—that question was beyond me.
Bloom shoved his hands into his pockets. “I ran Huckabee’s name through the system and came up with a couple of assault charges against him.”
“I’m not surprised. He was a good candidate for anger management.”
“There was one complaint he filed, too.”
“Against whom?”
“Some newspaper writer.”
“Anyone I know?”
Bloom hesitated, then clearly decided he had nothing to lose by telling me. “Guy named Crewe Dearborne.”
I tried to maintain a neutral expression, but my insides did a flip-flop. I had no idea Crewe even knew Julie’s father. “Kell Huckabee filed a complaint against Crewe Dearborne? For what?”
“A fistfight, from the look of the report. Doesn’t seem like Huckabee was totally innocent in the altercation.” Bloom sighed and rubbed his face. He muttered, “If I could forget about sleeping, I’d get to the bottom of it. I hate looking like Barney Fife on national TV.”
I touched his arm. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as that.”
He glanced at my hand. When things with Michael had been at their worst, spending time with an officer of the law had seemed like a good idea. At least I didn’t have to worry about him going to jail on a regular basis.
And Bloom had been interested in me, too. But eventually I had realized all he really wanted was to get himself noticed by the city police force by nailing Big Frankie Abruzzo’s son. I discovered Bloom’s primary fascination with me had been to get himself an informant.
I pulled my hand away.
He allowed his gaze to skim my dress before saying, “Tell me about the guys who tried to grab you.”
“Neither one of them was Kell Huckabee. I’d have recognized him.”
“So describe them.”
“I already—okay, okay. Two big men, both with strong upper bodies, dark complexions—”
“The report said you used the word ‘Mediterranean.’ You meant Italian?”
“Or Spanish, maybe. Dark hair. Olive skin.”
“Brazilian?”
My interest sharpened. “Why do you ask?”
“Did you hear any accents?”
I shook my head. “They sounded local. New Jersey, maybe. Why do you ask if they might have been Brazilian?”
He shrugged. “I want to cover all the bases.”
“Some of the visiting polo players are from Brazil.”
“I know. I tried to interview a bunch of them. But do you know how hard it is to find a Portuguese interpreter on my budget?”
“Sorry. Did you learn anything?”
“Not much,” he grumbled. “Penny Devine bought a lot of horses for polo players.”
“Like Raphael Braga.”
He heard the change in my voice and shot me a look. “You know Braga?”
“A little, yes. A lot, actually.”
“How? What’s your relationship?”
“He married a college friend of mine. I did them a favor a long time ago.”
“What kind of favor?”
At once, I was sorry I’d mentioned it. I didn’t want to get into it with Detective Bloom, who would get even more wrong ideas than Michael. So I told him the bare minimum. “Nothing to do with Penny Devine’s death. Penny was Raphael’s patron, though. Which means she paid some of his expenses. That might lead you somewhere.”
Bloom studied me, puzzled and intrigued. “She gave Braga a hell of a lot of money over the years, in fact, in the form of horses. I’m trying to figure out how much, but again, my budget doesn’t allow for a simple phone call to Brazil, let alone an international audit. I was thinking…”
I met his gaze and said nothing.
“I was thinking maybe you could help me out,” he finished.
The last thing I wanted was for anyone to start digging around Raphael Braga.
But I heard myself ask, “What do you need to know?”
“Braga’s connection to Penny Devine. Was it purely business? I mean, if he got horses out of it, what did she get?”
“I don’t know. You’re thinking their business arrangement might have gone bad somehow.”
“Maybe. It was a very sweet deal for Braga. But it looks one-sided to me.”
“Maybe they simply enjoyed each other’s company.”
“She was forty years older than he is!”
“They had a common interest in horses.”
Bloom squinted at me. “Are you defending him?”
“God, no.”
“This favor you did for him. What’s that all about? Does it mean you’ve got some emotional tie to the man?”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that at all. What else have you learned about Potty? Or Vivian?”
He hesitated, trying to find a way to ask the same questions again. He shot a glance across the marble floor at Aldo, who stood glowering at us.
“All right.” Bloom gave up at last. “The old guy’s coming here tonight.”
Startled, I said, “Potty’s coming out this evening?” That infor
mation explained the number of television trucks outside the theater. “So much for being afraid of bad publicity.”
“He cut short my interview this afternoon because he had to go home to get dressed for this damn thing. He seemed pretty anxious to get here in time for the free drinks.”
“The drinks aren’t free. Everybody here has donated at least ten thousand dollars to help fund the ballet’s orchestra. Potty’s been a big donor over the years.”
“Still, I’d like to know why he’d brave more television cameras to come tonight. Why’s it important for him to show up?”
“I have no idea. Many people simply write a check and stay home. Do you want me to find out why he insisted on coming this evening?”
Bloom stopped watching Aldo and turned to give me a long stare. “I can’t help noticing you’re awfully willing to help this time. Except for Braga, you’re almost eager, in fact. I haven’t even threatened to arrest Abruzzo to get you on my side.”
“There’s no need to make a threat we both know is empty.”
Bloom frowned. “But you’re volunteering to help me out. What’s changed?”
“Nothing,” I said. I had my own reasons to want to corner Potty. I still had an envelope full of his cash. “Look, here comes Potty now.”
From the windows, we watched Potty Devine get out of a new Cadillac and hand the keys and a cash tip to the valet-parking attendant. Television lights blazed on, and cameras followed him across the sidewalk. A reporter rushed forward, brandishing a microphone. Potty irritably waved him off and shoved through the door to the theater.
Bloom and I left the window and went to the balustrade to watch Potty labor up the marble stairs. He wore evening clothes with a light overcoat and a black hat tilted at an angle that looked positively jaunty.
At the top of the stairs, a woman squealed and ran down two steps to fling her arms around Potty. She nearly knocked him down the staircase with the force of her affection. I recognized Nuclear Winter. Potty reached around and gave Nuclear’s bottom a squeeze.
Sounding surprised, Bloom said, “He’s a dirty old man!”
“Potty does enjoy young women,” I said on a sigh. “That’s Noreen Winter, better known as ‘Nuclear’ Winter. She’s rather famous around town.”
“For?”
“For pursuing rich men who—uhm—don’t always survive.”
“She kills them?” Bloom sounded startled.
“With love,” I said. “Two of her former partners didn’t have sufficient cardiac stamina to withstand her affections.”
“Devine doesn’t look worried.”
“No, he doesn’t, does he? Shall I go talk to Potty now? What would you like to know?”
Bloom continued to frown. “Ask him about his relationship with his sister Penny. Just see where the conversation leads.”
“Aye, aye, Detective.”
I cut across the lobby to head off Potty at the bar.
Chapter Twelve
Tonight Nuclear Winter looked like an escapee from Girls Gone Wild in her slinky strapless dress that barely clung to her breasts. She towered over Potty in shoes high enough to require a strobe light to warn low-flying planes. Potty, standing three inches shorter than his Amazonian companion, handed her a champagne, and they clinked glasses and giggled together.
“Potty,” I said, but he didn’t hear me. I touched his arm.
He turned and shouted, “Nora! Don’t you look pretty tonight! Ha-ha!”
In the crowded party, it was going to be hard to communicate with him without sharing our conversation with a hundred people.
I raised my voice anyway. “Hi, Potty. Are you having a good time?”
“Yes, it’s delicious wine!” he bellowed. “Can I get you a glass?”
“That would be lovely, thank you!”
Beaming, he toddled after the waiter.
Which left me standing with his date. Nuclear had been pretty once, I could tell, but her lips were ballooned out of proportion now, and the implants in her cheeks, her chin and her breasts made her look as generic as any aspiring starlet.
“Get lost, honey,” Nuclear said to me. “I saw him first.”
“Honey,” I said, “I’m not here to stop you from landing the big fish. Just give me ten minutes alone with him first, please?”
“What for?” Nuclear drank a slug of champagne. “You gonna write something nice about Potty in the paper? I keep telling him he needs a press agent, but he says he can do it his way.”
His way, I knew, meant bribing journalists. “Trust me,” I said. “I’ll do everything I can for Potty. How about giving us some time to talk it over?”
She gave my dress a withering look and clearly decided she didn’t have to worry about competition from me. Then she spotted the ring on my hand, and her eyes bugged out. “Okay, ten minutes. I have to go to the little girls’ room, anyway.”
She made an about-face and wiggled off in search of the nearest bathroom.
The string quartet took a break as Potty elbowed his way back to me through the crowd. “Did you meet Darlene?”
I accepted the glass of champagne he offered and tried putting my mouth close to his ear. “I thought her name was Noreen.”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted with a twinkling grin. “Maybe it’s Charlene. Or Marlene. I get them all mixed up after a while.”
He reached into his ear and adjusted the mechanism on his hearing aid.
“You’re very lucky with the ladies, Potty.”
“It’s not luck. It’s money, dear girl. Ha-ha!” He laughed, no illusions.
“Money can’t be the only secret to your success.”
“Oh, I know how to make snappy conversation with the young ones. Get them talking about themselves, that’s what works.”
I smiled. “You’re a lady-killer, Potty.”
“Truth be told?” He slipped his hand past the silk lapel and into his jacket. “I have my little jelly beans to thank.”
But it wasn’t candy that came out of his pocket. Potty held up a small, clear vial and shook it, showing me half a dozen little blue pills.
It was the kind of small bottle Todd had used to bring his cocaine home from the street. I took the vial from Potty and looked more closely at the pills inside. “What are they?”
“MaxiMan.” Potty laughed heartily at my expression. “Oh, don’t be shocked, Cousin Nora. You look like a young lady who enjoys her bedroom. Those little beans changed my life.”
“I thought MaxiMan wasn’t on the market yet.”
“It’s not. It’s in the testing phase. And who better to test them?”
“Potty, are you sure it’s safe for you to—”
“These pills are the safest of their kind. Don’t worry about me. I’ve used them a hundred times, and I am here to tell you that satisfaction is guaranteed.”
“How…nice for you.”
“Nice for you, too,” he promised, folding my hand more firmly around the vial. “Take those home. Find some fella who’ll swallow one, and you’ll end up in paradise.”
“Potty—”
“No, no, I insist. Take ’em. I have plenty more where those came from.”
So Potty was the Devine Pharmaceuticals insider who was passing out MaxiMan so freely.
Rather than argue with him, I tried to change the subject. “Potty, you and I have had a little misunderstanding, and I want to set the record straight. At the polo match, you slipped an envelope into my pocket, and that was very naughty of you.”
He winked. “I’m a naughty man.”
“Thing is, Potty, I can’t accept money from you. And I certainly can’t promise to give you favorable treatment in my column.”
“Nora, that envelope was a gift! You could use a little financial help, right?”
“That’s very kind of you, but we both know it was not a gift.” I had the envelope out of my handbag by that time, and I pressed it into his palm. “I must return the cash, Potty.”
He
grinned. “Is it all there?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You sure I can’t convince you to take it?”
“Absolutely not. I know you’re upset about Penny’s death, and no doubt that clouded your judgment. It must be a terrible shock—”
“Oh, not such a shock.” Potty amenably slipped the envelope into his breast pocket. “We’ve known for some time she was dead.”
“Because of the suicide note.”
“What? Oh, yeah, the suicide note. And those runaway trips of hers—eventually one of ’em was going to end badly.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked. “Didn’t she hide out at spas? That seems safe to me.”
“Spas?” Potty scoffed. “Not unless they had hot and cold running men. Hell, Penny didn’t go off to lose weight.”
“What?”
“Younger men, that was her real addiction—ha-ha!”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure! The old girl surrounded herself with young fellas—the younger the better. All bought and paid for. That’s how she spent her money, you know. Buying affection. Those good-looking polo players? That’s who she ran away to.”
“Do you think—I mean, could one of her boyfriends have killed her?”
“During some kinky sex?” Potty asked with a knowing wink.
“No, that’s not what I—”
“You’re blushing again, Cousin Nora. No, my bet is that Penny’s heart gave out. What a way to go, right?”
“But why would she end up—Potty, this is very hard for me to say, but why would anyone—”
“Cut her up into pieces afterwards?” Potty took a swig of champagne and eyed me, his expression turning cold. “Let me ask you this, young lady: Do you think sex is all about hearts and flowers? Lovey-dovey whispers in the dark? Hell, no, it can be angry, too, right? Rage and frustration and anger channeled into the physical act of procreation.”
My throat dried out. “So you believe Penny’s last lover might have been furious enough to…?”
“Divide my sister into manageable chunks? Yes, I do. Penny was an infuriating woman. And I know all about infuriating women. Sometimes?” He leaned closer until I could smell his breath mint. “Those girls I screw? I just want to punch their lights out afterwards.”