by Cassie Page
Tuesday licked off a creamy mustache left by her doctored coffee before she answered.
“I told you that various cultures use symbols as a form of communication. And Native American tribes are among those cultures. Let’s talk this out. If Jed discovered that the site was on a buried Indian village as you heard those guys hint yesterday, this might be a warning to leave it alone.”
“You mean someone from a tribe wants me to abandon the project?”
Tuesday answered, “An antique car museum could seem like a huge insult to people who revere their ancestors. Yeah, I think you could say they are telling you to back off.”
“But why would they come after me? I didn’t know Jed or what he found. He never showed it to me.”
Musing, Tuesday said, “Yeah, but, like you’ve been telling me, your name is all over the project. Could they have a mole inside the project and knew you overheard those guys talking?”
“Oh, Tuesday, that is so far-fetched I won’t even discuss it.”
“Okay, doll, but if you come up with something better, send me a smoke signal.”
Then Olivia had a brainstorm. “What about this? Suppose the message is the opposite. Suppose they are telling me I should let the project go forward.”
Tuesday collected her dishes, saying, “I’m not sure how you got from here to there, but since we don’t know what the three piece gift pack means, you’re entitled to have any theory that feels good.”
She rinsed the dishes in the sink before stacking them in the dishwasher, turned on the garbage disposal and got an ominous whine before it chunked to a halt. She jumped back a little, surprised.
“Ooops. Sorry, OMG, I seem to have jammed your disposal.”
Olivia rushed over to the sink and tried to free up the stuck motor by flipping the switch on and off. Then she used a long handled wooden spoon to see if she could pry the gears loose, but no luck.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s old. I should have had a new one installed when I remodeled the kitchen. I’ll call Vittorio, my electrical guy. He upgraded all the wiring in the house. I bet it will take him a New York minute to fix that.”
She reached for her phone and found him on speed dial. He didn’t pick up so she left a message, just as her ceiling lights flickered. “Oh, drat. Must be a short.”
She called Vittorio back and told him to check the wiring for shorts. “If I’m not here, you know where I keep the key. Thanks, Vittorio.”
She cleared her own dishes as she answered Tuesday.
“You’re right. It’s all speculation. If it were just the vine and the candle I’d say they weren’t connected and maybe Mrs. Harmon dropped the candle out back when she was emptying her trash. Of course, I don’t know if she uses candles, but let’s just say. It’s that little scythe that has me stumped. Where would that come from?”
The small, black scythe resembled a Halloween trinket. She mused as she examined it, “I’m not the believer in that mystical stuff that you are, Tues, but I’d say this is not an accident. Stuck next to the candle like that? Yeah, I’d say it was planted.”
Tuesday raised the coffee pot and shook it. “There’s enough for another half cup each. Want to finish it off?”
Olivia grabbed two clean cups from the cupboard and held them out for Tuesday to pour. “And that’s not the only thing going sour in my life right now.”
Tuesday returned to the table and pulled out the chair for Olivia. “Do tell. What else is up?” She pulled out a third chair and stuck her feet up on it.
Olivia sipped her coffee thoughtfully, then fluffed out her hair to let it air dry into its soft natural, blond curls. “I didn’t have time to tell you this yesterday in all the confusion and that late meeting with Charles and the others.”
She described the pool house project, complaining that another designer, Hamish Walsh, was butting in on it.
Tuesday rolled that around in her mind for a minute. “Well he’s asking for a boatload of bad karma, but is that illegal or something?”
Olivia answered quickly. “I’m not sure if there is an actual law prohibiting stealing a client like that, but it is very unethical and against the best practices of our profession. As long as I’m working on a job that I won fair and square, it’s hands off to any other designer. Of course, who’s to say someone won’t come sniffing around and whisper criticisms of what I’m doing into the client’s ear.
Tuesday wrinkled her nose in distaste, and Olivia continued.
“But if the client has another piece of property or another separate job, then the work can go to ever snags it. The client will either offer it to their favorite firm or put it out to bid. In LA among my friends there, you wouldn’t get away with courting a client while another designer is working for them, and LA is pretty cut throat. There’s also enough work to go around so you don’t see that too much. But here, I don’t know.”
Tuesday was forthcoming with the kind of support Olivia counted on. “Well, at the least, it’s pretty insulting to have her stand you up like that. I have to say.”
Olivia agreed. “Marguerite Fredericks is one of the major divas around here. She’s been successful at everything she does, including backing several startups and snagging a major rainmaker of a husband. Her name is all over important charity events. So it’s not surprising she’s a tricky client who’s used to getting her way. I shouldn’t complain, though. I want her business, so I have to be prepared to jump through some hoops. This is a good gig for me. When I submitted my bid I raised my fees because I figured I’d been here long enough and no longer had to give bargain basement rates just to get business. I was nervous about it, but she didn’t bat an eye. I’m just afraid now that Hamish has made it into Architectural Digest with that director’s house in Aspen, he is going to look more attractive to her when it comes time to awarding the big renovation on the main house. I still have a reputation in LA but Architectural Digest hasn’t come calling yet.”
“So this Hamish guy, he’s that good?”
Olivia sneered. “Frankly, no. I thought the house in the article was an atrocious waste of space. With the view of the mountains that house has, he didn’t put in much glass. Then he plunked a staircase to the second floor right in the middle of the living space instead of against a wall and put the deck right in the face of winter winds instead of in the back where it would be protected from the elements. I mean it’s kindergarten design and he botched the whole thing as far as I’m concerned. But the house was for a big name client, a Hollywood mogul, and that’s what got him into AD. His client probably doesn’t know good design from a dog house and went along with Hamish’s ideas.”
Tuesday raised her cup. “Hamish is skim, scam, scum. Let’s hope we see the last of him.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Olivia said and drained her cup.
“And one more thing, baby girl. Call Detective Dreamboat about your little back yard surprises.”
Olivia looked thoughtful for a few seconds. “I’m not sure about that. He’s a pretty practical guy. I don’t know if he’d put much stock in death symbols.”
“Well, I do. And you better tell him or I will. I’m going to look these things up on the Internet after I get dressed.”
Olivia put her hands up signaling a truce. “Okay. Okay. I will. Now let me get dressed and get to work. I have a big project to save. Two actually. But first I’m going to check with Mrs. Harmon to see if her wiring is giving her problems. Back in a sec.”
6:2
Olivia quickly threw on a track suit and skipped down the back stairs to her office, and then descended further to the basement where Mrs. Harmon’s back door opened onto the laundry area. She knocked softly at first and read her text from Alistair while she waited. He was insisting that forty square feet of wall space be added to the reception area for a new collection. Olivia was so peeved she wanted to throw her phone against the wall. First of all, he had no say over acquisitions, and bringing up design issues at a t
ime like this was so tasteless.
She knocked until her tenant pulled the door open just a crack. “Yes, Olivia?”
Olivia heard her more than saw her. Here we go with the secrecy routine, she thought, irritated.
From time to time Mrs. Harmon became very reclusive, barely acknowledging Olivia if she passed her in the driveway or when she walked to the curb to retrieve her mail from their shared mailbox. A favorite trick of hers was to open the door just an inch or so to prevent Olivia from peering into her kitchen. The first time she noted this habit, Mrs. Harmon was, in fact, hiding some trinkets she had “borrowed” from Olivia’s showroom. She filched them to teach Olivia a lesson. Mrs. Harmon thought Olivia was too friendly with residents she believed were responsible for her husband’s death.
The friendship warmed when Olivia helped find her husband’s killer. But the habit of refusing to allow Olivia to glimpse her apartment returned from time to time, such as on the day before her cleaning person came. Olivia could understand that her tenant didn’t want to expose a messy apartment to her landlady, though from what she could tell, Mrs. Harmon was neat as a pin.
But what was up this morning? Olivia brushed it off because she had a busy day ahead of her.
“Mrs. Harmon, I’m having Vittorio come over today to look at my electrical system. I’ve been having some problems. Do you want him to check your apartment also? If there’s a serious problem, I’d like to nip it in the bud.”
“My wiring is fine, Olivia.”
Hiding a messy apartment was one thing, but why was she so snippy today?
Olivia turned to go, adding, “Okay, but if you change your mind and you see Vittorio around the house, ask him to give your outlets and fuse box a look. I may be gone when he comes. And, oh, by the way, I apologize for that cat howling during the night. I’ll see if I can track down the owner.”
“I didn’t hear a cat. Goodbye, Olivia.” And with that she shut the door.
Olivia chalked up her tenant’s mood swings to the aging process and the difficulties she might be having with aching joints and the like. Even though the elderly woman could do yoga positions Olivia envied, she knew that flexibility didn’t prevent joint pain. Poor woman, she thought remembering the diapers in the trash can. She skipped upstairs and got dressed for the day, choosing tights, a short skirt and newly fashionable Doc Martins. She reminded herself that if she started meditating, she might have more patience with her tenant’s issues. But it would take more than meditation to deal with Alistair. His text still rankled. Where did he get off ordering wall space and discussing acquisitions? That was Pierre’s job.
Later in her office, Olivia slammed down her phone and cried, “Cody, I’ll pay you double if you can slap a personality on that guy.”
Cody grimaced as if that would help him bend the huge cardboard box in two so it would fit in the recycling bin. “Al again?”
Olivia pulled her long hair back and fiddled it into a bun, which came undone as soon as she let go to reach for her ringing phone. She held up a finger to cue Cody to hold on a minute. She mouthed, “It’s Pierre.”
UPS had made a big delivery and Cody gave her a thumbs-up and resumed unpacking several bolts of fabric that had just arrived from France. Olivia had ordered them to cover the sofa in the Fredericks’ pool house, but they hadn’t arrived in time and she’d had to make a substitution. In an unexpected stroke of luck, the client preferred the new fabric to the French, but now she had to find a use for it.
“Pierre, thank you so much for getting back to me so quickly.”
The overseas connection was very clear but Olivia heard hustle and bustle in the background. Given the time difference, Pierre must be at dinner or having cocktails with a rowdy crowd.
“I hate to bring this up but it’s about Alistair again. I know he’s looking out for your interests, and I so appreciate how important that is when you can’t be on site every day to check up on the details. But some things have come up that you need to know about. For instance, you’ve heard about the body that was found during the groundbreaking.”
Olivia looked startled. “You haven’t? I assumed Alistair would have told you.”
Pierre explained that he was tied up in his meetings and wasn’t sure he had a message from the assistant. “What was his name again?” he asked. “Mostly I communicate with Rocky in my New York office.”
Olivia chuckled to herself. So much for the twerp’s importance to the curator. She explained what had happened during the groundbreaking ceremony.
“Yes, it is truly awful,” she agreed. “However, the site is now a crime scene and we can’t proceed with anything until the Darling Valley police clear it. They haven’t definitely declared foul play, but they haven’t ruled it out, either. No telling how long that will take. There are also some other issues that may come up that could delay the project.”
She wasn’t ready to disclose that the project could conceivably be shut down for environmental issues.
“So it really isn’t, shall I say, seemly, to be discussing new design elements, which is why I’m calling. I thought we had agreed on the dimensions of the wall space for the Wallace collection.”
In addition to putting art on the walls surrounding the antique car displays, Pierre had created alcoves for visitors to sit and contemplate the various exhibits and autos. He was going to adorn the wall space with special pieces. The Wallace collection of early twentieth century art was to be a focal point of the museum’s ground floor. Acquiring the Wallace collection at auction was such a prize that Charles insisted the main exhibit hall be expanded to showcase it. But that had been early in the design process when it was easy to make major changes. The plans were pretty much set in stone by now. There was no room for another major collection.
She explained all this to Pierre, though he knew the plans for the artwork better than anyone. “I thought we were finished with the design phase, but now Alistair tells me that you want to acquire a new collection. Which would be great, but we don’t have any exhibit space left. It has all been allocated to the art we have purchased. You know, the permanent collection.”
Olivia was puzzled that Pierre seemed surprised. “You didn’t know about the new pieces?” She chalked it up to him being rushed. “Oh, you think he worked that out with Rocky.”
Rocky in New York was his second in command, a rake thin woman who guarded her boss like he was the crown jewels. She ran the business end of Pierre’s business and Olivia considered it a real coup that she had Pierre’s cell number now and no longer had to go through the Dragon Lady, as she thought of Rocky, to speak to the great man.
Pierre was explaining changes in his organization. He was almost eighty and was giving up certain day-to day-responsibilities. Perhaps Rocky had coordinated new acquisitions with Alistair. He’d check on it when he returned to New York.
“Well, okay, I’ll explain this to Charles and see if he wants to move things around.”
Pierre’s response put an angry face on Olivia. “Certainly, the art is your bailiwick, Pierre. And we appreciate the wonderful pieces you have acquired and the plans for the Hockney exhibit to open the museum. But Mr. Bacon does have final say and if this means changing the architectural plans, there may be a problem with adding a new exhibit. Okay, whatever you say. I’ll work it out with Alistair.”
She disconnected the call and put her head down on her desk in frustration.
6:3
Cody said, “Wassup?”
Olivia punched buttons on her phone checking more messages. The day was getting away from her.
She said, “I don’t trust that guy, Cody. Pierre didn’t even know about these new pieces his pinhead assistant wants to install. In fact, he couldn’t even remember his name.”
Cody slipped a packing list on Olivia’s desk before attacking the next box and said, “The dude’s eighty, Olivia. He may be forgetting things.”
“No, he wouldn’t forget something like this. He’s going to disc
uss it with Rocky when he returns to New York. I can’t tell him how to run his business, but he can’t just install major art and redesign showrooms without passing it before the design committee. He knows that.”
She looked across her desk at her own unfinished business. She’d had a hard enough time juggling one massive project, much less two. Trying to pay attention to the lesser clients was driving her nuts. “Oh what I’d give to have Hank back.”
Cody rolled his eyes. “You and me both, sister.”
Olivia knew her business plan had to include large projects and smaller ones. You could never count on the big fees always being there for you, and so she gave her smaller clients the same attention that Mrs. Fredericks and the museum received. But since Hank left, she had no assistant to help her out. Customers came into the shop to browse, put in small orders for occasional pieces, or order simple design projects such as a new window treatment for one of her first clients, and a nursery for one of her pregnant customers. Someone needed to be there to welcome them when Olivia was out at meetings. Cody did what he could, but he had his own hands full with heavier work, such as moving furniture around, making deliveries to clients and, as now, unpacking furniture for the showroom. Olivia put the “We’re out. Back after lunch,” sign on her door more often than she liked.
If all went well with the Fredericks’ pool house, the couple promised to announce on Friday that Olivia would renovate their mansion, a job that would allow her to finally hire a proper staff and, who knows, maybe even earn her a spread in Architectural Digest. The Fredericks were that important.
She had until Friday, four days away, to see that this murder was solved and her projects back on track. Though with every cell in her body she wanted to dig in and help Matt find the murderer, she had to set time aside this morning to attend to the rest of her business.
Cody, with painstaking care and Olivia peering over his shoulders, unpacked the pair of Garouste and Bonetti Belgravia table lamps slated for the pool house. Olivia had lost several nights sleep worrying they wouldn’t arrive in time.