“Well, it’s about Marilyn Stahlman. Her sudden return and all that. Why do you suppose she disappeared in the first place?”
“I’m a detective, not a mind reader.”
“You’re pretty good at that too.”
He arched a brow. “Another compliment?”
“Yes.”
Unimpressed, he went back to his pizza, but I wasn’t ready to give up. “She had to have a reason for staying away a whole year.”
“No doubt. A happy woman doesn’t stage her own drowning.”
“Go on.” I moved in closer. Rossi had excellent insight, and I wanted to hear every word.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “Remember how at the beginning of my interview with the Stahlmans, I said you could be excused?”
“Yes. That was my next question. Why did you do that?”
“Because I knew if you stayed to listen—as you were panting to do—I’d be asked these very questions.”
“I have a vested interest in James’s house, so it’s only natural that—”
He pushed his plate back from his place at the table. Not a good sign. A lecture was on the way.
“If Mrs. Stahlman pays the costs of investigating her disappearance, chances are good she won’t be charged with a crime. Her crime, as it were, was in creating emotional anguish in those who knew and loved her. Especially in her husband. But now that he’s engaged to remarry, I assume he’s made a full recovery.”
I wanted to comment, but Rossi was on a roll and wouldn’t let me squeeze in a word.
“Mrs. Stahlman’s motives for doing what she did are another story. Perhaps she’s mentally unbalanced. Perhaps she’s vindictive. Maybe she was suicidal the night she went for her famous swim and a fortunate quirk of fate saved her. In any event, once she pays up, the case—as they say—will most likely be closed.”
“But her motives are the most fascinating aspect of what happened. Why did she do it?”
“Be satisfied with the answer she gave. It’s simple enough. She wanted out of her life.” His attention roamed back to his half-eaten pizza slice. “Why so curious, anyway?”
I shrugged. “Chalk it up to a benign form of voyeurism. Mentally peeking into people’s lives. I guess what I do—my designing—is a form of that. I’m paid to look at how people live and then to change their surroundings. Maybe wondering why they do what they do is just going one step further.”
He picked up the Chianti bottle and filled our glasses. “Excellent justification for snooping.”
I didn’t want to laugh but I had to. “You earn your living by snooping. In fact you’ve practically raised snooping to an art form. So what’s your excuse, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t need one. Art’s only purpose is to be.”
“Good, Rossi, very good. That’s what I meant. You’re fascinating, and you don’t even have to work at it.”
He leaned across the table to give me a pepperoni—and Chianti-laced kiss. “You know something, Deva? When it comes to being fascinating, you win the gold medal. You’re the most fascinating woman in the entire world.”
Now that was what I called a compliment. Rossi knew it too, the fox. It had me kissing him like crazy.
And so to bed. If not to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Did you ask him?” Lee said the next morning.
I looked up from my computer screen. “Ask him?”
“The lieutenant about, you know, selling your condo and all?”
In blue, which always became her, Lee was a vision, especially now with the glow of early pregnancy lighting her face. With all the crazy events of the past few days, I had forgotten, but I couldn’t admit that and risk seeing her happy glow disappear.
“Rossi and I are meeting with the architect for lunch, so I thought I’d bring it up then.”
Her face fell a little.
“I promise there won’t be a problem,” I added quickly. “Rossi will be delighted that I’m selling you the condo.”
“We don’t mean to rush y’all, but we’re running out of time in our apartment. The landlord finally admitted his son’s moving back home, and he wants us out of there like yesterday.”
“Then consider it a done deal. The condo’s yours whenever you and Paulo want it. Furniture included if you like.”
Her eyes took on a shine and then the tears spilled over.
The rental apartment she and Paulo were squeezed into had come furnished, but only in a manner of speaking, so I’d suspected they would welcome the Surfside things. Besides I wanted to furnish my new home slowly and carefully, one piece at a time. On heart of pine floors I envisioned tiger maple chests and canvas-covered couches and kilim toss pillows...
The Yarmouthport bells jangled. A woman stepped in, took one startled look at Lee and froze inside the door.
“Do come in,” I said, giving Lee a handful of tissues. “My friend’s crying with happiness.”
“Oh, I’ve done that too,” the woman said and with an understanding smile strolled around, browsing the table displays.
Turning my attention back to Lee, I said, “Plan on moving as soon as you need to. That way you’ll be settled long before the baby comes.”
Her eyes shining, she nodded.
“If you like, I can help you plan the nursery.”
“I’d love that.”
“Will it be a boy’s room or a girl’s?”
“I don’t know. We want to be surprised.”
Another surprise, a good one this time.
“I’m partial to white with touches of primary colors,” Lee offered shyly.
“Me too! No insipid pinks and blues for this baby.”
I retrieved my purse from the desk drawer, stood, and with a quick hug for Lee, hurried off. Online scouting for Stew’s Western-themed furnishings would have to go on hold for a while.
* * *
When I reached the Magnolia Café, they were both waiting. From the frown on Rossi’s face, I could tell he was irritated. Well, five minutes alone with Harlan would do that to a saint.
We asked for a booth. As we were being seated, Rossi told the waiter we needed some time before ordering and slid in beside me. Across from us, Harlan unrolled the renderings he had downloaded and laid them out flat.
A single glance at the first one and my breath caught in my throat. He had captured it perfectly—my dream of a house.
A rectangle on stilts, its narrow side with high windows faced the street, its opposite side all glass, ending in a V-shaped teakwood deck that jutted over the water like the prow of a ship. With its tin roof, board-and-batten siding and Bermuda shutters tilting over the windows, it was exactly what I’d hoped for—an inspired combination of both the old and new Floridas. I loved it on sight.
“Brilliant! A marvelous use of the space.”
I felt like high fiving or jumping up and down until Harlan said, “You doubted I could pull off a simple design like this?”
“No, I never doubted your ability for an instant.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Rossi said, his voice gravelly with more than mere irritation.
I squeezed his knee under the table, a signal not to piss off the genius. “I was concerned though, Harlan, that your dreams and mine might not be the same.” I tapped the drawing. “But in this we’ve come together in a perfect union.”
“So to speak,” Rossi added wryly. This time he squeezed my knee.
“I’m glad you’re both pleased.” Harlan flipped the sheet to the next drawing. “Shall we have a look at the inside?”
“Can’t wait.”
Flanking the deck and open to the water view, a high-ceilinged great room dominated the interior. Behind it was a good-sized kitchen and ample area for
dining. Two bedrooms, each with its own bath, he’d positioned farther back, on the side facing the rear lawn and driveway.
Harlan pointed to the deck. “Assuming you’ll spend a good deal of time out here, I made it quite sizable. Notice how the point of the V is open to the sun, and the area adjoining the great room is roofed over for shade.” He glanced across at me. “With your red hair and complexion—” freckles, “—I knew you’d want some shade.”
“Good thinking.” Rossi had forgotten his irritation and was studying the renderings with rapt attention. That he liked what he saw, I hadn’t a doubt and knew I wouldn’t have to squeeze his knee again anytime soon.
“For a hint of that old Florida reference you asked for, I see heart of pine floors and bead-board ceilings,” Harlan said. “Their traditional look could be offset by the latest in kitchen and bath installations.” He paused to throw me a bone. “That’s where your...ah...expertise can come in.”
“Yes, selecting the interior details will be my great pleasure. There are a few changes I’d like to make to the closets and some of the window placements, but overall, I’m delighted.” I extended a hand across the tabletop. “My thanks to you, Harlan, for this wonderful vision. Rossi and I will be very happy living in it.”
Harlan cleared his throat and nodded, though very slightly—he was obviously used to having his work praised—and flipped the sheet to show us a lateral elevation.
Happy with the plans, Rossi took a business card out of his pocket, scrawled his home address on the back and slid it across the table. “Send the bill to this address.”
All was good. Better than good. Actually wonderful. Imagine, someone with Harlan’s prickly personality creating so much joy. But he had. And we soon brought some joy to the hovering waiter by ordering a celebratory lunch.
After chicken quesadillas and iced tea, Harlan left for another appointment. Alone with Rossi, I snuggled up to him in the booth. “I’m so happy,” I said.
He gave me a quick kiss. “Nothing could please me more. That’s what I live for. Seeing how thrilled you were with the plans, I know you’ll want to start building as soon as possible. So it’s a good thing I put my house on the market this morning.”
I nearly choked on the last of my iced tea. “What!”
He nodded. “No need to waste time. The realtor told me she thinks the house will sell fast. So as soon as it does, I’ll be looking for a place to stay.” He sent me an easy smile. “Any idea where I can bunk for a while?”
“No. I mean yes, but—”
He checked his watch and jumped up. “Sorry to run off on you, sweetheart, but I have to go. I’m late. The chief’s waiting for me. We’ll talk about the house later, okay?”
“But—”
“I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
He gave me a quick, distracted kiss and made a beeline for the exit. And the waiter? Well, the waiter rushed over to the booth and handed me the bill.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Back at the shop, Lee was busy helping a client look for drapery fabric. I sent her a thumb and forefinger circle, indicating all was well—a little white lie—or maybe not so little. That was what I’d find out when I had a chance to talk with Rossi about our housing situation. Regardless, I’d promised Lee the condo and as far as I was concerned that was a sacred vow.
Needing to complete a search for the Hawkins house accessories, I went straight to the computer. My vision called for rugged Western-styled pieces but not cowboy clichés.
I was just getting into it when the shop phone rang. Lee usually answered, but she’d gone to the restroom. “We’re back,” a gravelly voice announced.
“Stew Hawkins?”
“The same. I told you to yank the guys out of here and lock up, but let’s get the show on the road again.”
“I’ll have the crew there tomorrow morning,” I said. “First thing.”
“Sounds good. Not too early though, okay? My fiancée might want to sleep in. Me too.”
“Fiancée? Wow! May I ask who the ah...lucky woman is?”
A short bark of a laugh burst through the line. “Who else? Teresa, of course. Bought her a rock in the diamond district. Figured I might as well. The price was right.”
“Well, congratulations. Have you set a date yet?”
“No, no. No date,” he said hastily. “I’m taking it one step at a time. Just keeping the household peaceful at the moment, you know what I mean.”
“I see.” Interesting.
I hung up wondering if he really intended to marry Teresa or was playing a waiting game—give her a ring and keep her dangling forever. Or until she gave up. If so, he was underestimating her. Badly.
* * *
The next day, Whiskey Lane went back to its new normal—two trucks, two crews, two houses undergoing renovation.
In my seasonal favorite, the mustard-yellow shift, I stopped in at the Hawkins place first. Teresa met me at the front door wearing red silk pajamas and The Ring. She waggled her left hand in front of my eyes.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, meaning it.
Big, with baguettes, the center diamond sparkled all right but no more so than Teresa’s big white grin. If I had doubts that Stew would actually marry her, she obviously didn’t. I gave a mental shrug. I could be entirely wrong, and for Teresa’s sake if for no other reason, I hoped I was.
Taking me by the arm, she drew me inside. “I told you I’d make him happy,” she whispered. “And—”
“You did.”
“Did what?” a deep voice asked.
“Researched some furniture for you,” I said, whirling around to face Stew, who had stomped out of the bedroom wing in bare feet and a red silk robe that was an exact match to Teresa’s pj’s.
“Oh, Stew, you’re wearing your new robe. I love it on you,” she gushed. “Don’t you, Deva?”
“Absolutely. Stew, you’re enough to stop a car.”
“Humph.”
“I bought it at Macy’s,” Teresa said. “The real one on 34th Street. Isn’t he handsome? Red’s your color, Stew.”
“Don’t get carried away. I couldn’t find another damn thing in the suitcase.” He sniffed the air. “How about some of that coffee? Vacation’s over. I have to get back to the plant.”
“Coming right up,” Teresa said. A dutiful fiancée or a dutiful housekeeper, I couldn’t tell which, she hurried out to the kitchen after Stew.
I strolled into the living room and sniffed the air. The odor of fresh paint mingled with the coffee. A painter was already at work finishing up where he left off a few days ago. “Have you seen Tom?” I asked.
Without missing a stroke, he said, “He’s setting up in the master bedroom.”
The Snake Room.
Stop that, I told myself. There are no snakes in there. Not anymore.
“Desert sunset on the walls, Joe,” Tom was saying as I walked in. “Classic white in semi on the woodwork and flat on the ceiling. When Pete’s finished in the other room, he’ll be in to help you.”
With the situation at 595 under control, Tom and I crossed Whiskey Lane and rang the bell at 590. My pulse rate tangoed a bit as we waited for someone to open the door. But I needn’t have worried. Eileen, in her white uniform, her hair tucked into its usual neat bun, let us in. All was calm.
In the living room, Tom’s painters were applying the third coat of latex to the walls. That should do it. Even with two coats, the room looked fresh and bright.
Eileen went into the kitchen, returning with coffee and dainty homemade pastries for the men.
Nice.
James, Kay and even Marilyn were nowhere in sight.
“Is Mr. Stahlman at home?” I asked.
“No, ma’am,” Eileen replied. “He’s at a meeting with his attorney.
He should be back soon though. Said he wouldn’t be gone long.”
I knew he hadn’t taken his constant companion with him, for Miss Charlotte was outside in the rear garden, whimpering and barking and carrying on like an agitated tiger. She wasn’t usually so noisy. Something had her all excited.
“Charlotte sure is having fun out there.”
Busy pouring coffee, Eileen nodded.
Curious, I strolled over to the living room sliders and glanced outside. Tail wagging furiously, Charlotte scampered halfway up the slope, barking like a junkyard dog. Then, tail still wagging, she dashed back down and disappeared around the boxwood hedge.
Intrigued, I watched her performance a few more times. She was filled with energy today. The little devil. With James gone, the chance to misbehave must have been irresistible.
Woof, woof!
There she came again, running up the slope. I opened the sliders and stepped out into sunshine perfumed with gardenias.
“Come on, Charlotte, come on!”
She stopped, woofed a few more times and scooted away.
I tried temptation. “Be a good girl, and I’ll take you for a walk.”
But even that magic word didn’t bring her running to me, eager for a stroll. Guess she knew it wasn’t time for her cocktail dog walk. “Oh come on, Charlotte,” I urged. “Be a sport. It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
She peeked out, barked, then disappeared behind the boxwood. God only knew what she was getting into back there. She’d probably found a squirrel or a dead bird and didn’t want to leave it. For James’s sake, I’d better make sure she was all right.
I hurried down the new terrace steps. Tony and Mike had done a super job. The rough-hewn stones had much more traction than the slick ones they’d replaced. Snakeman or not, Tony’s name was one I intended to add to my growing list of good business contacts.
“Charlotte,” I called from the bottom of the slope. “Where are you? Be nice. Say hello.”
The Design Is Murder (Murders By Design) Page 15