Little Black Book of Murder

by Nancy Martin

  “Why?” I asked, a plausible note of fear in my voice. I didn’t have to fake my shivering. I was suddenly very cold. “Is there a pyromaniac in the neighborhood?”

  Michael said, “Nobody’s going to light a match to this place, Nora. Not when we’ve got half a dozen guys watching the drive.”

  Ricci turned his attention to Michael then. “What’s that all about? You expecting trouble?”

  Michael shrugged. “I like knowing my family is safe.”

  “Which family?” Ricci asked.

  Michael stiffened, but Emma spoke up before he could pop off an angry retort. She said, “Do you mind taking this conversation outside? I’ve got a sick animal here, and you’re getting him all worked up again.”

  Ricci glanced in the direction of Mr. Twinkles, who gave a timely snort of annoyance.

  I led the way out of the barn, and the two men followed, leaving Emma behind. I glanced back in time to see her gather up a blanket and throw it over the horse’s back.

  I hugged myself, suddenly shivering, and said to Ricci, “It was very nice of you to check on us. But if you don’t mind, I’m freezing now. May we go back to bed?”

  Ricci gave Michael and me another long, suspicious stare. Finally, he said, “Sure. Go to bed before you catch cold.”

  He tossed the flashlight into the cruiser and climbed in behind the wheel. I heard Michael ask him a question, and the two of them spoke while I let myself back into the house.

  Upstairs, I warmed up and rinsed off the smell of horse in a very hot shower before I put on a clean nightie. My dressing gown was going to need a trip to the dry cleaner. Michael came in as I slipped under the bedclothes.

  He checked on Lucy and Max before climbing in beside me. “I almost knocked that cop on his ass for looking at you with that damn flashlight.”

  “Thank heavens you didn’t,” I said, keeping my voice to a whisper so we wouldn’t wake the children. “We already look like America’s Most Wanted around here.”

  “I didn’t punch him because you were putting on a hell of a distraction. You gonna tell me what you and Emma are keeping secret?”

  Taking a line from Michael’s own script, I said, “It’s better if you don’t know.”

  He said, “I can guess. I had some other stuff delivered when that car was put in the barn. Including a gas can. It wasn’t there tonight.”

  I sank back against the pillows. “What about you?” I asked when Michael began rubbing my feet to warm them. “When do I get an explanation of what’s going on between you and my sister?”

  There wasn’t any use ignoring it any longer. I’d sensed it for weeks—­Emma making cryptic remarks and Michael changing the subject when Emma’s name came up. They’d had a fight. And neither of them wanted me to know the details.

  He shook his head. “It’s over. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Michael,” I said. “She’s hormonal. Giving up her baby has been much harder than she thought it would be. She can’t be held responsible for her behavior.”

  “The hell she can’t,” Michael shot back in a tone that surprised me.

  I sat up in the bed and pulled my foot from his suddenly painful grasp. I whispered, “Something serious happened between you two, didn’t it? Michael, she’s my baby sister. As tough as she pretends to be, we have to give her some slack now and then.”

  “Maybe she’s gotten too much slack over the years.”

  “You’re mad at her,” I said, amazed.

  “Not mad,” he replied. “But fed up.”

  “What happened between the two of you?”

  He almost got out of bed, but I reached for his hand and pulled him back.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  A bad moment ticked by before Michael admitted, “A couple of weeks ago, I threw her out of the house. Told her she couldn’t live here anymore.”

  “Why?” I demanded, my voice rising. “You had no right to do that!”

  He looked at me, his usually lazy-­eyed gaze suddenly sharp. “Didn’t I?”

  “You did,” I hastily corrected myself. “This is your house as much as mine now.”

  But that didn’t settle the matter. I had said the wrong thing in the heat of the moment. Michael hauled me out of the bed and pulled me into the bathroom. He closed the door. In the dark, he said, “You were right just now. This isn’t my house, Nora. It’s yours.”

  “We’re together,” I insisted. “What’s yours is mine. For better or for worse—”

  “Bullshit.” Michael loomed over me. “We may be together, but not the way I want it.”

  “Are we back to that?” I asked.

  “We said some words in front of your family, but we’re not married. I want a license and a priest and everything else that comes with making it official.”

  I couldn’t help myself. “Such as the right to toss my sister into the street?”

  “If she comes climbing into my lap every time you leave the house, yes.”

  My legs loosened under me, and I sat down hard on the edge of the tub. I knew Emma was attracted to Michael, but I hadn’t guessed she’d acted on those feelings. Not in my own home. “She—?”

  Michael stayed on his feet and ran an exasperated hand through his hair, sorry he’d said it but determined to keep going. “She’s good at hiding her drinking, Nora. She started again right after she gave away her baby, and she got plastered every day. Every damn day, she’d get numb and dumb. And as soon as you were out of sight—” Michael caught himself.

  “She came on to you?”

  He shrugged. “You know how she gets.”

  I did. When Emma really got loaded, she had no control. Numb and dumb, indeed. And Michael was her type—­a bad boy with a powerful sexual presence.

  He had something else she needed, too—­an inner strength a woman could rely on, be comforted and protected by. I had been drawn to that quality in him perhaps more than anything else at first, when I needed it. To Emma, he probably appeared battle-­tested and undaunted.

  He said, “She knew it was wrong. But she couldn’t stop, and after a few weeks I couldn’t take it anymore. She was a pain in my ass. I don’t want to be with two Blackbird sisters. I want to be with you.”

  “You did the right thing,” I said softly. “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “She said something tonight. That she has nothing left to lose. That worries me.”

  Michael sighed and leaned his back against the door, eyes closed.

  I looked up at him. “I can’t help wanting to do something for her.”

  “I know,” he said harshly. “That’s your specialty—­helping lost causes.”

  A hard lump suddenly clogged my throat. “You think she’s a lost cause?”

  “No,” he said swiftly, rubbing his face to wake himself up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s your—­I know you want to help all of us—­Rawlins and Emma and me, too, but sometimes, Nora, you have to let people make their own choices. Make their own mistakes. People have to learn for themselves.”

  I thought about that for a moment. It made sense. But I couldn’t make it work in the context of my own family. It was harsh—­more harsh than I could stand. Maybe I was too exhausted to think straight. My head felt like a woolly mess.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said at last. “I’m sorry you had to put up with Emma’s behavior.”

  “It was pretty comical, her chasing me around the house.”

  I tried to smile.

  Our gazes met, and we shared a complicated moment. I knew why he’d kept the secret—­both to protect Emma and to spare me the hurt of her betrayal. Now that it was out in the open, however, neither one of us felt good about it.

  He said, “I didn’t want you to lose your sister.”

  “I know. But that migh
t happen anyway.”

  “Did she set the fire tonight?”

  “I think so. To protect Rawlins. I can’t believe she’d be so reckless. So stupid.”

  “She’s never been the sensible type,” Michael agreed. “And lately? I’ve been expecting her to do something really wild.”

  “It’s so wrong. Destroying property, defrauding the insurance people. Will she get caught?”

  “Depends on what she left behind. Whether or not the cops can track a horse. I could send some of the guys to—”

  “No, don’t,” I said at once. “I don’t want you connected to the fire in any way whatsoever. Promise me you won’t. If she goes down for this, let her do it alone. Please.”

  After a long moment, he said, “All right.”

  I put my hand up to him, and he pulled me to my feet. I stepped into his arms and touched the bristle of his cheek. I knew how much he wanted us to be married. But I was afraid. Afraid the Blackbird curse would strike as soon as we exchanged vows. And with Zephyr in the house, I was doubly concerned about his mortality. I gave Michael a kiss on the mouth. Lingering there, I murmured, “Please don’t get yourself killed, okay? On top of everything else that’s going on right now, I really couldn’t handle that.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the morning, though, Zephyr tried to bash in Michael’s skull.

  First, Lucy woke us far too early by climbing into the bed and asking for cake for breakfast. A little bleary, I took her into the bathroom, and we brushed our teeth. By the time we were dressed and ready, Michael had crawled out of bed and changed Max’s diaper. I switched places with Michael and buttoned Max into his clothes while Lucy used our bed as a trampoline.

  We tiptoed past Zephyr’s closed bedroom door and went downstairs while breaking the news to Lucy that there would be no cake for breakfast. While I made oatmeal and sliced bananas, Michael brewed a pot of coffee and strolled it down to the security detail to check in for the day.

  While the kids ate, Libby telephoned, in tears.

  I said, “Is there any word from Rawlins?”

  “He’s still with the police,” she said with a sniffle. “They’re keeping him a little longer. For more questions. But those lawyers of That Man of Yours—­they were very solemn with me, Nora.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lib.”

  She gave a woeful wail. “The police won’t tell me anything.”

  “What about bail?”

  “He has to be charged with a crime first. And depending on the severity of the crime, the bail could be just a few thousand dollars or—­or it could be something beyond my reach. Nora, I can’t let Rawlins sit in jail! He’s so young! So impressionable! What if some horrible person tries to hurt him? I can’t stand it!”

  “It’s okay, Lib. We’ll manage somehow.” I had no idea how, though.

  Sounding more composed, she said, “I’m going there in a few minutes. Can I leave Max with you for a few hours?”

  “Sure. What about Lucy?”

  “I’m sending someone to pick her up and take her to school.”

  “Someone? Who?”

  “Oops, hang on, I just dropped an earring.” She fumbled the phone, and I heard a muffled noise.

  “Libby—?”

  “If you must know,” she said when she came back on the line, “I’m sending Perry.”

  “Perry? The bug man? Does Lucy even know him?”

  “Yes, she knows him perfectly well. She follows him all over the house when he comes to spray. The only way he’ll go into the twins’ room is if she goes first.”

  Smart man, Perry. But I said, “Are you sure he’s okay? Safe, I mean?”

  “I’m giving him the opportunity to earn my trust,” Libby said loftily.

  Something sounded suspicious, but I couldn’t figure out what. “I’m sure one of Michael’s people could drive Lucy to school.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I knew Libby would be appalled by the thought of her daughter being chauffeured to the local elementary school by a New Jersey wiseguy.

  “Perry will do just fine, won’t you, Perry?”

  “He’s there with you?” I demanded. “For heaven’s sake, Libby, did the bug man spend the night?”

  “I’ll talk with you later,” she said frostily, “as soon as I’ve seen Rawlins.”

  She hung up, leaving me to wonder if she’d had a fling with her exterminator.

  Michael came back, and he had Zephyr with him. Both of them had smiles on their faces.

  “Zephyr went running up to Starr’s Landing,” he told me as he ushered her into the kitchen. “My guys told her about the fire, so she went to look. I met her in the driveway.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to me, looking impossibly beautiful and as long-­legged as a gazelle. She held out one foot. “I borrowed your sneakers.”

  Although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn my sneakers, I suddenly minded very much. The fact that she seemed totally unfazed by the fire made me surprisingly angry. If Blackbird Farm had burned, I’d have been devastated. She seemed more concerned about her exercise program. And watching Michael go through the motions of making her toast and coffee, I started to feel more and more steamed for reasons beyond understanding. When I went running, I turned red and sweated through my shirt and sometimes threw up afterward. Which explained both why I rarely went running and why I couldn’t fit into my clothes anymore. In fact, just looking at Zephyr was making me nauseated.

  “I borrowed the rest of these clothes, too. I found them hanging on the hook in the bathroom. I should probably wash it all.” She was wearing one of Emma’s T-shirts and a pair of shorts I wore when I gardened in the summer months. It all looked a little limp.

  “I’ll show you where the laundry is,” Michael volunteered. “It’s back this way.”

  He led, and she followed him down the hallway past the scullery.

  To Max, I said, “Beauty isn’t everything.”

  Max gave me a big smile with banana leaking out of his mouth.

  The next moment, we heard a resounding thunk, and Michael made a noise I had never heard before.

  I called, “Everything okay?”

  Michael returned, rubbing the back of his head. “An iron fell off the shelf in the laundry room.”

  Zephyr came back, looking innocent as she picked up her cup of coffee.

  I gave Michael a bag of frozen peas and a stern look.

  Zephyr continued to seem unaffected by the destruction of her property. “The farm is an awful mess. The fire marshal said the barn was a total loss. But everything else is pretty good. The house is fine. Maybe I’ll go over later and get some clothes.”

  “Uh, how long are you planning to stay here?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Stay as long as you like,” Michael said, making me think of ker-­blamming him with an iron all over again.

  We heard a rumble in the driveway. I peeked out the window. Perry Delbert had arrived in his large van with the exterminator logo printed on the side. Above his name, a giant spider lay dead, all eight legs pointed skyward. On top of the cab, the model of a very large mosquito perched as if ready to spring into blood-­sucking action. I took Lucy outside, and she bounded happily into the van’s front seat.

  While Perry buckled her in, I said, “You’re so kind to help my sister in her time of need, Mr. Delbert.”

  He was a big, soft-­spoken man with a tendency ­toward shy smiles. This morning he looked a little shaken, however. His nose was sweaty, causing his glasses to slide downward. “She’s in need a lot, isn’t she?”

  “Libby’s life is complicated,” I said diplomatically.

  “She sure is pretty, though.” He spoke on a wistful sigh.

  I waved good-­bye to Lucy as they trundled down the driveway in the bugmob
ile. I told myself I was going to have a stern discussion with Libby as soon as the worst of our troubles blew over. She had no business toying with Perry Delbert’s tender heart.

  I checked my watch and dashed upstairs to change into work-­suitable clothes. I flipped through my wardrobe very carefully. Not only did I have a tough fashion crowd to face today, but I wanted to be sure my clothes fit properly. And it wouldn’t hurt to show Zephyr she wasn’t the only woman in the house who could clean up nicely.

  Finally dressed, combed and ready to face the day, I ran down the stairs. I heard the shower running in the guest bathroom, so Zephyr was safely off the radar screen. Michael was alive and doing business on the floor of the library with Max using him as a jungle gym. Michael had the phone to his ear and one eye on the futures market on his laptop computer, while Max crawled all over him. Dolph sat on the window seat, chin in one hand, his face mashed against the glass, sound asleep.

  Michael ended his call within a minute. Without moving from the floor he said to me, “You look good today. Really good.”

  “Thank your countrymen, Dolce and Gabbana.” I executed a little spin to show off the black suit—­a narrow skirt with a slightly forgiving elastic waist and a hint of lace at the hem, topped by a ladylike jacket with a leather-­trimmed shawl collar cut low enough to reveal a corset-­style underlayer that suggested I wasn’t perfectly well-­mannered all the time. A professional look, I thought, with a hint of sex appeal. To offset the winter suit, I wore spring shoes—­a pair of buff suede kitten heels with little black bows on the toes. I had listened to the weather forecast and heard no rain, so the shoes would be safe. The suit showed off my legs and gave me a nice bustline, while being forgiving about everything in between.

  The look in Michael’s eye boosted my confidence. He was a man, I told myself. He’d probably stop looking at other women when he was dead. But his expression also told me if I lingered very long, I’d be undressed all over again. Although he might look at others, I was the woman he really wanted—­of that, I was sure.

  I had to spoil the mood, though. “I may be dressed in a garment that cost thousands, but I don’t have train fare to get to work. Have any spare change in your pocket?”