Designed for Death (13 page)

He laid the snapshot down on top of the welter of makeup and jewelry and old magazines, gave it a gentle, loving pat, and said, “Drag wasn’t enough for Tommy.”

“Who’s Tommy?” Of course I knew, but I had to hear him say it.

He didn’t answer. “Oh no. He had to go all the way.”

A sob escaped, and he covered his face with his hands. Tears leaked out between his fingers and I put my free hand on his knee. It felt like a piece of granite.

“Faye…Fayette, I was Treasure’s friend, and I hope I’m yours. Tell me.”

“Tommy had the operation.” His fingers slipped from his face, and he reached for a tissue. He snatched out one, two, three, four and blotted his streaming cheeks. “The sex-change operation. Vagina and all. He wanted to be a woman…he wanted breasts…he wanted a real man. We were finished, he said. Forever.”

“You were lovers?” A dumb question.

“Since high school.”

“I see.” Lovers for a lifetime. An old married couple.

I added my
Playgirl
to the pile on the dressing table and, with a last pat to Fayette’s knee, stood. Or tried to. My legs wobbled, and I sank back on the rickety chair. Neal and AudreyAnn had to be on their way backstage by now. I hoped they were. Fayette had morphed into a scorned lover. Whether he knew it or not, he’d just provided a motive for killing Treasure. Desperate for air, I had to get out of this hot little box. But as I made a stab at standing again, a thought flew to the front of my mind, nearly sending me back onto the chair.

Rossi knew.

The coroner’s exam would have discovered the truth about Treasure. Rossi hadn’t let on, had even managed to keep it out of the media. I wondered why. No doubt he’d also surmised that Treasure and Fayette had been involved—but he didn’t know about last night’s attack. I’d have to tell him. What was more important? Finding the killer or protecting the Foxy Lady? Sadly, the answer was obvious.

As I picked up the photo, I saw a question spring into Fayette’s eyes.

“This one has to go back in the condo,” I said. “But I’ll make a copy and mail it to you. Once the estate’s settled, I’ll ask Dick Parker to give you the original and some of Treasure’s personal things.” I knew Faye would love the negligee collection.

He grasped my hand and kissed it. “I’d be eternally grateful.”

I resisted the urge to wipe off the damp spot. “Be careful. Whoever came after you is still out there.”

“He won’t surprise me again. Next time, I’ll be focused. Strange, though, the guy didn’t rob me. He just said something that didn’t make any sense.”

Halfway to the door, I turned around. “What?”

“He said, ‘Stay away from the widow.’” Fayette shook his head. “I don’t know any widow.”

Cold, clammy fear swept through me.
Maybe you don’t, but I do.

When I exited the dressing room, the backstage corridor was empty, no Hedda, no anyone. I checked my watch—1:00 a.m.—ducked past the purple curtain and hurried out into the club. The DJ had on a slow, Julio Iglesias love song. Male couples swaying under rainbow-colored spotlights crowded the dance floor.

Entranced by the floor show, Neal and AudreyAnn sat still as stones. They didn’t even break their visual lock on the dance floor when I joined them at the muffin. I could have been backstage for two weeks and they’d never have noticed. So much for my protective phalanx. Judging from the pile of paper umbrellas scattered over the tabletop, I figured I’d better be the one to drive home. And we should leave while there were lots of lights and action around the place.

To make up for the free drinks, we left a hefty tip, and between us Neal and I helped AudreyAnn limp out to the car. As we drove off, the blue neon sign flashing out Foxy Lady did its best to light up the Everglades. Rossi had been wrong to tell me to stay away from here. If I hadn’t paid a call on Fayette, I might never have known the truth about Treasure, or understood the danger I might be in.

On the way home, Neal sat in the front passenger seat and stared out the windshield, watching dark, deserted 951 unroll like a scenic highway.

“Did you have fun?” I asked him.

He took his attention off the road and beamed it at me. “I haven’t enjoyed anything so much in years. I owe it all to you.” He strained against his seatbelt, half turning to check out AudreyAnn in the back seat. “Shhhh. She’s asleep. Next time,” he whispered, “let’s go out alone. Just the two of us.”

That would never happen. He’d read my invitation all wrong. The fault was mine for extending it in the first place. Luckily, we’d reached the Surfside driveway. I pulled into his slot in the carport. “Now what?” I asked, glancing back at AudreyAnn snoring contentedly. “She’s sound asleep.”

“She’s not the only one,” Neal said. “Look.”

He pointed across the lamp-lit tarmac to my front door. Camped out on a patio chair borrowed from the pool deck, Simon sat with his legs sprawled out, his head on his chest, dead to the world.

“He’s waiting for you,” Neal said.

I held a finger to my lips. “I want to get inside without waking him.”

“You don’t want to see him?”

“No. Let me get in first, then if you ring Chip’s doorbell, he’ll help you with AudreyAnn.”

A co-conspirator, Neal grinned.

Holding my key at the ready, I tiptoed up to my door. Simon didn’t move a muscle while I opened up and dashed inside. Hanging onto the knob, I pulled the door wide then let rip with a vicious slam. He’d have to be dead for sure not to hear that.

I had no sooner kicked off the Jimmys when he hit the chimes.

Da da da DA.

“Go away.”

Da da da DA.

“Go away, or I’ll call the cops.”

“We’re legally separated. The divorce is final in thirty days.”

“That’s not what you told me the other day.”

“It’s a technicality. Linda and I are finished. We’re so done, you can stick a fork in our relationship.”

“Go to bed. And I don’t want a concert from the chimes.”

“I had no idea she’d show up last night. She drove down from Tallahassee without telling me she was on her way. I couldn’t refuse to let her in. It was after midnight.”

The witching hour.

“It still is. Go away, or I swear I’ll call the police. How will that look in the divorce papers?” No answer. Was he still there? The scuff of metal on the concrete walkway and then silence meant he was taking the patio chair back to the pool.

Telling myself I wasn’t disappointed he’d given up so easily, I stripped off the shift and went to turn out the lights. In the lamp glow, the roses still looked flawless. I’d throw them out in the morning. After I called Rossi.

Chapter Fourteen

A fist pounding on the windows snapped me out of a sound sleep. Any minute now, the glass would shatter. He’d be in the room! Heart banging against my ribs, I leaped out of bed and grabbed the phone. Rossi. I had to call Rossi. As I reached for the receiver, my glance fell on the bedside alarm. Noon? It couldn’t be. The wan light seeping through the curtains wasn’t bright enough for midday.

The pounding worsened. Every window in the condo shuddered. What
was
that? I padded over to the sliders, parted the draperies and peered out. Rain such as I’d never seen before batted the panes. Wind driven, the pellets struck sideways like a barrage of bullets.

I tried to see through the torrent, but no luck. It was Niagara Falls out there. Naples had disappeared. No palm trees, no pool, no flowers. Only sheets of gray, metallic rain.

I shivered my way into the living room and turned on the TV. Stretching Jack’s old T-shirt down to cover my thighs, I waited until the national weather channel zoomed in on Florida.

“Bob, the second named storm of the season, is drenching the Gulf Coast from Key West north to Port Charlotte.” The announcer pointed to the map behind him. Green zigzags indicating storm activity flashed along the peninsula. “With winds at fifty-five miles per hour, Bob is a tropical storm only and is not expected to intensify to hurricane strength.”

A gust of wind slammed into the bedroom sliders, making me jump. I powered off the set, switched on the lamps and tried to ignore the lashing against the windows. What if they shattered, whipping shards of glass through the air? Squelching that happy thought, I padded barefoot to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. Chilled to the bone for the first time since moving to Naples, I needed warmer clothes. Jack’s worn T-shirt was heavy on the emotional comfort, light on the physical, but before I could look for something else to wear, the phone rang.

“Deva.”

“Hi, Chip.”

“I was coming over, but the weather’s too lousy.”

“What’s up?” I knew he hadn’t called to talk about the rain.

He cleared his throat. “I got a problem over here. AudreyAnn’s sick from last night.”

“I’m sorry she had too much to drink, but—”

“You shouldn’t have gone there, Deva. It’s a low-class dump. No place for somebody like you. No place for AudreyAnn, either. If I knew that’s where you were headed, I wouldn’t have let her go.”

The rain continued to pound. I raised my voice to match it. “I’m not AudreyAnn’s mother, Chip. Believe it or not, she ordered those umbrella drinks all by herself. Like a big girl.”

Very big.

“No need to take that tone, Deva. I’m just telling you AudreyAnn’s under enough stress already. That cop’s calling her a person of interest…as if she’d kill that hooker—”

Red-hot anger flashed through me. “She was no hooker! And we’re all persons of interest. You. Me. Everybody who knew her.

“No more Foxy Lady, Deva. I mean it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Chip. I go where I want to go. Got that?”

The line went silent, then, “What’s the attraction, anyway? You’re not gay, are you?” From his suddenly bated breath, I could tell he really wanted to know.

“Chip, you’re such a—”

“You’re not, are you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Jeez, I never figured you for—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Chip, cut it out.”

I slammed down the receiver but a moment later regretted it. Chip had actually sounded worried. And he did have reason to be upset with AudreyAnn. Last night must have added fuel to the fire. Maybe I’d been wrong to insist she join me, but I’d needed her along for moral support. Well, for support anyway. Still shivering, I tromped bare-legged to my bedroom and without a second’s hesitation yanked open the closet door. I surprised myself. My nerve must be returning. I hadn’t checked under my bed in the past twenty-four hours, either.

After a little searching, I found my favorite uglies, a pair of old gray sweats, rolled up on a shelf. In Boston they’d kept me warm on many a bitter cold run. They’d be perfect for this sullen misery of a day. I pulled them on, enjoying the familiar, soft fabric sliding over my skin. I finger-combed my hair, brushed my teeth and splashed water on my face. That ought to do it. No visitors would be venturing out in weather like this. I went back to the kitchen and downed a cup of coffee. Utilizing the energy spurt caffeine always gives me, I punched in Rossi’s cell phone number. He answered on the first ring.

Forgetting the frills, I plunged right in. No “Good afternoon, Lieutenant. How are you today, Lieutenant?” I knew how he was. Irascible. And clever. He’d outfoxed me into having a blood test I didn’t need, urged me to relive Jack’s death and coaxed me into spilling my guts about everybody I knew. But this time I had no choice. I had to tell him what Fayette had revealed—no holding back. My life could be at stake. “We need to talk, Lieutenant. I found out something last night. Something serious.”

A pause. “Then talk. This line is secure.”

Over the phone? It was impersonal, so cold, so not what I wanted to do that I hesitated.

A heavy, exhaled breath came wafting over the line. “I’m a busy man, Mrs. D. If you have something to tell me of relevance to the case, please do so or hang up.”

To think I’d thought this guy was hitting on me. Wrong.

“I went to the Foxy Lady last night.”

“Not a good idea.” His tone was as lethal as gunfire.

“Actually it
was
a good idea. I found out my life might be in danger.”

“I’ve been trying to hammer that home to you since the day your neighbor was killed.”

“This is different.” As if someone had stolen into the condo, I looked over my shoulder before continuing. “I learned that Fayette LaBelle, Treasure’s friend—”

“I know who LaBelle is.”

“…was assaulted in the club’s parking lot. At gunpoint. I think there could be a connection between the assault and the murder.”

“Oh, you do?” Ice dripped off his voice.

Condescending jerk. If I’d been a teen, I would’ve told him his attitude sucked. Fighting to keep my tone pleasant and conciliatory, instead of giving in to the urge to shriek like a banshee, I said, “I can’t be sure, of course, but the assailant told Fayette to stay away from the widow. I’m not the only widow in the world…it’s a long shot…but since Treasure knew me and now Fayette does, I thought you should know,” I finished lamely.

“I’ll check it out.” He didn’t have to say any more. I got the picture. My information was unimportant, my call annoying. His attitude
did
suck.

“Fayette hasn’t told anyone else about the assault,” I added. “If you can prevent him from learning I snitched on him, I’d appreciate it.” No answer. Irritated beyond belief, but keeping a smile in my voice to prevent a nasty retort from slipping out, I added, “We’re really good friends.” Let Rossi stew on that one.

The pause extended for a couple of weeks. “I’ll do my best to keep your secret,” he finally said. “From here on, stay away from that lounge. It’s not healthy. I thought I told you that already. Keep your doors locked.”

Click.

I put down the phone and stared at it for a moment. Rossi obviously considered my calls interference and kept them insultingly short. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about the gun. Well, I sure wasn’t going to call back. Besides, Fayette had wiped it clean. No clues there.

Irascible though he might be, Rossi was nothing if not thorough. He was probably speeding his way to the lounge right now, splashing through water up to his hub caps. One thing for certain, his mood had darkened since the night we went cruising for burgers.