Designed for Death (8 page)

“It’s too beautiful to be blue,” I said, and without waiting to be invited, sank onto the foot of her lounge.

Actually, Marilyn had a lot to cry about. If the murder made Surfside notorious, that could be the kiss of death to Dick’s plans for an upscale development. We unit owners might have something to worry about, too, but I buried the thought whenever it surfaced. Our priority had to be finding Treasure’s killer. In comparison, everything else seemed far less important, even the prospect of losing Jack’s insurance money—all I had in the world—most of which I’d sunk into 104.

“Don’t be discouraged.” I tried to sound cheerful. “By the time Dick remodels the rest of the units, the public will have forgotten what happened to Treasure.” Judging from today’s news coverage, that, sadly, could be true.

She blew her nose again.

“Besides,” I went on, “we’ll make the units so gorgeous, buyers will be lined up—”

“I don’t give a damn about the condos.” Marilyn’s voice was flat, her eyes dull.

“You don’t?”

“To hell with them.”

Damn? Hell?
From Marilyn, who’d never let on she knew what either word meant. A spark of fire lighting her eyes, she bent her knees and leaned forward on the lounge. With her face inches from mine, she gripped me in an eye lock I didn’t even try to break out of. “I’m sick of pretending. Dick’s at it again.” Slick with Coppertone, she sat up straight, back rigid, every flawless curve telegraphing defiance. “But this time he’s gone too far.”

“Dick’s at what?”

“He’s been cheating on me. Again.”

“No, Dick wouldn’t do that,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing.

“Believe me. It’s true.”

“He likes to flirt, but he’s just a big teddy bear. He doesn’t mean—”

The spark in her eyes turned to flame. “Teddy bear? Ha! He’s a snake.”

“So who is he—”

“Don’t ask. You won’t like the answer.” Marilyn lay back on the lounge, closed her eyes and raised her puffy face to the sun.

“But—”

“He was married before, you know. No wonder she dumped him. I’d leave him, too, but everything’s in his name. Even Surfside. He never wanted me to work so I don’t have any skills. At least none I can sell… Or do I?” She sat up straight again and peered at me through swollen lids. “You know, Deva, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Sell what I do best. Teach him a lesson.”

Uneasy about where this was going, I asked, “What kind of lesson?”

Marilyn set her jaw. “Never mind. But thanks for giving me a good idea.”

What idea?

“Yeah, I’ll teach him a lesson, all right.” She slapped the lounge seat with the flat of her palm and struck the edge of the Kleenex box. Like it was a bomb ready to explode, she snatched it up and flung it away. A soaring bird, it rode the air for a second before dropping like a rock, right into the pool.

Oh boy. A challenge for the filter system.

Stabbing her sunglasses onto her face, she turned her head away, refusing any more of our “girl talk.” Why, oh why, had I even started this conversation? But I figured she’d spewed out only empty bravado. As sure as I sat there with my chin slack, I knew Marilyn wouldn’t act on her anger. Looking at her stretched out on the lounge, a golden-blonde Barbie, an already perfect tan on her perfect size-two body, I wondered why Dick had strayed. More than once, she’d said.

So he took off his tool belt occasionally. Part of it, anyway.

Without making a sound, I stood and headed for the patio table and my sketching supplies. But my mind wasn’t on spinning the color wheel.

If Jack had cheated on me, I probably would have killed somebody. Most likely the other woman.

Halfway across the pool apron, I stopped dead in my tracks. Had Dick been having an affair with Treasure? She hadn’t hinted at it, though she’d enjoyed boasting about her love life. I collapsed on a metal chair in a patch of shade cast by the table umbrella. Even if Treasure had messed with Dick, no way could Marilyn have strangled her. Even maddened by jealousy, she wouldn’t have had the strength.

But what if she had an accomplice? Ashamed of my thoughts, I rested my elbows on the table, all desire to sketch a plan for Simon up in the air with the birds.

Should I go to Rossi with yet another betrayal of a friend and neighbor? Chances were he would consider my news little more than gossip. I could just hear his derisive tone… On the other hand, he’d said if I heard anything to let him know. I blew out a breath, moved my legs out of the sun before they fried, and did what I usually did in times of stress—took out my number two pencil, picked up the sketch pad and began drawing. As it often did, the work took me over, and the sketch soon crowded everything else out of my mind for a blessed little while…

The chocolate sofa against a light turquoise backdrop might do for Simon after all. I’d repeat those colors and add a little white to some pillows…install white louvers on the glass wall leading out to the lanai. They’d be a strong foil to all that big brown furniture, keep it from being so insistent.

Pleased with the concept, I folded a protective tissue over the page and put my art supplies back in their box. A lanai slider slammed open. Grim-faced, Dick hurried out of 102 and raced around the pool toward Marilyn. He bent over to murmur in her ear.

Whatever he said had a galvanizing effect. Her face rigid as stone, Marilyn leaped up and stalked off, the buttocks of her enviably shaped behind pumping up and down like pistons.

About to start after her, Dick spotted me under the umbrella trying to look like a little sketch artist who hadn’t noticed a thing. He didn’t buy that and marched over to me, wasting no time in getting at what bothered him.

“Marilyn been talking to you?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I mean
talkin’.
She’s upset.”

Stalling for time, I examined my manicure. With only ten fingers to look at, that didn’t take long. “We’re all upset these days, Dick.”

“Yeah.” He eyed me suspiciously but let it go and broke into a good imitation of a smile. “I’ve got some news.”

“Really?” I said, thrilled to have the subject change.

“Homicide’s released Treasure’s condo. They got everything they need. So I want you to doll the place up. You know, have the rug cleaned. Add some color. Get some plants and stuff. It’s like a ghost town up there.”

“Can we do that? Legally, I mean. Doesn’t the condo belong to Treasure’s family?”

“What family?”

“She said she had a brother.”

“Well, she lied to one of us, then. She told me she didn’t have any relatives. What was the line she used? Oh yeah, ‘I depend on the kindness of strangers.’” Dick snorted in disgust. “She sure depended on the wrong type.”

He turned to go, but I had to ask him a question that had been on my mind for the past three days. “What about a funeral?”

“If no one claims the body, the city’ll bury her and seize her assets to cover the cost.”

“A pauper’s grave. We can’t let that happen, Dick.”

Like my words were gnats, he waved a hand in front of his face. “I got enough troubles. If you’re worried about a funeral, ask that detective when he rolls around again. He’s spending enough time here. Pretty soon he’ll be taking dives in the pool.”

Poor Dick. He had money troubles and woman troubles, two of the worst kind, but I needed some answers. “Before we make any changes, we have to find out if the unit belongs to Treasure’s estate.”

Impatient now, he snapped out, “It belongs to me. I told you she has no heirs. I hold the mortgage, and the payments are two months overdue. I also got a big bill coming from the decontamination company. So I got to make all that up. Until the estate clears probate, the unit can’t be sold, but until that happens I’m using it as a model. If the lieutenant wants to stop me, he can let me know. After probate, if the unit doesn’t sell, Marilyn and I’ll move in and sell 102. Or anyway, one of us will move in.”

Without waiting for more questions, he stomped off and headed for home. He had work to do in there. Lots of work.

He didn’t get too far when he stopped and yelled, “Hey, what’s that box of Kleenex doin’ in the pool?”

For some questions, there are no good answers. So I took the Fifth and, sketching finished, thighs burned a fiesta coral, I went inside just in time to grab the jangling phone.

“Mrs. Dunne?” Rossi was all business today.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” My chilly tone hopefully conveyed that his questions last night still rankled.

He paused for a couple of seconds. “Forensics wants a blood sample.”

“What!” Nearly shocked out of my Speedo, I sank onto a stool to catch my breath. “Why, for Pete’s sake? I didn’t leave any blood in 301.”

“You were the first on the scene. We need to eliminate you as a possible suspect.”

“But the blood up there must be Treasure’s.”

Another pause. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I trust you. So keep it under wraps, okay?”

“What?” I clutched the phone tighter, clamping it to my ear.

“The blood on the carpet didn’t come from the victim.”

“Whose could it be, then? The killer’s?”

The deep intake of a weary breath floated through the wire. “I wish it was that simple.”

“Rossi, what are you saying?”

“That’s all I can tell you.”

“Are you trying to pin a murder rap on me?”

“The lab’s in the Collier Government Center. Corner of Airport and 41 East.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“If you do, I’ll issue a warrant.”

“I have one thing to say to that, Rossi. Shove your warrant.”

I hung up, my hands shaking so bad it took three tries before I got the receiver onto the cradle. Wrapping my legs around the stool so I wouldn’t fall off, I told myself I had nothing to worry about, the blood wasn’t mine. But the message didn’t get to my hands. They hovered in the air, trembling like a pair of hummingbirds.

I’m scared, Jack. Suppose they take a blood sample and mess up? Peg me for the killer?

Then common sense kicked in. Mistakes like that only happened in thriller movies. Besides, I had no intention of having the test. I eased off the stool and went in the bedroom to strip off my swimsuit.

Tossing the Speedo on the bed, I padded into the bathroom and stared at my worried-looking face in the mirror. What if Marilyn’s mystery woman had been meeting Dick in Treasure’s empty condo? As property manager, he kept a lockbox with a key to every unit. Marilyn said this time he’d gone too far. Maybe she meant the opposite—too close. Right in his own backyard, right in Surfside. And what if the blood drops had been left by that woman? Or by Dick?

Feeling a tad like Lady Macbeth, I showered yet again, toweled dry and opted for a pair of moss-green slacks, a matching silk shirt and high-heeled slides. A little gel settled my hair, and a little lip gloss and blush brightened my pale face. I topped things off with a spritz of Chanel.

Da da da DA.

I peeked through the shutter slats. Rossi stood outside, smoldering in the sun. I could pretend I wasn’t home, but why bother? I opened the door and stood blocking the entrance. No way was I letting him barge in like he had every right to.

“What a surprise, Lieutenant.”

“Mrs. Dunne, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

He owl-eyed me without answering. “I’ll drive you there.”

“Where?”

“Look, I don’t want to play this game. We’re trying to eliminate you as a suspect, not incriminate you.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I’m telling you. So either you go quietly or we turn this into World War Three.”

“You mean you don’t have a warrant.”

“I’m counting on your cooperation.”

“Ha! We’ll see what my lawyer says about that.”

He stared at me for a moment, as if weighing something in his mind, then said, “The blood on the carpet came from a woman.” Before I could blurt out a question, he added, “Someone other than the victim.”

“Oh. My. God. A woman killed Treasure?”

“I didn’t say that.”

My voice collapsed into a whisper. “Do you think I killed her?”

“If the blood’s not yours, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Of course it’s not mine.”

“The lab’s open till four.”

I could feel the heat drain from my face. That always makes my freckles stand out like polka dots. They must have told him I was scared stiff.

“Get your bag,” he ordered. “I’ll drive you there.”

Scared or not, I found his cocksure attitude tough to take. “Am I under arrest?”

He shook his head. “No. The test is routine procedure.”

“Then I’ll drive myself.” I sounded defiant, but at the sight of Rossi’s smile, I knew he had won this round.

As he turned on his heel and stalked off, one of his signature Hawaiian shirts—yellow palm fronds today—flapping over his pants, the living room phone came alive. I snatched it up.

“Do I get a second chance?”

No preamble, no name, as if Simon knew I’d be sure to recognize him right off, which I did. Unlike last night, today his deep, resonant voice held something extra, a hint of humor. I liked that. I liked it a lot. Jack always had a note of mischief lurking in his voice. It was a delightful quality. I missed it, and right now I sure could use a laugh.

My knees wobbled a bit. In case they gave way, I plunked down on the edge of the sofa.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“The guy with the ugly condo.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. You already have two important essentials.”

“I do?” He sounded disappointed.

“Yes. A place to put your drink down and your feet up.”

He rewarded me with a chuckle. “The place looks like a motel room. We need to work on it.”

The
we
wasn’t lost on me. Or the reference to a motel room. “I’ve sketched some ideas for you to look at.”

“Great. Just what I hoped you’d say. St. George at seven?”

True, I liked his voice, but Rossi’s warning popped up out of the blue.
Don’t trust anyone.
Planning to drive to the Foxy Lady with Simon last night had been foolhardy, a mistake I wouldn’t repeat.