Frosted Shadow, a Toni Diamond Mystery: Toni Diamond Mysteries (9 page)

“And you’re staying in the hotel?”

“Yes.” He glanced at Helen Barnes and licked his greedy lips. “Can’t believe no one told me there’d been a murder right under my nose. I’ll have to call my agent. Maybe write an article for one of the big magazines.” As though a violent death were a big treat he’d missed, and an employment opportunity.

Once more Luke drew out the photograph of the dead woman. “Do you recognize her?”

The artiste façade slipped for a second and Luke watched Mandeville’s eyes widen in genuine shock. He reached out for the picture, then stopped. “Oh my God. I know her. Her name is Amy Neuman. But –”

“Are you sure?”

His gaze stayed riveted on the photograph and his upper lip looked suddenly clammy. “Of course I’m sure. I had dinner with her Sunday night.”

Chapter Ten

No woman makes herself up for a man. She does it for herself. But if a man notices, that’s always nice. —
Lady Bianca

“I can’t believe Amy’s dead,” Joseph Mandeville said, shoving a hand through his hair so it fell in romantic disarray. Marciano wondered how he’d look with a prison regulation buzz cut.

“Murdered, in fact. Something you are quite an expert on.” He and Henderson were in Mandeville’s suite sharing the space with the man’s laptop, his two cell phones, his cloying cologne and his oversized ego. He’d called Henderson and asked him to come along as he interviewed the author.

“I didn’t kill her. Why on earth would I?”

Marciano opened the hard cover Mandeville was here to promote and read the opening words of the book. “The perfect murder needs no reason. That’s why it’s perfect.”

“Come on. I get paid to create an impression. Doesn’t mean I believe that crap.”

Marciano glanced over at Henderson who smoothly took over. “How did you meet Ms. Neuman?”

“She emailed me through my website, originally.”

“Where did she live?”

Mandeville opened his big lips and then pursed them as though thinking. “Seattle, I believe.”

They already had the woman’s registration information from the front desk and knew she was from Seattle.

“And you live in New York.”

“Right. That’s the beauty of the web. It’s made the planet the size of an Internet café.”

“When did Ms. Neuman contact you?”

“About a year ago. It was right after Killer Teens came out. That’s a true crime about teen-aged murderers. She wanted to use a section of the book as a teaching exercise for her sophomore English class, and wrote to ask my permission.”

“Did you give it?”

“Sure. If a few of those kids bought one of my books it would be worth it. I looked on it as free publicity.”

“When I was a sophomore we studied Macbeth,” Marciano said.

Mandeville smiled dutifully. “My books are as gory, but more contemporary. And there are plenty of tragedies in high school. Anyway, she said she was a fan of my work and we began corresponding by email. When it turned out we were both coming to this conference, we decided to meet for dinner.”

“Whose idea was the dinner?”

“Mine, I think.”

“And was it your idea that she come in before the conference started? Before there was anybody around?”

Mandeville’s eyes flashed with annoyance but he kept his tone calm. “She’d already decided to come in early. She’d never been to Texas and wanted to do some sightseeing while she was here.”

The weight of two police officers staring at him seemed to unnerve him. “Oh, for God’s sake. If I wanted to murder a woman I barely know, I’d hardly have done it in the hotel where we’re both staying, after we spent the evening together. I’m not a fool.”

“Where did you go for dinner?”

“A gourmet steak house.” He shrugged. “When in Rome. I wanted to show her some real Texas fun.”

“Had you ever met before?”

He glanced toward the window where a plane arrowed slowly across the hazy sky. “Maybe we passed each other at a conference in the past. Who knows?”

“What did you talk about over dinner?”

He opened his hands the way lecturers do when making a point. “Books, of course. Writing. Teaching. Her life, my life.” He stretched out his legs in front of him but Marciano thought he was trying too hard to convey the idea that he was relaxed.

“She seemed upset about something. Her cell phone rang a few times during dinner. She checked the number once and then put the thing on vibrate, but I could tell she was edgy. You know? She was sitting with her back to the window, but a couple of times she turned around to check outside. It didn’t seem like she was people-watching.”

Henderson made a careful note. “You think someone was following her? Harassing her?”

“I don’t know. I asked her if everything was okay and she said it was.”

“What time did you leave the restaurant?”

“Around ten, I think.”

“Did that Texas fun continue when you got back to the hotel?” Marciano asked.

Mandeville jerked to his feet and stalked to the window, standing there with his back to them. “No. She was going through a difficult time. She’s – she was in the process of getting a divorce. She wasn’t ready to move on.”

“So you didn’t put the moves on her?”

“Of course I did.” He spun around and snapped, “I’m a red-blooded unattached male staying in a deluxe hotel room with a king-sized bed. I suggested we come back to my place for a nightcap.”

He actually said
nightcap
.

“And she refused?”

Under Henderson’s steady, unmoving gaze, Mandeville’s shifted until he was staring at the tasteful floral print on the wall. “Yes.”

“How did her rejection make you feel?” Henderson asked in his emotionless way.

“I didn’t feel like killing her because she turned me down,” he snapped. “I’m not that desperate for sex.”

“So, if you have nothing to hide, you won’t mind if we look around?”

Mandeville started at him and Luke figured the guy’d done enough research that he must know they didn’t have enough articulable facts to justify a warrant. But, if he was as innocent as he claimed, the easiest way to prove it was to let them paw through his sock drawer.

Mandeville blinked first. “Fine. Just don’t make a mess.”

Henderson held out one of the preprinted consent forms and asked Mandeville to sign it, which he did with an angry flourish of his fountain pen.

“What do you figure?” Marciano asked Henderson when they left Mandeville’s suite.

“Would have been nice to find a blood-stained knife.”

“Yeah. You know, I agree with him. He’s too smart to kill a woman he ate dinner with and do it right in the hotel where they’re both staying.”

“He’s arrogant. I think he’d do about anything for publicity.” Marciano punched the down button on the elevator. “He’s got his next book already.
The Night my Penpal was Murdered
.”

“You think he killed her to sell a few books?”

Luke shrugged.

“Seemed like he wanted to be helpful.”

“Too helpful. You buy the mysterious cell phone calls and her checking over her shoulder?”

“Now we know who she is, we can get hold of her cell phone records. I’ll get onto that.”

Marciano nodded. “Better let Seattle PD know. They’ll have to inform next of kin. I’ll check the restaurant. Double-check her last movements. Try and follow some kind of trail.”

Henderson’s cell phone rang. He flipped it open and had a short conversation.

“They were able to squeeze the autopsy in today at three.”

“Great. Meet you back here at 2:30.”

Marciano headed out of the hotel, pulling his sunglasses on as he went.

Not far past the revolving door to the main entrance, a couple of enterprising teens were selling two-inch campaign-style buttons in purple printed with the words
NO, I Don’t want a Lady Bianca makeover
. From the brisk sales, he had to think everyone in the area had been approached by more than one eager sales rep.

He’d barely stepped off the hotel property when he saw several groups of Lady Bianca types heading his way. Already, he could spot them, all those skirts and pumps. The third group he passed contained the most Lady Bianca of all the reps: Toni Diamond, her sunglasses sparkling in the light. He’d have nodded and kept going, but she stopped him.

“Detective,” she said, detaching herself from her group and walking over to him. “I’m so happy to see you.” She gestured to the group behind her, all looking at her like fledgling chicks watching Mother Hen. “We were practicing some friendly fishing.”

He gestured to the button sellers. “Doesn’t look like you’re catching much.”

The sun glinted off her diamond-studded glasses when she shook her head. “You’d be surprised. It’s fun to encourage new customers to try our products. And a little bit of resistance is good for training purposes.”

“Well, I’ve got some fishing of my own to do, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course. I know you’ve got police business to attend to, but I’ve got something for you.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a tube, offering it to him.

He didn’t take it immediately. “It’s purple.”

“Don’t be a chauvinist. It’s lilac and it’s the hand moisturizer and cuticle cream I was telling you about.”

She lifted his hand and placed the tube on his palm, giving both a little pat. “I talked to one of our reps whose husband is a mechanic. He swears by the stuff. She said you should rub this all over your hands and under your nails before you work on greasy engines. It prevents the dirt from sticking. Then, after you clean up, rub the cream in well.” She mimed the process on her own fingers. “Especially around the sides where the skin gets dry and cracked.”

“I don’t –”

“No need to thank me.” She twinkled at him. “Maybe you’ll love the cream so much you’ll recommend it to your sister. Bye now,” she said in her eternally sunny way, and was gone.

He probably would, he thought. He’d started out investigating a murder and he’d end up pimping makeup to his relatives, God help him.

As he walked away he heard a burst of feminine laughter and some excited chatter. He had to stifle a grin as he stuffed the lilac tube in his pocket. Damn it, that woman had friendly fished him, hook line and sinker.

The walk to the steak house Mandeville directed him to took him less than ten minutes when he deliberately held his pace to a stroll.

The restaurant was a mid-priced steak house. Lots of dark wood and blue gingham café curtains across big windows. The lunch crowd was thinning out, but the hostess offered him a practiced smile and a quick glance behind him before asking, “Lunch for one?”

He slipped her his card. “I’m investigating a crime. I’d like to ask a few questions about a couple who had dinner here Sunday night.”

“I wasn’t working Sunday. Any idea who their server was?”

“No. But they sat by the window.”

“Probably Candy then. Or Ken.” She bit her lip as though not quite sure how to proceed then said, “Right this way. I’ll seat you and bring the server to you.”

“Thanks.” Since she dropped a menu in front of him, he opened it and studied a list of steaks, ribs and chicken dishes, depicted in both glowing prose and vivid, mouth-watering photographs.

“You were asking about one of my customers?” a female voice asked.

“That’s right. Candy?”

She nodded. Candy was a plump woman on the dark side of forty with short blonde hair that was longer on one side than the other.

After he introduced himself, he said, “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” She seemed more than happy to sit down and join him.

Their waitress approached. “Do you want to order anything?”

“I’ll take a couple of the steak sandwiches to go.”

“Sure thing.”

“And whatever Candy would like?”

“Could you bring a couple of iced teas for right now, Lisa?” Candy added. The way the other waitress nodded and headed off to do her bidding suggested Candy was liked, or at least respected, by the other staff.

He placed two pictures on the table. One was Mandeville’s publicity photo that he’d sliced from the book jacket with his pen knife, and the other was the photo of the dead woman, Amy Neuman. “Did you serve either of these people dinner Sunday night?”

“Yeah, I remember them. They had dinner at Table 25. In the window there.” She touched Amy’s picture with a red fingertip. “What happened to her?”

The iced tea came, real stuff, dark with tannins. Lisa placed two big glasses clinking with ice on the table, and set out sugar and lemon.

“Thanks, hun,” Candy said.

“Welcome.” After a curious glance at the pictures, Lisa headed off with her empty tray.

“She was murdered. Sunday night. We’re trying to figure out who did it and why.”

Candy’s eyes were a faded blue, but the concern in them was sharp. “She was killed right after she ate dinner here? God, that’s tragic. She seemed so nice.”

“You must serve a lot of customers in a night. You’ve got a good memory.”

She smiled briefly. “A good memory is a real asset to a waitress. I haven’t needed to write an order down in thirty years. Besides, those two were hard to forget. They were fighting.”

He pulled out his notebook. “What about?”

“I didn’t hear much, obviously, but you can always tell when customers aren’t getting along.” She sighed. “I don’t know why everybody thinks they have to do their breaking up in public. It’s a lie that anybody acts more civilized in a restaurant, believe me. I’ve been hit with flying food, wine, water, even had to help restrain a woman who went after her husband with one of the steak knives one time.”

“Were the two at Table 25 violent?”

“No. Not them. But that woman barely ate a bite of her food, mostly pushed it around on her plate. And it was the rib-eye and scampi platter, too. A specialty of the house. Everybody loves that dish.” Candy shook her head. “Didn’t even take the rest to go.”

“And they were definitely fighting?”

“They bickered, then would break off when I got near. Too bad, because they came in like a pair of lovebirds. Holding hands and all.”

“Really?” He glanced up at her. “Do you think they were intimate?”