Chapter Thirty-Two
After a few minutes that seemed like an hour, four Naples PD officers, followed by the mall’s elderly security guard, stormed the Galleria, weapons at the ready. Their timing couldn’t have been better. My arm holding the Glock had begun to tire. I lowered it gratefully and handed the weapon to Officer Batano. He took it from me without the slightest change in his deadpan expression and said, “You can explain this to the lieutenant.”
In her ripped dress, the tiara of braids loose around her shoulders, Beatriz had fire in her eyes. “He’s the one. That one there,” she said to the cops with obvious relish. “The
bandido
my friend captured.” No more a sad old lady, she had morphed into a virago.
“The
bandido
that we captured, Beatriz,” I said. “Without you, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“
Sí
,” she agreed, the triumph on her face practically wiping out her wrinkles. Her finger steady as a rock, she pointed to our captive. “He cut a treasure to ribbons. The settee is irreplaceable, and now look at it. All for drugs. He refused to believe we knew nothing about such things. Except for the bag of cocaine.”
“The bag of what?” Batano asked.
Uh-oh
.
“In his backpack. Over there on the chair.”
“Search it,” Batano ordered. Officer Hughes stepped forward, went through the pack and retrieved the plastic bag.
“The old lady gave it to me,” our intruder said.
“Liar!” Beatriz shouted.
“Is that true?” Batano asked her. “You give it to him?”
“No. He stole it off my desk.”
Oh
,
boy.
Wait till Rossi hears this one.
“Get his stats and read him his rights,” Batano said to Hughes. “Then get him some first aid.” He cocked a finger at Beatriz and me. “Now if you’ll come into your office, Mrs. Vega—you too, Mrs. Dunne—we’ll see that the lieutenant is notified.”
We stepped over the piles of records on the office floor, plucked our personal belongings off the desktop, replaced them in our purses, and took the same chairs we’d been sitting on when the intruder burst in on us.
The mall security guard trailed after Batano like a chaperone on a school outing. He rarely emerged from the TV monitor room. I guess his philosophy was if nothing appeared on his screens, then nothing was wrong. I had a feeling that was about to change. The security cameras didn’t reach inside the individual shops, a loophole the shop owners would want plugged now that they had proof the current system didn’t keep them safe.
Worse, when the monitors were down, as they had been the night José was killed—and several other nights the previous month—the main areas weren’t patrolled either. The problem must have been corrected though; the monitors hadn’t conked out once since José died.
Anyway, while Batano quizzed Beatriz, I sat waiting for the sound of Rossi’s voice.
He came in silently, nodding at Batano’s update, not saying a word, listening. Then he went over to Beatriz and took her hand. “Mrs. Vega, are you well?”
“I am excellent, Lieutenant, thanks to Deva.” Her tone left no doubt she meant what she said.
He let go of her hand and turned to me, giving me a hooded eye sweep. “You’re pale,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine, but Beatriz is giving me too much credit.” I smiled at him, hoping he’d smile back. No such luck. “We were a team.”
He took the notepad and pencil stub out of his shirt pocket. “Please begin at the beginning. You first, Mrs. Vega.”
He quizzed us for over an hour. We told him everything we knew, which on my side wasn’t much. When we were finished, he said, “Thank you. You’ve both been very cooperative. And brave.” He swiveled his attention to me. “Officer Hughes will escort you to your car.”
“That won’t be—”
His arched eyebrow challenged me to go on. I shut up.
He turned back to Beatriz. “Mrs. Vega, Officer Batano and I will drive you home and make sure your house is secure. While this incident is under investigation, we’ll post a guard on your property. So rest assured your safety is our concern.”
“You think there’s danger for me?” she asked.
“I don’t know. If drugs are involved, there might be.”
We all left the Galleria together. Officer Hughes stood guard at the shop’s entrance, but the other officers and our intruder were gone. “After you see Mrs. Dunne to her car, follow us to Mrs. Vega’s home,” Rossi said to Hughes.
Beatriz locked up and hugged me goodbye. I was hoping Rossi would take me aside and say he’d be by later, but with only a curt dip of his head, he took Beatriz’s elbow and walked her toward the elevator.
“Let’s go, Officer,” I said to Hughes.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. One thing I’d learned about Hughes: she never stepped out of her professional role. Probably wore her gun on dates. Over her cocktail dress.
She watched as I unlocked the Audi and got in. “Have a good day,” she said, standing there legs apart, one hand on her holster.
“I already have,” I replied, but she didn’t break out with even a scintilla of a smile. Probably didn’t understand gallows humor. Whatever.
So with Hughes watching, I pressed the door locks, buckled up and started the Audi. As I drove through the parking lot, I realized Hughes wasn’t the only one checking on my movements. Two vehicles away, I spotted Austin crouched beside an SUV. What was he doing there, hiding so close to my car? I’d been in the mall for hours. Had he waited all afternoon for me to come out? If so, how strange.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rossi didn’t call that evening, nor did I expect him to. He had a druggie intruder to interrogate and two murders to solve. Though I longed to see him and explain all over again why I had gone to the mall despite his warning, one look in my bathroom mirror—horrors—convinced me it was just as well he hadn’t come by.
In the morning, I had an appointment with the surgeon and expected him to remove the stitches. High time. It wasn’t close enough to Halloween to walk around looking like a fright mask. Something needed to be done about that, and I flipped through my cell menu until I found a certain number.
The next day, feeling ten pounds lighter without the stitches in my scalp, I made a beeline for the Day of Beauty Spa and put myself in the hands of a gal named Patty.
“The works,” I said. “Mani, pedi, facial, massage, shampoo—two shampoos—haircut and let’s go all out—makeup too.”
I brought an apricot sundress and high-heeled sandals along in a garment bag. And when Patty and pals got through with me, I left the salon clad in the sundress, a drift of Prada’s Candy Perfume—I couldn’t eat it but at least I could spritz it behind my ears—and a highly elevated sense of self-esteem.
I got to the shop just before closing time. Lee sent my ego into the stratosphere with one word. “Wow!”
“Thank you, I needed that. You positively don’t, but I want to give you an early Christmas present anyway. A session at the Naples Day of Beauty Spa.”
Lee was that rare woman, lithe and slim, except where it was better not to be, a natural blonde who could pose for a magazine cover without needing to be airbrushed into perfection. “A spa makes you feel wonderful,” I tempted.
“But then we’d have to close the shop for a day.”
A pang of remorse lowered me onto the zebra settee across from her bureau plat. “It’s true I’ve been gone a lot lately. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lee.”
She gave me one of her gentle smiles, the kind that must turn Paulo to mush. “Y’all look like you’re about to cry and wreck your makeup.”
“No way! So okay, we’ll save your spa visit for when I’m spending more time here, but that probably won’t be until after the mall murders are solved. And they
will
be solved. They have to be. In the meanwhile, I’d like you to have more say in decision making, especially in ordering goods for the shop. How does that sound to you?”
She sat perched on the edge of her seat, listening to every word, her interest urging me on.
“At first we’ll go through the catalogs together. As you gain experience, you can do more of the ordering. And if you have any ideas for change or innovation, let me know. Someday, Lee, after you get your degree and have more design experience, I’m hoping you’ll come into the business as a partner.” One look at the somber expression on her face and I faltered. “Only if you want to, of course.”
“I’d love it. It’s my secret dream but...” her voice quavered, “...I don’t know if I’ll ever get my degree.”
Stunned, I asked, “Why not? I know how hard you’ve been working and—”
“I’ve been struggling with my assignment all week, but nothing’s coming together, and it’s driving me crazy.” She stopped speaking to swipe a hand across her eyes. Except for the time Paulo was sent to Paris to study while she stayed behind in Naples, I’d rarely seen Lee so upset.
“Is the assignment something I can help you with?” I asked.
“Y’all are so busy. I can’t bother you with classwork.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we, Lee?
Eyes brimming, she nodded.
“When a friend turns to you for help, that’s an honor not a bother. So...do you have your schoolwork with you?”
“I do!” She reached down and lifted a canvas design portfolio onto the bureau plat. I locked the front door and together we poured over her drawings.
“Y’all are going to laugh at this, but we’re working on a showhouse.”
I did laugh. “Really? Which room is yours?”
“The game room. The problem is fitting in a big old pool table. It takes up so much space. And look at this.” She picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Everything on this list has to be included without looking crowded.” She flung down her pencil and pulled a sheaf of drawings out of the portfolio. “Not a single one of these is right. Every one does look crowded.”
I studied her renderings. One or two were close to a solution, but not quite.
“The pool table is definitely a white elephant.” I tapped her page. “You’ve centered it. Why not move it to one end of the room? Just be sure to leave enough space around it for the players to use cue sticks.”
“But the assignment says the table has to be the focal point.”
“It still will be. A focal point is what attracts the most attention. No rule dictates a certain placement for that.”
A smile lit her face. “No, come to think of it, there isn’t any such rule at all. I created my own problem.” With one hand, she made a quick pass at her eyes and flicked away a final tear. “Thank you so much. Paulo will be pleased too. He’s been trying to help me, but he’s an artist, not an interior designer.”
“How is Paulo, by the way? I haven’t seen him since he painted that kitchen and saved my life.”
“He’s just fine. Working hard on his latest commission. You should see it. He’s so gifted.”
“I know. He has many gifts. And you’re one of them.”
She laughed, but I meant it.
“Paulo’s probably waiting for you even as we speak.” I stood and picked up my straw bag. “I’m hoping you both can join me at the Showhouse opening next week. Everybody who made a contribution is invited. String orchestra, open bar, hors d’oeuvres.”
“We’d love to. I’m dying to see the kitchen now that it’s finished.”
“Well, it’s nearly finished but not quite. It still needs some final details. So tomorrow I’ll scout the collectibles and thrifts for vintage accessories. Then the following day I have an appointment with Oliver Kent. But after that I plan to spend more time here. Promise.”
“That would be nice, but do what you have to do. I’m managing just fine.”
“You certainly are.”
She tucked her school project back in the portfolio and together we locked up.
“Let’s leave the day’s receipts for tomorrow’s deposit. We both need to get home. I know you always dazzle Paulo, and tonight I’m in a hurry to razzle-dazzle Rossi. If he shows up.”
A big
if.
He showed. The minute I pulled onto Surfside’s tarmac, I saw lamplight gleaming in my condo windows.
Rossi’s here
surged through my veins as I hurried up the walk, my new haircut hiding the scar, my makeup hiding the fatigue, and the low-cut halter top hiding very little.
I turned the key in the front door lock carefully, not wanting to damage the new Tropical Tangerine nail polish, and swept in.
“Rossi, I’m home!”
“So am I.” He came out of the kitchen, and at the sight of me stopped mid-stride. “Wow!”
“I want you to know that’s my second wow today.”
“Why am I not surprised?” His finger described a circle. “Turn around.”
I obliged, ending up where I had started, facing him.
“You’re yourself, only more so,” he said. “Whatever you did, I’m crazy about it. You look gorgeous.” He held out his arms as if to pull me into them, but didn’t move any closer.
“No hug? No kiss?”
“I don’t want to mar that perfection.”
“Oh, go ahead. Makeup is a renewable art form.”
He laughed and crossed the room in a couple of strides. He took me in his arms, but still no hug or kiss, just a long, penetrating look from under those hooded lids. “Do you realize that you and Beatriz could have been killed yesterday?”
“Of course I realize that. The guy had a loaded gun in his hand.”
“Do you remember my asking you not to go back to the mall until all this was settled? That it was too dangerous for you?”
“She called, Rossi. I couldn’t refuse.”
“You needn’t have refused. Why didn’t you make a call of your own? Have me go with you?”
“Then you might have been killed. He was careless around two unarmed women. God knows what might have happened if you were there and confronted him.”
“Your logic is anything but logical.”
“Not so. I’m being totally logical. As well as very rational. So is Beatriz. She thinks José may have known Hugo was dealing drugs. Do you think he did?”
“Deva.”
I ignored the disapproval in his voice. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the case.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” Rossi had morphed into total detective mode. I hated when he did that, but didn’t let it stop me. “Beatriz still thinks Raúl killed José, but what do you think? You’ve really never said.”
“You know better than to ask.”
“But I am asking. Because to tell you the truth, Rossi, I don’t believe Raúl is a murderer. Hugo is far more likely involved. I think the drugs are proof of—”
He didn’t want to hear any of this and cut off my soliloquy in the most effective way possible. With a kiss. When it ended, and sadly all kisses did, I figured having him shut me up so easily was a bad precedent. So I asked another question. “Why didn’t you come by last night? Too angry?”
He shook his head. “Too busy...well, to be honest some of both. I didn’t want to say anything I might regret. I figured a little cooling-down time would be good.”
“I was already cool. So you were too mad to come by.”
“You could say that, but I got over it, and here I am again. You’re a magnet. An irresistible force. Especially looking the way you do.” He peered closer. “Your eyelashes are fluttery.”
“They’re fake.”
“Then you’re ready for the real deal.” That’s when he began kissing me in earnest, and the makeup job went all to hell.