The Diva Digs up the Dirt (13 page)

At eleven forty-five, I drove into the circular driveway in front of Roscoe’s home. In the brutal summer heat, the old trees and white house looked like the perfect place for a cool respite.

I parked in the shade of a tree and left the windows open. The charming porch beckoned. No wonder Roscoe had remained in his comfortable house instead of moving to a mansion. I rang the doorbell and waited. Hurried footsteps approached the door on the other side.

Violet opened the door and stared at me. Her black hair was drawn back so tightly it pulled her skin taut. She frowned at me but said nothing.

“Sophie Winston. I have a meeting with Roscoe.”

She scowled and stepped aside. Without uttering a single word, she turned and walked through the foyer into a hallway. I guessed I was supposed to follow her. Once again, she led me through a family room with a brick fireplace. Decorated much like Roscoe’s study, it had a masculine feel, with cushy, old leather furniture. I knew the drill this time and opened the door to let myself out on the terrace.

Across the green lawn, a door slammed shut at the guest house. Cricket, Roscoe’s assistant and Audie’s fiancée, walked toward me, her copper hair gleaming in the sun. Unlike me, she wore office clothes—pantyhose, a chic navy suit, and heels so high that I would have toppled over and broken both ankles. I suspected she was aerating the lawn with the spiked heels as she walked.

“Did Violet throw you out here in the sun? I’m so sorry. We’re all in a bit of a frenzy around here this morning.”

“Oh?”

She motioned to me to follow her. “I’m afraid something rather valuable has been stolen.”

Cricket stopped for a moment, rested her hand on a patio chair for balance, and scratched her calf. “Roscoe is beside himself. He may want to cancel lunch.”

“Of course. We can reschedule it for any time that suits him.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

She opened the exterior door to Roscoe’s den. I couldn’t make out a thing. My eyes had to adjust to the dark interior.

“Cricket! Did you call Audie?” I recognized Roscoe’s deep voice before I could see him clearly.

“Audie’s in meetings all day. You know how he is about turning off his phone.” She turned to me. “Audie’s company policy—he goes wild when he’s talking to someone who keeps reading texts or taking calls. I don’t know how you think Audie can help, Roscoe, it’s not like
he
would have taken it.”

“Sophie, I’m sorry this had to happen right before our lunch. What I want to know is who hates me enough to steal from me? I’m good to my people. Real good.”

Mars murmured, “Hi, Soph.”

The paneled room had finally come into full focus. A huge empty space in the bookcase clued me in about what was missing. “The mallard print is gone?”

“Where’s Mindy?” barked Roscoe.

Cricket didn’t seem to be the least bit disturbed by Roscoe’s demanding tone. “She’s dressing to go shopping. She needs some things for your trip tomorrow.”

“Sophie, sugar,” said Roscoe, “Mars says you’re something of a sleuth. How did the burglar get in here?”

I glared at Mars. “I’ve just gotten lucky a few times. I’m not a professional. You need the police, Roscoe. They can fingerprint—”

He cut me off. “No police! Good heavens, I’ve got a reputation to maintain. Once you go to the police, it ends up all over the newspapers and on TV. Besides, I don’t want every thief within a ten-hour drive thinking my house is an ideal target.”

Cricket raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, looking at me as though she’d heard that song before and couldn’t do a thing about it.

“C’mon, Sophie. What do you think?”

I thought he ought to hire a retired cop or a security expert of some kind. But, to be polite, I mused aloud. “Looks
like there are three ways to enter the room—through the house, through the window, and the back door. Assuming the thief wasn’t already inside the house…”

I looked at the doorknob. It seemed perfectly fine to me. Aged brass, I guessed. It showed the blemishes of time, but no fresh scratches.

How many people had touched it since they discovered the print was gone? I didn’t carry gloves with me like Wolf did. Spotting a box of tissues, I snagged one and opened the door to examine the other side, probably wiping off fingerprints in the process. The knob on the exterior was a slightly darker color, not surprising since it was subject to snow and rain. Again, there were no new scratches or indications that someone had tampered with it.

I checked the door jamb. “I’m no expert, but if this door wasn’t bolted, it might have been easy to unlock it with a credit card. Do you remember if it was bolted?”

Every single one of them stared at me as though I’d shocked them.

Roscoe burst out laughing. “Why, Sophie! I always thought you were such a proper woman. How would you know about such a thing?”

Before I could answer, a stern voice said, “The door is bolted every night.”

I jerked in surprise when I realized that Violet was in the room. Her drab brown dress helped her blend in against the dark paneled walls, but that only caused her pale face to seem ghostly, like it was floating on its own.

I walked over to the window. It was a standard sash-type window with a screen on the outside of the lower half that hooked in the middle. I didn’t touch it, just in case Roscoe changed his mind about calling the cops.

“It’s unlocked.” I turned to Violet. “Is it usually unlocked?”

“No. Never.”

There wasn’t much more I could do. I went outside to examine it and returned to the group in the cool house.
“Unless there’s a trick I don’t know, the burglar would have had to cut the screen to get inside. My guess is that he came in through another entrance or he had a key.”

“That was amazing!” gushed Cricket. “You’re like Sherlock Holmes or something.”

“Hardly. All I did was use a little bit of logic. There’s nothing remarkable about that. It would be helpful, though, if you could remember whether the door was bolted after the print was stolen. If a stranger without a key left through the back door, he wouldn’t have been able to bolt it behind him.”

“Was the print here after the party?” asked Mars.

“I couldn’t say. I don’t know about that bolt, either. I’ve been in and out of that door.” Roscoe looked at Violet. “Did you notice or hear anything?”

“I am not a Doberman pinscher.” Her deep tone left no mistake that she was angry. I couldn’t help comparing her to Mrs. Danvers, a thought no doubt planted by Nina two days before.

“Who was here after the party?” asked Mars.

“Just Mindy and me. And Violet, of course.” Roscoe frowned at him. “What are you saying? That one of us did it?”

Violet spoke again. Clear, crisp, no nonsense. “Other… people… have… keys.”

He needed to report the theft to the police! I played dumb to convince him. “Will you be able to make an insurance claim if there’s no police report?”

Roscoe snorted. “I won’t need insurance once I find out who stabbed me in the back by stealing my mallards.”

“I told you this would happen. You never should have allowed anyone in here during the party.” Mrs. Danvers, er, Violet made of point of staring at me.

“Exactly when do you think the print went missing?” I asked.

“This morning,” grumbled Roscoe.

“You mean you only noticed it this morning.” The corners of Violet’s mouth turned down.

Was she mad at Roscoe? Her black eyes reminded me of
an angry hawk. I bet nothing happened in Roscoe’s house that she didn’t know about. Which made me wonder what she knew about a certain missing print.

“Did anything unusual happen between the party and now? Anything out of the ordinary? Open doors, sounds in the night?” I asked.

“Good morning, all,” Mindy trilled from the doorway. “Don’t tell me Roscoe is still going on about that print of his.”

Roscoe pecked her on the lips. “You look positively glamorous. Are you joining us for lunch?”

“Gracious, no. I have a hair appointment, and after that I thought I’d better buy some new hats for our trip. You can fill me in later.”

I was overdue for a haircut, so I was in no position to criticize someone whose every hair was in place, but it seemed to me that her silk dress and pearls might not be the best choices for a beauty salon appointment. Hair spray wreaked havoc on real pearls. Then again, maybe the double strand around her neck was costume jewelry.

Mindy adjusted a flashy gold bracelet on her right wrist and rubbed her arm. “Nice seeing everybody.” She wiggled her fingers at us. “Don’t let him bore you any more about those mallards.” She walked from the room in the awkward jolting stride of a woman wearing four-inch heels.

Cricket smiled at us as though she was the lady of the manor. “Mindy is right, Roscoe. The mallards aren’t their problem. Do you want to reschedule lunch?”

Roscoe flicked his hand. “Aw, everybody’s already here.”

“Is lunch ready, Violet?” asked Cricket.

We all looked around, but Violet had vanished.

In a hushed voice, Cricket added, “That woman drives me crazy. How does she do that? She appears and disappears like she’s walking through walls. Makes me nuts. I’d better go see if she’s ready to serve lunch.” Cricket strode through the doorway that led to the living room.

Mars shook his head. “Wow. Mindy doesn’t mind that you have a drop-dead gorgeous assistant?”

Fortunately, Roscoe chuckled. “Down, boy. My Audie’s got dibs on Cricket. They haven’t set the date yet, but I don’t think they’ll wait long to be married. She’s been with the company for quite a while. Don’t know what I would do without her. Don’t let the wrapping fool you—that girl’s got brains, too. Audie couldn’t have done much better this time around. What I want is a bourbon. Mars, I know you like my brand. Sophie? Care to join us?” Roscoe raised a cut-crystal decanter. “Blast that Audie. He and Cricket must have done some damage during the picnic. They didn’t leave a drop.”

He ambled to an aged globe on a wooden stand and lifted the lid. Pulling a bottle from the center, he said, “Having a second wife is quite a change. This thing was a wedding gift. Mindy keeps her scotch stash in here. Olive never touched the hard stuff unless it was so diluted with fruit juices that it turned pink. I’m not much of a scotch drinker, but in a pinch, when there’s no bourbon…”

He poured the golden liquid into crystal whiskey glasses engraved with stags. Mars gladly accepted one, but I passed. It was too early in the day for me.

“How many times has Audie been married?” Mars asked.

“Lord, who hasn’t that boy married? First it was the cheerleader. You’d have thought the queen herself was getting married from the production her momma put on. That one lasted less than a year. Then he ran off and married a stripper.”

He guffawed and eased into a cushy leather chair with a deep rounded back. “Yep, you heard me right. I thought my wife might have a stroke over that one. But she turned out to be a real nice girl. We were sorry to see her go. After that, there was a tall blonde from Denmark who baked like nobody’s business! I still miss her Danish apple cake.”

Roscoe pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Is it hot in here?” He didn’t wait for a response and slugged back his scotch. I thought the temperature was fine.

“Knowing Audie’s propensity for marriage, I warned him about taking up with any of our employees. Did he
listen? Clearly not. But he picked a winner this time. She worked her way up to being my personal assistant. Cricket is already like family.”

Cricket must have overheard, because she smiled broadly when she appeared in the doorway to announce, “Lunch is served!”

We followed her to a decidedly understated dining room. A simple, boxy eight-leg sideboard with hammered copper hardware didn’t shout money, but the horizontal plate rack that ran along the back cued me in that it was a pricy Gustav Stickley. The table also appeared deceptively simple. Long enough to seat ten people easily, it wasn’t very wide. Someone, probably Violet, had set it with lacy white place mats so that the dings and dents of age showed through. A shining silver colonial candelabra shone over the table. Everything in the room appeared laid-back and restrained, almost upscale rustic, but none of it was inexpensive. Even the Harcourt goblets on the table followed that theme. Although they had classic lines without engraving or fancy patterns, they were definitely Baccarat.

A door slammed shut, and through the window, we saw Violet running through the side yard crazy as a bumblebee, waving her arms over her head, her tidy bun coming undone and flopping with each step.

Cricket looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “We’re not at our best today. You’ll have to excuse us. I’ll bring in our lunch.”

I followed her to help. We could see Violet through the kitchen window. She continued to zigzag through the yard like she’d lost her mind. “Um, is she okay?”

“She didn’t even plate anything. Good grief. Yeah, she’s fine. She does this when she sees animals in the garden. She thinks a fat calico is lying in wait for birds, and she has it out for him. But she does the same thing for raccoons and possums. Who knows what she’ll poison next.”

Oh no!
“Poison? I hope you’re kidding.”

“Nope. She protects those birds like they’re her children.”

I was itching to know what the deal was with Violet. “She’s awfully grim.”

“Isn’t she?” Cricket placed pieces of fried fish on each plate. “You’d think she had gone through some kind of horrible trauma, but that’s just how she is. I don’t know how Roscoe can stand it. It’s not like she’s family. He could get rid of her. For some strange reason, Audie loves the old crow, so I guess we’re stuck with her.”

“I hear congratulations are in order. You’re marrying Audie?”