A Crazy Little Thing Called Death (7 page)

“I heard.” He hesitated, then asked, “Are you okay now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The air between us hummed with unspoken tension, and I found myself thinking of a kiss we’d shared in a moment of temporary insanity. I felt a blush rise to my face. “You look well, Ben.”

He gave me a closer inspection, also. “You look good, too, Nora. Very pretty.” He glanced from my suit to my boots, but refrained from remarking on them. “I know you told Officer Harding what you saw. But I hope you have more useful information to share.”

“Such as?”

“You know these people. Maybe you can help us understand what’s going on here today.”

“It’s a polo match for charity.”

“And some kind of memorial for a movie star,” he prodded. “A movie star who maybe isn’t dead yet.”

“You think the hand is Penny Devine’s?”

“We don’t know yet.” He sighed and rubbed his hair with one hand like a sleepy kid trying to fix a bed head.. The crime scene’s completely contaminated. It’s going to take a lot of work to figure this one out. We’ll send the hand—the arm—whatever—to the coroner’s lab for testing. But already her brother’s kicking up a fuss. He’s demanding his sister’s remains immediately. He’s yelling at my superior right now.”

“You’re the police. You can do what you like, right?”

“Normally, we’d send the hand for tests and get results in a couple of days. But those egomaniacs in our local morgue are on some kind of a walkout.”

“Oh, heavens, I’d heard about that!” Various employees were on strike in some suburban communities, thanks to a political scandal.

“We don’t know when they’ll be back to work. So we have to count on the family for a preliminary identification.” Bloom swung around and took another look at Vivian, who was talking to Libby.. That’s the sister, you say? Is she as loco as her brother?. Think she’d be capable of making an ID?”

“She seems comfortable with the possibility that the hand is her sister’s.” I decided not to say more.

But Bloom caught a change in my tone, and he looked at me sharply.

“It’s a strange family,” I said. “A little eccentric.”

“No surprise there.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his raincoat. “I haven’t met one of these Main Line dynasties yet that isn’t full of maniacs.”

“Vivian’s not a maniac.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“She’s—okay, I might as well tell you. They’re my mother’s cousins.”

His eyes widened. “You’re related to these people?”

“We haven’t been close, but I’ve known them all my life.”

“No shit. Did you know Penny?”

“A little. After she left town for the movie business, she returned only a few times. I remember she came to my grandfather Blackbird’s funeral. I know her siblings better.”

“What can you tell me about Vivian?”

“She’s Penny’s older sister. That’s her truck parked over there. The one that smells so awful.” When Bloom turned to look, I said, “Her brother, Potty, is an executive with the family pharmaceutical company. It’s the family trade.”

Bloom continued to squint at the disgusting truck. “What’s Vivian’s story?”

“She’s an animal lover. To be candid, I think she devoted herself to animals, not humans. She hasn’t had many friends, as far as I know, and she never married.”

“Any history of family squabbles?”

“Doesn’t every family squabble?”

“Not to the point of dismemberment.”

“Don’t start thinking one of her siblings killed Penny. That’s ridiculous.. They’re ancient.”

“I’ve got to start somewhere. Look, I’m going to need more info about your wacky relatives. Call me tonight.” He fumbled in his coat pockets and coolly handed over a card printed with various phone numbers. “We have a lot to talk about.”

L
ibby drove me to Blackbird Farm, blathering the whole way. She talked about Penny Devine at length, even quoted some famous lines from
Suffer the Storm
until I stopped listening. I finally tuned in again when she said, “As if we don’t have enough troubles already, now we’ve got Emma to worry about!”

I forgot about the thoughts that tumbled around in my head, and finally tried to focus on Libby’s latest rant. “We have to worry about Em? She hasn’t been drinking. I thought she looked pretty good.”

“Of course she looks good! That’s what an active sex life can do for a woman! She’s walking proof of the benefits of estrogen surges.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You heard her phone call! What is she doing?”

“Libby, I’m sure what we heard was nothing more than—”

“Than Emma making appointments to see men! Late at night! Alone! For money!”

“Calm down. Emma may have a healthy libido, but she wouldn’t do anything—well, tacky.”

“Oh, no?”

“No. Of course not. Look, don’t blow a simple phone call out of proportion. She was probably just joking.”

We arrived at the farm, and Libby left Lucy dozing in the backseat while she came inside to collect the rest of her family. With a great martyr’s intake of air, she gathered her courage and went down to the basement to tell the twins it was time to pack up their fetal pig and go home.

While Libby negotiated with her mad scientists, I talked to Rawlins for a few minutes in the kitchen. At seventeen, he had finally gotten through the long period of wearing black clothes and facial piercings. Now he could hold an intelligent conversation with an adult, if necessary. And he seemed surprisingly comfortable babysitting his infant brother, Maximus.

Maybe because of losing my own baby, I hadn’t bonded with Maximus as I had with my other nephews. Rawlins seemed uncannily aware of my reluctance to hold the baby, and he managed not to drop his little brother while dealing himself a hand of playing cards.

I fondled the sleeping baby’s hair. “How’s the poker coming?”

“I think I’m ready to play a hand. Want to try me?”

I gave my nephew a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll wait until you have some experience. When I clean out your bank account, I want to do it with a clear conscience. Are the twins under control?”

“I didn’t have to break out the straitjackets. They’re busy playing with their new pet. Only Harcourt and Hilton could love a dead animal, right? You okay? Mom called on her cell to tell me about Thing.”

“Thing?”

“You know, the hand.” He held his own hand up to show me and wiggled all his fingers. “Pretty gross, Aunt Nora.”

“Very gross.” I sat down at the table.

“Oh, and your editor called, too. Mr. Rosencrantz?”

“Stan Rosenstatz. What did he have to say?”

Rawlins screwed up his face to remember. “He wanted to know if you’d call the city desk. Something about contributing to a news story. Does that make sense?”

I nodded. Of course, the story of Penny Devine’s death was going to hit the media very big. The
Philadelphia Intelligencer
didn’t often have the inside track on breaking stories, but this time the reporters had an eyewitness to the whole thing—me. But I was also connected to the family, which made me hesitate. What were the journalistic rules in this case? Did I have to talk to my fellow reporters?

While Rawlins rocked the baby, I picked up the phone and called Stan to ask him.

“Of course you don’t have to answer their questions,” my editor said. “But I figured maybe you’d want to contribute to the story. You know, to give yourself a little career boost.”

Judging by Stan’s tone, I guessed my career in journalism was once again in need of such a boost. I’d been hired by the previous owner of the paper, and lately I was receiving more and more hints that the industry cutbacks might soon include me, too. Nobody’s job was safe anymore.

I thanked Stan and hung up, still not sure I wanted to talk to the press—even if it meant getting my byline on the front page. After I put the receiver down, I realized I should have asked Stan if there was a company policy about returning bribes. I had Potty’s envelope in my handbag.

Half a minute later, Libby rushed up the basement stairs, looking pale. “Harcourt and Hilton say they’re at a crucial moment in their dissection. They can’t possibly leave the pig right now.” She took a handkerchief from her purse and pressed it to her mouth. Then she said, “Honestly, I wonder if they were switched at birth.”

Rawlins said, “Only if the Dahmer family is missing someone.”

Libby gulped. “Nora, they want to know if your severed hand showed any signs of freezer burn.”

Although I should have been appalled, I found myself seriously contemplating the question. If the hand indeed belonged to Penny Devine, there was a good chance she’d been dead for nearly a year. And where had the hand been for those months? I frowned, trying to remember some details of our grisly discovery. “I’m not sure. The flesh was wrinkled and—I guess kind of spotted.”

Rawlins grinned. “The twins are gonna love that information. What else? Any claw marks? Signs of werewolf attack? Maybe a few maggots?”

“Rawlins, please!” Libby gasped and dabbed her forehead. “You see what I have to put up with, Nora? Rawlins is bad enough, but the twins can hardly wait until summer. They’re going to forensic camp, you know. They’ve been promised a look at a human cadaver.”

Rawlins began to slide Max into his hooded sweatshirt. “I wonder if every well-meaning guy who donates his body to science really knows what he’s getting into. I wouldn’t want the monsters to get their grubby hands on me—even in death.”

I said, “Should I be worried about what they’re doing in my basement?”

Rawlins laughed. “Wait till you see what they cooked in your frying pan!”

Recovered, Libby stuffed her handkerchief away. “Really, Nora, you should enjoy having your nephews around a little more. They love you so dearly.”

“Forget it, Libby. Drive them home. I refuse to take them off your hands.”

“How about just until tomorrow night?” she wheedled, gathering the baby from Rawlins. “I need to get started on the wedding plans!”

I groaned. “Libby—”

“I have brilliant creative ideas bursting to get out of my head. You’ll thank me! Just keep the boys for the rest of the weekend.”

“Out of the question.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll come back first thing in the morning, I promise.” She fished out her car keys and edged for the door. “Come on, Rawlins. Nora, order a pizza for the twins, will you? They’re starving.”

“Better hurry,” Rawlins advised with a grin. “If the pizza doesn’t come in time, lock yourself someplace safe and call 911.”

I considered dragging Libby back inside by her hair and forcing her to take the twins with her. But she was remarkably quick for a woman who carried a few extra pounds. She beat me to the driveway by a good fifteen yards.

Rawlins waved from behind the wheel as the minivan spun gravel and roared for the highway.

I went back inside and dialed the number for pizza delivery. As the phone rang, I heard creepy laughter coming from the basement. “Better make it two,” I told the pizza shop.

While waiting for the delivery, I tried telephoning Detective Bloom for the promised talk. He didn’t answer, so I left a voice mail. Then I scrubbed out my sauté pan. Whatever the twins had heated in it, I didn’t want to know. It smelled like eggs left in the sun.

Or the back of Vivian Devine’s truck.

I squirted more detergent into the sink, thinking of the dead animals that Vivian kept covered up in the truck. What was that all about? Why was the sweet old lady who gave out cookies driving around in a Deathmobile?

Thinking about death in general, I segued to the shooting of Michael’s uncle Lou Pescara. It had been a terrible night for Michael, who’d loved his uncle despite the crimes the man had committed.

Eventually my thoughts strayed to my own loss—the baby I’d carried for less than three months before miscarrying on a night that was among the worst of my life. Since then, I’d alternately tried to shove all thoughts of that lost child out of my mind or found myself listening to a whispering inner voice. It had been my fault that the baby died. I should have been more careful. I should have protected my child.

I had long wanted children of my own. The need tugged at my heart so hard it sometimes hurt. It was Michael’s wish, too, to have kids. I knew we were both trying to do the same thing—create a family because the ones we’d been born with hadn’t fit the bill. That desire was perhaps what had first drawn us together. And since then, I often felt as if we kept coming back to each other because a happy future with children was what we both wanted most.

But with Raphael Braga in town, things were even more complicated.

Michael phoned around seven with apologies that he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.

“Are you still with the police?” I sat on my bed, having changed into jeans and a sweater. I pulled my loafers on as we spoke.

“No, they turned me loose about an hour ago. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You talked with Detective Gloom, I hear. Did he ask you for a date?”

I heard the amusement in Michael’s voice. “Detective Bloom was pretty much all business.”

“Did he warn you about me?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re still America’s Most Wanted.”

“And he’ll never quit hoping he can be the one to send me to jail again.”

My heart contracted. “Michael—”

“Sorry,” he said at once. Then, “He’s got a thing for you.”

“Not anymore.”

“No?”

“Today he seemed more interested in the Devine family.”

“Good thing. His department’s had budget cuts. And his boss doesn’t like him. If he doesn’t take care of business, he might lose his job.”

I said, “Where did you hear that?”

“Around.” Michael had ways of learning inside information that sometimes put Detective Bloom to shame. “He’s got to prove his worth. And fast. So it’s no wonder he’s concentrating on the case. Did he ask you a bunch of questions?”

“About the hand we found? Yes. Did you hear anything about it? Do the police have any theories?”

“Plenty. They all seem to involve a dead movie star. They assume we found what’s left of Penny Devine.”

“Michael,” I said slowly, “when we found her—it—whatever—did you notice any—well, freezer burn?”

A short silence. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s just a question the twins asked.”

He laughed. “Consider the source!”

“It got me thinking….”

“Nora, sweetheart, please, this is a case for the police to solve. I think you can safely forget about it, okay?”

“But—”

“Don’t do this to yourself. Let the police take care of it. Hell, you’ll be giving Gloom some job security.”

“I thought I might be helpful.”

“The person you need to help most right now is yourself. Take the night off, why don’t you? Have you had anything to eat?”

I hadn’t been able to choke down the pizza I’d ordered for the twins. “The idea of food isn’t very appealing since our afternoon discovery.”

“I hear you. Well, get into the bathtub and read a book. Relax. I’ll be home soon, but I’ve got some things to take care of first.”

I thought of Ben Bloom’s warning that the Abruzzos were having some family problems. “Anything I should know about?”

“Not unless you’re interested in changing the oil in a couple of cars. I’m sending some vehicles down to the muscle car auction this weekend.”

“That’s what you’re doing? Working on cars?”

“And a few other things. Spending the afternoon with your pal Bloom put me behind the eight ball.”

Michael ran several businesses now, and all of them required his frequent supervision. His chain of gas stations, Gas N Grub, were popping up all over Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware so fast, I couldn’t keep track of them all. But there was always more happening behind the scenes than he wanted to share with me.

“All right,” I said, unwilling to ask more questions. “See you later.”

“Before midnight,” he promised.

I shut off the phone, but it rang in my hand again.

“Sweetie!” Lexie Paine cried when I answered. “Have you had dinner yet? How about a girls’ night out?”

I smiled. Just hearing my dearest friend’s voice was enough to lift my spirits. “I’m babysitting Libby’s twins tonight.”

“Is your life insurance paid up?” She gave a raucous laugh. “Forget that. Listen, I’m in my car,” she reported. “I met with a whole convent of nuns this afternoon, and I’m on my way home. How about I pick up some take-out and stop by your place?”

“Nuns?” I asked. “Lex, have you had a spiritual awakening?”

“I have it every morning when they ring that opening bell at the stock exchange. Can I come over, or not?”