Death by Diamonds (5 page)

For a young man grieving over the unexpected and suspicious loss of his mother, Kyle became the mature embodiment of a charming host, his instant clutch crush on Eve notwithstanding.

“Where were we?” Kyle asked. “Oh, Mom’s vintage Bentley. That belongs to DeLong Limited, the parent company for her music, perfume, and accessories holdings.”

Mega holdings. “Which you run, and well, your mother told me.”

Kyle looked away for a minute, his throat muscles working, before he turned back to me. “I needed to know she believed that, Mad.”

We got comfortable in facing seats as the silence began to stretch, for almost as long as the limo.

Nick cleared his throat. “I called FBI’s New York field office,” he told Kyle. “I have an appointment there in a few minutes to see what I can do to help with your mother’s case. Do you mind dropping me off?”

“No problem. I appreciate your help,” Kyle said. “But isn’t it unusual for the police and the FBI to join forces in an investigation?” Kyle asked.

“Not at all, and it’s happening more and more often, these days,” Nick said. “Believe me. Especially in these high-profile cases.”

“Higgins,” Kyle told his driver. “First stop: Federal Plaza.”

Remembering our phone call, I believed Higgins was also his butler.

“Nick, feel free to call Higgins when you’re ready to be picked up. He’ll give you his card with the number on it for when your meeting is over.”

“Great. Thanks.”

A half hour later, the Big Apple at its busiest, we watched Nick cross a bustling sidewalk and disappear into a skyscraper. Then Kyle asked Higgins to raise the privacy window.

“Okay,” Kyle said leaning forward. “Pierpont Theater is closed to the public right now, but it won’t be to us. I bought some insurance. Before I picked you up, I stopped by with a thank-you bottle of Scotch for the security guard. He was good to my mother. He should be out cold by now. A bit sneaky, but if it helps us find Mom’s murderer, she won’t mind.”

“Do you know the cause of death yet?” I asked.

“Nobody is telling me anything,” he said. “Neither the police nor the FBI are talking, at least not to me.”

“Well, let’s hope Nick brings some information back with him.”

“Hey,” Eve said. “What are you two up to? Are we actually breaking into the theater where Dom worked?”

“No,” Kyle said. “We don’t need to break in. The stage door will be open but the security guard will be asleep.”

“And if somebody catches us?”

“I’m going back for my BlackBerry. One of the cops told me I could go in and get it, earlier today, but I didn’t have time then, so I’m back for it now. I did that on purpose, too, so I could use it as an excuse when you got here. Nobody’s due there for hours. Besides, I’m Dominique DeLong’s son. I’m grieving for my mother. Maybe I just needed to sit in her dressing room for a while with my friends.” His voice cracked on that one. Eve’s expression looked falsely stern and failed to hide the interest in her eyes over the prospect of breaking rules. “When did you two arrange this?” she asked us, suspicious.

“On the train, as soon as Nick made that appointment with the bureau, I called Kyle.”

“You mean when you went to the ladies’ room?”

“Yep.” Pride laced my smile.

“I can’t believe you’re willingly stepping into another mystery. Not to mention the fact that Nick’s not gonna like you sleuthing again.”

“As I said, I can deal with Nick.”

“Snort,” Eve said to Kyle. “They’ve been apart for weeks. He’ll be putty—No, no he won’t. Yuckaflux! Not going there.”

“Nick won’t be a pushover if I get arrested,” I added, “horny or not.”

Higgins pulled the limo deep into the alley beside the Pierpont Theater and parked behind it. Kyle led us into the building from the side door as if he belonged there, which went a long way toward keeping me calm, as did the echoing snores of the security guard. In the dark, where we entered the very old building, seating to the right, stage and dressing rooms to the left, it was easy to catch the scent of old theater, the sea of seats carrying a hint of must, musk, and cigar smoke, years’ worth.

The closer we got to the stage, the stronger the scent of paint, makeup powder, nervous sweat. Dust and the scent of wood oil seemed to rise in waves from the stage floor. Walking ahead of me, Eve hooked her arm through Kyle’s, and he patted her hand as if he appreciated her support. Or he’d take care of her. Big surprise. All men wanted to take care of Eve, though my friend could sure take care of herself. Even younger men were attracted to her, it seemed. But hadn’t I just told Kyle that the age difference between us had vanished. Little did I know that meant he’d fall for my best friend. We walked as if through dark tunnels and mazelike hallways, and through open spaces riddled with ladders, ropes, and gears, all of which had their own scents, decay, sawdust, mold, and grease, though the smell of fresh paint nearly overrode the rest. In the darkness, I tripped over a folding chair, then a card table whose leg folded under it. Dark objects hanging above us, unrecognizable in the darkness, seemed to move, which made me think of ghosts, zombies, or bats. Armies of each. When I heard a squeak, I bit my lip, so as not to scream. I’d been scaring myself.

My eyes began adjusting to the darkness as we started climbing the steps toward the dressing rooms at the half level.

We didn’t dare flip on a switch, but Kyle unerringly opened the door to his mother’s private dressing room. That’s when Dom’s perfume hit me and filled me with a grief that I feared would spill forth in sobs, but I overcame the convulsing in my throat and controlled myself for Kyle’s sake.

I concentrated on my senses, the click-drip of a leaky air conditioner. Giveaway scents: old shoes, deodorant, stage makeup, and hairspray. Lots and lots of hairspray. Once we were all in, and the door closed, Kyle flipped on the lights. A bit blinded by them, after the darkness of the theater proper, we shaded our eyes for a minute.

Kyle leaned against the wall when the sight of the empty room finally hit him—the place where his mother belonged. Like, if he couldn’t find her anywhere else, she would surely be here.

But she wasn’t.

He massaged a brow for a minute, a man trying to get a grip on emotion. “Mom’s essence still fills the place,” he said, his voice soft and not quite steady. Eve rubbed his arm.

He pulled her into a hug and buried his face in her hair.

I wanted to say, “Hello! You don’t know each other.” But I needed to be gentle and try to snap him out of his funk. “Eve, I hope your hair spikes don’t have too much product on them. Wouldn’t want Kyle to lose an eye.”

Kyle raised his head with as near to a smile as I’d seen, and he hooked an arm around my neck and kissed my brow. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

The first thing I saw was a shelf lined with wigs. Red wigs, from pale to bright. And what do you know, one head form was bald. One missing red wig did not mean that the strange woman in my shop had been wearing the very same.

Amazing coincidence, though.

Just looking at the rack of costumes, radiating dry-cleaning fluid and detergent, raced my heart, my fingers itching to touch, my sanity shying away from the physical and mental anguish that would come with the visions I expected to endure as I learned the truth about my friend’s death.

I took a step away from the emotions bursting like fireworks inside me, hot pinpricks that invaded my head and solar plexus. Where was Chakra when I needed her?

But thinking about her helped. I embraced the calm and looked more closely around me. Cheap antique white paneling made up the walls of the room.

Against the back wall stood a rose-colored Queen Anne dressing table with Cabriole legs, three big round lightbulbs affixed to each side of the mirror, with a matching boudoir chair in front of it, its seat tufted in pink fabric.

You could hardly see the top of the dressing table because of the pots and jars of perfumes, creams, powders, oils crowded on top of it, anything and everything to make a woman look younger and more beautiful.

Dominique had stuck a picture of Kyle in one corner of the mirror, and stars that were her idols in others. I bit my lip when I saw the picture of us that she’d had the waiter take at lunch the last time we were together.

I still couldn’t believe it had been the last time.

In her own whimsical way, Dom made fun of her profession by almost crowning her mirror with a pink boa, so it slithered along the top and hung down both sides. In the mirror itself: I saw the love seat reflected against the opposite wall, upholstered in the same allover pink fabric as the chair. “It’s a nice dressing room,” I said. “They treated her like the star she was.”

“Pierpont sent her flowers before every performance,” Kyle muttered absently.

“Eve,” I said, “would you take an inventory of every item on her dressing table, no matter how small, without touching any of it? Don’t roll so much as an eyeliner.”

Kyle offered us a box of rubber gloves.

“Perfect! Wow, you came prepared to snoop. Good for you. You’ve got a lot more of your mother in you than I thought.”

He nodded, accepting the compliment with a raised brow and a mix of pride and sadness.

“If we touch anything,” I reiterated, “we do it wearing a pair of these. Devious boy.” I shook my head. “Seriously, what would your mother say? You thinking like a sneak thief makes me worry about your wicked side.”

With a bit of actor in him, he gave me a nefarious look. “What would you like this wicked boy to do now?”

“Oh!” Eve’s eyes widened. “Ask me. Ask me.”

Twelve

About half my designs are controlled fantasy, fifteen percent are total madness and the rest are bread-and-butter designs.

—MANOLO BLAHNIK

“Eve,” I snapped, “keep your suggestions to yourself until the two of you are alone. Kyle, keep an ear peeled for unusual noises, so we don’t get caught, and while you’re doing that, check the plumbing beneath every sink. A place this old probably has brass barrel traps, perfect for holding a pill bottle of diamonds with no interruption to water flow.”

Eve responded to his double take. “She lives in a very old house, and her father, the professor, believed in teaching her and her sibs, and sometimes her lucky friends—like moi—how to fix what needed fixing.”

“I see. Well. How typically unglamorous.” Kyle sighed theatrically. “I get to play plumber.”

I chuckled at his ploy for sympathy, but despite that, I couldn’t take my eyes off the costumes, all on hangers, but some on racks and others on scattered wall hooks along with headdresses.

On the floor, along one wall, stood a neat row of dancing shoes, high heels, low heels, flats, boots, all in colors and fabrics to match the outfits.

Kyle watched me eye the clothes with a mix of longing and dread. “Can you read them, Aunt, I mean, Mad? Help me find out what happened to my mother?”

His words took me by surprise; Eve too, because his comment made her catch her breath. He looked from one of us to the other. “Mad, my mother was a witch. If I can accept that, I can accept anything. I know what you told her about yourself and your gifts. Theater people are for the most part superstitious and have faith in the otherworldly. Mom was no exception, and neither am I. She, as you know, embraced the occult. So, yes, we both believe in you.”

He’d spoken in the present tense, as if his mother was still here. After I got over my surprise at his faith, and his belief system, I nodded. “Eve, come try on the costumes.”

Eve paled. “I hate it when you get visions.”

“Do it for me?” Kyle asked.

Eve sighed. “For you, maybe, but not in front of you.”

“No, of course not,” I said. “We don’t want to scare him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Eve said. “What am I, Lady MacBleh?”

“I see, you’re worried about getting naked, and I’m worried he’ll freak when I zone out.”

“Oh, no,” Kyle said. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to witnessing all kinds of crazy behavior. I’m in show biz, remember? As I said, my mother told me about your gift and what you can do. I hope you don’t mind. I was the only one she felt safe confiding in, and I didn’t tell a soul.”

“Thanks for that,” I said, squeezing his arm. “Now tell me what we’ve got here.”

“These costumes were made for Diamond Sands,” he said. “Only Mom has worn them for the past five years, except for Ursula the few times she went on if Mom was sick, so they might have a story to tell.”

“Who’s Ursula?”

“Mom’s understudy. Ursula Uxbridge.”

“Of course, the understudy. She’s someone who’ll profit from your mother’s death. Is Ursula capable of murder?”

“Capable but probably not smart enough.”

“And who’s capable of stealing the diamonds?” Eve asked.

“I don’t give a flying firecracker about the diamonds,” Kyle said. “I want to know who killed my mother, and I want them punished.”

Kyle won Eve’s eternal lapdog devotion for that. People had always meant more to her than money. To me, too, for that matter, but Eve took it to extremes.

“Kyle,” I said, “face the wall while Eve puts on a costume.”

Hands on hips, Eve tried to stare me down. “Madeira Cutler, why can’t you wear the costumes?” She’d whined the question, a plaintive sound I’d never quite heard from her before.

This phobia of hers about my psychic ability was the first obvious fear I’d ever seen in my fearless friend.

I sighed. “I don’t mean to torture you, Eve, but when I wear a readable outfit, I find myself in the wearer’s point of view, and I can only see what the wearer saw. If I touch an outfit that someone else is wearing, I can look around the room. You know, play sleuth?”

Eve wet her lips with her tongue and raised her chin. “And you know that because?”

“I’ve had both experiences,” I reminded her. “Remember when I tried on that cape how frustrating my limited view of the scene in that office was? But when Sherry tried on her wedding gown while I adjusted the fit, I could tell you what was hanging on the wall opposite the woman wearing the same gown a century before. That’s how I know.”

“When you’re having a psychometric vision,” Kyle asked her, “can you walk around the room and open things?”