Decorated to Death (7 page)

I arrived at the kitchen door of the Birdwell residence a good twenty minutes early, thinking my hostess probably was in need of an extra pair of hands and hoping to run into the cell phone talker. While not known for my culinary skills, I figured I could flip a couple of pancakes or perform some other mundane chore while Sally bustled to and fro setting up a modest buffet for her paying guests. Wrong.

After ushering me into the peach-, brown-, and cream-colored kitchen, complete with stainless-steel appliances, black granite countertops, buttery maple cabinetry, and terra-cotta tile floor, I was given a cup of freshly brewed, vanilla-flavored coffee, courtesy of Tammie, Billy Birdwell’s girlfriend and coworker at the country club.

I watched in awe as Billy and Tammie quickly transferred pans of eggs Benedict, bacon-and-cheese omelets, fruit-laden crepes, and an assortment of homemade muffins from kitchen to dining room. While Sally set out her best china, the young couple went about arranging the various offerings on top of a highly polished console.

The large cabinet was part of the Queen Anne–style dining room suite. A round, white-framed mirror sat directly above the console and was flanked by a pair of black wrought-iron wall sconces. The lilac-gray-painted walls called attention to the room’s white crown molding, and both were complemented by the pepper-and-salt chenille upholstered dining chairs.

Charcoal-gray carpeting, pearl-gray plantation shutters, a smoke-gray glass-and-brass chandelier, and white-trimmed, lilac-gray-painted French doors leading to an outside redwood deck completed the room’s monochromatic color scheme.

A fresh floral arrangement of purple cornflowers, yellow black-eyed Susans, and delicate lady fern added a splash of unexpected color to the white-lace-covered table. The floral centerpiece was the perfect finishing touch to the formal but inviting space. The homeowner’s good taste was reflected in the overall decor. I half expected to find Beaver’s father, Ward Cleaver, seated at the head of the table.

“Isn’t it wonderful,” cooed Sally with a smile that spread across her pleasant face, causing her green eyes to crinkle. “Having a son who’s also a chef. Of course, Tammie being a top-notch waitress certainly makes things even easier. And to think that I’m their very first customer.”

“Slow down, Sally. You lost me somewhere between chef and customer. What’s going on?”

“Oh sorry, Mrs. Hastings. We thought for sure that you heard about my plans to start a catering service,” interjected Billy, handing Tammie the last of the items for the buffet. “In a town the size of Seville, news travels fast. But I guess the bad news of Dona Deville’s murder beat out my good news. Gossip has it that Chief Stevens is handling the investigation and not Lieutenant Cusak. Is that true?”

Since I wasn’t at liberty to explain why this was so, I merely nodded my head. Tammie’s announcement that the guests were beginning to gather in the living room saved me from any further questions regarding the unusual situation.

“Okay, Mom, I think you and Mrs. Hastings will be able to manage things here. Tammie and I need to get back to her place and put her kitchen back together,” said a grinning Billy.

“That’s for sure,” teased Tammie, playfully shoving Billy out the back door. “And this time, mister, you wash and I wipe. Later, Mrs. B., and you, too, Mrs. H.”

Once we’d said our good-byes to the young couple, Sally decided that the time had come to introduce me to the guests.

“Hold it,” she cried, removing the chef apron and smoothing out the folds of her pale green, A-line linen dress, “I’ll be darned if I’m going to look like the hired help in my own home. Okay, now I’m ready. Come on, Jean, let’s knock ’em dead.”

In view of the fact that I was on Chief Stevens’s short list of murder suspects, I felt Sally’s phrasing left something to be desired. With my own list of suspects still forming in my head, and with my heart in my mouth, I followed Sally down the short corridor that led from the kitchen, past the dining room, and into the formal living room.

“Hastings you say. Would that be Jean Hastings as in Designer Jeans, the interior design firm? Dona was really looking forward to having the cottage redone. She had some truly fabulous changes in mind for the old place.”

I was about to answer when a tall, willowy, brown-eyed redhead with a picture-perfect face and figure sauntered into the small but cozy beige-and-rose-colored living room. “Good lord, Goody, Dona’s been murdered and you want to discuss decorating ideas? Give it a rest.”

“I suppose you’re right, Maxine. I guess the reality of Dona’s death, especially the murder part, hasn’t quite sunk in yet. To do something like that, the killer must have been filled with hate.” Goody sounded sadder than she appeared.

“Or fear. Maybe even love,” said Maxine, looking around the room before zeroing in on Todd Masters, Dona’s personal trainer, and according to Goody, her latest love interest. “How about it, Todd, would you kill for love?”

“Aren’t you asking the wrong person?” replied Todd, his handsome face dark with anger. “If I remember right, I was told a few nights ago that I was incapable of loving anyone. The point was emphasized by the glass of wine thrown at me. Luckily, the glass is as replaceable as the person who threw it.”

Everyone in the room was staring at Maxine Roberts, whose beautiful face had turned as red as her hair.

“Hey, knock it off,” barked Ruffy Halsted, shoving a sheaf of papers into the battered briefcase he’d placed on a nearby walnut chair-side table. “The only one who cared about what was goin’ on between you two and the sheets was Dona and she’s dead. Pick somethin’ else to talk about.”

“You mean like which one of us was stupid enough to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs?” said Goody with a wicked smile. “I do hope our alibis for Saturday morning hold up under police scrutiny, don’t you?”

The questions posed by the woman with the closely cropped brown hair and athletic physique hung in the air like so much chimney soot before being dispersed by the tinkling sound of a small, porcelain bell. The ringing of the bell was Sally Birdwell’s polite way of announcing that the Sunday breafast buffet was ready.

Although it came as no surprise to me that Ruffy Halsted didn’t adhere to the practice of women and children first, I was somewhat taken aback by Todd Masters’s eagerness to reach the buffet ahead of Goody, Maxine, Sally, and me. Ellie Halsted and her bodyguard had yet to make their appearance.

I watched as the blond Adonis heaped enough food on his plate to feed a small army, or a certain little Keeshond, before plunking his muscle-bound body down in the nearest chair.

“Now that Dona’s gone to that big health spa in the sky,” Todd remarked to no one in particular, “maybe we can all go back to eating real food and not that crap she peddled.”

“And that’s the truth,” Sally whispered to me. “I’ll tell you later about Saturday’s breakfast. Believe me, it was nothing like this.”

From the way his fellow guests attacked the contents of the buffet, it was obvious that they agreed with Todd Masters’s assessment of Dona’s line of expensive health food products. Once seated at the table, the feeding frenzy began. When it finally subsided, Marsha Gooding once again brought up the subject of alibis.

“The way I figure it,” said Todd, flashing a dazzling smile, “Dona was murdered sometime after leaving here at a few minutes past seven and when the body was found at nine thirty yesterday morning. Since none of us left the house until at least eight o’clock, we only need alibis that cover an eight to nine thirty timeline, which is exactly when I happened to be jogging in the park. I don’t know about the rest of you, but my alibi is as simple as it is solid.”

“Your alibi is about as simple as you are, buddy boy, and it’s about as solid as dog pee. Who’s gonna swear to it that you were in the park? Name me one person,” challenged Ruffy.

“I can’t but I’m sure when the police chief checks it out, he’ll find plenty of people who’ll remember seeing me at that time,” said Todd. Then he added, “I don’t imagine the local yokels in this town see a well-toned, muscular body like mine very often, so it follows that they’ll remember the ‘bod’ even if they can’t recall the face.”

I immediately thought of half a dozen young men in Seville, all of whom were built as well or better than the conceited personal trainer, including Billy Birdwell. But anxious to hear more, I let it pass without comment.

“I can do you one better when it comes to an alibi,” said Goody, sipping from a seemingly bottomless mug of herbal tea. “I arrived at the Book Nook a few minutes after eight o’clock yesterday morning and didn’t leave there until after ten. Maxine saw me there. Isn’t that right, Maxine?”

Instead of answering in the affirmative, Maxine Roberts shook her her head, “Listen, Goody, let’s get something straight. I drove over to the Book Nook by myself as did you, sweetie. When I arrived, there was a sizable crowd waiting to get in and the store manager jumped the gun. He opened the doors at eight instead of nine and the people flooded in. I was busy setting things up for the book-signing gig, which included photo ops and interviews. With all that and the crowd, I didn’t keep tabs on when you came and went.”

“So what are you saying, Maxine?” asked Goody in a most unpleasant voice. “That I killed Dona, then drove over to the Book Nook to establish an alibi? Or maybe you think that I sneaked out of the store, murdered Dona, and then sneaked back in again?”

“I’m not saying anything of the kind but you have to admit, either scenario is a possibility.” The gorgeous redhead helped herself to a biscuit, strawberry jam, and another cup of coffee. “In view of the scenarios that you just suggested, I’d be a fool to jeopardize my rock solid alibi by validating your rather questionable one. No way, no how, sweetie.”

Goody was visibly shaken. For a moment there, I thought she might bolt from the room. Instead, she shifted the attention away from herself and onto Rufus Halsted.

“How about you, Ruffy? I know you had the motive to do the crime, so did you also have the time?” Goody had gotten her groove back. She even managed another sly smile.

“Hey, stuff it, Goody. I slept in yesterday mornin’ ’til ten, just ask Miz Birdwell.” Rufus Halsted’s eyes had narrowed into snakelike slits. “And don’t give me that motive crap. Every one of us, ’cept maybe Ellie, had a reason for wantin’ Dona dead,” he hissed, “including Salerno, the bodyguard. I wonder what the hell his alibi is because he wasn’t with the kid. Ellie told me that when she went for a walk after breakfast yesterday, she didn’t see him or his car, ain’t that right, Miz Birdwell?”

“Really, Mr. Halsted, I was rather busy in the dining room, so I couldn’t say who did what, when, where, or even with whom. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to check on something in the kitchen. Jean dear, would you give me a hand?”

Once Sally and I reached the kitchen, she motioned to me to close the door between the two rooms. Then, following her lead, I stepped into the walk-in pantry.

“Good, nobody will hear us in here,” said Sally. “Let me tell you about yesterday’s breakfast. It was a fiasco with a capital F.”

“Okay, Sally, I’m all ears. What happened? Talk fast. I don’t think it’ll look good if we’re away too long.” I didn’t mention that I also didn’t want to miss anything.

“First off, I tried to make a nice breakfast, although it certainly wasn’t as grand as the one today, but then I’m not a professional chef like my Billy.”

I nodded my head impatiently. “Hey, if you were, Pesty would be your new best friend.” The pantry was getting stuffy. It had a faint onion odor that Sally either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“It started at about seven on Saturday morning,” Sally began, “with Dona walking into the dining room and finding that all her people were still in their rooms. She dashed upstairs and pounded on the doors, shouting that they had five minutes to get downstairs for breakfast or—and these are her words, not mine—she would kick ass and replace the freakin’ lot of them with people who would abide by her rules.

“Everybody but Mr. Halsted came running downstairs and into the dining room. They began filling their plates with those nice little microwave and toaster breakfasts. I probably should have cooked from scratch but there simply wasn’t time. Dona took one look at what they were about to eat and screamed that they were going to contaminate their bodies with useless carbs, empty calories, and bad cholesterol. Then she dumped all the food on the floor and put a big jar of pills, along with sticks of what looked and smelled like moldy bird food, in the middle of the table.”

“Let me guess,” I said, interrupting Sally’s recap of the event, “the pills and smelly sticks were part of what Todd Masters poetically referred to as the crap that Donna peddled.”

“Exactly,” Sally said, bobbing her head in agreement. The movement allowed a ringlet to escape from the pale green scrunchy that encircled an almost picture-perfect chignon.

“Then Dona stormed out of the house shouting that there was one more thing that she had to take care of before—again these are her words—the freakin’ sideshow at the Goddamn Book Nook. By the time I’d finished cleaning up the mess, it was after eight and everyone had gone out except Mr. Halsted. He says he slept ’til ten but how would I know?”

“Listen, Sally, I think maybe it’s time that I level with you. What I’m about to admit to you mustn’t be repeated to anybody, not even Billy.”

“Don’t tell me—you killed Dona Deville! You didn’t, did you?” The prim and proper widow looked mortified. “How much does Charlie know?”

“In answer to your questions—no, I didn’t kill Dona and Charlie doesn’t know anything. He’s in Garrison General with a broken kneecap.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Why didn’t you tell me this last night? I never would have insisted on your coming over this morning to help me out.”

I purposely ignored her response. “Sally, what I’ve been trying to tell you is that I’m conducting a secret investigation into the murder at the request of someone. It’s a someone who has asked that their name be kept out of it.”

“My goodness, and here I thought the murder was making my life more complicated. What can I do to help?”

“Well, for starters, get us out of this pantry and back to the dining room before we both end up smelling like leftover chip dip.”

“Of course,” said Sally. “Gee, this is exciting. You probably want to grill the suspects or whatever it is you need to do.” Giving me an unexpected hug, she added, “I’m so relieved that you’re not the murderer. Think how embarrassing that would have been for your family.”

Once back in the dining room, I’d just poured myself a needed cup of fresh coffee when Ellie Halsted, along with the bodyguard, entered the room. Sally, the perfect hostess, graciously handled the introductions.

The twentysomething girl’s coloring favored her father rather than her mother. She had jet-black hair, dark eyes, and an olive complexion. Her height, like her weight and facial features, was in the average range. But there was nothing average about her megawatt smile or the deep dimples that accompanied it. This was the same smile that helped propel her mother, Dona, from local cutie to celebrity beauty.

As with the subject of the Deville/Halsted divorce, I found myself questioning comments made by Marsha Gooding regarding Ellie Halsted and the apple falling far from the tree and out of the orchard.