Design on a Crime (13 page)

At least I don't do fake, man-made, pseudofabric stuff.

"Here you go," my maybe client said. "Help yourself."

She set the silver tray on the glass surface, and trust me,
there was plenty of room in spite of my mess. I noticed the
quality cut-crystal goblets of orange juice-fresh squeezed,
since bits of plump pulp floated on top.

Not only did she offer bagels and the usual cream cheese,
but on a paper-thin platinum and white porcelain plate sat
glorious slices of smoked salmon. An antique jelly jar, cut
crystal to match the goblets, held jewel-toned preserves, and
the handle of what looked like a honey stirrer poked out of
a superb silver pot.

My gaping jaw nearly clipped the glass table.

"You didn't have to go to so much trouble," I said. "This
is wonderful though."

"It was nothing. My housekeeper loves good food, so she
had a ball putting it together." She sipped orange juice, then
pointed at the fabrics with the goblet. "These look nice. Where
would you use them?"

I gulped down my bite of salmon-draped bagel. "I didn't
have a particular place in mind. I brought them to see what
you like."

With a tiny silver fork, Noreen picked up a translucent
orange curl of fish. She rolled it up, popped it into her mouth, and chewed, an appreciative smile on her face. "Naomi outdid
herself with this salmon."

I couldn't talk with a full mouth, so I nodded.

Noreen continued. "Anyway. I like all kinds of things, but
I insist on feel-good fabrics and upholstery. I want only the
best against my skin. I can't stand those trendy burlaps and
scratchy stuff. Give me a slinky silk any day."

I knew where to take this chat next. "What about colors?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm just so done with all this white
stuff on black stuff, you know?"

I nodded again.

"I want to surround myself with sultry, rich jewel tones. I
think they make a woman look younger, sexier."

My eyes nearly bugged out. She'd been having an affair
with a married man, now formerly married, and maybe with
a handsome bad-boy builder too, and she thought she needed
colors on her walls to make her more appealing?

I was so out of my league.

"Why don't you show me what colors you like?"

Noreen flipped through the color chips. She tipped her head
one way then the next, intent, focused, sipping juice every so
often. This seemed as good a time as any to launch my attack.

"Did Marge know about you and Steve?"

The goblet fell. Chips of glass flew into the cream cheese.
Juice splashed on the white leather. Noreen's eyes blazed
cobalt fire.

"What do you mean?"

I laughed. I was nervous, and her outraged look hit me
funny. "Don't take me for a fool. Did Marge know you were
having an affair with her husband?"

The color on Noreen's cheeks matched the preserves, which
I still hadn't tried and, even though they looked good, probably
never would now.

"I want you to decorate my new home, not stick your nose
in my private life."

"I'm not sticking my nose in your private life. I'm asking
a question about something that could affect my future. I'm
sure you know the police think I killed Marge."

"Do you think I killed Marge? For Steve?" Her smile wasn't
nice.

"I just asked a question. Did Marge know you were having
an affair with her husband?"

Her glare intensified.

The doorbell rang.

That would be the other man in Noreen's life. I didn't know
how involved she was with Dutch.

"I'll be right back," Noreen said between clenched teeth.
It didn't sound polite or like a promise. It struck me as a
threat.

At this rate, I'd be dismembered before I found out who'd
killed my friend.

"You're here already?" Dutch asked a minute later.

What could I say? I went with the obvious. "Evidently."

"I hope you haven't come up with structural changes for
the place. You'll have to wait until I check out the whole
building before you consider anything like that."

"I brought paint chips and fabrics to see what Noreen
likes-"

"She came to ask nosy questions," our would-be employer
said. "I hope you're not loaded for bear too."

Dutch gave me a dark look. "I came to talk about the Gerrity
mansion. What's your deal?"

"Can't help it if I want to stay out of jail."

He groaned. "What'd you do now?"

"I need to know how Noreen felt about sharing Steve with
Marge."

Dutch's green eyes opened wider. 'Are you crazy?"

"I'm as sane as the next guy." My perch on the white leather
sofa left me at a distinct disadvantage, so I stood. "You'd both
want to know if you were in my shoes."

Noreen sneered. "I'd never get into a mess like yours."

"And I'd never corner someone I thought might be a killer on
my own," Dutch added. "You'd be surprised how short your
life can get if you ask the wrong person the wrong question at
the wrong time."

Noreen turned her anger on him. "I'm not a killer, and I resent what you just said. I sat next to you the whole sale. When
would I have had the chance to kill Marge Norwalk? Even if
I'd wanted to, which I didn't. Divorce is less messy."

Dutch jabbed a long finger my way. "I didn't say you did.
She's the one acting like Nancy Drew."

When her glare bounced back at me, I dropped into Noreen's bad graces again. Not that I'd ever left. 'Are you so
desperate that you'll accuse anyone you think of?" she said.
"If that's the case, then you probably did kill Marge."

"Give me a break! Would I care about the redesign of the Gerrity if I'd killed Marge? If I had, I'd be pretty happy to keep the
place shut down for good. Besides, asking tough questions isn't
the best way to land a job. If I'd wanted money or whatever, I
wouldn't need to work for you anymore now, would I?"

Ooh ... that didn't come out right.

Dutch groaned again. "Okay. This meeting's over." He
took my elbow and dragged me toward the door. "We'll get
together another time, Noreen. Sometime after Haley takes
her meds."

"Hey! I only take vitamins." I pulled out of his clutches.
"And I haven't asked all my questions yet."

"Oh, yes you have." He came up and wrapped his arm
around my waist. "At least for today."

I darted to the side. "Noreen hasn't answered. I wonder
why. What's she hiding?"

When Noreen gasped, I went in for the kill. "Did Marge
catch you and Steve ... umm ... together?"

"No!" Noreen cried. "Are you happy now?"

Dutch clapped his big hands on my shoulders and pushed
me to the door. "Now you have your answer. Let's get out of
here before she calls security."

I yanked away. "Don't manhandle me!"

"Don't mess up my life any more than you already
have."

"I haven't."

"You have."

Noreen darted between us. She opened the door. "Goodbye!"

We walked out. On the slate step outside, I turned. "I have
another question-"

She slammed the door.

"How rude." I headed for the car but came to a screeching
halt partway there. "I left my stuff. She can't keep my bag
and my samples. I need them for work."

Dutch rolled his eyes. "I'll get them. I don't think she wants
to see you again any time soon."

Whether I liked it or not, I had to agree. I'd bungled that. And
unless he managed to sweet-talk Noreen into forking over my
things, I'd be in a heap of trouble. To begin with, my driver's
license was in my bag. Oh, and the Honda keys too.

I stood in the driveway and looked at my little car and then
at the European models in driveways up and down the street.
I'd learned another lesson, one that didn't surprise me.

Wealth did nothing for me; it didn't impress or daunt me.

So much for the momentary intimidation I'd felt when I'd
walked into Noreen's place.

But this wasn't the time to ruminate on my condition.
Dutch came out, my backpack purse over one vast shoulder,
my portfolio clutched to his chest. A scrap of fuchsia silk clung
to the hint of stubble already visible on his shaven chin.

The absurdity of the moment didn't escape my notice. I
laughed.

He frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I said between chuckles. "Everything ...
you!"

"Oh, that's clear."

He had no clue how funny he looked, and I figured I'd be
better off if it stayed that way. "Here. I'll take my things and
head on home."

"Chalk this one up as another failure, will ya?"

"Oh, I don't know. There's something to be said for starting
your day off with a laugh."

He gave me a grimace on steroids. "I didn't hear that," he
muttered. "I didn't hear a thing."

"Good-bye, Dutch." I threw my stuff in the backseat of my
car and slid behind the wheel. "Look at the bright side."

His green eyes opened wider. "There's a bright side?"

"Sure."

"And that would be ... ?"

"Noreen didn't fire us."

He groaned. "Yet."

I gave him a valiant chuckle and drove away. He was right.
Noreen hadn't fired us yet. But she could at any minute.

And she probably would by the time I got home. I didn't
want to see the answering machine in the kitchen. The flashing red light, which usually drew me like a moth, would stop
me dead in my tracks.

I might just have dealt my career a deathblow before it
had a chance to live. And I might just have given the killer
a heads-up.

That criminology course looked better by the minute, if for
no other reason than to learn how to stay a step ahead of the
creep who'd already killed once.

Hours of recrimination later, I gave Gussie a golden retriever look. It got me nowhere. "Why can't you?"

"Because I showed you how to lead a meeting the last
time."

"But this isn't a real meeting-it's not Saturday morning."

"The missionary society scheduled this presentation two
months ago, and as the new president, you need to introduce
our guest. Go ahead. Get the ball rolling."

"The only thing that's going to roll is my stupid head." I
took my place behind the podium. This was almost worse than the morning's escapade had been. Or maybe it was my
just deserts.

With another mock glare at Gussie, who only chuckled,
I picked up the gavel and gave it a whack. The room fell
silent. Good grief! Who'd have thought I'd have that kind
of power?

"Ah ... hi."

I winced at my stellar eloquence. I tried again. "Hi, ladies.
Um ... Gussie tells me Mr. Bowersox is here to tell us about
raising money by selling telephone calling cards."

The gray gent-he was as gray as a human could be: gray
hair, gray eyes, gray suit, even gray skin-nodded glumly.

Swell. He even had a gray disposition.

I blundered forward. "Since I can't figure out how anyone
could make money selling phone cards, I guess it's best if Mr.
Graysocks ... er ... Bowersox comes and tells us."

Silence.

Shocked women.

A snigger in the back of the crowd.

Finally, Gussie shook her head and began to clap.

The speaker came and, thankfully, took my place behind
the podium. I fled faster than Bali H'ai ever had. For the
next hour and a half, I took refuge behind the mammoth silk
weeping fig in a corner of the church's community room and
ignored the occasional stare sent my way.

Something had to give. At the rate I was going, I'd be either
bashed in the head by Marge's killer, banned from my father's
church, or both before the end of the week.

Applying a hot-glue gun to shut my mouth seemed like
a good idea.

Eventually, the dull monologue came to an end. I returned
to the podium, told everyone where the refreshments were
(as if they, longtime members of the church, didn't know
where they'd left the cookies, fruit breads, and punch) and
said good night to one and all.

Gussie blocked my escape. "You can't leave yet. The president leaves last."

Was this day ever going to end? I wondered if I could talk
Tyler into opening the dojo for me. There was something about
a good punching bag ...

But escape didn't come easy. Oh, no. Not for me.

Bella marched up. "I've a bone to pick with you, chickie. You
said you'd let me help when you went sleuthing, and you've been
up to some pretty cool stuff. But you didn't tell me a thing!"

Who'd told her about my calamities?

"I haven't done anything that would interest you, Bella."

"You wanna make a bet?" She crossed her pudgy arms
over her cotton-candy-pink top. "Lorrianne Dumont saw you
skulking in Marge's trash yesterday. She says you had some
major hunk with you. Is that the hottie who squished my poor
Bali Hai? I wouldn't share him either, but you promised I
could help you snoop."

"I've never skulked." I felt safe with that. I'd made enough
noise to wake up rocks in Outer Slobovia.

Bella's blue eyes narrowed to slits. "You sure stunk of
trash."

"I told you I'd tripped over some stinky stuff."

"In Marge's trash."

"It wasn't Marge's." Marge had been dead for a few days.
It was probably Steve's.

"I'd have done better'n you did if you'd taken me along
to snoop around."

She probably would have. I doubt anyone could do worse.
"I ... ah ... snooping's not part of my business."

True again.

"Now, Bella," Gussie said. "Let the poor girl go. She's had
some rough days, and she doesn't need this. I'm sure she'll
include you at the right time."

Bella's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, honey. Just listen to me.
You lost your friend, and all I can do is carp like a vulture
about snooping and clues. Here, let me give you a hug."

I nearly broke down and cried. In spite of her nuttiness,
Bella was as good as the proverbial gold. "I promise," I whispered into her pink mane. "I promise I'll bring you with me
when I can use your help."