Designed for Death (26 page)

The confusion must have shown on my face. Neal’s beaming smile disappeared.

“I thought you’d love it,” he said. “It’s so feminine.”

That was it. Max Luscher’s Color Theory. Luscher, a Swedish psychologist, had pioneered the concept that colors we were drawn to revealed our personalities. A preference for brown indicated stability—maybe I should learn to love Simon’s couch—and, overwhelmingly, lavender was a feminine preference.

But Neal was hitting on me…though what had Dr. Cristall said?
The killer may be homophobic…a defense mechanism he uses to deny his deepest desires.
So were all these lavender frills for me? Or for himself?

The cold unease of a few minutes ago hardened into ice. “I agree, it’s very feminine.”

His expression brightened. “Then you like it?”

I cleared my throat. “Well, it’s such a departure, it takes some getting used to.”

He came up to me and put his hands on my shoulders, wincing a little as he raised his arms. “I did this for you. I want you, Deva. You’re the only woman in the world for me.”

“But, Neal—”

“Oh, I know, you’re still in love with Jack. That’s what’s so wonderful about you. You’re loyal unto death, a real woman. But Jack’s gone now.”

Despite the ice coating my spine, his words fired my temper. “No one knows that better than I do, Neal.”

“Don’t use that tone, Deva. Hold me. Show me how you feel.”

“It’s too soon,” I hedged, fear flash-freezing my blood.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve been patient. Very patient.” He slid his arms around me and, with his fingers biting into my back, bent to kiss me. I turned away. His mouth grazed my cheek.

He pulled me closer, his body athletic, hard-muscled. “I want your lips. Don’t resist, dear.”

Slashing rain had joined the wind, rattling against the glass, a reminder that Carolyn’s fury was far from appeased. Neal gave the windows a brief glance.

“A storm outside and a storm within. A perfect time to make love,” he murmured. His hand, a vise on my arm, drew me to the bed. He sat on the edge, reached up—that wince again—and circled my waist with his hands.

I forced myself not to recoil from his touch.
I have to get out of here. To do that I have to stay calm. Think. Pretend.

“May I ask you something first, dear? A favor?” he said, smiling, smiling. Whatever he had in mind, the cold sweat running down my spine told me I would hate it.

“You can ask, Neal, but I may not be able to answer.”

“Oh yes, you will. I’ll see that you do.” He ran his hands up and down my arms, rubbing them over and over. “But on second thought it can wait until we’re through.”

“You’re so masterful.” I laughed, my voice light and untroubled, a woman eager for seduction in the middle of a hurricane. My skin erupted into gooseflesh, but I smiled and willed myself not to shudder. “I’m curious, though, about the favor. Why can’t you tell me now?” I stared into his shoe-button eyes, trying not to heed the wind and rain batting at the windows.

He smiled at me. “Afterwards…I want you to show me where Dick hid that shirt.”

“Why?” I asked, though deep in my cold bones, I knew the answer. “It’s so not you. So garish and tasteless.”

“I know. That’s one of the reasons I threw it out. Dick must have found it in the dumpster. I want it back. I can’t stand the thought of him parading around in it, telling everyone where he found it. Laughing about the color. Making coarse jokes.”

What the other reason was I didn’t need to ask. I already knew. Neal had worn the shirt to the Island Grill the night Treasure died.

“I never saw you in a Hawaiian shirt,” I said, forcing a smile in spite of the terror rising in my gut. “Usually it’s polos or oxford cloth.”

He chuckled, his dimple deepening. “No, and you never will. I don’t need it anymore. I have you.”

“Why did you need it at all?”

That elusive dimple again. “I only wore it once or twice. I thought it might help me—”

“Make out?”

His face flushed. “Something like that. It looked cool. You know, jazzy.”

Some crazy, self-destructive urge made me test the waters, go for broke. “Especially with movie-star sunglasses,” I said, then held my breath.

“Precisely,” he replied, his arms around me hardening. “I’ll throw the glasses away, too, after I destroy the shirt. No point in pretending. Not with you. You’ve already guessed I was seen wearing it on a very special night.”

I wanted to run screaming from the circle of his arms. Instead, I lowered my voice to a tender caress. “No,
you
weren’t seen. Only the shirt. The witnesses—”

Neal paled. “There’s more than one?”

I nodded. If I could just keep him interested in conversation, I might figure a way out.
Just keep him talking.
“They remember a purple-flowered shirt on a man they
think
was wearing sunglasses. They can’t ID the man. They’ve already said so. If the police question you, they won’t be able to prove a thing.”

Letting go of my shoulders, Neal slumped on the bed, his hands limp in his lap. “I can’t risk an interrogation, Deva. The questions they’ll ask. The physical force.” He shivered. “It’s easier to destroy the shirt. Then there’ll be no link. Except for—”

He didn’t need to finish. I supplied the word for him.

“Me.”

Neal nodded. “I’m afraid so, dear. You’re the only one who connected the dots.”

Dad had warned me that in times of danger you never put down your weapon. Stupidly, I hadn’t heeded his advice. My purse lay on the living room floor next to the couch. I had to get to it.

“I’ll help you. You know I will,” I lied. Once out on the walkway heading upstairs, I intended to scream my head off and bring help running.

“You’re so understanding, Deva. But that won’t be necessary. Now come, lie down beside me.”

“First let me freshen up,” I said, lifting my fingers and running them through my hair, managing to make it even more disheveled than it already was. “I have a brush in my purse.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly, hoping I wouldn’t gag after all. “Some cologne, too. For the pulse points.”

“I’ll come with you.” He stood, grimacing as he changed position.

His rib cage is hurting. A weak point. If I have to fight him, I’ll strike him there. But what chance will I have against those golfer’s arms? Only one. Get the gun. Get the bloody gun.

As we traversed the hallway, hip to hip, I wondered why he’d admitted owning the shirt. Because he intended to destroy it. After that, what would Dick have to tell the police? Nothing. Only I knew for certain Neal had been with Treasure the night she died. As he said, I’d connected the dots. Fayette’s mugging had led me to Lee Skimp. What Lee revealed about her assailant reinforced Irma’s sketchy comments the day of the funeral. And then Dick, good old, resourceful Dick, had salvaged the shirt, and I’d found it. The sole piece of evidence connecting Neal to the murder. Whether it proved his guilt or not, I didn’t know.

Nor did that matter: Neal believed it did. Not only had I connected the dots, God help me, I’d put my head in a noose. That meant only one thing.

I’d have to die.

Neal hot on my trail, sweat beading my forehead, I rushed to the couch and dumped everything from my purse onto the seat.
Where was it?

“What’s the matter, dear?” Neal asked in a voice like silk.

“I can’t find my brush.”

“You didn’t have one. But you did have this.” He slid his hand into the pocket of his chinos. It came out cradling the neat, snub-nosed Cobra.

I dragged in a ragged breath. “What are you doing with that?”

“Curious, Deva? Well, I could ask the same question. But since you asked first, I’ll tell you. It’s mine. Has been, ever since my father passed.” Neal raised the gun and pointed its snout at me. “Get back in the bedroom.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I pointed a shaky finger at the Colt. “You used it to attack Fayette.” My accusation wasn’t a question and Neal knew it.

“I wanted him to stay away from you.”

“And the girl at Kmart?”

“She meant nothing. I just wanted to…”

“Prove yourself?”

Aiming the gun at my chest, he nodded.

No question about it, Dr. Cristall’s analysis had been right on target. Likewise for Rossi’s warnings not to trust anyone. What a time to think of all that—now that it was too late.

Still, like a dog harrowing a bone, I couldn’t let go. “What about that night at the Island Grill? The night Treasure came up to you at the bar and laughed at your shirt? She did laugh at you, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she laughed, all right. But she wanted me.” He smiled, remembering. “She told me to meet her later in 301. We’d be alone. I would have made her so happy. But she spoiled it. And then you had to go and put all the puzzle pieces together.” His voice, no longer warm with reverie, turned icy. “Too bad. I had such plans for you.”

“Why did you kill her, Neal? She was so good-hearted and fun-loving and—”

“She wasn’t what she pretended to be. I hated her for that.” He spat out the words.

“She frightened you.”

He raised the pistol to my head. “She angered me.”

Anger is the other face of fear.

He laughed, a short, ugly bark from a Neal I’d never known. “She tried to trick me. Make me believe she was a woman. But I caught on in time.”

“So you didn’t have sex with her?”

He scoffed. “Not on your life. But I will with you.” He jerked his chin toward the bedroom.

“I’m not moving.”

It was an idle threat, and I knew it. I was about to die. I knew that, too. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, my eyes on a level with the coffee table and Neal’s latest trophy, Naples Country Club Player of the Year. He played quite a game all right.

He stood over me, gun in hand. I looked away, my mind darting about like a bird in a cage, beating its wings, seeking a way out of its prison, but there was no out. I could never overcome him or wrestle the gun from his hand. He had all the power and I had…nothing.

I glanced up. “What are you going to do?”

“What I have to.” He blinked as if willing away a tear.

“If you shoot me, you’ll never get away with it. Lieutenant Rossi’s a bulldog. He’ll sniff you out, hunt you down.”

“I’m not going to shoot you.” He smiled, dimpling. “I’m going to push you off the walkway. Everybody’ll think you died in the storm.”

“You monster.” Heat, fueled by red hot anger, rose into my face.

“Shut up, Deva. I’ll do what I have to.” He cocked the gun. “So will you.”

I shook my head. Throw me off the balcony? No. Let him shoot me and spatter my blood everywhere. Then let him explain that to the police.

“Kill me now,” I said, looking away from his round black eyes and the single eye of the Cobra. Why watch it coming? I concentrated, instead, on the trophy. It sat inches from my face, its marble base topped with the chrome figure of a player in mid-swing. If only I dared grab it, I could—

Neal took a step toward me. I heard him move but kept my eyes on the statuette. The sculptor had captured the motion beautifully, the player’s firm stance on the turf, one foot braced, the other slightly raised at the knee…

“Get up.” Neal prodded my shoulder with the gun barrel. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

A hate-filled face I didn’t recognize glared down at me, the black eyes, like the purple on Treasure’s throat, a shade I’d detest as long as I lived. Too bad. Black made such a good accent color. I heaved a sigh. What a stupid concern. I had the life expectancy of a tsetse fly. Another ten seconds.

“Move.”

“I have no intention of having sex with you. Not now. Not ever. I never did.”

“That’s a lie!” Though shrill, his voice was no match for Carolyn’s. She howled around the building, clawing at the windows, at the roof, at the screened-in lanai. “You asked me for a date. You smiled at me. You held my hand. You wanted me. I knew it, but I waited for you to get over your grieving. I would have waited forever, but just like her, you’ve spoiled everything.”

The shrieking wind mingled with his voice. The whole world had gone mad—chaos outside, hatred within.

Sweat trickled down my back. I was one nervous trigger finger away from death. Then Carolyn made good on her threat. Ripping her claws into the lanai, she tore the screens from their mountings. With a thunderous roar, they split into pieces, striking against each other, pounding the side of the building. Stunned by the sudden impact, Neal stood openmouthed, staring in shock as chunks of lanai cage turned into missiles that rode the wind like evil hawks.

Now!

I seized the trophy and flung it with all my might. It struck him in the temple. He staggered. The .38 dropped from his hand and slid along the tiled floor. In the same instant, we both scrambled for it. I had a finger on the handle when Neal grabbed my ankle. I fell on my face and flailed on the floor. His grip tightened. I raised my knee. Striking out with my free foot, I kicked back with all my might. The hard sole of my running shoe must have caught his cracked rib. He screamed and let go of me. I grabbed the gun, pushed up to my knees and pointed the .38 at his bloody temple.

“Don’t move.”

Blood dripped down the side of his face. He touched it with a finger, looking at the blood as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“You hurt me,” he said, disbelief in his voice. “My mom never hurt my father.” He fingered his wound. “It was always the other way around.” He stepped closer.

I scrambled to my feet. “Stand back, Neal. Don’t give me reason to shoot you.”

“Ha! You? You’re shaking so much you couldn’t hit the side of a barn.”

“Oh no? See the finial on that lamp?”

Bemused, he nodded.

I squinted, took aim and shot. The gun was back pointed at him before the tiny crystal ball shattered, sending slivers of glass flying about the room.

“Are you crazy? That’s a Stiffel lamp!”

“And you’re a dead man if you make a move.” With only two more bullets left in the chamber, I couldn’t afford to waste another one proving I was a sharpshooter.